The Soldier
#1 of Writing Prompts
Here is the first prompt for the writing group I am in.
Prompt #1 is "Seven Seconds into Regretting that Decision"
It is for this group here: https://t.me/joinchat/CPoeZhclggenrOEh0yYwvg
These are gonna be pretty short and casual. Trying to get the rust off my writing brain parts.
The Soldier
Iraq, 2004
The sun beat down as the soldier squeezed his way out of a sandstone alleyway. He had panicked as his squad got attacked. He had been running now for what felt to him as eternity. The coyote was panting, scrambling to find a place to hide and give him a chance to think. He scanned the streets for and alley or building to duck into. He ran aimlessly into another narrow corridor, his backpack catching on the walls. He collapsed onto his knees, tears and sweat streaming down his face. This wasn't how he wanted this to go. This wasn't how he wanted to die.
He heard his radio begin again, his body tensed up again until he remembered the headphones in his ears. He quickly shimmied his pack off, turning around to pull his stuff through the alleyway into a small opening. It was dark and quiet. Most of the windows were bordered up. He looked around and saw that this was once a courtyard. There was a small bench with a dusty flattened soccer ball. He set his things down, sitting down beside it, trying to catch his breath.
He looked over his pack. Some things were missing. Some had shrapnel embedded in it. He looked himself over to find he had been spared where his radio had not. He could hear his squad speak but when he tried to speak, there was no response. He felt around to find that his rifle was missing, left behind in the truck. Dread sunk into him as he collected his things, strapping himself back onto his bag. He couldn't stay here. He was too vulnerable. He unsheathed his pistol, getting himself ready for a fight.
There was sounds of movement behind him, causing him to turn and face it. There was nothing there. He didn't take a chance to investigate, just made his way in the opposite direction. There was an opening back onto the empty street. He checked every window and door before slowly walking into the opening. He heard talks about a bridge to the south over his radio. He glanced around, looking for any bridge, but he saw nothing. He needed to get to higher ground.
Across the sandy street a door stood ajar. The building stood a couple stories high. The soldier approached it with caution. Pressing himself against the wall, he listened as hard as he could for any sound. Even after a minute of nothing he groped around for a flash grenade, tossing it against the doorway, bouncing it into the room. He braced himself, holding his hands steady, ready for a fight.
When the flash was over, he rushed into the room, watching every corner, eyeing every nook and cranny for any signs of movement. He crossed the room, carefully, slowly. There was nothing. The building had been abandoned. He didn't ease himself, no sigh of relief came as he made his way up the stone stairs. He kept himself low, trying to make as little noise as possible. The hot sun welcomed him as he reached the roof. He looked around for any danger signs. Smoke rose from streets and the sounds of distant gunfire around him as he looked across the city. The coyote grabbed his compass, looking to find south. As he dusted it off he saw that it, too, had been destroyed in the fight.
"Fuck!" He yelled as he threw the compass across the roof. He crumpled to the ground, beating the dirty floor with his fist in frustration. He threw his bag off his bag, reaching inside for a smoke grenade. He didn't like the idea, but he felt he was out of options. There was one for emergencies in here somewhere, he had to have one. When he found it, he felt a weight come off him. He set the thing off, tossing it to the other side of the building. He sat himself down in a corner, trying to stay out of sight, while also having a visual on the steps leading down into the structure. He calmed himself, keeping his pistol aimed at the staircase, listening closely to the radio for anything.
It was minutes, but to the coyote, it could have been hours of unblinking focus on those stairs before he heard it. Among the voices on the radio, someone mentioned the bright green smoke coming from his rooftop. They called for him, but he couldn't answer. He prayed someone would put together that his radio was down, or that he couldn't speak.
"His radio might be down sir." The coyote was so happy he could almost cry.
"Radio or not, you need to get the fuck out of there!" His S.O.'s voice sounded a little worried. The radio continued, "We are going to try and get you to safety, but you need to hurry and get out of that building. Head south, towards the mountains. We will meet you at the outskirts."
He nodded, lifting his head up a bit to look for the mountains before dashing towards the stairs . Once inside the cover of the torn building he rushed down to the first floor, looking for an exit. He pressed himself against the door before opening it, listening for any sounds outside. He risked a peak through a window to see nothing on the street. He took a deep breath before opening the door.
Outside hadn't changed, though the sounds of fighting were starting to sound closer. As he made his way towards the mountain he heard a gunshot, louder than the ones before. Before he felt it, he saw the cloud of red in front of him. He lunged to his right, back into an alley. His arm began to feel the pain. Running through the narrow corridor was made harder now with his wound brushing against the limestone. He looked back to see someone holding a rifle down the small space. He fired at the man as he pushed his way through, into the courtyard he had been in earlier.
As he freed himself from the confined passageway, he fell to the ground. He let go of his bag, thinking only of running. He dropped anything he didn't need. He finished emptying his clip into the alley to buy some time. He ran as fast as he could down more alleys. Turning to head to his group, hoping they were close.
As he ran, the streets grew larger, the buildings smaller. He started to feel like he was going to make it when he saw something rush by in front of him. In a panic, he shot at the door, but nothing happened. He had forgotten to reload. Without hesitating, he threw the pistol to the ground, pulling a grenade from his belt and tossed it into the open door, running past it. The door flew open as he passed it. In his peripheral he saw it. A child had thrown himself out the door as the grenade went off.
It was then that the soldier stopped. He stood there as the child laid on the dirty street, riddled with shrapnel. The small canine couldn't have been older than eight. The coyote rushed to the child, getting on his knees, looking at the wounds. The kid was dying, there was nothing he could do.
All the soldier could do was ramble, muttering, "No, no, no.. Please no.."
He heard voices around him and the rattling of guns. He was surrounded now. He looked up at the small crowd of men, blurry through his teary eyes.
"I'm sorry.." The soldier said, to each of them, over and over, "I'm sorry... I.. I'm sorry!"
He didn't mean for this to happen, he was acting on instinct, he just wanted to escape. His voice gave up on him as the men talked to each other. The coyote lowered his head, bracing for death.
He heard a volley of gunshots and he hit the floor, expecting the end. The fire continued, he heard yelling and when it stopped, and the dust settled he realized he had not been shot. The men who were standing over him were on the ground. He looked around, confused until he saw the truck. A squad that was unfamiliar to him had rolled in. He felt someone's hands grab him and help him onto the back of the truck. The men congratulated him on being alive. The whole group was excited, even as the medic look over his wound, everyone was cheering.
All the soldier could do as the other's rejoiced was to look back onto the floor where the child lay motionless. The soldier survived. He was alive.