Multiple Contacts

Multiple contacts. The words echoed in my head.
A deep fear grew in the pit of my stomach and gnawed at the back of my mind. Wrapping my arms about me, I stepped to the window and grimaced.
Two jeeps and a stolen Humvee roared toward us about two miles away, barreling clouds of dust tailing them. The desert sand whirled suddenly in the chilling wind and whipped across my face, cracking my lips and stinging my eyes.
I stepped away from the window sill and turned my back to the breeze, leaning against the wall nearest me. It was this that let me know I was still alive. This pain was all that I felt, even with the cold numbing me.
I walked slowly into the other room and warily dropped into the sand covered sofa. Brock (our medic) was already sitting on the other end and grinned at me from the corner of his eye. He pointed with his thumb behind him toward the backdoor.
I followed his aim and stifled a chuckle.
Murphy was a few yards away, attempting to impress a few of the local women by teaching them to shoot his colt. The women giggled and whispered in Korean to one another as they took their turn aiming without any rounds, Murphy wrapping his arms around them and pressing into their backs with his body as he “steadied” their aim.
Brock looked up, catching my attention, as Captain Thomas stepped inside and shook the sand from his BDU’s. Without speaking, he conveyed to us they were nearly here. Brock stood and stretched, cracked his knuckles, and heaved his medical supplies to his back.
I did the same and found my Remington 700 right where I left it. I checked the scope, adjusting for long distance, and loaded the eight round magazines, placing the four remaining in my belt.
I walked to the backdoor and rapped my knuckles against the doorframe, signaling Murphy to put it away and come in. I could hear him muttering under his breath and swear, but he knew better than to defy the Captain’s orders.
I slung the rifle across my back and headed upstairs, each step a resounding thud up the old creaky wood. It was a large house about forty years old and made entirely of wood. Eight rooms including the kitchen and living room built it up. A single bulb was placed in each, however most were out as it was just nine in the morning.
The high sun shone bright, casting deep long shadows against the small town. The wind creating eerie creaks and squeals. The neighing of livestock contributed to the atmosphere.
I pulled down the small ladder to the attic and ascended them heavily, closing them behind me. The attic was a small room, maybe eight by nine feet. The room was dark and had no light, only the large window facing out. The light did not stream in, making an ideal perch, and instead hid me in shadow as I took aim.
The vehicles were already killed and the men around them. Screams echoed as women and children were fired on. The men laughed maniacally as they slaughtered their own people below.
A radio crackled and came to life to my left.
I lowered my rifle and grit my teeth, the command still burning in my skull.
Do not fire on targets until I give the command. That means you, Shepherd.
I sat in torture, silent and watching. It was the waiting that churned in my stomach and made me sick, not the fact none of us had had more than a single strip of dried beef to eat in the last four days. Gunfire resounded loudly and echoed off the small wooden houses, the air heavy with screams and gunpowder.
A steady breeze kicked up and small dust devils spiraled across the small fields in between homes. House after house, the murderers entered then exited, always with less ammo in their guns and more blood on their hands.
A flicker of hate shot though me.
I hated these men.
It had been six years since I last saw my family, my wife and daughter, and here these monsters are, destroying families of other men. Taking anything they ever had and turning it into something else.
They moved to a house closer.
How could they do this?
Another house closer.
Can I really sit by and watch this?
Another house closer.
The men moved into the next building, a small house, and left a few moments later, three shots still ringing in the air. Suddenly a small child leapt through the door, tears streaming its face and blood flecked across its pajamas. Its small red face shuddered and wrinkled as she wept and cried out. The men turned on her, smiling wickedly. AK 47’s raising slowly.
A single gunshot rang out, shattering the silence.
The body collapsed and convulsed, splattering blood and gore across the dusty earth.
I reloaded and looked through the sight again, my barrel smoking. The child ran into the next house and a woman opened the door and took her into her arms, slamming the door behind them.
The men spun around wildly, firing in all directions in a panic. Their wide eyes shone like glowing targets, illuminating the red haze I now saw before me. Bullet after bullet I sank into these “men”.
The Captain shouted on the radio repeatedly but was drowned out by the gunfire. Smoke and woodchips erupted around me as they zeroed in on my location. Suddenly firm hands threw me to the ground and held me there as more bullets destroyed the room. I tried to get back up but his grip held.
I heard more gunfire down below as we opened fire. Dull gunshots reverberated in the old wood of the attic and shook dust from the rafters. Brock pulled me to my feet and stared me hard in the eye before tossing me an M16.
I followed a few feet behind down the stairs. The firing grew louder and grew in intensity until I was beside my comrades.
Captain barked orders from behind cover as Brock dragged a bloodied Harris to the corner. Murphy was still by the backdoor, firing around the corner with Snickett and Emerrit holding down the front. Bullets whizzed past and exploded into the back walls and into our cover.
I dashed into the kitchen and pulled the stove out, followed by the refrigerator, until we had a barrier. Bullets pinged off the metal but it held.
I looked over at the captain who sat back down and covered his ears. A bright flash followed by an explosion followed. I reloaded my rifle and laid the barrel over the barrier, firing at any open shot. The clips went quickly as more and more sentries appeared.
I ducked as I caught attention and moved across the room to Snickett just as a bullet passed through his chest as he reared back to throw a grenade. He slipped away and fell beside the explosive.
It erupted amidst several of the attackers, as I threw myself to the ground after throwing it. Sand and gravel blew in through the window and filled our lungs.
I peered over the top and cried out as a RPG appeared out the window across the street. I leaped up and was thrown off my feet as the missile took out Emerrit and the front wall, debris and shrapnel colliding against my back.
I hit the back wall and slid to the ground as night enveloped the house.
A bleak beam of light shone through the night as my eyes opened. My eyes ached as my throbbing head hummed with a high pitched ringing. I opened them and saw daylight, with everyone just as they were: Brock attempting to find all the pieces to Emerrit, Snickett half buried in rubble, Murphy by the backdoor, the women in the door a few yards away of their home; however the Captain was not.
It was then that I realized I was moving, and looked up to see him dragging me across the living room as the commotion and mayhem of war returned in a sudden crescendo. Bullets rained down on us and the occasional explosion shook the house and our morale. It was then that another missile blasted through the kitchen and passed through the back wall. Flames scattered across the wooden floor and licked their way up the walls.
The Captain shouted something inaudible to Murphy on the other side of the flames, then as if in slow motion, his face contorted and a volley of bullets tore through his chest. A large crimson stain grew across his torso and dripped onto my face as he stumbled backwards and slid down the nearest wall. Brock ran to him then to me.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him as his blank gaze stared right at me.
Unsteadily I got to my feet. I looked around for my M16 and picked it up, running to cover as bullets tore apart the floorboards around me. Brock slid near me and fired over his cover with a .45. I stood and fired on the enemy, dropping two with headshots and a third to the chest. I saw two more jeeps outside the city and scowled at their reinforcements.
I looked at Brock who nodded and said a quick prayer before unpinning his last grenades and leaping over the gaping hole to the nearest jeep. An enormous fireball engulfed the street and another dozen lives were lost. A cold tingling grew up my spine and left me feeling hollow and numb. It was then that I felt the pain and knew I was still alive.
However it was also then that I knew this was temporary, and it was the lives of those less lived who deserved a chance.
I stood and walked to the stairs, bullets colliding into me, followed by a silence as I trudged up the stairs. Murphy watched in surprise and dropped his rifle. He spun around the corner and climbed through the windowsill to the women’s house.
I sat, Remington in my hands, and leaned back against the wall of the attic, awaiting my assailants. The gunfire was gone, the world a silent graveyard, and the sky mourned all those lost to their sister, Mother Earth’s children.
Slowly, the loud creaky steps of the stairs met my ears, and the men emerged in the darkness. I closed my eyes and lit a flare, blinding the men and tossed it down the stairs and opened fire.
The body pile grew so much that the attic floor near the stairs collapsed, and a hail of gunfire echoed downstairs through the hole and into me.
Being shot was nothing like I expected. The impact was breathtaking, but after that was bliss. A silent world of no pain, no fear, only understanding. I knew I was dying and my blood pooled below me and dripped through the attic floor, but it was my choice.


* * *

The Remington sniper rifle fell from the soldier’s hands and laid by his side loyally. His eyes passed through his life and found no regrets, slipping away. The men left him there and searched the house finding nothing but the deceased, and left it to be consumed by the flames.
The murderous men, having nearly four dozen casualties, headed back to their vehicles to continue the raid another day, and passed by Murphy as he held his breath within the women’s home. He hugged the women tightly and stepped back, relieved.
It was then that he noticed his colt within her hands. He stared at her in disbelief as she fired the gun he had taught her to shoot into his chest, emptying the magazine. His body was left there in the doorway in a stain to be remembered.
It is only when one accepts their fate and admits their life has been had, that one can die in peace and truly live.