MARINE SNIPER IN IRAQ
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The
soldier whispered softly,
I barely heard him speak.
"We are
all that stands between
these
monsters and the weak."
The sun
beat down like hammers,
not a
cloud was in the sky.
The air
ran thick with dust,
my
throat was parched and dry.
With
microphone clutched tight
and a
cameraman in tow,
I
ducked beneath a fallen roof,
surprised to hear "stay low."
My eyes
blinked several times
but in
shadows I could see
the
figure stretched near rubble
just
steps away from me.
He wore
a cloak of burlap strips,
all
shades of grey and brown
that
hung in tatters till he seemed
to melt
into the ground.
He never
turned his head or
took his
eye from off the scope,
but
pointed through the broken wall
and down
the rocky slope.
"About
eight hundred yards,"
he said
in whispered words concise,
"beneath the baggy jacket
he's
wearing a bomb device."
A chill
ran up my spine
despite
the sweltering heat,
"You
think he's gonna set it off
along
that crowded street?"
The
sniper gave a weary sigh
and
said, "I wouldn't doubt it,
unless
there's something this
old gun
and I can do about it."
A
thunderclap, a tongue of flame
the
stillness abruptly shattered
while
citizens who walked the street
were
just as quickly scattered.
Only
one remained. Dead!
He
lay crumpled on the ground;
A
threat to those nearby
was
ended in a single round.
And yet
the sniper had
no
cheer nor hint of any gloat,
instead
he pulled a logbook out
and
quietly he wrote.
I said,
"I could put you on TV.
That
shot would make a story!"
But he
surprised me once again,
"I got
no wish for glory."
"Are
you for real?" I asked in awe,
"You
don't want fame or credit?"
He
looked at me with saddened eyes
and
said, "I don't think you get it."
"You
see that shot-up length of wall,
the one
without a door?
Before
a mortar hit,
it was
a grocery store."
"Don't
be thinking that bombing
a store
is the only thing that's cruel;
See the
rubble across the street,
it used
to be a school."
"Little
kids played soccer
in the
field beyond that road;
They
never gave a single thought
that a
car would just explode."
"As bad
as all this is, though,
it
could be a whole lot worse,"
Shaking
his head, he swallowed
and his
words became a curse.
"We
fight this war on foreign land
on
streets that aren't our own.
I'm
here, today, 'cause if I fail,
the
next fight's back at home."
"I will
not let my Safeway burn,
my
neighbors dead inside;
Don't
wanna get a call from school
that
says my daughter died."
"I pray
that not a single child
will
know the things I see
nor
have this kind of slaughter
etched
in memory."
"So put
away your trophies
with
their words of fleeting fame,
I don't
care to make the news
or hear
them say my name."
He
glanced at the camera,
and his
brow began to knot.
"If
you're looking for a story,
just
give this one a shot."
"Why
not tell our folks at home
about
the good we've done,
how
when they see Americans,
Iraqi
kids come at the run."
"Tell
'em what it means to folks
right here to speak their mind
without
the fear that tyranny
might
be a step behind."
"Describe the miles they walked
to have
a chance to vote
or ask
a soldier if he's proud;
I'm
sure you'll get a quote."
He
turned and slid the rifle
into a
drag bag thickly padded,
then
sadly looked at me again
and
with these words, he added.
"Maybe
just remind the few
to whom
they all may speak,
that we
are all that stands between
these
monsters and the weak."
Written by Michael Marks
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