Something Worth Fighting For

Chapter 2

I was woken up by the silence. I guess I had dozed off sometime during the night. I opened my eyes to find I was slumped over and had rolled into the bottom of the trench. The eerie silence gave me an uneasy feeling. I slowly rolled over, but stopped. My breath had caught in my throat, because staring back at me were the glazed eyes of a dead Marine.

My eyes were locked onto the body lying next to me, silently watching me. Dried blood ran from his nose across his cheek, the dark earth stained crimson underneath his head. There were several bullet holes in him, most in the torso, but two caught him in the neck. I still couldn't hear anything. I put my hand to the Marine's head, said a silent prayer, and gently closed his eyes.

I found my rifle, thrown a few feet from where I was, and got up to one knee. I slowly poked my head over the horizon of the trench, towards the open desert. I saw maybe 50 burned out tanks, mostly North Korean and Chinese. That gave me a chill, because we had no idea that the North Koreans were even here. I turned around towards the base, and nearly shit myself. I fell back and swiftly swung my M16 up and aimed, but relaxed. I had turned around to see a gun barrel pointed right in my face. Behind it lied the corpse of a Chinese soldier.

I got up and pulled the rifle, a Chinese version of an AKM, away from the body, just in case he was pulling a fake death. I climbed out of the trench and saw the destruction in front of me. Walls knocked over, buildings burned down, and vehicles wrecked. At that moment, everything hit me. I collapsed to the gravel and began crying. Hell, crying doesn't even describe it. I was bawling my eyes out. I was lucky to even be alive. How I never took a bullet to the back of my head while I was out in the middle of a battle amazed me.

Ten minutes went by, but felt more like an hour. I finally gathered myself enough to stand. My face was dusty and tear streaked. I realized how bright it was and looked for my sunglasses. I found them, a pair of Oakley's, and slipped them on under my helmet. I shuffled along the worn path of where the Humvees and Abrams tanks had rolled across so many times. Even though it was unrecognizable, I found my platoon's bunker.

I climbed through the destruction to where I thought my bunk was. After a few minutes of digging, I found a beaten, scorched box. I scratched off some of the scorching, and found a deer painted on it. I immediately knew it was mine.

I opened the lid of the box, and found what I had been looking for. Pictures from home, letters from friends and family, and various other objects. I pulled the first picture I saw out, and tried to contain my emotions. It was a photo of me and my entire family, the day of my graduation from high school. I felt like crying, but couldn't. I had wasted all of my tears already. I put the picture back, and slid the box in my backpack.

I walked carefully across the demolished base, watching just in case the Chinese or North Koreans were still around. I found the supply hall and crawled through the debris left by a tank shell. Once inside, I pulled a flashlight from a tool pouch on my vest and flipped it on. I was surprised to find that everything was untouched, except for the rubble and and gear thrown around by the explosion. I swung my rifle around my shoulder and strapped it to a sling-lock on my backpack. I pulled my handgun from my holster and made sure it was loaded. It was an M1911 with a 10-round magazine, perfect for moving about in a ravaged place like this. With my handgun in my left hand and my flashlight in the right, I searched through the supplies.

After about ten minutes, I climbed back out into the sunlight with some more things. A canteen, MREs, and another add-on pack of survival gear that I strapped onto my issued pack. I then went to the rec center to see what else I could scrounge up.

Upon entering, I raised my rifle as precaution, just in case there were still enemy troops hanging out. I saw a dead Korean slumped against the wall, a blast going through his chest and leaving his blood spattered across the plywood. I moved into the main room, where the television lay on the floor, riddled with bullet holes. All the tables and chairs were thrown over, bullets lodged in them. Bodies lined the floor, both Marines and Chinese. I found an unattended backpack and opened it. Inside was a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and some other personal items. I grabbed the cigs and lighter and left the room.

Once outside again, I pulled a cigarette out and lit it up. I never considered myself a smoker, but I needed something to take my mind off of things. I took a big huff and let the smoke out in a loud exhale. I sat for a couple minutes, wondering if anyone knew about what happened. I wondered if anyone knew I was out. The nearest city was Benghazi, thirty four miles away. I knew I would never find enough supplies to make a trek like that in 100 degree weather. I decided I would stick it out and see if a rescue team would show up.

After a couple minutes, I pulled my helmet off. My forehead was drenched in sweat. After about a month of being away from the normal civilian city, my hair grew long and covered my forehead and hung down to my eyebrows. I reached up and wiped some sweat away, then dried my hand off on the leg of my MARPAT BDU. "Holy shit, how the hell do people live here?" I muttered to myself. I took one more puff of my cigarette and smashed the end in the sand. I plopped my Kevlar back on my head and grabbed my rifle. I used it to stand myself with the extra 80 pounds of gear strapped to me, and scanned the horizon. The heat was sending mirages up from the ground, which distorted everything at that distance, but I was unable to see anything. I looked back at the demolished base, and that was when I realized; the bunker was still standing. I didn't know if the gooks had gotten in, but I knew I needed to get inside. I sprinted to the trench where the entrance was a dove in.

The door looked closed, but when I started to check the lining for trip wires, it swung slightly open. "Aw shit, they got in," I said, a chill running down my spine. I steadied my M16 and kicked the door in. It looked empty, the map table flipped over and things thrown everywhere. I took a step inside, and took a hard hit to the side of my head. I sprawled to the floor, and rolled over ready to fire but found the barrel of a shotgun inches from my face. I lowered my rifle and heard a deep growl of a voice say, "You be American, motherfucker." "Derrick?" I asked, a little stunned by what just happened. The muzzle lifted from my face and I saw a hand outstretched, and Jordan Derrick standing above, a broad smile upon his round face. "Grable, thank goodness you're still alive!" I grabbed his hand and he pulled me up. "Sorry about the head, thought you mighta been a chink." I gave him a smirk and replied "I would hope I'm not." I saw something move and saw at least twenty more Marines standing around. "What the hell happened last night?" "The fuckers hit us with a bombing raid, took out coms with Central. Tanks rolled out from that ridge and didn't hit until they were a couple hundred yards out. By then, their infantry were up in our face and unleashed hell. As far as we know, we're the only survivors." Derrick replied. No communication with Central Command? That's definitely bad, I thought.