My whole body immediately contracts as if in rigor. My hand, locked tight around the remote, keeps the button depressed. I feel as though I’m on fire.

I seem to be on the outside looking in. Time slows as I watch myself convulse and scream. I fall to the floor hard, hitting my head and dropping the remote. I’m still standing over myself watching, as I search for breath from having the wind knocked out of me.

After what feels like an eternity of struggle, I gasp suddenly and deeply. The rushing air of inhalation sucks me back into my body.
_______________________________________

“CONTACT RIGHT!”

Several rounds impact the side of the building in front of me, causing chunks of cement to spall into the street. I take a few steps to cover and kneel, supporting my weapon on the broken wall in front of me.

“Ben! Shoot him!”

I look over my left shoulder and see my squad leader pointing down the alley I’m facing. A bullet ricochets off the wall to my right and sprays me with dust.  Putting my cheek to the rifle, I stare through the scope at the target. The boy is no older than twelve. Finger on the trigger, I hesitate long enough for him to turn the weapon on my SL.

I see two muzzle flashes but hear nothing.

“I’m hit!” I hear John yell.

I instinctively pull the trigger and the kid drops hard onto the street. I rush to John and pull him back to my position. He’s breathing but it doesn’t sound right. I can see the armor plate caught the first round but the second was higher, just above it and went through the upper lung.

“Corpsman Up!” There’s a ragged desperation from having to scream those words again.

As I press down on the wound and reach for his IFAK I hear my call echoed down the street. Why did I hesitate? I should’ve just followed orders. I roll him over and look for the exit wound and any other injuries. I hear Doc’s pounding foot falls as he turns the corner into the alley and slides up next to me, removing his med bag in one smooth motion.

John starts to cough and spit up blood. Our SAW gunner, Mike, bounds across the street to our position and begins to assist Doc. I turn back to the wall and check high, low, and call out to our fourth man, Dan, to cover me. I run down the alley to the kid, kick the gun away, and begin to search him.

In my haste, aiming center mass, I didn’t account for the M16’s zero in comparison to target distance. The round hit high, striking him in the neck. The pool of blood continues to expand, accelerating as his heart rate increases. When I’m sure he’s no longer a threat, I drag him back to Doc.

There’s no room for all of us behind this half wall and Doc is still working on John.

“Mike, go back to the corner. I’ll help Doc. Get Dan to call in the 9 line, we need a bird ASAP.” My voice is loud, not from the deafness of gun fire, but a result of adrenaline.

I face left down the street and yell to Dan that Mike is moving, then turn my attention down the alley and search again.

Second fire team advances to our corner and moves John back with Doc.

“What about the KID?!” I yell.

 I saw Doc glance at him as he left and shake his head. I look back at the boy. With his last strength he reaches into his shirt for something and I draw down. I had searched him but was so hyped up I couldn’t be sure.

He held out a photo of a woman. She looked like him but older, so I assumed it was his mother.

“Amrika qatalat ‘amiy.”

I could barely hear what he said but it burned into my memory. The blood-stained image fell from his hand onto the ground and he went limp. Unable to move, I watched the light fade from his eyes as simultaneously a piece of my soul died with him.
_______________________________________

The cold stone I lay on smells too familiar; a drone in the distance, a shaft of light on my face.

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