“Ah fucking shit! Stop!” he shrieks. “Just stop.”
The shelling quiets down, and Peter hears the voices of people nearby. Rommel bites into his bloody ragged vest to muffle his cries. Peter crawls up to the top of the hole, hiding under his camouflage cloak, and peeks out. Two men, covered in overcoats with makeshift camouflage of taped on leaves and branches walk Peter’s way, one carrying a Kalashnikov. One of the rebels is injured and falls to his knees, holding the shredded remains of his arm out to the other, who turns his back to Peter to try and help him up. They are only a few meters away. An easy kill—an easier sacrifice. Peter lurches out of the hole screaming while he tackle the armed rebel.
They both look at him in horror. One of them in poor English cries out, “No! Me American!” Peter unsheathes his machete, raising it above his head as the sound of a salvo erupts out in the distance. The two men weep in their injuries and blood. The man Peter tackle tries to roll away but Peter’s blade slices into his back. He howls in pain as Peter places a boot against his ass to pull the machete out. Peter rips away vertebra with the strike and his body starts a compulsion of seizures.
The man with the gored arm has fallen backwards pissing himself. He fumbles about for a concealed sidearm. Peter sweeps the machete down onto his forearm chopping partly through it. The blade is stuck in the bone, and Peter tries hard to wiggle it out as the man screams.
In between his screams a faint noise of branches breaking alerts Peter’s attention to the foliage near him. A stout rifle barrel pops out of the foliage, followed by the entire man into the clearing of fallen trees. He aims his Dragunov sniper rifle wrapped in green cameo tap at Peter but a landing shell nearby causes him to miss. They both run for the shell hole Rommel is in for cover as a new wave of salvos lands heavy around them.
Peter tackles the sniper’s Dragunov away as they fall into the crater. Rommel yelps in surprise as he tries to get out of the way. The sniper reveals a combat knife and jumps on top of Peter. Peter twists his sides to throw him off, and the sniper’s swinging arm misses him and the knife smacks into Rommel’s neck instead. Peter kicks out at the sniper’s face and he falls to his side releasing his grip on the knife. Peter jumps up and tackles him against the earth.
The sniper frees his leg underneath Peter and wraps it around his neck pulling him off. He now has Peter’s arm locked, and he leans back placing him into an arm bar. Peter looks over at Rommel. He hands are holding onto the hilt of the knife and they are shaking terribly causing the gash to grow. Blood spurts out between his fingers and lips as he tries to talk.
“Don’t try to pull it out!” Peter grimaces through the pain; he smacks the sniper with his free arm as he tightens his arm bar on him. “Rommel hold it there and keep your hands on the wound to stop the bleeding!”
Rommel looks at Peter. His eyes are bulged and he chokes on the lodged knife, coughing out spurts of blood. His hands try to pull the knife out of his neck at the cost of more blood seething out.
“Rommel stop!” says Peter. Peter’s arm feels like it’s going to break under the pressure. “I’ll fucking kill you!” Peter roars at the sniper. He reaches his arm out towards Rommel to try and stop him from pulling it out. Rommel grabs his hand tightly with one of his own. The blood and dirt makes the grasp slippery and they constantly lose each other’s grip. Rommel pulls harder on the knife while his other hand finds Peter’s again, holding it with the rest of his strength as he stares at him.
“Brother! Rommel!”
Rommel rips the knife out and his body shakes one last time as he tosses it towards Peter. Peter grabs the knife and thrust it deep into the sniper’s thigh. The arm bar loosens somewhat as the sniper screams. Peter twists the knife into his flesh as the sniper bashes at him with his knee.
“Stop! Or I’ll fucking fill you with lead,” says a voice from above.
Peter looks up at the top of the shell hole. More traitors surround the crater, their weapons aimed at him. What are you doing, fight to the death! Peter turns back to the sniper but he has already slipped away grabbing the hand of a nearby rebel.
“Get out and keep your hands raised,” says the rebel leader. A black bandana covers the lower part of his face, where a white skull insignia dots the center. Other rebels slide down and help their injured comrade, while more grab Peter by the limbs so he can’t fight back.
“Fucking tough boy here, isn’t he guys?” says the leader. Peter feels a hard smack against the back of his head, and the world swirls around him as he slumps in their grasp.
XXIV
Come back to me brave warrior.
The pain wakes Peter. Instantly, he feels the need to throw up but he is gagged. His hands are bandaged to the ceiling of a makeshift underground room. A lantern illuminates the room from a corner table. The shapes in front of Peter are blurry outlines of people, and their words are unintelligible.
Thud, thud.
“It hurts! What’s happening?” Thud, thud. “Fucking Stop!” he mumbles through the gag. The talking becomes less fuzzy. Shapes become clearer. A man stands before him punching at his stomach. “No, no, no, no. Stop!”
“Ah, he’s awake!” says the man. More rebels come into vision, one of them the sniper that Peter fought in the hole that killed Rommel.
“Remove the gag,” says the rebel leader with his distinct blank bandana. “He’s trying to talk. Maybe he will tell us now.”
The gag comes off and Peter throws up, vomit drips down his bound body. “Fuck, must have hit him a little too hard,” smiles the torturer as he messages his fists.
“Now, tell me again why this jarhead is here?” says the rebel leader.
The sniper comes forward. “He was chasing down our men as we retreated. Like a savage monster. When I found him he was mutilating one of our injured.”
“And then I heard the ruckus and found them,” says the torturer. “One marine all alone, a pretty good catch than just killing him off.”
“So what do you think I can get out of him?” says the leader.
“I’ll work him up, and you just ask the questions that you want answered,” says the torturer.
“Alright, what’s it going to be soldier boy, will you talk or will I have to make you?”
Peter stares at them. Puke, spit, and blood swells and coagulates in his mouth, dripping down his lips. “Just stop, let me free. I, I can’t be controlled. HELP!”
“Shut up!” The leader smacks his face. “I haven’t even asked the questions yet. A genuine motherfucker this one is.” The leader turns around and grabs something off the wall. He places an outdated holotablet onto the table before Peter. A flat horizontal display pops up. On the screen is a class of college kids sitting in a large auditorium. On a banner atop the stage it says: 100 YEARS.
“Do you know what this is?”
Peter remains quiet.
A professor rises to the podium onto the stage. The crowd applauds. He waves them down then speaks, “One hundred years ago the New Founding Fathers ended the Terrible War. Today marks a century of Earth at peace!” The crowd cheers louder. “It is my pleasure to congratulate you as the graduating class of a world that has been free of war for twenty generations. Our Golden Youth!” The students yell and throw their caps into the air.
The leader closes the display. “That’s a practice ceremony for universities across the world back on Earth. We would be having one here too if you didn’t come. How does it make you feel, soldier, that your own countrymen are celebrating peace while you kill and die over here? Ironic? No, contradictory, just like the promise your government made when it landed thousands of foreigners onto our planet.”