There was a lot of yelling, shooting, and explosions. Soldiers were being shot. Soldiers were being blown up. Bodies and pieces of bodies were on the ground and in the water. The ocean, that had once been crystal clear, was now a bright red mixed with a dark brown.
He jumped off the boat, and sank into three feet of water. When he hit bottom he sank another foot into the mud. It was funny, because with all the bullets flying around, what scared him most was jumping into the water. He wasn't a strong swimmer, but, even if he was, how long could you stay afloat with a full backpack?
He remembered running in the water, then running in the sand. All the time shooting at nothing he could really see. He ran and he ran. Shooting, reloading, and then shooting some more.
When he made it to the jungle, he dropped onto his stomach alongside the other soldiers. There were Zeroes flying over them, shooting and dropping bombs. This went on for hours, until, very slowly, the shooting and the bombing subsided.
During the attack, Dad had to run from injured soldier to injured soldier, and give them first aid. Being a medic, Dad did what he could for those he felt had a chance to live. Some could be helped, but others--too many others--were dead or on their way there. There were not enough supplies to treat all of the soldiers injured during the attack, but Dad, and the rest of the medics, did what they could with what they had.
What choice did they have?
RaisingMyFather
RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com
jimduchene.BlogSpot.com Fifty Shades of Funny
@JimDuchene
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