My name is Vito Scaletta but the cops may know me as a killer. But first let me tell you my side of the story before you start calling me a killer. It all started in 1935, I was 7 years old when I moved to America. My family was originally from Sicily, however we had to move to achieve the American dream. The American dream was not as I expected , but it's probably because I grew up poor. When I was young I didn't know any better. When my family needed money urgently my first instinct was to rob a store for quick cash. At the time America was in some kind big war with Germany. I got caught by the cops trying to rob the joint, but I failed. I was sent to a judge and he said I had two choices :15 year's in prison or going to the military for 5 years. So I did what probably every rational person would do, I chose the military.
The objective for the Operation Desert Storm was that we had to infiltrate the compound and clear it out. As my squad rushed in front of the building there were a lot of citizens. I knew what was about to come, a shit storm. I took cover behind a box of fruits. I saw enemy snipers all over the roof. By the time I could scream "Ambush," half of my men were already died. I saw my men got pinned down by the heavy machine gunner on the second floor. I tried to take out the machine Gunner with my M1 grand but I could not get a clear shot at him. So I screamed "COVER ME!". I was going to try to throw a grenade on the second floor to take out the machine gunner but I knew if I were to get a good throw, my cover was going to be compromised. I did it anyway. As I was throwing the grenade I was shot in the chest by one of the snipers on the roof. For a moment I could not feel the pain, but then a rush of pain hit me out of nowhere. At the time I felt weak and I thought I was going to die. My friend Bryan saw me on the ground bleeding to death. As I saw Bryan run to me I then passed out. The only thing I could remember was the pain rushing to my chest.
A few days later I woke up in the hospital. The nurses said that the pain should be numb out from the gunshot wound. A day later my nurse said I had someone come to visit me, it was Bryan. I had asked him how was I still alive. He had said when I passed out he had called an airstrike on the building wiping out all the enemy soldiers. I glared at him for a few moments and I told him that was not the objective; we had to clear the building, not destroy it. Bryan said he had no choice but some how they knew we would come, maybe a spy. But he said it doesn't matter because Uncle SAM is giving me a few months with my family since I got shot. Although its been year since I seen my family, I wondered how they were doing.
