"Yippy Kie Yay"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
Adam faces the worst expreience you can in the military . . . betrayal. How does he take this? Will he pay?

Submitted: January 13, 2010

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Submitted: January 13, 2010

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“Yippy Kie Yay”
 Short story by Keegan Stephen
 
 
 
 
 
 
 The cloth dribbled with dark red blood, staining it to like that of a ribbon. The amount of pressure forced on it was immense as the cause bit the rag hanging out of his mouth. The saliva trickled down the surface sided by the sweat dripping out of his pores. Adam Fisher looked down at his leg in disbelief as noticed, felt the wound ooze blood each beat his heart took to keep him alive. As of now it needed to stop to keep himself alive.
 There was a rustle and then a scraping noise as General Hoffman slid in through the gap, AK-47 in hand. “We’ve got squad 4 coming in sergeant, after a UAV scan; we need to get you out of here.” Hoffman’s hair reached down to his shoulders, and his tan helmet kept it in bedded with a sheet of sweat. “Iraq’s a hell of a goddamned place init?”
 “Sure is.” Adam agreed as the sound of a chopper came overhead. “Can’t wait to go back home.” The only convincing thing about Adam’s statement was his face. There was a shot, Adam rolled backwards, and feeling the pain as it had blasted into his stomach.
 Hoffman held a desert eagle, the shot was intentional. “Yeah well . . . sorry, you’ll never see home again.” Hoffman climbed through the gap.
 Adam laid there listening and in shock as his own General had just shot him.  Adam heard his voice shout. “He’s dead! Retreat! Retreat!”
 Had he just been betrayed? Did he really just get shot by one of his own? His mind was spinning with these unanswered questions, but he pushed them aside. He knew what he had to do, and he had to do it right now, kill Hoffman. 
 Crawling in tremendous pain, he gripped the barrel of his own desert eagle and climbed slowly out of the gap. Outside was a deserty landscape. No one in sight anymore for miles except for the dead bodies sprawled out over the ground, and Hoffman now climbing into the chopper.
 “Hey!” Adam shouted across the cracked earth in wailing pain. He hid the gun under his chest, his hand over the handle.
 Hoffman stopped and turned around, confusion on his face then sighed. “Goddamnit!” Hoffman yelled walking grudgingly towards the almost lifeless form of Adam Fisher. “Jesus Christ Adam how many shot’s does it take?”
 He held the gun, still under his chest, as Hoffman finally approached. With the effort to raise his arm, with the small strength he had left, the barrel aimed itself at Hoffman, and there was the sound of the gun shot.
 Hoffman toppled over, the blood squirting out of his shoulder. His walrus like mustache was squished in pain as his gun fell out of his hand. Blood drained of Adam’s nose, for the kick of the gun brought it back into his face. He had now three wounds, and his vision was blurring.
 Hoffman reached for his gun, just as Adam shot it with a blast, shattering the guns barrel.
 What looked like a knife was pulled from Hoffman’s pocket, and plunged into Adam’s chest, no sooner than a second did he feel his intestines drop out of his stomach, and literally. What seemed like a howl of pain surged through Adam’s voice box and out of his mouth. That’s when the grenade was pulled out, Hoffman, with a disgusted face, plunged the grenade a couple of inches into the depths of Adam.
 It was so much pain . . . and yet . . . and yet ripping his heart out would be Hoffman’s win; he could hear and almost feel the grenade getting ready to explode, with each warning beep. He was going to die no matter what as of now; his only choice . . . was to bring General Hoffman down with him.
 Adam grabbed the ankle of Hoffman, causing him to trip just after getting up. He pulled him closer and closer, he thought he heard him literally crying for his life. With what seemed an hour had passed the last second had passed and the explosion went off, Hoffman heard just before the explosion Adam say smiling in pleasure: “Yippy kie yay mother Fucker!” The last image planted in Adam’s mind was the teary face of Hoffman, and the explosion ripping his body into shreds, as his already had been. In Hoffman’s, the helicopter only a couple of feet away, waiting to take him to safety, but feeling as the

Impact shatter his leg, and rippled through his body until releasing him from his miserable pain.


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