A Soldier, Left Behind - Tales From The Backwoods, Story #4

Chapter Two

  The grenade blast was almost as unexpected as the soldier who appeared in the doorway following the blast. He ran over to Tommy and turned, shooting two soldiers that followed behind him.

  “You alive, Soldier?” he asked, a deep southern drawl radiating from hair covered face.

  “I think so.” He replied as he studied the man. “Who are…?” The fifty-cal lit up again, interrupting him and dropping them to their stomachs.

  “I’m gonna get you out of here!” he hollered over the pounding thuds of bricks exploding into shards of rock. “Stay on my six soldier, this is gonna get hairy!”

  The soldier jumped to his feet and ran to the wall opposite the fifty-cal and slid to a stop behind its cover, still covering the doorway with his rifle. Private Sinclair jumped up and followed, staying to the side away from the doorway, and the business end of the soldier’s rifle, also sliding to a stop against the wall.

  “Who are you?” Tommy finally asked.

  “The name is Donnelly, Patrick Donnelly! But we ain’t got time to shoot the shit, we gots shit to shoot!” He had no more than spoken the words when another man rushed from the doorway, faced the wall where they had been, and took three rounds from Donnelly.

  “What now?” Tommy looked around, seeing no other paths of escape.

  “We jump!”

  “That’s probably twenty, twenty-five feet! Are you fuckin’ nuts?”

  “Aren’t we all?” Donnelly asked in response with a smirk.

  “You got a spare weapon?” Tommy asked, realizing he still had his knife in his hand and sliding it back into its sheath.

  “Here, take this!” Donelly offered, holding a pistol in his hand.

  Tommy took the gun, popped the clip and swiftly slid it back after a glance to verify how many bullets remained. As he did, Donnelly jumped to his feet. He looked over for a verifying glance, then lunged over the side. He hit the dirt hard, rolled, and lunged for cover against the wall.

  “Oh, fuck me!” Tommy yelled as he hopped up and over the side as well.

  Dust puffed out from under him as he hit the dirt. His graceful roll turned into a backwards belly flop, finishing with a two foot face-slide before coming to a stop. The landing brought a flurry of pain, but no significant injury.

  The expression on Donnelly’s face showed that he had not been so fortunate. A glance at his leg reveal a horrid break, the bone having snapped and pierced his leg, a small bloody shard protruding out from the wound.

  “They think we are still on the...” A burst of pain interrupting him for a second. “Far side of the roof… Get the fuck outta here while you can, I’ll hold them off. Just head north. Don’t stop, don’t slow down. Just run like the devil his self is on your ass.”

  “No fuckin’ way! I ain’t leavin ya.”

  “We got two dozen of them bastards closin’ in on us. They got trucks and I can’t run. I can giv’em hell though, and that’s exactly what I am gonna do. Might even shoot me some tires. Now get the fuck gone before I shoot ya myself.”

  Two soldiers peered around the corner of the building, looking upward toward the rooftop, believing Tommy and Donnelly to still be up top. Tommy raised the 9mm and put a round through each of them.

  “Fuck you, this sucks.”

  “Git, God damn it!”

  “I’m getting’ some help and coming back for ya damn it. Thank you, Brother.” Tommy then turned and ran with all he had as gunfire erupted, bullets zinging and hissing all around him. Another cluster of fire filled the air and Tommy turned to see Donnelly engaged with six of them. Another hiss and a few thunks as bullets hit the ground at his feet, turning his attention back to the terrain to the north ahead of him, and he ran.

  He felt the sting of busted blisters on his feet and a sharp sting filled his back and shoulder as he ran, but he did not stop, and he did not slow down. Eventually he came upon a road. A frantic rush of panic jolted his body to life as he saw a small convoy of humvees and deuce-and-a-halfs. He jumped up and shouted as he ran toward them.

  Soldiers poured from the vehicles and a shot struck the ground at his feet. “That’s far enough!” a voice called out. “Who are you? What are you doing out here?”

  Tommy dropped to his knees, exhausted, and spoke as loud as he could manage, “Private Thomas Sinclair, United States Army!”

  “Get him to a medic and get that wound checked out.”

  Tommy looked up, confused, then looked down to his blood covered arm and the bullet hole in the fabric covering his right shoulder. “Holy shit!” he said, falling forward onto his face.

  As he began to drift away from consciousness, he heard the voice order, “Round‘em up, let’s go see what the hell is happening down there!”