He didn’t need to see what it was that made the sound of
steel against concrete. He
recognized it immediately and shouted, “Grenade!”
He dove behind a demolished taxi just before the
explosion. Fragments of metal and
bullets flew around him from all sides of the burned-out vehicle that provided
shielding. Upon realizing none of
it hit him, he took a quick sigh of relief. Then he heard it.
“I’m hit!”
The curtain of enemy fire continued. When he turned to his right, he could
see him dragging himself backward behind a grey sedan that rested on its
side. Between that car and his own
was an open space of ten yards. An
open space through which bullets endlessly streamed.
Still behind the taxi, he rose to his feet and crouched in a
sprinter’s stance. He gripped his
rifle in his left hand, not its natural side, and after another deep breath, pushed
off of the concrete and ran across the exposed area. He squeezed the trigger, blindly firing in the enemy’s
direction and was mildly aware of the fact that he was shouting as he did so.
He heard the whiz of bullets past his head. He heard pebbles of concrete splash
against his fatigues as rifle rounds sprayed into the street around him. As he reached the other car he did not
slow down but dropped to his hip and slid into the underside, letting his
impact with it stop him.
“I’m here, buddy,” he said. “You’re gonna be alright.”
He worked automatically to stop the bleeding, not knowing
exactly what he was doing and bullets continued to ping into the car in front
of them. Soon, they were both up
to their knees and ready to push forward.
“There’s still a lot of them.”
“I know, bud,” he assured. “Just stay behind cover and take the left. I’ll take the right.” He inched himself to the car’s bumper
and fired a three round burst, striking an enemy soldier in the neck and
dropping him instantly.
“I got another one,” came the voice form behind after a few
shots.
“Good job,” he said.
“We should be thinning them out.
I’m going to look for a chance to move up to that green hatchback. I should be able to get a better angle
on the rest from there.”
“Wait! What
should I do, dad?”
He paused, turned to his son and placed a hand on his
shoulder. “You keep doing what
you’re doing,” he said. “Don’t be
nervous. I’m not going too far forward without you, I promise. I’ll come back for you. And if you need help, you just yell and
I’ll come running.”
The boy nodded and let out a deep, nervous sigh before
saying, “Okay.” His father patted
him on the head, smiled and turned his attention back to the battle.
As he peeked around the car’s bumper again, his son began
spraying cover fire down the length of the bridge. He took his sprinter’s stance again and made a break for the
hatchback. This time, fewer
bullets seemed to fly past as his son held the assailants at bay with his own
barrage.
Once behind the safety of his new cover, he glance back at
his boy, crouched behind the sedan, firing at their enemies and pride swelled
within him. Then, he recovered a
sniper rifle from the body nearby, dropped his assault rifle to the ground and
aimed down the bridge.
The scope made it so much easier to see where the bastards
were hiding. With their attention
on the majority of the fire coming from his son, he saw head after head pop up
from behind wrecked vehicles and took them out one at a time. First he plugged an enemy firing
through the rear window of a police car.
Next came the man advancing on his boy, apparently unaware of his
position by how upright he stood in such an open area. Then it was the one behind the white
pickup who kept lofting grenades at them.
He took a special pleasure in this kill, reasoning it had been this same
soldier’s grenade that had nearly killed his son moments earlier.
The enemy fire was becoming noticeably lighter as he and his
boy stayed calm and continued to fire.
The tide was beginning to turn and their checkpoint lie just on the
other side of this last wave.
As he looked down his scope to try and took aim at another
shooter’s helmet, he heard it again, the sickening clink of the grenade landing
beside him. He pushed off to his
right and unexpectedly wedge into the corner where the car’s fender met the
wall of the bridge. Knowing he did
not have enough time to leap over the hood, he dropped to his stomach and hoped
for the best.
The blast was deafening then became a ringing. His vision went red. He was disoriented. He knew he had taken shrapnel, but also
knew he was still alive. He turned
his head to try and get his bearings.
He dragged himself to the opposite end of the hatchback in an effort to
call out to his son and was startle to see a pair of enemy boots rushing around
the corner.
As he attempted to raise his rifle at the threat, he became
keenly aware that he would not do so in time. He watched in slow motion as the enemy assault rifle’s
barrel raised to point at him. He
wondered in that moment if his son would be able to complete the mission
without him.
As he attempted to roll to one side and brace for the impact
of the bullet, his would be killer’s body fell to the concrete beside him. From behind the body rushed his son.
“I’m here, dad,” he said and worked quickly to stop the
bleeding. Instantly, his vision
cleared and he braced himself beside the car. “Stay down,” his son added. “There’s only two more. I got ‘em.” He
watched as his son fired around the side of the hatchback. After a few burst from his assault
rifle, he moved back behind the car and listened.
“Is that it?” he asked.
“Yeah, let’s get to the smoke.”
They advance together, father behind son and stood near the
green plume of smoke where they were to meet their ride. Soon, a helicopter swung in low and
dropped a ladder. Across the
screen came the words, “Mission complete.”
“Awesome,” his son said.
"Nice job, buddy,” he agreed and they high-fived.
“Can we do another one, dad?”
He looked at his watch. “Okay, we got time for one more. But remember, this is only because you’re home sick. Don’t tell your mom I let you play Call
of Duty.”
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment