The Price Of Freedom
Jonathan
The American war cause has been faultering under Soviet pressure. America has found herself in the position of near destruction. Everything she stands for, freedom, peace, and humanity, will be for nothing, if she loses this war. The future of the world is at stake now. If America can not defeat the Russian Bear, then the rest of the Free World will plunge into the ideals set forth by the Communist Dialectic...
Chapter 1, The Awakening
Dawn breaks on an American Infantry Battalion, currently camped in Oklahoma. The GIs are busy with their morning duties- cleaning, breakfast, and burial of the fallen. As can be expected, morale is low for these men. Instead of living in a normal Army fashion, they live in a hastily constructed campground that is full of pestilence and disease. They have witnessed the Soviet onslaught first hand. Some of these men fought bravely, while most have died, for the Soviets take no prisoners in this war. That leaves no choice but to fight, or be destroyed. They are frightened, and for good reason. Some of these men have seen their own friends turn against them for no apparent reason.
They had the misfortune to have to dispatch their friends themselves. What a sad fate that is, for anyone. Having to kill your own trusted companion, a fellow American, just like you. But you have to. It was either him, or you. That is what you're told in Basic Training. I remember distinctly what my instructor told me, "If you ever see anyone turn against you, kill him immediately, even if he's your best friend. He will kill you if given the chance." I asked him why that is, but the only response I recieved was an order to clean the barracks. I complied, still curious about what the instructor said. But that was such a long time ago...
I have seen men slaughtered in almost every way. I have held my childhood friend in my arms, as he lay dying from numerous bullet wounds. He gave me the letter that he wrote to his family, which I doubt I will live to be able to give to them. I will never forget what he did, as he saved my life from a Russian soldier. The soldier turned to fire at me, and my friend pushed me out of the way, taking quite a few bullets in the process. I fired into that soldier's chest, watching him fall over to the ground. I walked over to the dying Russian, watching blood stream out of his mouth, as he seemed to be praying. I allowed him that much, before I shot him in the head. Returning to my friend, who lay in now blood soaked dirt, I cried for him. But I knew what he had died for, as did every person who fought for America.
Gunshots cut off my thinking for the time being. It appears that a Soviet force is moving through our area. I ready myself, as I join the others behind our pitiful sandbag bunker. Machine gun at the ready, I look for what is coming. The only thing that betrays the presence of Russian armor are the Harriers attempting to soften them up for us. I watch the planes attack the tanks in the distance, observing missiles fly from the ridge, making the aircraft become the next casualties in this bloody war. Quite suddenly, Conscripts appear out of nowhere, and begin moving up the hill to where we have entrenched ourselves. My fellow soldiers fire on the Russians, cutting them into pieces of flesh that now lay on the ground. I look through the gun's sights, and I see several of the soldiers there. I fire on them, watching as they are torn apart by the bullets which strike them. Chunks of flesh careen through the air, and one lands on my shoulder. We continue to fire, but it is to no avail, there are too many of them. One by one, GIs fall to the Russian aggressors, but I keep firing, showing no mercy to these men, these men who destroy what I hold dear. I feel an extreme pain in my abdomen, and I want to curl up, to keep myself from passing out into oblivion. But I fight on, as I continue to fire on the Russians. One soldier after another falls to me. Another pain moves through my side, but I keep fighting. I will never surrender. More of my friends have now died, and there are only a few remaining to fight.
I do not have the time to think about them, even though I know they died horribly. I look down for a second, and I see a long river of blood coming from my dead friends. I glance at my wounds, and my blood joins theirs as well. I feel another extreme pain in my chest, and I can no longer muster the will to fight. As I lay dying, I roll over onto my side, and cough blood over the red stained dirt. I look over to see the American flag being run over by a small group of Soviet tanks that have just breached our position. I look up, only to see soldiers running over my body, causing me more pain and anguish. Now the time has come for it to end. I take out my letter to my mother, reading what she will not. Holding it against the sun, I cry at what America will come to, and I refuse to take part of it. With my wounds growing worse every second, I finish reading my letter. A Russian soldier notices what I am doing, and walks over to me. Laughing, he takes my letter from my hands, and I look him in the eye. I begin to cry again, and his expression becomes one of sorrow, instead of humor. He hands me his pistol, and I take it. With my hands shaking tremendously, I pray for America, and for my family. I shoot myself in the head, and the world is no more, to me...
Jonathan
The American war cause has been faultering under Soviet pressure. America has found herself in the position of near destruction. Everything she stands for, freedom, peace, and humanity, will be for nothing, if she loses this war. The future of the world is at stake now. If America can not defeat the Russian Bear, then the rest of the Free World will plunge into the ideals set forth by the Communist Dialectic...
Chapter 1, The Awakening
Dawn breaks on an American Infantry Battalion, currently camped in Oklahoma. The GIs are busy with their morning duties- cleaning, breakfast, and burial of the fallen. As can be expected, morale is low for these men. Instead of living in a normal Army fashion, they live in a hastily constructed campground that is full of pestilence and disease. They have witnessed the Soviet onslaught first hand. Some of these men fought bravely, while most have died, for the Soviets take no prisoners in this war. That leaves no choice but to fight, or be destroyed. They are frightened, and for good reason. Some of these men have seen their own friends turn against them for no apparent reason.
They had the misfortune to have to dispatch their friends themselves. What a sad fate that is, for anyone. Having to kill your own trusted companion, a fellow American, just like you. But you have to. It was either him, or you. That is what you're told in Basic Training. I remember distinctly what my instructor told me, "If you ever see anyone turn against you, kill him immediately, even if he's your best friend. He will kill you if given the chance." I asked him why that is, but the only response I recieved was an order to clean the barracks. I complied, still curious about what the instructor said. But that was such a long time ago...
I have seen men slaughtered in almost every way. I have held my childhood friend in my arms, as he lay dying from numerous bullet wounds. He gave me the letter that he wrote to his family, which I doubt I will live to be able to give to them. I will never forget what he did, as he saved my life from a Russian soldier. The soldier turned to fire at me, and my friend pushed me out of the way, taking quite a few bullets in the process. I fired into that soldier's chest, watching him fall over to the ground. I walked over to the dying Russian, watching blood stream out of his mouth, as he seemed to be praying. I allowed him that much, before I shot him in the head. Returning to my friend, who lay in now blood soaked dirt, I cried for him. But I knew what he had died for, as did every person who fought for America.
Gunshots cut off my thinking for the time being. It appears that a Soviet force is moving through our area. I ready myself, as I join the others behind our pitiful sandbag bunker. Machine gun at the ready, I look for what is coming. The only thing that betrays the presence of Russian armor are the Harriers attempting to soften them up for us. I watch the planes attack the tanks in the distance, observing missiles fly from the ridge, making the aircraft become the next casualties in this bloody war. Quite suddenly, Conscripts appear out of nowhere, and begin moving up the hill to where we have entrenched ourselves. My fellow soldiers fire on the Russians, cutting them into pieces of flesh that now lay on the ground. I look through the gun's sights, and I see several of the soldiers there. I fire on them, watching as they are torn apart by the bullets which strike them. Chunks of flesh careen through the air, and one lands on my shoulder. We continue to fire, but it is to no avail, there are too many of them. One by one, GIs fall to the Russian aggressors, but I keep firing, showing no mercy to these men, these men who destroy what I hold dear. I feel an extreme pain in my abdomen, and I want to curl up, to keep myself from passing out into oblivion. But I fight on, as I continue to fire on the Russians. One soldier after another falls to me. Another pain moves through my side, but I keep fighting. I will never surrender. More of my friends have now died, and there are only a few remaining to fight.
I do not have the time to think about them, even though I know they died horribly. I look down for a second, and I see a long river of blood coming from my dead friends. I glance at my wounds, and my blood joins theirs as well. I feel another extreme pain in my chest, and I can no longer muster the will to fight. As I lay dying, I roll over onto my side, and cough blood over the red stained dirt. I look over to see the American flag being run over by a small group of Soviet tanks that have just breached our position. I look up, only to see soldiers running over my body, causing me more pain and anguish. Now the time has come for it to end. I take out my letter to my mother, reading what she will not. Holding it against the sun, I cry at what America will come to, and I refuse to take part of it. With my wounds growing worse every second, I finish reading my letter. A Russian soldier notices what I am doing, and walks over to me. Laughing, he takes my letter from my hands, and I look him in the eye. I begin to cry again, and his expression becomes one of sorrow, instead of humor. He hands me his pistol, and I take it. With my hands shaking tremendously, I pray for America, and for my family. I shoot myself in the head, and the world is no more, to me...