The Good Marine

What Marines are for

Rounds snapped over his head, he was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Base Plate this is Super 6-3, I'm still at the crash, running low on 5.56, three mags of 9mm left, two 40mm grenades left. When's my EVAC coming?" There was static on the radio, yelling in Arabic surrounded him. Goddammit. I'm fucked. Just please let my family and everyone I love know I died fighting... He lifted his rifle up, changing the magazine. He flicked the rifle barrel up onto the tail of the helo, muzzle clearing the edge. He squeezed off the whole magazine, suppressing enemy combatants in his area. He dropped the mag, empty and slid in his last one, smacking the bolt catch, chambering a round. Last mag. Here we go... He fired seven rounds and looked to his left, looking at one of his Marines, Juarez, dead on the ground. His M249 SAW was on the ground, he looked at ammo belts around him. I'm gonna feel so bad about this... He slipped his Glock from its holster and loaded a round. He sighed, thought for a second and then he sprinted, his Glock held up to his side, not even aiming, but he was squeezing the trigger. He was halfway when he felt a sharp pain in his leg, he stumbled, but he kept running. He pounded across the sand, jumping behind the sand/concrete wall. He sat his Glock down and lifted the SAW up onto the wall, loading it. He breathed softly, then began squeezing the trigger, holding it for a second, then letting off. He kept firing bursts until he ran out of ammunition in that belt, then he began reloading. In the middle of reloading two Taliban came around a corner to his left. He dropped the SAW and picked up his Glock, squeezing off rounds, watching them drop, he started reloading his Glock but was interrupted by another searing pain in his side, blood pouring on his leg and side now. He was having trouble breathing, wheezing now. He coughed, standing up, blood dripping down his chin. He started running, barely moving, but still. He radioed, "Base Plate, I've been hit. I'm pulling away from the crash heading south. *cough* Send some help ASAP." After that, he fell, crawling in the sand, but his radio crackled on. "Super 6-3, were sending some help just hold out." Sound soon faded out, then his vision blurred and blacked out.

                He woke up on the helo ride, blood all over his stomach and leg. He looked up at a Marine Corpsman, looking down at him.
"Ally! Oh my god." He smiled up at her. "Danny, you're alive. Good. You've been shot twice by an AK. Surprised you're alive." She smile down at him. He slowly blacked back out, falling into a deep sleep.

                He woke up maybe two weeks later in a field hospital on FOB Pheonix, dressed in black BDU shorts with his tags on his neck. He like down and smiled at anothe tattoo on his arm reading "I survived." He looked at bandages on his midsection and leg. He sighed and laid his head back as his CO stepped in, 1Lt. Garrison. He tried to stand up, but inevitably failing, Garrison catching him. He laid him back down, looking at him. "Son you need to lay back down and rest. You've been shot twice and you just need to rest. But you are one of the most talked about Marines on base. Man, do you even remember what happened? You killed 34 Taliban and rescued 9 Rangers and a Marine. You did all that single handed. You fucking rock."
He looked up and laughed, smiling. "Thank you sir. When am I going home?" He looked at him. "Tomorrow morning you'll be back in Oregon." He smiled "Sir, I can't thank you enough." He shook his head, "Don't thank me." He smiled and slowly sulked back into his bed and close his eyes. When he opened his eyes he was sitting on a plane in deserts, dressed accordingly. He smiled and looked at a little girl and her mom, sitting next to him. He looked around as the little girl smiled up at him. "Mister, are you a Marine?" She had a soft Hispanic accent. "Why yes I am." His Scottish accent shining through softly. "My daddy's a Marine. Do you know him? His names Marco. Marco Juarez." He sucked in a huge breath. Holy shit, that's Juarez' daughter and his wife. Oh shit. "No, no I don't. I'm sorry." He smile at her a little as the pilot announced they were landing.
He smiled as they touched down and he got up, walking to the gate with his ALICE pack and patrol cap. He stepped into the terminal, surrounded by Marines and family, wives and girlfriends, but he didn't see any of his family or anyone he knew. He walked through the terminal, then outside and to his truck, still not seeing anyone. He sighed and get in, starting it up and driving home. His dad had died two months ago and his family let him. He lived on his own in his grandparents old house with his dog Mac. He had one of his friends watch him while he was gone. He pulled into his driveway and parked his truck, smiling and turning it off. Here we go. Wonder how they're gonna react...