Mr. Dickhudt’s 10th grade class
ALL I SEE is Darika running to us with C-4 strapped to her chest. I can’t come to pull the trigger. It’s like my hands are numb watching her walked out of that small door way with the yellow-green curtain that was kind of burnt at the bottom. I lower my gun, shocked. How can she betray me like this? Coming to kill herself, me, and the rest of my squad. I see her hand on the detonator: the red button on top and long black handle that is connected to some cables. I’m fixated on her not caring about the terrorists shooting at my squad and me. Then there’s a sudden pain at the middle of my Kevlar vest right at the plate. I get lifted right off my feet and everything comes back to me. I notice that the terrorists are shooting closer than I thought, the bullets swishing by my head. Then I hit the ground and I start to lose conscious. How stupid was I to not see this.
“MAN DOWN I REPEAT MAN DOWN WE NEED A MEDIC NOW S.M.U.” says James panicking and yelling over the radio. S.M.U means “stuff’s messed up”.
My name is Tyler Smith, United States Army, Private, and this is my story.
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