97 notches; II

I traced a pattern in the soft soil, feeling the damp dirt give way beneath my hand. I remember grabbing my dehydrated rations, and eating them raw. Now, it seems a bit gross, but then, it was a feast. That’s when I heard it. I just can’t shake the memory. The crack. The thud. Wicket keeling over. It was terrible. You’re the first to know this, but he was the first I’ve ever lost. Within seconds, I was in front of you, thermals on. I gave a brief survey of the woods, counting what I thought to be Tangos. Seven. There were only three of us, so we had to be good.

We all exchanged a a quick glance, and took positions. The first three were down before they even knew we were there. I never told you this, but you missed your first shot. That’s why I added two notches. We finished off the rest of them in less than five minutes. I killed the one that killed Jean. I could tell, he was the only one with a combustion weapon. I have never admitted this to anyone, but I let him suffer. I blew his leg off, and let him bleed to death. I still remember that notch. About an inch to the upper right of the trigger guard. My most shameful notch. I found you kneeling next to Wicket. I felt my heart twist at the sight of him, with you there, trying to hold back tears. We all missed him in the years past. His dry wit broke up the seriousness of our career. With him gone, life was one big battle uphill.

The cremation was the worst part. My gut wrenched as the finality of his death hit me. It took every year of my training to keep from being sick. I don’t know how you managed it. I scattered his ashes in a nearby river. Saluting him for the first and last time, his remains floated out of sight. I don’t know how long I stood there, just watching. I remember the rustle of the leaves as you quietly approached me. I didn’t move as your hand touched my shoulder, and I tried to hide the sorrow that consumed my soul. It may have been hours, it may have been minutes, but to me it seemed like an eternity. Finally, I turned and said, “We’d better get back to camp.” And just like that, the spell was broken, the magic of the moment was lost. You and I turned and slowly walked away. The entire hike back was deathly silent. The oppression of the moment was only intensified without any living activity. As soon as I saw camp, the moment passed. I was Staff Sergeant Ozone once again.

Your a good writer, nice

Tell me when I can buy it in stores.