this is war

Reads: 222  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
this has very strong language and is pretty gory but if you like that stuff, you'll love this.

Submitted: February 09, 2017

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: February 09, 2017

A A A

A A A


This is War 


I could see a slight gleam of light off of something way off in the distance. Captain Dixon saw the gleam too but didn't make anything of it. We were getting ready to move out. We had set the C-4 charges on the road, waiting for the incoming convoy. Here it comes… I can hear the rumble of several large trucks, and it’s getting louder. I can see the convoy now, headed straight for the charges planted just out of sight under a couple of trash bags. I can still see that gleam… but wait, something just flashed right under gleam. It’s probably nothing. I take a deep breath, the hot, sandy air burns my lungs. I smell something else too… I know that smell anywhere, it’s blood. I turn around and see that my squad leader, my friend, Captain Dixon, is lying on the ground with blood pouring out of the acorn sized hole in his temple. “SNIPER! GET DOWN!” I scream. The convoy is at the charges now. I release the trigger on the detonator and the street and the trucks are immediately engulfed in flames. I can’t focus on the explosion, we need to get rid of that sniper. But who’s going to lead? The Captain is dead. That’s when it hits me, I’m in charge now.
“WE NEED TO MOVE NOW!” I scream at my remaining squad. I can barely see the gleam as we’re practically sprinting across the rooftops trying to get to the only door that leads to the streets. There’s no cover up here. Private Gary is running in front of me. Behind me is Corporal Xavier. It’s just us three now. I see another flash from the sniper, dust flies up in front of my feet, but I keep running. Another flash. I can see Gary’s knee cap fly off as he drops. I trip over him and fall almost over the edge of the roof, but I just barely catch myself on the ledge. “XAVIER!” He’s running towards me. I look for the gleam, I see it. Another flash. Blood covers my face and hands as Xavier falls over the edge. The blood lubricates my fingers, and I lose grip of the ledge that was holding me from my very certain death. I’m tumbling through the air for what seems like forever, then I hit.
When I wake up, I’m on my  back. I’ve fallen from four stories up. My back hurts like hell. I landed on something firm, but it certainly kept me from the clutches of death. I try and roll over, onto the ground, but when I go to move my legs, there’s a sharp, piercing pain in my right thigh. I look down at it. There’s a KA-BAR combat knife that has went through my leg with the handle sticking out of the back, just above my knee. “Shit.” I announce to myself. I manage to roll onto my side on the ground. I’m looking into the very dead eyes, or… eye, of Corporal Xavier. There’s a hole just bigger than my fist where his left eye used to be. He must’ve been what sprayed me with the thick, warm liquid that caused me to fall. But what happened to him? Then I remember the flash under the gleaming sniper scope. How it took Dixon and Xavier. But not Gary. Where is Gary? I remember him getting his knee cap blown off, but I didn’t see him get killed. We were right next to the door that would’ve saved Xavier from a bullet to the head. Did Gary get out? I decide to try and make it back to base, I get up to a kneeling position, picking up the M4 carbine rifle that fell off the roof along with me. I clean Xavier of his ammunition and his dog tags. 
I manage to get to my feet when I remember the knife in my leg. I look down at it. I decide that I need to leave it in for now because it could be blocking an artery from spewing blood out of my leg like a busted fire hydrant. I put a small amount of pressure on my knife-leg. It hurts like hell, but I don’t think it went into the bone. I put some more pressure on it and decide that I can walk. I half jog, half walk my way down a couple of blocks. I hear talking. Not English, but Arabic, coming from around the next corner. 
I position my rifle so the muzzle is focused on the corner. I take small steps, so there’s no sound coming from the bottoms of my combat boots. I slowly lower the barrel of my rifle so I can get closer to the edge of the building. The talking is much louder now. I slowly peer around the corner. There’s two enemy soldiers leaning over a small, folding table. One’s wearing a high ranking uniform. The other, a desert storm ghillie suit with what looks like an M24 Sniper Rifle with a supressor. I slowly raise my rifle so the cross-airs of my combat scope are on the sniper’s head. I click the safety off.
I’m slowly squeezing the trigger. Just before I pull it back far enough so that the trigger releases the hammer, sending a bullet into that fuckers head, a door just to right of the two soldiers, comes open. At least a dozen enemy soldiers pour out of the doorway. I throw myself back in order not to be spotted. Pain shoots up my right leg as I put all my body weight on it. I’m falling, face first and the ground is coming up to my face fast. I extend my arms to break my fall. The sound me hitting the ground is extremely muffled, almost no sound at all. But just enough to get one of the enemy soldiers attention. 
I roll to my back and raise my rifle. I let out a spray of bullets that catches the soldier who first spotted me in the head. I pull the trigger of my rifle all the way back. I drop a soldier with a bullet to the chest. The next soldier is trying to get off what looks like a grenade. Just before he pulls the pin, I send six bullets in the fuckers direction, killing him on contact. The next wave of four, is walking towards me, AK-47’s roaring. Dust flies up all around me. I point the muzzle of my M4 in their direction. I let loose a dozen bullets that each hit their targets. Three of them immediately drop. The last one in that wave falls to his knees, clutching his throat as a river of blood flows through his fingers. I pull the trigger again, but nothing. I’m out of ammunition. I roll to my right, behind the wall. I press the magazine release button and the empty banana clip slides out. I pull another magazine out of my belt. I fumble with it at first but after a couple seconds, the mag slides in with ease. I pull the charging handle, to put a bullet in the chamber, back then release it. I quickly throw my body up and clip to the wall. I can hear the remaining soldiers AK’s going off. I see their bullets make contact with the wall not three inches from my face. I shield my head with my arm. When the gunshots stop, I unshield my head. I point my M4 around the corner, and without looking, empty my magazine in the direction I last saw the remaining soldiers. I hear nothing after my rifle runs out of bullets. I slowly limp around the corner. I unexpectedly get tackled by the soldier who was dressed in the high ranking uniform. 
He’s on top of me, choking me. I try to gouge his eyes out, but I can’t reach. My hand goes for my knife sheath, I remember that my knife is in my leg. I grab the handle and start ripping it out. I can tell the sound of tearing flesh sickens him, because he loosens his grip around my throat. The knife is out of my leg now. I swing with all my energy at him with the knife. I’m looking him in the eyes as I bury the ten inch combat knife in his rib cage. His eyes widen. He lets go of my throat. I yank out the knife, and shove it in the soft patch of skin, just under his jaw. I pull out the knife and blood spills onto my face. I can barely see the sniper, anxiously staring at the soldier still on top of me as if seeing if he was okay. He didn’t see me kill him. I throw the soldier off me and the sniper panics and reaches for his rifle. I tear my M9 handgun from its holster and cock it. I point it at the sniper and send three bullets in his direction. He falls, clutching his shoulder. I slowly get up and limp towards him. He’s crying, holding his shoulder that has two entrance wounds and two exit wounds. I must’ve missed the third shot. As I get closer, He reaches for his rifle again. I stomp on his hand and kick away his only chance for survival. I grab him by his hair, and pull him to his knees. 

He’s praying now. I put the handgun on his forehead.. He screams something in Arabic. I pull the gun away from his forehead and point it down. I pull the trigger and a bullet shatters his femur. He screams again and moans in agony. I pull him back to his knees by the ghillie suits sleeve. He’s praying again, with a mixture of sweat and tears running down his face. When he opens his mouth to say something, I shove the barrel of my pistol in his mouth. I yank the hammer of the handgun back. I look him in the eyes, and he looks into mine. He yells something, I think a plea of some sort, just before I pull the trigger, painting the ground behind him. 
Blood spatters my face, once again today, and covers me. From head to toe. It looks like someone dumped a thick, red paint on me. I don’t care. I’m walking and I suddenly notice the searing pain in my right leg. I look down. I can’t tell if it’s bleeding because my pants leg is already covered in blood. I take my knife and cut off the pant leg. There is a large gash on both sides of my leg where the knife had gone through. I press my back against the building next to me and slide down. I can just barely see a humvee, manned with U.S. soldiers come around the corner before I black out. 
When I wake up, there’s a bandage around my thigh, and U.S. soldiers all around me. They are scanning the area. I can see a Taliban soldier running on the roof… but what does he have? I hear, “R-P-G!” From one of the soldiers that is guarding me. There’s smoke behind a slender tube that launches a projectile at a group of soldiers. I see legs, arms, and a bunch of other body parts fly away from each other. I see Taliban all over the roofs now.  They start firing down on the U.S. soldiers. The soldier on the humvee .50 caliber machine gun starts firing at the roof tops. I see another cloud of smoke from the slender tube that the Taliban soldier is holding. I watch the explosive race down towards the humvee. It collides. The entire truck is completely swallowed by flames. They kill all of them. All of my brothers... No mercy... I can see a good friend of mine, Corporal Sheldon, run toward me. He gets hit in the back of the head by a RPK light machine gun. Once again, I get sprayed with blood and brain. A couple of the U.S. soldiers are wounded, but not dead. Taliban soldiers start flowing out of a small building just in front of me. They are executing the soldiers who survived the ambush. Two Taliban men are walking by, and see that I’m alive. I look around for a way out. I see my M9 that I must've dropped when I blacked out. I reach for it. One of the Taliban soldiers stomps on my hand just before I can grab the pistol. They grab me by the arms. They’re dragging me towards the open door. 
They throw me into a chair in the middle of the room, but don’t bother to tie my hands. Big mistake. About ten to fifteen men, armed with AK-47’s, walk in the door and form a circle around the chair that I'm planted in. They are completely surrounding me, but a good ten meters from and all the way around. What looks like a high ranking officer walks in. He turns around and says something in Arabic to a man outside the door. The man closes the door, and I hear a lock slam shut. The officer is a very bulky guy, and wields what looks like, a large tree branch. He asks me in rough English, “Why you here?” When I don’t answer, he swings the stick and it connects with my temple. He asks again. No answer. He swings again. I spit out the pool of blood that has formed in my mouth, and laugh. He looks at me like I’m insane. I can move just enough to reach in my pocket, very slowly so he cannot see me do it. There’s gunfire in the distance, and they all look at the door and window. I quickly pull out the M67 Hand Grenade that was stuffed deep into my pants pocket. 
No one sees me do it. I pull the pin, but don’t let go of the safety clip just yet. He looks back at me, and I smile. He looks furious now, and swings again. The stick makes contact with my ear and sends me to the ground. “Do you think you fuckers can kill me? I take shits tougher than you.” I say as I glance around at the surrounding soldiers. I look at the officer again, smile, and hold up the grenade. I let go of the safety clip. Everyone yells, “????? ?????!” (‘Grenade’ in Arabic.) They try to get out, but the door is locked from the outside. I scream, “FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!,” just before the grenade explodes, killing everyone in the room and within a ten foot radius of the small hut.


© Copyright 2017 TrevorMadrid. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More War and Military Short Stories

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by TrevorMadrid

this is war

Short Story / War and Military

Popular Tags