Don't be afraid.
Deafening screams are heard as you move quickly through the tall grasses. You are covered in dirt and grime, your body pushing its limit through the sleepless nights of warfare and the unmerciful heat from the sun which drains your body, somewhat. You are not heavy in muscle, no, only the idiots bulk themselves like body builders while you play smart and stay lean for your own sake of stamina. Sparks from AK-47s flash nearby, you can hear the power behind the gun as audible thuds resonate through their victims' chests. Blood sprays from the gun wounds of your comrade, but he was dead before he even hit the ground. Death, murder, fatalities, these were events that you were obligated to face when you were reborn in the Army. Your rebirth was bold as you accepted the fact that your new life would be on the line; death did not scare you, enemies did not make you cringe, you were reborn into something that made you forget the tedious chains of human nature.
You are not alone.
Indeed you have a malicious fireteam of your own, they move as one and their skills are immeasurable in each job they specialize in, resulting in tactical flexibility. However, you are a shooter and as sharp as they come. The long months of arduous training has etched deadly instincts into your hard drive, you learned nothing but precision, hasty reloading, quick decision and discipline with your M16 rifle or your M4 carbine. These were the requirements of becoming a 'Devildog'; these were the abilities that would keep you alive on the battlefield. That is why you are a rifleman. Your squad needs you, and you need them. Brothers in arms as there is never a stronger bond alive on this earth when you can honestly say: "I'll die for you."
Honor in warfare.
You managed to take out all enemy figures in the tall grasses, calculating the time it took you to do so. 2 minutes and 21 seconds to take out a group of 8 men who shot with irrational abortion of thought. You see, they simply wanted to survive and you wanted to complete your mission. Your will is stronger; will always be stronger, because you fight for a cause that involves a whole country. Continuing, you faced no casualties (unless you count loss of mags) and listened as your Team Leader approached, observing your mess of war. "Good shit, scout." You smirk and shrug your shoulders. "I do what I can, Sergeant." Suddenly, open gunfire is blasted. You were lucky, to come out of the attack unharmed as you crouched low and cocked your weapon forwards, peering as the enemy began to evade. You hear a groan behind you and turn to see your Sergeant down; looking closer his wound on his shoulder was bleeding profusely. Without any more words, you stand. You're filled with nothing but retribution against the enemy that had the audacity to shoot your team leader.
At a full sprint, you track down the enemy quickly as he's running towards a clearing, attempting to get back to the security of his camp. The only problem, he was running from a Marine. It didn't take you long to set up and aim at the back of his head, particularly, your finger wrapping ever so slowly against the trigger. Without another thought, you unleash the bullet, watching the man stiffen before falling forwards in a lifeless slump. A cold chill passes through the air and you look up to see the setting sun that caused the sky to embrace a dark red and orange hue. There were no signs of regret in your expression, only a cold calculation that you were going to shoot many more enemies to come. Your integrity was incomparable, your honor intact and your mind clear of everything but your duty. Turning your back on your kill you start walking, your head held high and your weapon held downwards against your side. This was the lifestyle you chose, your own free will to become a protector of your people, your sacrifice of leaving loved ones behind to see again after a year or so, your contribution to your country; for a hero is someone who steps up when everyone else steps down.
You are a Marine.
- All in all, pretty deep. Although I can't get too in depth because I don't have the proper knowledge on the subject. Dedications goes to the only Marines and soon-to-be Marines I know. The writing piece was based on a four-man Fireteam, the 'you' playing as the Rifleman/Shooter. I feel confident in my writing skills, details were alright, could have done better but I was more focused on keeping it as short as I can. Hope you enjoyed. Criticism/Flames are welcome. Compliments/Comments are embraced.
Rodney's Point of View:
Suddenly, open gunfire is blasted. You were lucky, if you believed in luck, to come out of the attack unharmed as you crouched low and cocked your weapon forwards, peering as the enemy began to evade. You hear a groan behind you and turn to see your Sergeant down; looking closer his wound on his shoulder was bleeding profusely. "Oh shit, that looked like it hurt." You mutter as your Team Leader grumbles angrily and puts pressure on his gun wound. "What the fuck are you standing around here for, scout! Get the motherfucker!" The Sergeant barks at you. "Uhh, okay you see if I do this can I get a cheeseburger when we get back to camp?" You ask as you watched your Sergeant's face turn a peculiar shade of red. "Alright!" You mutter as you get back to your feet. "What can a nigga do to get some real food around here!"
Soon enough you tracked down the bastard that had the balls to shoot at you, miss and then hit your Sergeant. Hearing your approach the enemy runs sideways, opening fire on you once again. You hit the deck, ignoring the searing pain coming from your lower left side before bringing your M16 rifle forwards as you carefully aim for the enemy's calves. Firing, you hit your mark and earn a distressful cry from the evading man now brought down by your bullets. Quickly getting up again, you don't hesitate to open fire and swiftly end his life. You stand there for a moment before holding your side and observing the bullet wound, another scar to add to your collection. Your Grenadier approaches you, his expression slightly concerned. "You alright, man?" He asks you causing a low chuckle to escape your throat. "Man I'm fine.. Just... Just get me a cheeseburger.. No onions."
- And to add on a side note, you'd probably say. "Oh I can't wait until my next vacation so I can eat Sadie's food again. Oh how I miss playing Resistance with her and getting whooped." haha jk :D I miss you lots! Come back safe! I love you! *hearts*
Brian's Point of View:
Suddenly, open gunfire is blasted. You were lucky, if you believed in luck, to come out of the attack unharmed as you crouched low and cocked your weapon forwards, peering as the enemy began to evade. You hear a groan behind you and turn to see your Sergeant down; looking closer his wound on his shoulder was bleeding profusely. "Oh fuck; You don't look too good, Sir." You say with a hint of sarcasm. Your Sergeant groans again, putting pressure on his gun wound. "Oh! So you want to suck my dick or kill the motherfucker who shot me?" He roars at you. Of course, you smirk and get to your feet, opening your mouth to say another witty comment. "Nah, no dicks for me today. I got you, Sarge."
Trailing after the enemy was simple, catching him by surprise was not. Since you were moving quickly, the enemy heard your approach and wildly flung a grenade in your direction. "Shit!" You curse before sprinting to the side and diving as the explosion ripped the earth and momentarily deafens your hearing. The enemy shoots wildly in the smoke conjured from the grenade's blast, assuming you were still in that relative location. Using this to your advantage you roll over and hop to your feet, aiming carefully before shooting at your enemy's side. The bullets flew in quick succession, slicing through your enemy's flesh and earning a shout of pain. "Don't cry, you threw a grenade man. Not cool." You mutter as you watch your enemy fall over and curse in his language as he bled heavily.
Approaching the fallen man you silence him with another round of shots, letting your M16 rest on your side. His blood smelled rancid as you began to walk back to your Team Leader, keeping your thoughts to yourself and only wondering what your next mission will be.
- Well, I didn't feel too confident writing this piece. I just wish I knew your personal character better, Brian. Ah well, I hope I was close enough to your real reaction in this scenario! Hope you liked it anyways. :)
Jake's Point of View:
Suddenly, open gunfire is blasted. You were lucky, if you believed in luck, to come out of the attack unharmed as you crouched low and cocked your weapon forwards, peering as the enemy began to evade. You hear a groan behind you and turn to see your Sergeant down; looking closer his wound on his shoulder was bleeding profusely. "Aw shit man.. you got a little blood on your shoulder." You point out as you crouch next to your Team Leader. "Don't be a smart-ass! Wipe that smirk off your face before I make you shit sideways!" Your Sergeant growled threateningly. "Well that doesn't sound too good." You say with a sly smile. "Scout." Your Sergeant said in a dangerously low voice. "Alright, jeez." You mutter standing back on your feet and running after the enemy.
Soon enough, you were stalking forwards, taking the tall grasses as an advantage to creating your nearly perfect camouflage. Your M4 carbine was already set up against your shoulder as you aimed for the enemy's chest where the heart would relatively be located. After a moment of getting your weapon steady you fire successfully, watching your enemy drop dead. Standing up straight now you smirk before you suddenly feel the cold, hard metal of a handgun against the back of your neck. Your body tenses in the moment of danger as you recognize the thick accent of your enemy, speaking as if he already won. Moving quickly, you crouch low and ram your elbow into his stomach, grabbing his wrist, twisting it downwards and then all the way around until you had it locked behind his back. You kick behind his knees and send him down on the ground immediately before smacking the enemy out cold by hitting the butt of your gun to the soft spot behind his head.
"What! I'm a bad-ass!" You shout from the rush of adrenaline that excited your tone. Reaching into your pocket you pull out a small chain with a purple and gray dog tag. The front of the dog tag has a picture of a cartoon known as "Chowder" and the back of the dog tag states: "Purple Nurples!" You smile to yourself before stuffing this trinket back into your pocket and heading back to your Team Leader.
- I got to admit your point of view was the most enjoyable to write, Jake! :D I liked your swirl of sly comments, "martial arts" and cutesy love partner. Hope I was close enough to your real reaction! I salute you! Haha.