EDIT: This story is dedicated to Lance Corporal Matthew Stafford (United States Marines) for giving me the idea to write this story. Thank you all for you service to our country.
"Command! This is Sniper Team Two, position is compromised! I repeat, position is compromised! We are headed towards LZ Alpha, under heavy fire and being pursued!"
Two shadow-like figures were running through a town street, amidst enemy fire from behind.
"Mike, I see that fork up ahead! You take the left and no matter what happens don't turn back, got it?"
"What are you planning to do Sam?"
"Just do what I said! Fuck man, you and I fucking know we both won't make it out alive!"
"Ye-"
"No we fuckin' can't Mike! Don't you see that? Now hurry! Get going!"
Michael "Mike" Sanderlin sprinted down the street, running in explosive strides comparable to an Olympic runner, Samuel Emerson, on the other hand, slowed to a halt and turned around. He raised his M16A4 and switched his Fire Rate from Semi to Three Round Burst. The first group of insurgents reached the fork and he opened fire, dropping the three men in the lead.
As Mike ran down the road he heard the stocatto sounds of an M16 firing. Shit...he thought to himself, why did he do that! We might've made it out... An instant later AK-47 fire echoed through the desolate streets of the town, and there was no rebuttle of the M16. He's dead. Sam's...dead.
Mike awoke from his cot panting and sweating. That nightmare...again, he thought. He looked around his barracks, and everyone was sound asleep. He took a couple seconds to compose himself, and laid back down. Was this "fate" Sam? Were you the one to die, and not me? I don't deserve to live, let alone find another spotter. I should've died back there.
I should've died...