The Tale of a Terrorist
By Scorpion Razor
It is dawn as I walk through the hidden tunnel dug by our workers that exits some 4
miles south of the Chinese military outpost. Me and ten of my comrades in the GLA are
planning a raid on this small, weak base.
Eight of them are armed with an assortment of AK-47s, RPGs, and the like. But I
and one other are armed with something worse. Ourselves.
We are fanatics, taught to believe that the GLA cause is greater than everything
and that we will be rewarded in the afterlife if we sacrifice ourselves. But sometimes, I
wonder, is it as good as they say?
War is a terrible thing. My comrades do not stand that much of a chance at survival.
But at least they stand some chance of surviving. My survival rate is zero. Either I
go up in flames or get shot by Chinese gunfire. I have no control over my own fate.
But I have no time to think on such things. The signal for the attack has been given.
As a diversion, three of our technicals drive past the outpost. The Chinese see
them and open fire. Then we go.
The rest of my comrades stay back and fire their weapons at whatever they can.
Then comes us. We run towards the cluster of Chinese troops clustered around a
speaker tower that is blasting propaganda messages repeatedly.
I take one look at the fanatic beside me. He is totally devoted. Nothing matters to him.
But something matters to me. I have family. A son. He knows I am doing a
dangerous job, but he does not know of my suicide bombing run.
If I continue, I will never see him again. That will be too much. I have something
to live for besides the cause.
Abandoning my charge, I dive into a ditch and tear off my explosives jacket. I then
throw it away and curl up in a fetal position. The rest of the battle passes quickly in my mind.
I look over the dead bodies and see that one of them was the other fanatic. I
smile a small smile has I walk away. I say to myself "I have something to live for!"