A NEW CINDERELLA STORY

Back in Battle

       "Well, if you hadn't gotten the bullet out before now, you would lose the arm," Aaron says as the surgeon stitches up the bullet hole. I can tell he's joking, but I take it seriously anyway.

          "I would have stitched it up too, if I hadn't known there was a town nearby," I answer, Aaron's still in shock about the new information that he acquired about me. Brandon went down the hallway to see how Stella and Alma were doing. The surgeon finish's the stitches and gives me all the information I need, which I already know everything, so it's quick. Then I walk out into the hall, and peek into Dr. Meliona's office. Stella has on a brace and crutches, and Dr. Meliona is explaining to Stella and Alma what to do, so I turn around and slump into a chair as I wait for them. I notice my name on the bulletin board in front of me. I stand back up and walk across the hall to see what it says. It's an article about my rejection to the offer of a lifetime, becoming a full-time Commander and pilot. I only rejected it because of my dad, and I did not know the horrors that awaited me at my used-to-be home. I mean, of course I had heard they were there, but I didn't know them then, not truly. Now, I would take that option in a heartbeat. There is one direct quote from me in the article, "'If the sirens go off in my town, or any city or town I happen to be in, I will fight. It's in my blood, and my troop has been my family for two years, I owe at least that much to them.'" I finish reading that much, when, ironically, the deafening sirens go off, of course. I pull my 680 gun out of my bag. I hate my battle mode, people ask me how I was not scarred from battle, but I was, who could not be, I have PTSD. I have flashbacks to those faces of the soldiers I killed, no one can walk away unscarred. I just hide my scars well. But I still hate battle.

           "Everyone get to the basement, as calmly as you possibly can, fear will only cause frustration." I call, my voice is almost too soft to hear, I hope the fear of the battle wasn't heard in that simple phrase. I head to the door, and load my gun. That's when I hear gunshots, I look out the window, hiding my body behind the wall, my forehead and eyes are the only things showing. There are approximately three enemy troops marching down main street. I start firing at what looks like the highest authorities they have, one hit, falls doesn't get up. Two hit, falls, doesn't get up. A miss, stay up. Five hit, falls, struggles to get up. Silence, dead silence, for mere seconds. Then, in a millisecond, I feel the metal rain of fire, each bullet whizzing by. I'm hit, fall, don't get up. I get up. I duck behind the wall. I hear the wiz of other shots being fired, from across the street, to the enemies. I reload my gun, and try to aim at someone. I can see that I won't be able to get a direct hit, unless they can directly hit me.

             I set my gun to automatic. Aim to my right, where the troops have stopped. I breath, and time seems to slow down as I start running across the street and pull the trigger sending a line of bullets, taking down more souls, that tried to take the innocent lives of civilians. I feel the struggle of what I've done, the same feeling that I get every devastating, horrific, and scarring battle. My life-takers hit their targets. And I make it safely across the street, and reload, with my last bullets, my gun. I can hear gunshots being fired behind me. I point my gun to the army, empty the ammunition tank, and load a couple of grenades into it. I hold my gun slightly higher, and set my gun to long range. And fire straight into the middle of the troops, giving me the reaction I hoped for, the enemy retreats in panic, as planes come raining those devastating grenades from above. I only then turn to see who was firing behind me, the one who might have saved my life. I know whoever they are was probably shot, and are feeling the agonizing pain of a wound in battle, and I am right, how could I not be, I have more battle experience than anyone could ever stand, but I didn't expect to see the man I see. John. He got shot in the leg, where there's now a gaping hole. He's obviously never been to war, and I certainly did not like the feeling of devastation and depression I felt from being back in battle.