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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story I wrote with my best friend, who I call my brother, about our dream careers of being in the special forces. WARNING: graphic violence ahead

Submitted: July 02, 2016

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Submitted: July 02, 2016

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Stay low, go fast. Kill first, die last. One shot, one kill. No luck, just skill.

 

As I heard the click of my trigger and the subtle whistle of my suppressor,  I saw the blood hit the cement wall and a hole the size of two fists entered the ISIS rebels chest. The recoil of the Barrett .50 Caliber sniper rifle rocked me back.

 

As I cleared a path for my brother. I saw him run with no hesitation… and inject another rebel’s neck with a 13.5 inch bayonet. I then looked at my watch and noticed in only 0030 hours, ¾ of our team become casualties and only the two of us are left to take down the heart of ISIS.

 

From 5 kicks down the hill, I saw my brother’s tomahawk enter yet another rebels chest. He stood lifeless and in disbelief and then he screamed and fell to his knees and bled out slowly.

 

My heart then stopped as I saw the ISIS decapitation general came behind my brother and held a .45 Glock 30SF to his back. Time seemed to slow down as I steadied my aim at his knees and fired.

 

I could hear the screams from 5 kilometres away as his wife and child turned the corner and saw my brother fire 3 rounds from his Chiappa Rhino into the general’s legless body and curb stomp the life out of him.

 

Through the comm link I heard some Arabic, from what little I understood it was something like “Don’t move or I’ll do it” ‘Do what?’ I wondered, and then I saw it. The daughter had a cluster of C4 strapped to her belt. I didn’t have much time to react. So I shot behind her to distract her.

 

My brother then kicked her in the chest with such force that he collapsed her left lung and broke 6 of her ribs. I could hear her slowly suffocate through the comm. The wife then showed her weapon of choice, a 4 inch throwing knife. She threw it at my brother but she wasn’t a very good shot and he dodged it with ease.

 

I then scoped in on her temple and pulled the trigger, I missed due to the lack of time I had to steady my aim. This time I aimed for an easier target, the torso. I pulled the trigger and the elegance of the Barrett .50 Cal was showed at its best. Thanks to the lack of bones in the stomach area the top half of her body was blown off of the bottom half and my brother looked down at the bodies of the three Jihadis.

 

“Serves you right!” he yelled and emptied a .44 Mag round into all 3 of their heads to make the KIA. I ran down the hill to hug him and made sure he was okay. We embraced and we both heard the sound of an Apache helicopter. I still had two clips of .50 Cal ammo. My brother still had an unused MP5K with 400 rounds of ammo. We both looked up and saw it, we locked eyes and knew our plan.

 

My brother emptied two 30-round 9mm hollow point clips into the helicopter’s engines and tail rotor. The engine was beginning to fail, but it wasn’t giving up without a fight. The gunner fired his M230 chain gun at us, throwing chunks of cement like ragdolls and peppering buildings like they were made of paper mache.  We ran into the ISIS compound, and my brother threw me his extra MP5K, as I had no CQC weapon.

 

As we entered the compound, about 15 Jihadis came storming into the courtyard. We had just enough time to duck into one of the spare rooms, closets maybe. As the Jihadis ran past us, we heard more Arabic from their radios, I think the chopper gunner noticed us enter the spare room. Just as one ISIS fighter braced the door, we opened fire.

 

We shredded a door like an old newspaper and made the body of the rebel look like swiss cheese. We plowed through the Jihadis Kingsman style. Using anything from our MP5s to picked up AKs to various melee weapons. We then heard the most deafening blast any of us have ever heard. The Apache had fired its AGM-114D rocket into the side of the compound. Chunks of drywall, plaster, metal, and cement rained down on us. We ducked into the building and ran up a set of stairs onto a metal catwalk. I pulled out my Barrett and scoped in through the hole that his rocket made on the compound, I zoomed in on the pilot’s windshield I fired once, twice, three times, all bullets hitting on target. The first shot broke the reinforced glass and the other two shots impaled his cranium.

 

The chopper plummeted to the ground with a bang. I then radioed base “Base this is Delta 6, requesting Blackhawk chopper pickup at 35.03313 N, 38.47347 E” The commander replied “Copy Delta 6 this is base. Blackhawk is en route to your current location.” It took 20 minutes for the Blackhawk to get to the compound, when it did we piled into the chopper and embraced again. I took my dogtags out of my body armor and looked at them, our names Ruggiero, Tad C. and Jaquay, Treay P. and the Marines’ motto Semper Fidelis were engraved on them. I looked over at my brother and he was looking at his dogtags too, with both of our names and Semper Fidelis engraved on them. We locked eyes for the rest of the way to Outpost Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

When we landed we went to our commanding officer and asked for an honorable discharge. He complied and handed us our certificates. This was our fourth and final combat tour in Syria.

As we got on the plane home we took two seats right next to each other and both told stories of the times we’ve had since 3rd grade when we met. There were a lot of laughs and a lot of tears. We landed at the airport and we said our goodbyes. I would see him again soon, but any time is too much time. My brother means more to me than the air I breathe. To this day we both still hear the screams of the wife and daughter of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, who turned out to be the man we killed and one of the top ranking commanders of ISIS. I will never forget the screams, but they are reminders that I did my job and I deserved that discharge.

 


© Copyright 2017 Ruggiero, Tad C.. All rights reserved.

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