ComicScene Review: Blazing Combat

Damon Lewis reviews ‘Blazing Combat’. Do you agree with his review – send us your comments below.

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Review: Blazing Combat

So it goes.

Blazing Combat, that old war comic, was a curious thing. Like a soldier’s boot stuck in the mud, it trudged through the trenches of our collective consciousness. Archie Goodwin, the scribe behind its ink-stained pages, knew that war wasn’t just about bullets and bayonets. It was about the quiet moments—the ones that echoed long after the cannons fell silent.

Picture it: a rain-soaked foxhole, two weary soldiers huddled together like forgotten relics. Their eyes, hollow and haunted, stared into the abyss. One whispered, “What are we fighting for?” The other, perhaps wiser, replied, “Hell if I know. Maybe it’s just to keep the rain off our heads.”

And so, Blazing Combat unfolded—a tapestry of blood, sweat, and ink. Goodwin wove tales of sacrifice and absurdity, where generals played chess with human lives, and grunts shuffled through the muck, wondering if God had misplaced their orders. The battles raged, but the real war—the one inside their heads—never ceased.

In “Landscape,” we met Nguyen, a rice farmer caught in the crossfire. His fields, once lush and green, now bore the scars of napalm. He didn’t care about ideology or politics; he cared about survival. But survival, it seemed, was a luxury reserved for those who danced to the right tune. Nguyen’s dance was a desperate waltz, each step a prayer for mercy.

And the rain kept falling.

Blazing Combat dared to ask questions. Why fight? Why bleed? Why die? The answers, like smoke in the wind, slipped through our fingers. Goodwin knew that war wasn’t a hero’s journey; it was a fool’s errand. Yet, there they stood—heroes and fools, side by side, rifles slung over their shoulders.

The pages yellowed, the ink faded, but the echoes remained. War, it seemed, was a relentless editor, crossing out lives with callous strokes. Goodwin’s pen, though, etched something deeper—a plea for sanity, a plea for understanding. He whispered, “Look beyond the smoke and mirrors. See the faces—the scared ones, the scarred ones. They’re the true casualties.”

And so it goes.

Blazing Combat vanished into obscurity, like a forgotten battlefield reclaimed by nature. But its ghosts lingered—the Nguyen’s, the nameless grunts, the rain-soaked foxholes. They whispered, “Remember us.” And we tried, oh how we tried, to heed their plea.

But war, my friend, is a stubborn beast. It marches on, leaving footprints in the mud, staining our souls. And we, mere spectators, watch from the sidelines, wondering if there’s a grand design or just chaos wearing a uniform.

So it goes.