SIW: Adam & Bronwille Ch. 08

I didn't care, I hated them, I wanted them to see me, to know how much I wanted to kill them. Before I knew it I was firing and moving forward, ignoring everything else. "I'm gonna kill all you sons of bitches!" Sweat stung my eyes and added to my anger as my own voice sounded foreign to my ears. I needed more than this. Bullets are too good for them after all they've done.

I slung my M16 over my shoulder and ran for the last guy I'd shot, darting through trees and underbrush. You'll pay! You'll all pay! My fists were in his face more times than I could count before I could hear the Lieutenant's voice.

"Simmons! God damn it!"

So few words and yet powerful enough to get my attention. I could hear Lt. Bradley's weapon firing and that's when I turned away from the bloody pulp that used to be a face. There were three more hidden in the trees that I couldn't see from where I was, but he could. God damn it, the ammo carriers!

Unlike the enemies who carried an AK47, I'd completely forgotten that Charlie used people to carry ammo for the RPD gunners and they were usually armed themselves. I was too angry to focus and I was about to get us all killed.

I ran to the nearest tree and shouldered my weapon. A quick glance showed me Simmons, lying still on the ground, eyes open, staring at nothing. I didn't know where he was shot, but what I did know was that it was my fault. I gave away my position, letting them know we were there. I fucked up, Simmons. You didn't deserve that.

I was angry again. Angry that they'd cut down an eighteen year old before he'd had a chance to really live; angry that I didn't kill them all and I intended to make up for that mistake immediately.

I fired. I Reloaded and fired even after they were down. I wasn't satisfied with their deaths. I wanted their ghosts to catch my bullets before they made their way to the afterlife.

"Stop wasting the fucking ammo O'Neill! Jesus fucking Christ! Do you think bullets grow on trees out here? I'm of half a mind to send you over there to take them back out of the damned bodies!"

"Sir! Yes Sir!" Hearing his voice, I knew they were all dead. It won't bring you back Simmons, but I'm glad I could give you this much.

The Lieutenant moved quickly to my position and looked me in the eye. "You ever pull that bullshit again and you won't have to worry about Charlie, Son!"

I read him loud and clear. He knew I'd fucked up and he looked about three seconds away from putting a bullet in me himself. "Yes Sir!" I looked back over to Simmons feeling bile racing to the back of my throat. The pain that I felt for being responsible for his life was beyond the anger that I'd just lost myself in.

Seeing Simmons like that ate me up inside. He was still breathing ten minutes ago. His eyes seemed to call out, "why?" It was a look that I had no answer for. I couldn't explain why I was so completely consumed with such strong hatred, lost to the point that I didn't think and I completely ignored all of my training.

I fell into a dark place in a dark time and I was comfortable there. I would have stayed in that place if it wasn't for the Lieutenant's loud voice jerking me back to reality. Reality? What did that actually mean for those whose lives were the stuff of nightmares? For those who killed or sought to kill every waking moment?

What's our reality? What's real when you see a man beat a woman into unconsciousness and then rape her? What's real when children are sent to you as living weapons? What reality finds you shooting women and children on sight as potential threats? Fucking Charlie!

"We're moving back to the bunker. Help me with Simmons." Lt. Bradley was already trudging through the thick underbrush toward his body. He kept his eyes moving, actively searching for any additional threat.

"Sir, let me take him. I owe him." There was a lump forming in my throat when I pictured Simmons' folks when they came to claim his body. It was too much to think about at the time and I tried to push it down.

The Lieutenant could see my emotions even with my focus on hiding them and moving on. He watched me pick up Simmons with as much honor and dignity as I could. "Son, Marines don't die, they just regroup in hell."

I nodded and a smile crossed my face. "Then we'll make sure to send him plenty of company for target practice, Sir."

It was a rare sound but when it was heard, everyone took notice. Lt. Bradley let out a hearty laugh as we walked back to the bunker. He was covering my rear, making sure no one got the jump on us while I was carrying Simmons. With so many losses, the Lieutenant had to take on the role of every officer to make sure we survived and got the job done, and he did that and more.

"Damn right, Son! To err is human, to forgive divine. However, neither one of those is Marine Corps. policy."

Only Lt. Bradley could make a joke while dressing you down at the same time. God damn you Bradley! They don't make 'em like you anymore. He was right. Marines didn't forgive and I wouldn't. I'd kill every last one of 'em if I had to for what they'd done. But damn it if he didn't hit the nail on the head with the first part.

I'm a Marine. I'm not supposed to fuck up. Fucking up is for politicians and civilians. The guilt of not being there when Simmons needed me was going to haunt me forever. If I'd stayed where I was, I would have been able to cover him. I wouldn't have been carrying him; he'd be walking beside me. I can't fail anyone else. I have to be there to protect my brothers or anyone else who needs me.

I made two promises to myself on that day, promises that I thought I'd never break. I promised to never let my anger overrun my judgment again; one I knew would be hard to keep. Any injustice, any suffering, any senseless violence would have the power to bring me back to that dark place.

I knew that I would fight that demon until the day I died because it had worked its way into my heart like a tumor, embedding itself until it was as much a part of me as anything else. I could fight against it, but I couldn't get rid of it without leaving a hole that couldn't be filled. Would I even be whole if I let it go? Could anything fill that void without making me lose my mind?

I also promised to never leave anyone I was responsible for unprotected. I wouldn't repeat that mistake ever again. If my anger got the best of me, then I'd just have to drag someone else along through the fight, but I wouldn't turn my back on them and I wouldn't leave them behind.

So I did my best to live the words of those promises. Promises I made because of a life I wasted. Promises that helped keep me sane. Promises that were supposed to be indelible. I'd given my word to Simmons' body on that day to keep those words in his honor.

I always thought I'd be able to keep those promises. Sadly, I was wrong.

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Bronwille had a hard time breathing. Her hands went to her cheeks, finding them covered in tears. No wonder he had sounded so tormented in the poem he had shared with her. Their stories were as different as day and night could be different, but their inner turmoil could compete on so many levels. She felt too drained to respond to this and closed everything and shut down her laptop. Coming up with a fitting reply would have to wait till morning.

To be continued...