2016- The people of the United States of America vote unanimously to overthrow the government. The government responds with marshal law stating "The people have no idea what’s good for them if they are willing to overthrow their establishment during war time." And just like that the armed forces were sent into cities and suburbs to enforce curfews and to confiscate firearms, in hope to put asunder any act of rebellion. Shortly after the first rebel strikes, the USA is declared a temporary totalitarianism, ushering in the death of the land of the free, but sure as hell not the home of the brave. This political step sparks a major rebellion among the US citizens and rallies them together. The Military is turned on its people causing a moral split amongst the ranks both military and civilian.
2017- The United States enters its first Revolutionary Civil War.
I can remember watching a movie when I was younger, where Russia invades the States during the cold war and a group of teenagers escape into the mountains. In exile they decide to fight back. I could not help but think, what would I do if that happened? Well now I know, but it’s not Russia that invaded, it was our own damn government. Now only 23 years old and I'm forced to fight in my own back yard the very government that swore to serve and protect me. The very government I elected to be my voice. We can't blame anyone but ourselves. For years we were too lazy and dumb to do anything about the corrupt and twisted politicians that forced us into useless wars using slander and lies to blind us, all the while, making the rich wealthier and the poor hungrier. We waited too long and let the government become to bold, and now we have paid with our freedom. A freedom we must fight to regain, or give in and be ruled by war mongering money grubbing power hungry tyrants. My name is Michael Kavanagh and I am a First Lieutenant in the Peoples Republic Army of Freedom. This is only part of my story and what I have seen in the past year, living and fighting in the streets of Flint, Michigan.
Many of my nights I spent on the rectory roof next to the church we used as our Head Quarters, that is if it wasn't raining or too cold. I have caught many snipers or sneaky spec ops creeping by trying to find us or to get behind enemy lines and wreak havoc on the unsuspecting. But one night something happened that would change my life.
I was on the roof at about 1:30 am watching the stars and praying as the nightly watchmen made their rounds down below on foot. I was border line asleep when I heard the pitter patter of army issue boots. It’s an unmistakable sound they make, a loud clunky smacking sound when you run on pavement. Instantly I was awake and had my tactical .308 rifle mounted and ready to go, but I could not see anyone, and then the sound stopped.
“He must be hiding in the bushes or behind a car. Just sit still and wait, he will move eventually.” Thirty minutes had passed and no movement.
“Could I have missed him? Could he have snuck by me?” I questioned myself, doubt scratching the walls of my mind as my starlight scope illuminated the street.
I heard the ever daunting whiz of a bullet as it flew past my left ear.
“HOLY SHIT!" How did he find me? Why did I not hear the shot?”
Even in the heat of almost literally losing my head, I kept my composure and used the trajectory of the shot to pin point his location. Knowing that with my right shoulder against a large cross, and the rest of my body hidden behind the foot and a half raised edge of the building, he would have only seen my head and left shoulder from about one hundred and twenty yards away and to the left of me. Buildings and trees block all other lines of sight. I had little time to react so I sunk back down from the cross and used the edge of the roof to hide, crawling to the side of the building as to not be seen. I then propped my rifle in a crack in the ledge just big enough to fit the barrel. I never took my eye from that scope watching vigilantly and logging any data I could in my black book. I took note of any habits or traits he might display like his missed shot, but he didn't give me much to write.
He poked his head out from behind a truck he was using for cover, but he must have seen a glint of light from the street lamps on my scope, because he did not stay in the open for long. He made a fast dash to a house a few feet from a truck and I lost him, but I did not move just in case he tried to come back by. If he could get across the street he could work his way behind me and I couldn't let that happen, everybody I cared for was depending on me to keep them safe and there was no way I could let them down.
It was an hour or so before he tried to cross 300 yards down the street, I had to move up to the ledge and reposition myself to get a good shot at him, he was just standing there behind a car looking around. I got a good look, he was a white guy, with short dark hair, about 5'11, a tattoo on his neck which appeared to be a skull that had two crossed guns behind it and some kind of dark spot on the top of it. I could not make out the whole thing because his shirt was in the way.
I placed my cross hairs on his magic button, the spot where your clavicle bone meets your sternum. Aiming for the magic button means you will separate the trachea, jugular vein, and most important the spinal cord. I could not shake the thought that this guy missed me purposely, which means it was just a warning shot. I sat there stewing with my finger on the trigger for maybe 3 seconds with an open shot, which to a sniper is an eternity. I was torn with a moral dilemma, if he did just miss, I need to waste him, if not and he let me go with a warning then it would be wrong not to return the goodwill. I watched as he crossed the road and disappeared into the parking lot across the street, I would regret not killing him.
I got what little sleep I could under the stars that night, and dawn broke before I woke to find Edwin, one of the transfers from out of state, climbing threw the roof access. He was a shorter fellow about 5'6 with dark curly hair and a grin that reached from ear to ear, that kind of smile that makes others want to smile. He was quick as shit on his feet and could turn on a dime, making him a damn hard target to hit.
“What's the word Eddy, have they moved in on Flint?” I asked as I made my way over to the hatch stretching the stiffness out of my muscles and dusting myself off. Eddy was noticeably on edge, and that was my first clue it was not good news.
“Not yet. They have only made it to Grand Blanc, but reinforcements arrived last night for them. They got 200 infantry in trucks, a half dozen Hummers with HMG's, 2 M1 tanks, an APC with duel Vulcan mini guns on top, and God only knows how many Spec Ops and snipers they dropped on us.”
I didn't tell Eddy about my night.
“Shit that won't make our job any easier, but then again that’s why we're the Lucky 7th. You look a bit shaken Eddy, are you alright?”
“There is no way anyone can hold those forces back Sir. They should make it here before dusk and it scares the living shit out of me.”
Eddy due to a slight speech impediment stammer with his words.
“I have never killed anything in my life, and I'm not very religious but I think there could be a God, and.” I cut his statement short.
“Eddy I can't tell you it will all be ok, I would be lying to you if I tired, any of us could die at any time so you have to accept it. If you're afraid to die then you need to keep in mind not what you live for, but what your mother and your brothers and sisters and all the people you love live for. It's not just about us we are here for, we are the only ones standing between the freedoms and people we love and the people that want to take those things from us.”
What I did not notice was that as we were talking, we made our way down the roof access ladder and to the lunch room, where at this time the whole Lucky 7th was having breakfast and listening to me.
“We are walking a very slippery and tricky line, out manned out gunned and out resourced altogether, but just like our forefathers we can't, we wont be stopped. Unlike our ancestors we do not fight a foreign enemy but instead, our own people, and in some cases our own flesh and blood. They bomb us and we dig free, they shoot us and we mend our wounds, they spread lies to the world and we show them truth, they kill us and we multiply, they push with all their forces and we hold them back. You know why we survive, it's not because we are more cleaver or stronger, let’s face it we aren’t. We survive and fight on, because we are justified. They fight to keep their fat pay checks and big houses, they fight to keep control, and we fight to break free. We fight for those around us whether they are black, white, brown, red, yellow, Jew, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, man, women, or child.”
The entire lunch room, hung on my every word, gathering strength and moral from my speech.
“The true reason why we go out there and die isn't for glory or fame, it isn't to be heroes or out of bravery, we will fight and win because unlike them we fight to unite.” With those last few words the room exploded in harmonious cheer.
“Who needs coffee when you wake to this shit?” I poked Eddy in the ribs with my elbow to lighten his mood, which worked as a smile cracked through his worried expression.
“Any way if you go through life worrying about death, you're bound to forget to live. I happen to have it on good authority that Jen the nurse with the short blond hair has a thing for you.” Usually I don't endorse fraternization, but I could tell he was in desperate need of the kind of comfort only a woman can give a man, so I pushed him in her direction just as my own fraternization walked into the lunch room.
I weaseled my way over to the coffee pot without Sarah seeing me and made a cup for each of us, then I ducked out the other door circling around the outside of the lunchroom until I was right behind her. She was a beautiful southern bell. Her charm was matched by her stunning beauty, with her auburn hair, lightly tanned skin and dark green eyes, she stole the heart of every young man she passed by. Though she was beautiful, her strength and willpower was most definitely her saving grace.
“What's a beautiful young thing like you doing in a place like this?” I whispered in her ear as I reached around her holding the cup of coffee right under her nose.
“Just how I like it big, sweet, and black. That's the same way I like my men too, you know?”
Sarah always had a sharp wit about her. That's why I loved her so much, she could give as much shit as she took.
“Well I hope small, bitter and white will do.”
“You’re damn near six foot tall Michael. How is that small?”
“Oh you were talking about height, my bad.”
Nick and Eric walked in arguing as usual, about something silly, Nick taking a literal viewpoint and Eric taking a figurative one. Nick and Eric were basically north and south in every way. Nick was 6'2 with blond hair blue eyes, being the runner of the group he was very clean cut and had a straight to the point attitude, where Eric was 5'8 210lbs, short and stocky with black hair, brown eyes, a full beard and a short temper garnished with a rebellious attitude. Blake was following close behind them fueling both sides of the fire and watching the sparks fly. Blake or “Little Hitler” as we jokingly call him was 5'7 135lbs with very short light brown hair and an ability to talk his way out of anything. If he did have to fight, he would use any and everything he could, including beer mugs, bar stools, pots, pans and the kitchen sink.
“Have no fear. D Money is here to save the day.” David declared as he entered at the other end of the room holding his hands in the air proclaiming his presence, he always made up for what he lacked in physical size with his personality. At 6'2 and 150lbs he was a hell of a guy to watch fight, he was like a praying mantis, standing very statuesque with his elbows bent at a 90 degree angle and his fist in front of his face, he would just reach straight out with his lanky arms and beat the hell out of guys from a distance.
I have known these guys all my life, they are my best friends and now they follow me out onto the battlefield from which some might not return. I began to question myself, and no matter how hard I tried I could not force the idea of getting one of my friends killed, out of my mind.
Blake walked up and stood beside Sarah who was snuggled under my left arm as I silently fought a mental battle with myself.
“You know if you ever want to know what it's like to be with a real man, let me know. I'm just saying if you were my girlfriend I would have put a ring on that finger by now baby girl.” Blake say to Sarah in his smoothest voice.
“Is that right?” she replied.
“Yeah I would light some candles and draw us a nice bath, with a bottle of wine and some baby making music and let the magic happen.”
“I hope you would bring a step stool too little fellah.” she patted him on the head.
“Whoa, no need to hit below the belt Baby Girl.”
“I don't think I could hit below your belt without being on my knees.”
“Yeah I bet that's just how you like it, gurl.”
“Shove off ya dirty carpetbagger.” I hollered at him in a British accent.
“Don't ever take that tone or voice with me young man, I am your elder and you better respect that.” Blake hollered back as he walked away shaking his finger at me with his face scrunched up like an old man.
Blake was just the diversion I needed to take my mind off of the anxiety I was felling. Every man copes with war his own way and my friends and I use humor. Brotherly humor like laughing at a fart, or telling knock-knock jokes at inappropriate moments. The way I see it, if you can find humor in war, you’re more likely to make it, because the one who smiles longest, lives longest. The stupid, your momma jokes and gun powder in a cigarette gags help to create the brotherly bond, it’s the glue that binds us together and keeps us alive.
Matt came in at the opposite door from where I was, and I could tell something was up as he made a quick b-line in my direction with a piece of paper in hand.
“Mike! The US Army has broken past Grand Blanc and is on its way to Flint as we speak. 2 M1 tanks an APC with 2 cherries on top, and a couple of hummers and party buses packed tight with fun. We got a call from the good ole boys in Burtuckey and they are gonna give us as much time as possible.” Party Bus is what we called the large diesel trucks and Burtuckey is the town of Burton, where the necks grow the reddest.
“Did they send orders with the info Matt?”
“Ah no, they want to know if you have any ideas.”
“Ideas? What, are they out of ideas or have they ever even had one? This bullshit is getting old real quick. I guess that's why they called us for ideas, because they can't get their heads out of each other’s asses.” I had to think of a way to make my point to the US Army and to the Peoples Republic Army of Freedom. The PRAF has been bickering and fighting with it's self, while people like us have been left bleeding in the crossfire.
“Tell them we have it covered Matt.”
I walked over to the lunch table and stood on a chair to get a little extra height and proceeded to clear my throat loudly to get everyone’s attention.
“It looks like the Us Army has broken through Grand Blanc and now we have 2 M1 Abram's tanks and Armored Personal Carrier with twin Vulcan Mini guns and a hand full of troop transports on their way as of 10 minutes ago. The PRAF and their incessant bickering has left us to take care of this problem. So I say we step on these “cockroaches.” using my best Tony Montana impression.
“We need to load up all the primer cord ,TNT and other explosives we can. I am gonna pick 10 people to be team leaders, those ten will get a team of 5 and those teams will be assigned a building downtown, numbered 1 to 10. Number 1 being on the westside and number 10 being on the eastside. The even numbers will fall to the east and the odds need to fall to the west, creating a wall of rubble. You will do this by planting the explosive in the basement against the supports facing the way you want it to fall, like cutting down a tree. Do this from the basement to the 5th floor and it should fall the way you want it to. Make sure you direct the blast as best you can towards the direction you want it to fall. Time right now is of the essence so Blake you're 1, Matt 2, Eric 3, Nick 4, John 5, David you're 6, Sean 7, Drew 8, Josh 9, I will be 10. They will most likely hit the south side as we are setting up, if they reach you or over take your position you keep working.”
“What det should we use?” Blake jumped in to ask.
“I think we will go old school on this one. We are gonna have to run the cord to the safe local for the detonation, that means no wireless detonators or cell phone detonators. Each man on your team needs to have everything they need to finish the mission, that way if the guy with the detonator goes down you have 5 more as back up. You got it? Now let's do this thing.”
Over the next 15 minutes the cars and trucks were loaded with enough explosives to make the Taliban say holy shit. The convoy of 3 cars and 4 trucks took off quicker than a whore before confession as they raced down Saginaw Street toward Flint. Since the fighting had broken out under a year ago things had changed dramatically, the people who didn't move out of the conflict areas stayed out of sight for the most part, some of them were supporters and other couldn't give a damn about any of it. Luckily for us the US army wanted to keep collateral damage as low as they could, but as I watched the buildings whip by, the random burnt down house or blown up rubble of a gas station stood as a testament to the war. The fight never happened where the rich and happy politicians live, but it was the ghettos and small towns across the country that has seen the most destruction.
I caught sight of the Genesee Towers and the idea of having to blow up half the town I grew up in, soured in the pit in my stomach.
“It's game time boys and girls, there is no room for mistakes and no time for problems, think on your feet and stay wide eyed.” I dropped the CB mic on the floor and made the last few checks to my gear as I could. Anybody who had their gear ready, rolled down their windows and planting their butts on the car door yelling to alert all of the civilians that a battle was about to happen and to evacuate immediately.
“This is a conflict zone! Evacuate immediately!” We yelled in unison, our voices echoing through the silent city that was no longer in use.
Each vehicle broke from the pack in synchronized harmony and headed in the direction of the building they were assigned. As my car came to a screeching halt we evacuated the vehicle, each man carrying a load that was half his weight, with weapon in hand and destruction in mind, we ran. Without having to give out orders each man began his task.
The doors to the western Genesee tower were lock but we wasted no time with knocking and shot out the glass doors. I took the basement level as the other 5 men took the first thru fifth levels. The basement was pitch black, none of the lights were working and there were no windows and about 4 inches of stagnant water, so I tossed large glow sticks in each direction and took the starlight scope pocket to find my way around. The large beams of steel and concrete rose to the water stained ceiling. My compass helped me to distinguish the western side of the building. It had only been 5 minutes since I had entered the building, so taking the large drill from my back pack I began to drill holes in each support large enough to fit a homemade stick of TNT. After 10 minutes of breaking drill bits, I was down to my last bit and had 3 more supports to drill out.
The drill vibrated in my hands violently as the bit chewed through the support, but it hit a steel rebar, a frustrated high pitched mechanical growl came from the drill as it stated to smoke. The drill was ripped from my hands and spun freely before its motor burned out. A sharp pain shot through my left hand from the drill smacking it when it broke free from my grasp. I had no time to check my hand so working through the pain I continued stuffing each hole with TNT, then putting all the home made plastic explosive I had around the undrilled beams.
“We got company, about 30 minutes out.” Sean alerted over the walkie-talkie.
“Who is finished setting their explosives? And I need any extra brought to me ASAP!”
“This is David and I am on my way to your poss with a shoulder full of primer cord.”
“Ok the rest of you run your detonation wires to a safe local and wait for my call.” I ordered.
David took about 5 minutes to reach the basement, wasting no time he began to weave the primer cord around each pillar as I set the wiring. One after another Matt, Blake and the rest called out over the radio that they were ready. The explosives were now set and I put a wooden dowel though the hole in the spool of wire. David took the left side as I took the right, running as fast as we could we headed out of the dark basement and climbed the stairs, making our way out of the building to the road. The light stung our eyes and briefly blinded us but blinking and shading our eyes from the sun we were able to run down the road to a safe location.
When my eyes adjusted to the light I could see in the distance our enemy.
“Here we go folks. Get ready for my signal.” I yelled over the radio.
The Army cautiously made their way closer and closer until they were in clear sight. We stayed in the shadows as to not alert them to our position. When the lead tank was 10 yards from the Genesee tower I stepped out of the ally, and stood at the intersection of Kearsley and Saginaw.
For a few minutes neither side moved. The Army tank started to creep forward as a megaphone atop the APC shouted out.
“This is the United States Army. Stand down.”
The tank crept within the blast zone of the building as the other tank came around it's left side. They both moved side by side now making my job easier.
The sun was starting to set, as it lit up the sky with a beautiful orange light, a soft wind kicked up the dust in the air as I raised my right fist in the air.
Both tanks stopped dead in the shadow of the Genesee Tower. With my fist still in the air I turned the back of my hand towards them and let my middle finger fly in defiance.
“Death to Oppression!” I yelled as I raised my foot over the small black detonator box at my feet and with the mightiest scream I could, I yelled out the signal.
“FREEEEEDOM!”
I stomped my foot down onto the detonator and watched as the deafening explosion ripped its way out of the buildings. Black smoke and fire engulfed both tanks as the building began to topple over onto them. The left tank to my shock slammed the gas and floored it towards me just in time to escape the deadly rubble that had buried the other tank.
“Shit one of the tanks got through. Fall back, now. David, get to your truck and grab something to take care of this tank.” I yelled over the radio as I ducked down a side street to get to my car.
The tank was right on my tail, the driver of my car came flying around a corner two blocks down and hauled ass straight for me. They almost made it before the tank got sight of them. The driver pulled the e-break and spun the ass end of the car around at me and popped the trunk, giving me time enough to grab my 50 cal Sniper rifle case. The tank opened fire with its heavy machine gun as I darted away from the car. I looked over my shoulder and could see the car explode from the massive artillery shot as it tried to escape.
The explosion picked me up off my feet and tossed me through a storefront window and knocking me out. I came to with my ears ringing and my head spinning. I looked to my left and reached for the case holding my 50 cal. I could see my middle, ring, and pinky fingers were twisted and mangled. I wrapped my right hand around the contorted middle finger and taking a deep breath pulled it outward and snapped the knuckles and broken bones back in place as best I could. The pain was excruciating but the adrenalin coursing through my veins helped with that. Doing the same with the other two fingers, I took the medical tape from my vest pocket and wrapped the three fingers tightly together. I sat up feeling a stiff aching pain in my body and grabbed the gun case strapping it to my back.
“Michael, are you there? Michael can you hear me? I got my RPG and am waiting for the tank to get to the intersection of Pasadena and Saginaw to take it out.” David informed everyone.
The rest of the 7th made their way back to the base as was planed, but David having brought the only RPG stayed behind to try and take care of the problem. It was strange that the tank would keep moving deeper and deeper into enemy territory though.
“Shit! David it is heading for HQ. You have to stop it before it gets there. I'm on my way to your location.” My voice was panicked.
“I know. Are you ok Michael? We seen your car explode, and thought the worst.”
“No I busted up my hand pretty bad and feel like I got blown threw a wall. Oh yeah that's exactly what happened.”
“Who was in the car? No one can get Drew on the radio. Was he in the car?”
"Patterson, Emmit, Jefferson and Teddy were.” There was silence over the radio as I picked myself up and shook off the pain.
“I'm on my way David. If the tank gets their first you blow it to hell. You hear me David, you do it for them.”
I climbed out of the window I was thrown through and looked for a vehicle. There was a huge parking garage to the west so I ran as fast as my aching body would let me. With each step my right hip jolted with pain and I could feel a warm liquid running down my leg.
“I really hope I shit my pants.” I over optimistically said out loud.
It was not the case though. A small piece of shrapnel was sticking out of my hip. I stopped running and reached down to grab it, and as soon as I touched it an excruciating pain shot up my side, and I realized it was scratching the bone. I placed my left hand on my right hip applying pressure around the shrapnel and quickly pulled it out. It was bleeding pretty steady so using my right index finger I stuffed gauze in the finger sized hole, and started to hobble in the direction of the parking garage.
I was jogging by a pawn shop when something in the window caught my eye. It was an old Enduro motorbike. Taking a few shots with my 1911 pistol at the window weakened it enough so that the metal gun case was able to finish the job. Unscrewing the gas cap it was obvious there was gas still in the tank. Lifting my wounded right leg over the back was a pain in the ass quite literally, but having to kick start the bike was even worse. With a loud pop and plum of black smoke from the exhaust, I hit the gas and jumped it out of the broken front window and made my way down Saginaw Street to catch up with David and the tank.
“How long was I knocked out?” I asked myself after 2 miles and no sign of the tank.
“Can you see the tank yet David?”
“No, but I should have by now. What’s going on?”
“Dammit, we lost an M1 in our own backyard, how the hell did that happened.” I yelled over the radio.
“Hey this is Drew. The tank went down Martin Luther King not Saginaw. It was chasing me and Sean but we out ran it.”
“Good Drew. You guy’s get to the base, grab some more RPG's and get your asses back here. We can't let this bastard make it to Mt. Morris.”
I turned down Hamilton and pulled the throttle back as far as it would go to try and catch the tank at MLK Blvd. Getting closer and closer to MLK, I could hear the tank's load engine letting me know it was not far.
When I got to the intersection of MLK, I could see the tank was only 200 feet ahead. I needed to get their attention so I could lead it to David. I hit the breaks and pulled out my pistol, took aim at the tank and popped off 3 shots before the tank came to a stop, I shot 4 more times in rapid succession to get their attention, it worked as the turret turned back at me and the tank started to move in reverse. Before they could shoot I slammed the throttle and whipped the bike around driving back the way I came, it was not long before the tank was looking down the street at me. I knew they were less likely to shoot at a house that could be holding civilians, so I turned off the road and drove across the yards, which didn't stop the tank from taking shots at me. Heavy machine gun fire rang out as I zigzagged from yard to yard dodging a hail of gun fire by the skin on my teeth.
The tank fell for the bait and followed me down Hamilton back to Saginaw St. As I tried to swing the bike around to turn left down Saginaw the tank fired a shell in my direction, the shell hit about 20 feet to my left and knocked me off my bike into a ditch. Adrenalin was the only thing keeping me coherent at this point, I picked myself up quickly and using the smoke from the explosion, I escaped north down Saginaw. I cut across the street to the west and started to hop fences and cut through yards so I wouldn't draw attention to myself, I could hear the tank keeping a slow pace a block or so behind me.
“David he is back on Saginaw, and we should make it to your position in a few minutes. Get ready!”
“Are you alright Michael, you sound pretty weak?”
“He just about got my ass, again.”
“I thought with that last shot he did.” David laughed.
“No time to talk Dave, I am running for my life.”
I continued for 2 or 3 more miles cutting through yards and hopping fences despite my broken fingers, the hole in my leg as well as whatever other injury's I didn't know about. The tank had slowed its pace and fell back 2 or three blocks. As I neared Pasadena I stopped for a second to take my rifle from its case. It was still neatly packed without a scratch on it, even after the case was banged all to hell. In the lid of the case there was a hole and to my surprise a bullet still lodged in the bottom. On the down side the shot ruined my clip so I only had one round left.
“That's new!” Poking my finger through the bullet hole, I had a small laugh before I made the sign of the cross and thanked God for my good fortune.
Slinging the massive gun over my shoulder, I hopped over what I hoped was the last fence I would ever have to jump. My feet hit the green grass just as David yelled from the corner.
“Michael! Down here.” He was slightly crouching next to a blue house with ugly red shutters.
He waved me over, but he didn't only get my attention. The indisputable crack of an XM 2010 sniper rifle rang out from close range as I watched David take a direct shot to the chest. The force of the bullet slammed him against the house before he fell to the ground. It was dark but the street lamps gave me enough light to see the enemy sniper across the street about 75 feet away. He turned, and noticed me sliding the gun off of my shoulder. I leveled it on my target as I could but he was too close to use the scope so I had to shoot without sights. Both guns rose to their mark simultaneously, then we each took one shot. I watched as his head exploded into a blood red cloud of meat and liquid, the contents of his scull were forcibly painted on the side of the white house behind him.
I walked over to my compilation to collect his rifle, an old act of trophy taking amongst snipers. There was not much left of his head as I reached down to take his rifle. The 50 cal. bullet passed through his head and then through the house behind him, leaving a smoking hole that you could see the neighbors house through. But along with the gun I took one of his dog tags so I could personally write his family an apology for having to take his life. When I pulled the tags off of him, I could see the tattoo on his neck. It was a skull wearing a red beret with two rifles crossed behind it. Like a revelation the memory from last night hit me. This man was the sniper from last night.
I contemplated not taking the tag because unlike all the other lives I had taken I did not feel bad for this one. A life for a life I thought, but knowing he was an American like me, I could not hold my contemptuous feelings against him. Putting his tag in my vest pocket I turned to go and find David’s body.
I stepped into the road and walked towards the house David was shot at, but I had forgotten. Forgotten there was a tank on my tail, it pulled up to the intersection with its BFG facing me down. I was stuck in the open and had nowhere to hide. If I did try to run the blast from the shell would still kill me. I stretched out my arms and closed my eyes. Shock set in as everything around me slowed down. The crickets chirped slower and the tanks engine cycle slowed. Then I heard it, the last sound I would hear, the snap of a primer. Then an ear shattering explosion that even in the failing light of day, lit up the inside of my eyelids. I thought I was dead, but the cool night wind snapped me back to reality, and when my eyes opened I could see the turret section of the tank was peeled back and set ablaze.
“David’s alive! You son of a bitch you’re alive!” I yelled in elation.
Running as fast as my battered body would carry me, I made it to David. He was sitting propped up against the house with the spent RPG next to him. I dropped down next to him and grabbed his shoulder.
“David I'm here. Snap out of it David and stay awake.” He was going into shock so I tried to keep him a wake.
“Michael.” He coughed
“I'm done man.”
“Don't talk like that you'll be alright. Does it hurt?”
“Not really, just feel numb. I can't move my legs.”
“Man, this can't happen.”
“Under my bed, a box of letters.” He began to convulse and vomit blood, and he died right then in my arms.
“Game Over, I love you brother.” Was the last thing I said to him.
I threw him over my shoulder and walked down the middle of Saginaw Street for a mile before my friends showed up to reinforce us. We laid his body in the back of the truck and not a single thing was said the entire drive.
The next day I buried a brother. I buried him because I let a moral quandary get the best of me. It was my fault he was dead.
David was laid to rest under a large head stone, fashioned in the shape of a cross made from the wreckage of the tank he destroyed before he died. In the middle of the cross set a bright red star with a blue ribbon painted in the center. In black on that ribbon are painted the words.
“Never Again”
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