Redemption
“Sweltering heat, flies and dirt; they call this the cradle of civilisation and all I am yet to see is old broken down cars and Iraqi villagers yelling at Jameson in another language while the translator is hurriedly and confusedly trying to get them both on their way. These people live in dilapidated houses and their language sounds like someone is strangling a duck. I can see why no one wants us here. I’ll be home soon Kit-Kat, my tour is up in just a week and I have no intention of coming back. Tell little Jeff that Daddy is coming home.”
Corporal Dwight had put his letter down. Time had passed so slowly on duty that he realised the only thing that kept him sane was writing home to his wife and little baby boy. The day had already been a long one and it was barely fourteen hundred hours. The checkpoint still smelled of rotting goats from when an Iraqi peasant had mistakenly herded them through the gates, causing Pvt Jameson to fire his M4 into the breach, not just killing the confused farmer but also his family’s livelihood. That night he was laughing at how he finally “killed a damn Hadji.” Now he is arguing with two Iraqi men who are having trouble opening the trunk of their car. Dwight had been there nearly a year and had already experienced enough of the local scenery to deter him from ever visiting the Middle East again.
Suspicious of the two men, Sgt Crews had left the gate’s barrier with Cpl Hoffman and started shouting out to Jameson. “Jameson! What the hell is going on over here? Go to the North exit!” Crews had been trying to decipher what the translator was saying whilst Hoffman was attempting to restrain the two men. As chaos fuelled by incompetency ensued, a fully veiled woman holding a baby had approached the Northern gate whilst crying in her native tongue. It was as Jameson starting losing his temper towards her, and Hoffman was abusing the Iraqi men with every racial slur under the sun, Dwight had been considering what he’d be doing right now if he had never enlisted.
“Hold it right there! Whakif!”
“Show me what is in the Goddamn trunk!”
“Step any closer and I will use force! I don’t give a damn about your baby!”
“Stay the fuck away from the weap-”
Shock. A rumble. A loud crack had been heard as the smell of a thick gritty smog had filled the air. The woman in the veil had disappeared along with her baby, claiming the soul of Jameson as he had been completely erased clean from the face of the earth. Hoffman, still in shock and only having a split second to react, noticed the Iraqi villagers reaching into their now open truck to reveal what was two unkempt Soviet-era rifles. Before they even managed to present their weapons, Hoffman had placed several rounds into their chests, watching as their lifeless bodies had plummeted to the salty earth.
Another crack, almost like a gentle whisper in the distance was followed by the sound of a harsh hissing that whirled past Crews and straight into the right kneecap of Hoffman; shattering it on the spot as he too fell to the ground. For Dwight, his worse imaginings had been coming into fruition. A week before he was due to be relinquished from this arid hell, an assault had taken place on his checkpoint. These insurgents, perhaps local villagers, had come to be the deceased peasant’s redemption.
A white van had pulled up by the checkpoint, and out poured several insurgent militia, each armed to the teeth with automatic rifles and rockets. Unloading an untamed rage whilst screaming in their barbaric language, their fatalist fanaticism only seemed to further increase their lustful cravings for destruction. Their cries; a choir to the sound of death as a rocket whizzed past Dwight and landed next to Sgt Crews and the translator- killing them both instantly as they were blown into pieces.
“Take this you sand fuckers!” An injured Hoffman screamed as he fired his pistol on the ground.
Dwight desperately reached for the radio.
“Delta Two One, Delta Two One: Checkpoint Niner Charlie under heavy fire. Requesting immediate assistance!”
Hoffman, now disarmed and overrun by insurgents was fighting on the ground with what means he had left. Wrestling with tremendous effort, a terrible blood curdling cry was heard as a man in a green veil came out bearing a cold 12-inch machete. Hoffman froze; a chill ran straight down to his very core. Dwight, attempting to save his doomed comrade fell to the ground and watched onward helplessly as he got shot in his mid-section, coughing blood from between his lips. The insurgent in green had stamped Hoffman’s already shattered kneecap, causing him to taunt his executioners with what Arabic he knew as he embraced the harsh reality there was no hope of him getting out of this alive.
The insurgent’s machete had tore through Hoffman’s pulsating throat as a testament to his loud-mouthed nature. Beheaded, the idle expression of terror now remained on his lifeless face, his cranium being hoisted on the barrel of a gun as they fired into the air.
Now they turned to Dwight.
The radio buzzed.
“Niner Charlie: Come in. Ghost Spectre Ares’ Redemption is overhead.”
A smile rose on Dwight’s face.
“Niner Charlie, please respond...”
The insurgents drew closer...
“Multiple friendly KIA, Green-Light. Rain death from above, let these bastards pay.”
Dwight smiled, closed his eyes, and beared the letter to his widowed maiden and orphaned child, dedicating his last thoughts to what type of man his son may grow to be. His eyes opened gracefully; the crackle of a God was heard overhead as the sky had opened up and a bright light had descended down from the heavens. The God of War’s holy wrath whistled to the sweet hum of its ensuing destruction. A bright light. Nothingness.
