1st Draft of my story Alex made me post.
|*Note* Still a draft, and I was somewhat forced to post this here. Leave feedback!
“Get down!” Someone yelled from behind him. He instinctively dropped to the ground and rolled through the rain soaked dirt holding onto his rifle in one hand and his helmet on the other. He stared at the sky as tracer rounds and other more invisible bullets flew literally inches from his face going in both directions. He rolled his head on the ground to see who yelled at him, or rather everyone in his vicinity. He was dreadfully confused of his surroundings; he was in shock from the sudden exchange of gunfire. As he looked back to where his fellow soldiers were he saw the one that yelled the command stand up and fire three… four… maybe five rounds down field before the dreaded bullet from somewhere in the abyss of the miles beyond them, struck him in the chest causing him to fall to the ground screaming in pain. He swore every word he knew in such a jumbled mess someone may mistake him for speaking another language, if they could hear him at all over the vast majority of explosions and gunfire overhead. He looked to where his fellow soldiers, his friends, his brothers were shooting too. Down the long stretch of the road to what looked to be an empty house at first glance, but the constant flashes every second told another story. Acting on training he rolled to his stomach and fired a clip downfield hoping to hit something, but knowing he would miss almost the entire house. He went to reach for another clip when he heard a distinctive sound overhead. The sound of instantaneous death with no hope of survival expect by a miracle. The sound of a helicopter, the real question was; would it be instant death for him and his family or for his unruly neighbors? He crawled backwards slowly as not to bring attention to him, and be the main target of a pair of dark beady, hate-filled eyes. He jammed his foot against a wheel from one of the convoy’s trucks and realized he had been fighting against not only the enemy but the loss of breath from a sharp pain in his leg. He reached down to where he though it was coming from and traced the edges lightly with his finger tips. It took him a moment to realize it was a bullet hole the size of a dime in his thigh. He suddenly started to shake uncontrollably as for the first time he realized he could actually die where he was and in his current situation. He fought through it with help from his training and kept slow crawling backwards. Out of no where a pair of hands grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him behind one of the trucks. After staring at the person for a minute he realized it was a medic from his platoon. He looked at the person who grabbed him then down at his leg. The field medic instinctively went to work on his leg as he just stared at him.
“John, just stay with me here, your going to be fine.” The field medic ordered while still looking at his leg.
“What?” He replied.
“Just stay with me John.” It was another order from the medic. He stopped a second and looked at the medic. His name wasn’t John, so why was this man calling him that. This thought led to another; if his name wasn’t John, then what was his name? He suddenly flinched and started to weep tears from the depths of his eyes. Why was he crying though? The pain wasn’t even close to what he felt earlier in his life, he already realized he could die here, and knowing his luck he would, but he already prepared himself for it. The only thing it could be was when the one man had gotten shot, but he didn’t even know him, so why would he shed a tear for him. He continued crying staining his shirt as the medic finished up bandaging his leg.
“There you go” The doctor said as he patted his shoulder.
“Thanks?” He replied through sobs and crying, not knowing if it was a good thing that he had bandaged him up and started this flow of tears. The medic slowly got up and left leaving the man to stay where he was crying to himself. He picked up his rifle and studied it shaking it along with himself. He wiped away the tears and looked at the deadly cold hard steel that could judge a man’s life in seconds. It had the power to take or give life like God, but who was he to play God? Wasn’t this against his beliefs to kill others, or not since God had put the events that led to this including putting the people in charge to do this and he was doing it for his country. He looked down the sights looking at his foot through the scope. As he looked up the realization came to him that the firing has stopped. He looked toward the building and there was no flashing from it, he looked back to the trucks and saw his friends coming out from behind them. He looked out into the fields to see the long grass waving back and forth as if nothing happened and everything was peaceful. As he studied the grass thinking how much easier life would be if everyone was like a blade of grass and could live in harmony with one another a man came up and tapped him on the shoulder jarring him from his peaceful day dream.
“You good?” The man questioned.
“Eh, not really.” Was his reply as “John” looked back out into the grassy plain.
He saw something move something in dark clothes run trough the grass and lay itself flat against the cool black mud. He looked at it through the sights on the gun and saw the thing’s chest slowly rise and fall with the swaying of the grass. He looked closer and aimed up and down the body till he found its face. It was wearing a mask, a three holed black ski mask. He studied wordlessly not alerting anyone around him to its presence. The creature mouthed the words “I love you baby” as if it was talking on the phone or through a headset to someone else far off in the distance. It pulled something from a pocket near its waist and point it at the group of soldiers.
He realized this was an enemy soldier and right at this point he could take this man’s life. He realized that it was this one man’s life or it could be his family’s life out here in the middle of no where. A light in his head popped on as more tears rolled down his cheeks falling off at his chin onto his shirt. He realized that this may be one of his friends from home, he mouthed perfect English as someone from the States would have. Could this possibly be a mercenary from back home? If it was could he kill a fellow American even if it was in war time and he was trying to kill him? Possibilities rolled through his head, just as an already overflowing cup of water has more water added into it. He couldn’t kill anyone could he? Was it just his mind playing tricks on him from the stress? He couldn’t die out here not with his family back home could he? How could he just leave them with money and a note from his superiors saying that he died? How would that be fair at all to them? He couldn’t risk it, not even a small chance. He set his mind to pulling the trigger. Even if it meant being tormented with the thoughts of killing a man, at least he could have those thoughts since he was still alive though. Everyone screamed and yelled around him but him, from what he could hear there was something about someone shooting and someone being hit or something. He couldn’t tell what they were truly saying since his brain wasn’t fully thinking rational. How could he being thinking rationally if he was thinking about killing someone. He laughed and looked at the figure, he jumped suddenly seeing that it wasn’t there anymore. He searched the grass until a sharp pain came from his chest. He looked down to see a bright red colored substance pour slowly from his chest. He looked at his and tried to wipe it away with his hand only to have its placed filled by the same thing and have it on his hand. He slowly felt more tired and more cold than usual for a warm night like this. His eyes were getting heavy, too heavy to stay open with the little strength he had left. He heard someone yelling his so called name from somewhere else, but he didn’t care anymore all he could think about was sleeping. He closed his eyes slowly and let himself drift off into a peaceful wonderland without pain.