The Soldier Next Door

We are going down.

Well, I think you can see it is similar to ‘Incoming’ for we are coming hard and pretty fast down to the floor.

I watch as the pilot with absolute breathtaking skills holds the UH-1Y together just long enough to drop us down safely on the floor. But we are leaking fuel, we need to get out and as far away as possible. With complete haste, we unclip ourselves loose, though Gibbs, with somewhat of trembling hands, shaking beyond what can be controlled to free himself, I help him out with what is only mere moments to spare. As we dive down into a nearby ditch, Big Bettie sings her final song as she erupts into flames in burst apart from her seems.

It is with sad hearts that we see this majestic beast go up in flames, she has been part of our battalion for some time now, and it, I can almost say, is like losing a part of the family. This brings a wave of newfound anger towards us, what was supposed to have been a routine flight has now turn out to be one with far greater danger.

We find ourselves on the very far side of Fallujah, the camp is miles away from here. We are looking at least a forty-five-minute drive for anyone to come to our rescue. Further, we are not a full squad either, not that I am saying that these men are not capable of holding the enemy at bay. It would just be a bit more of an advantage if we had some more firepower behind us.

So covered in complete dirt from head to toe, dust stuck in places where there should not even remotely is. We, on the back of the heat of a heli still burning in full flame, we make our way with caution from the ditch. Ideal would be to hide behind the cover of Big Bettie, but that is not going to happen. We cannot become sitting ducks out here, we need to move regardless of the risks. Up there somewhere they are hiding and they are waiting.

There is only one question.

Take them out of getting the fuck out of here.

Well, I, always being keen to take it full-on, is pretty much overruled by the majority of the men that think that this is not the safest option. Stay undercover as much as you can. And move.

And this is what we do.

The buildings out of here are fairly degraded with only but a few walls which make them easy to get through. This will be how we travel until we get to the middle of the city and we can safely call for backup to come.

So with guns drawn, even tighter than before, we huddle in a group together as we move our way through the first building. There is an absolute stench of something that must have recently died. Let me rather rephrase that to scare the shit back into ourselves, someone has died.

With a terrifying jolt to the core, we make it through the rubble and the passages, or that which are left to move through. Then there is the absolute distinct sound.

“Incoming. Get down!”

In an instant you see twelve Marines dive into a pile of dirt and debris. Lewis, barely missing a pole that is sticking out from a rather large concrete slab. In as little as…one…two…three…the missile comes down in a thundering crash sending brick flying over our heads.

They miss…On purpose, I do not know.

Once we are confident that they have not reloaded yet, we move to the next building, then the next one. The fourth one leaves us completely open. There are no walls, not a resemblance of a room, just an empty space of nothing. A trap waiting to happen. And it happens, but it comes smashing past our ears into the third building that has just passed.

Sloppy shooter? Or done on purpose?

We do not stand to debate the answer.

Next we clear two more buildings. The third. We have a little surprise waiting for us. Six of them hiding under perfect shelter. The aim to ambush us? Most certainly. In an absolute fit of rage, being highly annoyed that we have become target practice, I unleash full power as the bullets pump out in rapid precision. Perhaps, well maybe, even true, a bit of overkill from my side. But there ain’t no fucking way that I am being taken prison today.

Satisfied that we have eliminated any possible possibility of a tail, we clear our way forward once again. Two buildings down the row.

“Incoming.”

Oddly this one has now grown closer. As we dive into the mud, I immediately observe that the shooter has in fact moved closer or yet even maybe a second shooter. We have become a clear target to be played with. What the end goal is? I do not care, I need to get these men the fuck out of here.

Clearing…one…two…three…

“Incoming.”

Catching us right as we are heading for the next building, completely blowing the cover of a semi-erect wall, leaving us once again in the open.

Then, in comes a string of rapid-fire. We all scan the area to see from which it came. Not possible, they shot so much dust around us that it is hard to see an inch in front of your face. One thing comes to mind.

“Stay alert, check your back. We might be pushed into a corner.”

Pushed in the corner for what? Possibility of being taken, hostage. Yet as the dust settles, we can safely say that we are in the clear for yet another moment.

Then, in the far distance, there is the unmistakable sound of an approaching truck.

“Take cover.”

Under the remains of what used to be a roof, we hide out of plain sight. The scary realization comes, are they part of those that are playing cat and mouse?NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

Then as it approaches, under the shelter of a rather thick metal roof, I am happy to determine that they are indeed only civilians coming to find any sort of supplies that they can find. God, if I could I would so desperately ask them to get us out of here, but yet again I cannot endanger their lives. Even worse, they might be a front and do actually belong to a group.

So out of sight, we emerge from our hiding place, we step out into the street. The next few buildings are near to non-existent. But the moment we do, there is a new assault of piercing bullets only but missing our feet.

It is now confirmed. We are target practice or a mere toy to pass the time.

Then it occurs to me. They want us alive so they can follow us to camp. Well, that is not going to happen. Under the cover of a fairly low window, we scrunch together to assess our situation. It is decided, we will have to radio in for help regardless of the risk that is being taken. We need to take these assholes out before they think they can so much as follow us around.

So while Gibbs tunes into a secure radio frequency, we scan the area to see from which building the fire is coming from. And then, in the rays of the afternoon sun, we spot the undeniable shine of a barrel. Now it is time to play our turn. In a quick succession of thundering rounds, I hear the snap of rounds that leave the guns of the Marines around me taking fire.

And in absolute elation, I heard Lewis holler out loud, “Got you!”

At least one small defeat, we need to try to keep the one with the missile launcher at bay, yet that is going to prove rather difficult. Finding him is not difficult though, getting Johnson convinced to take the fuck out is even less difficult. I watch as he lines his gun up to a perfect point of aim and with one flick the bullet travels through the air with a speed beyond that of sound and smash him in the center of his head. And with that, we start to feel far safer.

It only takes us a few more rounds of eager bullets to, what we believe, take the rest of them down. Then not even minutes later we hear a Stryker coming down the road. Well to say that I am not relieved would be a blatant lie. So we find ourselves with yet another victory under our belts even though we did not plan this one as routine.

Yet there is the mere fact that does bring a chill to my bone, they were playing target practice with us for only one reason, to get to the camp. But this does raise a whole new question that makes me pull Lopez and Gibbs into the ops tent once we arrive.

“Boys, how did they know we were going to be there?”

“Of course they heard the heli,” is Gibbs’s immediate answer.

“No,” I disagree. “They were waiting for us. We cleared that area days ago.”

“They saw us in the main city and moved in,” Lopez adds.

“No,” I still disagree. “I am telling you now, they were waiting for us.”

“What are you saying, Lieutenant?” Gibbs asks.

“I am saying that we might have a mole in our midst.”