“Do not move,”
I opened my eyes.
My whole body hurt.
Billy Joe’s hand was clapped over my mouth. It was night. A fire burned somewhere. I smelled
smoke. We were in the city still. Billy Joe laid on top of me beneath a pile of trash. A spotlight
moved over our position. The wheels of an armoured vehicle passed by. The plastic trash bags that
were covering our heads blew off. Billy Joe’s heart pounded against my chest. Over her shoulder, I
saw a group of armed men cross the trash pile, right next to us. They followed the armoured vehicle
down the street. I exhaled.
“What happened?” I whispered. My vision blurred.
“Thompson’s dead,” whispered Billy Joe, “Bermúdez, lost some fingers. You were only scratched-
up and unconscious. You may have a concussion.”
“Where’s Gunny?” I said.
“Come on,” said Billy Joe. She slid off of my chest then low-crawled over the trash and rubble. I bit
down on my molars and followed her to the corner of a bullet-riddled building. Moonlight cast
shadows against the wall. Billy Joe low-crawled to the skeleton of a Fiat automobile. She returned
with an Alice pack, an M-16 A2, a radio, and a 9mm. pistol. I took the 9mm, put on an earpiece, then followed her into the bushes - over a ruined brick wall - along a fence - to a hillside with a view of a wrecking yard below. At the base of the hill sat a building with no roof. Moonlight shone
directly into the building’s interior.
The armored vehicle drove into the yard, followed by the same men who had just walked past Billy
Joe and I a few moments ago. Jeeps, Humvees, and civilian vehicles formed a semicircle. Their
headlights illuminated the building below us. Men with rifles took cover behind the vehicles.
Muzzle flashes erupted from the building.
I saw the people clearly now, crouching inside.
“Gunny,” I said. I held down my transmitter. Billy Joe flipped the rear sight over on her M-16 and
took aim.
“Glad you could make it, devil dog,” Gunny’s voice crackled in my earpiece, “We’re out of rounds
down here!”
“We could leave him, Gene,” said Billy Joe. She aimed at the vehicles then at the men taking cover
in the background. The side hatch of the armored vehicle opened. A man in uniform stepped out in
front of the headlights. He lifted a bullhorn to his lips.
“Wait,” I said.
The officer spoke into the bullhorn in Somali. Muhammed answered back in Somali. His bullhorn
squealed with feedback. The officer laughed.
“This I have to see with my own eyes,” said the officer in english.
He marched to the entrance of the building. His men followed him. Faces glowed with sweat
beneath the moon and headlights.
“I’m on the hill behind you,” I said. Gunny didn’t answer me. He left his transmitter on.
“I guess you really are a marine then,” said the officer. His men filled the room, surrounding Gunny,
Bermúdez, and Mohammed.
“Prepare to shoot the officer,” I whispered. Billy Joe sat back onto the heel of her boot and exhaled.
Her muzzle moved in tiny figure eights.
“Watch out,” said Bermúdez, “careful with my hand, man, my fingers are missing!”
“Why do you have the face of my enemy, marine?” said the officer. He shined a flashlight on
Muhammed’s face, “just a younger face...” He stepped closer.
One of his men placed the muzzle of his rifle to the side of Bermúdez’s head. He pulled the trigger.
Bermúdez’s body fell to the floor.
Gunny drew his K-bar. He stepped to the assailant and sliced his stomach open. Entrails spilled.
“Cut, cut, stab!!!” said Gunny. He slit the Somali’s throat twice, then buried the knife under the
man’s chin, nailing him to the floor. He stood. Everyone was silent. They all took aim at Gunny
then started yelling.
“Wait!” said the officer, “Everyone stop. Take it easy.” He laughed and patted Gunny on the
shoulders, “You crazy Rambo-man!” He kept laughing and patting Gunny on the back.
“What?!” said Gunny. Muhammed looked away. “You want to kill me?!”
“Come,” said the officer, “this way.”
They marched Gunny and Muhammed out of the building at gunpoint.
“I have a shot,” said Billy Joe.
“Wait,” I said. I turned up the volume on my radio.
The officer barked orders to his men behind the vehicles. They opened the rear hatch of the armored
troop transport. They dragged a group of eight or ten prisoners out in front of the headlights. They
were all blindfolded. Gunny and Muhammed stood beside the officer.
“Rambo-man,” said the officer, “Show me how you did that with the knife. I want you to show me
again, on this man right here.” He pointed to the first blindfolded prisoner.
Gunny said nothing.
“Just this one man here,” said the officer, “Then I’ll try on that man.”
“It’s not happening,” said Gunny.
“Come, please,” said the officer, “show me. If you show, then I’ll let the rest of them go free.
Good?”
“No,” said Gunny.
“Gene...” said Billy Joe.
“Wait,” I said. I dug through the Alice pack and removed three M-1 fragmentation grenades. I
pulled one of the pins.
“I’ll let you go,” said the officer, “Here, show me. I let your friend go too, Rambo-man. Yes! Just
show me.” He handed Gunny his knife back. Gunny looked at the officer. The officer nodded and
smiled.
Sweat stung my eyes.
“You don’t show me, I’ll kill them all, Rambo-man,” said the officer, “I was going to kill these men
tonight anyway. What is two more lives compared to the eight? Plus I’ll let you and your friend
leave this place alive.” Gunny and Muhammed looked at each other. “So what do you say, Rambo-
man?”
Gunny looked down at the K-bar in his hand.
“Ready...” I said.
Gunny looked back at the officer.
“I have the shot,” said Billy Joe.
“Kill him!!! Kill,” said some of the prisoners, “Let us live!”
I let the spoon of the grenade fall to the earth. I prepared to throw.
Gunny smiled. He giggled.
“No,” said Gunny.
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