War

A Story by Ashley

Just a short story about a scene in a war. Not my best.

Dear Mrs. Johnson,

We are sorry to inform you that you’re son has died in combat. He was a good soldier who put his life one the line in order to save many others. A true hero indeed. His body will be shipped to you at the latest convenience. Again, your son did a brave thing, we are proud of him as should you.

Sincerely,

The Marines

“Johnson!” The Sergeant yelled. Bullets were flying by his head. He wanted to look around, but he had to concentrate on not getting hit. He constantly called for Johnson. The kid was hiding out. Finally the Sergeant went back to the trench. Johnson was still there.

“Johnson! Your orders were to charge that bunker. If you don’t get your a*s moving, I’ll shoot you myself!” He yelled. Johnson didn’t flinch or yell, he just stared forward, his eyes, blue as a corpse. Sergeant Tooks grew silent. He knew the kid was still alive, but something was wrong.

“Johnson, Johnson,” Sergeant Tooks kept saying, but Johnson wasn’t responding. Finally the Sergeant was smart enough to wave his hand in front of Johnson’s eyes. There was movement.

“Yes sir?” The kid asked at a loud tone. Then the Sergeant knew exactly what was wrong.

Back to the future, Mrs. Johnson had dropped the telegram. She had lost everything. She had nothing left. She too, fell to the ground, weeping in the process. She cried alone, in despair, for there was no one there, not even a cat.

Soon afterwards, Mrs. Johnson had a photo album on her lap. She flipped through the memories, some brought a smile. Then she saw a particular photo. One with her husband. He was in his uniform, saluting the camera. That was the day he died. No one had told her how or why. All they did was send the picture with the telegram. It was also this photo that inspired the young Johnson to follow his father. Of course his mother refused to sign the parental release, but he was drafted anyway. Mrs. Johnson started running her fingers through her soft brown hair, a nervous habit she always had. She hesitated to look at the next page. Tears ran down the paths that were already there. She turned it, and there it was. Her son, graduating Basic Training. After that, him climbing on the train, the last time she ever saw him.

“All Aboard!” The train guard yelled. Trey Johnson had to pry out of his mother’s grip. With no avail, he patted her on the back.

“Mom, I have to go,” he said. Mrs. Johnson was clinging frantically, hoping the train would leave and he wouldn’t have to go. Suddenly they were pulled apart.

“Sorry ma’am, he has to go,” A train guard said coldly. Mrs. Johnson cried as she jerked away from the guard. Anger rose in her.

“You ruined your life! I cannot believe you would do this to me! I don’t know you, you’re dead to me!” The last bit she screamed like she was a madman. The guard had heard enough and pulled her to the front of the station. Trey was pushed onto the train, and into a seat. A tear rolled down his cheek.

Mrs. Johnson was trying so hard to get back in, but the guard wouldn’t let up. She regretted saying that. She knew it might’ve been the last time she saw him. Inside the shell of a tough woman, a heart broke.

It took a while for Trey to figure out he couldn’t hear. The Sergeant was talking slowly so he could read his lips. He wanted Trey to stay put while he got the Corpsman. Trey didn’t want the Corpsman, he could still fight. So when the Sergeant ran down the hill, Trey settled his gun over the hole. He aimed towards the bunker. The first one was an easy shot; the guy was standing still as if he was in shock. Then the targets got harder as he shot into the burrows. He had no idea if he was hitting anyone or not, but the flash from the burrows meant someone was still there. Out of the corner of his eye, one lone enemy was racing towards him. As a natural reaction, Trey turned towards the guy, and fired his gun. Nothing happened. The guy was still coming. Panicking, Trey kept pulling the trigger. The enemy jumped in the trench and started stabbing Trey. The enemy wouldn’t stop, even after Trey was dead. He cut into Trey’s chest and ripped his heart out. He held it high, as if a signal of victory.