First thing that comes to mind when someone saw me was “FIRE”. Two cylinders with valves, long hose and a metal pipe in my hand made enemy shake in fear, and they were right to do so. Every battle turned ugly in a second I pulled the trigger and screams echoed the field.

Five men ran in zig-zag, touched the craters and knocked out transporters that brought us to the beach and kept going. One guy led me like a lost puppy, sending hot metal towards the enemy bunkers, pushed me down when they return fire. Yells, screams and shouts were blaring normally around the mud filled potholes where our soldiers waited for those few brave one to clear the terrain.

– Get up! Move, move, move! Covering fire! – a young soldier shouted, pulling my shoulder belt, then he took a ran toward the next resting point.

Bullets rang over the heavy metal plating on the transporter that was in a thick black smoke with a little to none visible fire. The driver drank a full mag, same as his copilot and a dozen of men that were trapped in the door. Dismantled bodies laid beneath us, half merged with wet sand and scorched ground. Tear and sweat had the same taste dropping from the clean shaved face which was now covered with scratches and foreign blood. Big breaths and long jumps took me behind the broad side of the beach wagon where two men scouted the field and called in the artillery, based far away on the ocean surface.

A wave of rounds fell whistling from the above and tore apart the small hill in our vicinity, then we all moved against the defencive fire coming from the bunkers. I felt their evil eyes on me, radiating from the dark of the thin opening on those grey boulders no one attacked. Flaming bullets advanced in a form of rain, mowing down our charge, stopping us in place when the artillery barrage fire elevated the first layer of sand in the air and gave us cover. We didn’t stop until I was on top of the hill, facing the entrance of the huge grey pile. Valves opened to the max, spark ignited the barrel and two guy jumped down the trench, opened the door and threw couple of grenades inside of the fortification.

– Let it rip! – strongly disfigured face of an angry officer looked and me and pointed at the steaming iron door, when I approached it and squeezed the damn thing in my hands.

Visor fell down and the system showed me the number of soldiers inside. A gentle pressure on the trigger released the flames that flew out to greet the enemy. Sound of the running gasses brought me happiness, even more when the bodies turned into a crisp, hiding behind the robots they used as shield. Their screams had no effect on me, not even when they ran out of the bunker seeking help and mercy. Fire made no difference between a human nor the machine, it consumed everything, leaving only a black trace and a signature of battle.



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2 thoughts on “Happiness

  1. Pingback: Black cloth | Dronstad

  2. Pingback: Blog’s log 2 | Dronstad

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