YOU(Val Amant) I was challenged to write a story in 2nd person. I took the challenge and entitled it "YOU" :O)

Enjoy.

1750 words

~.|.~


YOU
Val Amant

You sprint across the field and drop to a roll when their mortars fire. Their shells come in at least six at a time. You don’t know if you’re still a part of the squad or if you’re the only one alive.

Their 50 caliber machine gun comes into play, forcing you to crawl behind a rock and lay low. You peer into the dust to find dead bodies littering the field, but there are a few still on their feet.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” you say as you cast around for your next move.

The second the 50 caliber subsides you’re moving. You gain a good 50 yards, but are forced to dive again when the mortars and 50 caliber rings in your ears.

You drop into the ditch, roll, then climb the far bank in the prone position until you secure a spot behind a short concrete wall. On your knees, you scan the ground behind you to confirm your squad followed, but there are no others. You collapse, rolling your head backward to rest against the cool concrete. “Ah, f**k,” you say to the grey sky.

The sounds of war fade behind you. You’re ready. You don’t even have to change your magazine—you haven’t managed a shot in the past five minutes.

“Five minutes,” you say with a glance at your watch. “Feels like an eternity.”

All gunfire has ceased. No mortars. You crane your head to listen in every direction. Nothing. Silence.

You collapse onto your stomach and wiggle to look around the edge of the wall. Several of them are hunched, creeping forward. You scope one out, but before you can shoot, you hear a shot from your side of the battle. You watch as one falls, two, then three.

Your target turns to run and you take the shot. He drops.

You reposition and take down three more, but it’s not enough. “There’s so many of them,” you whisper.

To your right, you notice the remains of the concrete buildings that used to be homes. Hundreds of people were either dead or hundreds of miles away.

Why the f**k am I here? you wonder.

The path ahead of you is clear, so you find your feet and crouch, heading for what little sanctuary the rubble might offer. You’re within a few feet of the first wall when they start firing. The barrage of bullets spew dust in every direction, leaving you nearly blind. You dive.

A grunt escapes your lips as the bullets hit your Kevlar vest. It feels like a thousand jolts to your gut and chest, but at least you're alive… for now.

You run to a doorway, turn into it, and squat against the opposite wall. Silence falls again. The wind whips through the ruins as if it’s cleansing it. It’s the first time you feel safe enough to place your M16 on the ground to sip some water and eat a power bar. You take a quick inventory of your firepower and set everything aside. You let your head fall to your knees and let go of every stress, every thought, every worry—just for a few seconds.

In your mind, you’re home. For a moment, you can smell the familiar scent of the wind, feel it playing in your hair. The kids along the shoreline of the river shout as they play, filling your soul with joy.

But the silence—the real silence—is bothering you. Your eyes snap open. The sun is on its way to hiding and you feel even more vulnerable. The hair on your arms prickles even beneath your uniform.

This isn’t a secure spot. Your training tells you it’s too confining, and there’s no escape route. You stand and move further into town, keeping your steps light but quick. You run up a stairwell to a second floor with no roof. The walls are half fallen to dust.

“Perfect,” you say.

You position yourself behind the wall closest to the stairwell. Through your scope, you check around you.

Stairwell, covered. Rear, covered. Street, covered.

You feel not as vulnerable, almost good. In your head, you hear your drill sergeant say, It’s a combat zone.

Darkness sets in. The silence is deafening. Quietly, you sing to yourself.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday

Suddenly, I'm not half the woman I used to be
There's a shadow hanging over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly

You stop, close your eyes, and listen. In the silence, sensory blindness takes over, and even the smells of annihilation disappear.

Your body jerks and your eyes open to the black. This side of the world is still plunged in the darkness.

You glance at your watch. 3 a.m.

You readjust your head, finding the little comfort you can before you fall back into peace.

Bang! Bang bang bang! Bang bang!

You awake to the sound of shots. The sun is edging in as you find your M16 and pull the scope to your eye.

The shots sound off below you and dust flies from the structure’s walls as bullets hit all around you. A head and a gun appear out of the stairwell.

This is my spot, f**ker! you want to scream, but you bite your tongue and take the shot.

Another runs up and turns to take you out, but you send three shots into his body. His AK-47 flies into the air and he slides back down the steps.

You unclip a grenade and toss it down the stairwell. You can feel the building shake from the blast under you, but the floor holds.

The foreign voices shout and grow distant, moving farther and farther away. You pull your mag and reload.

Go! your drill sergeant yells in your head. The memory is so vivid it sounds like he’s right next to you.

You’re on your feet and down the steps in less than seconds. You watch as the fighter jets fly over and take out targets not even a hundred yards away from where you stand.

Infantry is edging down across the street. You step out with your hands in the air, your M16 held high for them to see. The lead acknowledges you with a nod and motions to move forward.

Your team is here. You’re going to do what you’ve been trained to do.

Fire blasts from the second floor of a ruined building, but it’s aimed at the others. They don’t see you across the street. You take aim. It’s an easy shot.

You glance around and, when you see the infantry soldiers creeping forward again, you run into an adjacent street. Bodies are strewn everywhere, on the road and on the tops of buildings. Many are unrecognizable as humans—they’re just splats of blood and guts.

Your eyes linger on the remains, but then you force them away to scan the rest of the street. You find the lieutenant walking toward you.

“Private,” he said.
You nod, but the matter is urgent. You have to ask. “One forty-second?”

He glances to the pavement, then back to you. “One survivor.”

A wordless noise escapes your throat, broken with grief. Your stomach churns as their faces flash in your mind’s eye.

But then your training kicks in again. You snap your heels together and salute.

“At ease private,” the lieutenant says. “Nice job.”

His radio buzzes and, after he mutters a few words into it, he looks at you. “We have a convoy coming through soon to give us a ride home. Until they arrive, stay vigilant.”

You nod.

The lieutenant leaves, shouting orders to his platoon. You feel your knees buckle momentarily as the wind swirls around you and down the street, bringing with it the smell of death.

You close your eyes to pray for your squad, but you don’t have the words to say. There are none.

Later, you make camp with your comrades and find their cook has a sense of humor that’s better than his cooking. Their banter mixed with relief brings a smile to your face even when you think it’s impossible.
The convoy brings in a company under Captain Rogers. The town, you observe, is alive again.

“Donaldson?” he calls.

You grab your helmet and stand to move towards the lieutenant.

“Sir?”
“I thought you might want to say your respects to your squad,” he says.

You hesitate only a moment before nodding. You don’t want to. You must, but you feel like you can’t. It’s too hard.

You are given the honor of removing their tags as the medic logs them in. You salute and hold your position until the last one is loaded into the medivac.

The convoy leaves town the next day, leaving it once again a desolate archive of civilization.

~.~

Six years later, you sit at your desk pushing a pen across a paper. You’ve been in your career for ten years now, and it seems surreal. You sign,

Amy Donaldson,
Lieutenant Colonel

You command a thousand soldiers now and have seen dozens of battles, but whenever your mind is left to wander, you always flash back to that moment when you crouched behind that crumpled wall.

Since then, you’ve learned you were the only U.S. soldier within 50 yards of over 200 insurgents. They were camped out all around you that night. Just thinking about it makes you shake your head in disbelief. You should have died then and there, but you didn’t.

A young soldier is standing before you. She salutes and you acknowledge. You know why she’s here: she needs time off to go home. Her mother passed away yesterday, someone told you this morning. Her red hair and freckles frame a too-young, scared face. Your mind can’t justify her being on a battlefield.

As she speaks, you load her file on your computer. She is a medaled sharpshooter and a third-degree black belt. A certified, trained, lethal warrior. You sign her orders and hand them to her.

“Two weeks, then we deploy, private,” you hear yourself say. You sound more commanding than you feel.

She salutes and you reciprocate. You can tell she’s grateful she has two whole weeks before she faces potential death.

You stand and watch as she leaves the command and disappears.

That’s you, Donaldson, ten years ago, you think. A tear rolls along your cheek and drops to the floor.

---