Ambush, Day of Heroes

Lock’n Load Publishing, Day of Heroes

The heat bounced off the rough, pock marked mud brick walls seemingly amplified into the confines of the small building. Inside a squad of green uniformed men looked around.

Breathing heavy, sweating profusely, he could see the drenching fear spread down their backs making their shirts cling to their scrawny shoulders. More than the heat.

They were beaten already the leader could tell.

 

Lt. Abbas could smell the fear permeating thru the confines of the area. They were trapped. Spread across too wide an area with shitty US weapons that looked like they came from ‘Nam. Low on ammo and water, no air support and no one really knew where they were. Perfect. Fucking Americans and their wars he thought.

Outside in the late afternoon heat, the Somalis were going house to house looking for them. There was no love lost between the Pakistani Peacekeepers and the Somali people. “Our methods are too harsh” Abbas thought. Yet these animals fear nothing, and respect nothing but strength. You could beat them, but the moment you let your guard down the filth stabbed and cut your balls off. ” I like my balls”. He said aloud.

“What?” said one of the men.

“Well private Patel, look at it this way. The only way we get out of this with our balls intact is to kill as many of these idiots until they get tired of dying and we can make our way South..” Pausing for effect he continued, “or we wait here and surrender hoping they have a change of heart.” A low chuckle rippled thru the room, lightening the mood for just a moment.

Then the guns started, a block away. Some little kid had likely seen them duck into the building while the rest of the squad was catching up.

 

Rounds peppered their building. Looking outside they could see the rebels approaching boldly across the street. Two or three fell to well aimed shots from his men. They stuttered and stalled. Milling in the street.

Shooting carefully now his men preserved their ammo, center mass to smash plumbing. Round after round. The room filled with the sounds of spent casings.

They needed to move. They had to move. But death was certain outside, just as it was inside. “RPGGGGGGGG” shouted Patel. One after the other they streaked into the building

Shaking it to its core, the walls crumbled, the building began to break down. Sunlight broke in from the blasted out ceiling and walls.

More rockets. More bullets. Someone, somewhere shrieked in pain. Then another. Firing slackened in the room.

Suddenly in their midst black bastards dropped right on top of them. Abbas emptied his mag into two of them. Quickly he drew his service pistol and shot another. His ears rang, the pistol grip felt slick with sweat.

A lull. Quiet. Just now a dull roar in his ears.

He found himself on his knees. Ears now buzzing, not roaring. Looking across to his master Sergeant he smiled. “Mahesh I thinkā€¦.”

The ground rushed to his face. Blood soaked the floor around him.

Then cool blackness.

Next door, more of Lt. Abbas’s men fell to the ragged, incessant fire from the Somalis. One by one, bleeding, shredded, dead.

Panic replaced fear in the Pakistani men still alive.

Someone was going to lose their balls.

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