"Whose War is it, Anyway?" - 03/25/2008

"Whose War is it, Anyway?"
03/25/2008
Dream #2


I was in Iraq - infantry - walking around with my weapon at ease, however I knew that I had to watch my back for insurgents. I was definitely not there to just be all gung ho or anything, and was pretty much just watching my post and minding my business. As I came around a corner, I saw some children playing a couple of yards away. I stopped for a moment, kind of heart-warmed to see them playing so happily, in such a terrifying time, as if they didn't have a care in the world. I just stood and watched from a distance, smiling.

Unbeknownst to me, while I was doing that, a man had approached the fence that was directly behind me. He was an Iraqi man, but he was not Al Qaeda. He was just an ordinary man. Could have been a father to one of those kids, for all I know. The only thing I knew was what I quickly found out; this man was opposed to our occupation. He was terrified of the American forces after hearing so much of the most horrible acts that some of our soldiers had committed, and his perspective of all of us had been tainted. Seeing me standing there, watching the children, his distorted view made him assume that I was about to open fire on them.

I heard him scream "Child-killer!!" behind me, and open fire. Completely surprised, I turned around, but there was no way I could get in a position to aim and fire because his machine gun was already raining down on me, wildly. Bullets were tearing through my legs, and I collapsed, rolling toward the fence and closer to him, trying to do something before he landed any fatal shots. My lower legs now useless, I could only reach up from the ground in a sit-up position and grab the guy by his shirt, yanking him over the fence and into the dirt beside me. I then rolled on top of him. I was both blindly enraged at the fact that he'd shot my legs out from under me and devastatingly heart-broken that this man, who I could tell wasn't a terrorist, had misjudged me so badly.

He was trying to fight me off, continuously trying to swing the barrel of his gun up in my direction, but I was just completely irate. I completely overpowered him with an insulted hatred, screaming "WHY?!!" over and over as I swung my rifle down on him like a club. Wounded, but not defeated, the man continued trying to defend, fighting me off and attempting to aim his gun up at me. Finally, I whipped the barrel of my own rifle down and, while straddling his thighs, fired off about half a clip into his chest. When it was over, I rolled off of him, not able to feel my legs anymore, and nearly broke down into tears.