One, two, three, four, five, six, seven shots from Ford, the truck rocking after each one. You’d think my gunner had gone insane with the way his maniacal laughter boomed over his gun rounds. A second barrage of gunfire shakes the truck, then a third wave. He is having way too much fun right now.
Let him have fun, no way is he allowing these asshats to bring him down.
Shark sits with his gun at the ready, patiently awaiting orders, no doubt his body thrumming with anticipation at the thought of getting these bastards.
Owen’s driver door is open as he starts spraying the tiny can onto the ever-growing flames.
It’s bigger than we thought.
“Shit! This one’s out. We need another fire extinguisher!” Owen climbs back in, his door slightly ajar so he can get back out once we figure out what the hell to do.
Ford shouts over a short break in gunfire, “Scout’s team is pulling up Corporal!” I can barely hear him over the damned alarm in the cab. It’s making my ears ring. “Hey! We need your fuckin’ fire extinguisher!” Ford shouts to the neighboring team then continues the barrage of bullets to the building.
Why won’t these assholes go down?
We have to be making some sort of headway with this enemy.
“Shark! Help Owen and grab their can!” I begin radioing in our location. I vaguely register Shark opening his door, then Owen hops down and takes the new canister. Shark hops back inside the truck but keeps his door wide and gun at the ready.
In this moment we are sitting ducks as Ford reloads.
Owen is placing a huge amount of trust on Ford; he is wide open and could face an enemy strike any second. My gunner will not allow these bastards to win, that’s his promise.
Owen activates the canister and douses the flames, making them recede a bit.
“Awe, shit! Awe, Fuck!FUCK!” I hear Ford yell the same time I turn to open my door, about to get out and join the firefight.
BOOOOM!
Blinding light fills my vision as a massive explosion rocks the front of the truck, a direct hit from the first one. Another following directly after, this one near the roof of the truck, aiming right for my gunner.
Searing flames and metal blast the whole driver side and inner part of the cab where the door remains open. My head ricochets off the side of the cab, hard, making my vision blur and ears deafen.
Flames and shrapnel explode everywhere – numerous shouts and screams – I can’t make out who says what – it’s total fucking chaos.
“Oh- fuck! Get him out! Get him out!” Someone shouts, not sure if it’s me or one of the other men, or a collective. I can’t think straight, and my back is burning like a motherfucker.
I try to turn but find I can’t move. I have to move. The cab is filled with black smoke, so thick I can’t see the handle to open the door.
Have to get out, need air. My body screams its protest.
I will protect my men.
“Ford! C’mon man! Awe- fuck! Gunner down! Gunner down! Ford! Stay with me man! CORPORAL! RADIO FOR A MEDIC!”
I barely can discern shark’s shouting or Ford’s wailing as a familiar scent reaches my nose.
Burning. So many things – burning - my men - all burning.
“Get them out!” I bellow, my throat straining from my yell. The metallic tinge of blood clings to the inside of my nose, unmoving. It will never escape me now.
I can make out the faint glow of a fire raging outside our windshield, my vision clearing enough to locate the door handle.
My head spins every time I start to shift my body.
There’s blood on my hands, my blood? I don’t know.
“Get this fucking door open!” I hiss, damn near passing out from the effort. It hurts with each breath, but I don’t relent, yelling for someone, anyone, get this door open so I can get my brothers out.