A line of screaming and hurt civilians slump forward, behind them men grabbing them by the arms and necks. The marines form a line and aim guns at the approaching crowd. “Do we shoot?” they ask.
“Allahu Akbar!”
“They have weapons!”
“Allahu Akbar!”
“Do we shoot!”
“Allahu Akbar!” The armed men kick down their hostages to their knees and fire, hitting marines in the front line.
Herus’ revolver ignites. “They are nothing but fucking savages! Kill them all!”
That solves the earlier dispute. No prisoners. Good. Peter’s trigger finger wasn’t satisfied yet. I am not satisfied yet.
Herus and Party Reps lead the marines in a Creed chant. The initial line of terrorists is blown away with rifle fire. More terrorists appear exiting out of the smoke. The marines yell and howl as they gun them down. The front line advances, firing away at any rebel dumb enough to leave the smoke. Herus carries the banner of the UN across his left shoulder, and flails his revolver out into the smoke. He shouts the first line of the Creed, “No man is as strong or capable as they can be when not part of the whole!”
Groups of terrorists flee towards the marines from the smoke, but again the marines return my wrath and shoot them down.
“These traitors are going to pay!” says Peter.
More of the terrorists exit the smoke. More bullets rip them apart. They fall onto the ground. Their hands up in the air begging for mercy, as if they forgot that they are the offered ones—my tribute. They grab onto one another to try and shield each other away from the punishment of their sins. A woman is hit, and falls to the side, her child lies on her bloody breasts screaming out into the air.
The line of marines makes a steady advance against the horde. Peter notices a terrorist straggler that was hit earlier crawl about in the mud meters before him, trying to hide under a dead traitor. Peter lowers the XM and releases a burst as he walks by the terrorist. A spurt of blood splashes across Peter’s visor, the blue electrical wiper zips from side to side to clean it off. It’s delicious.
Herus shouts the second line, “Find strength in the whole. This is your community of brothers and sisters!”
The marines advance. Their boots splash around in the blood and mud. Spent bullet shells jump out of the sides of their instruments of praise, smoking metal cylinders that land on the estranged corpses of the dead. The terrorists stop running towards them, realizing that only my supremacy will meet them. Some try to run the other way causing more chaos as the fleers smack into each other.
The marines burp bright flashes of yellow from their barrels. Their blue helmets signifying they are Peace Keepers—but now my faithful apostles—bob about as they aim and reload. Bullets zip out striking the filthy rebels in their backs, the departed blood and gore of those hit showering those before them. One terrorist running away is lined up by Peter’s gun. He fires and the boy falls into the arms of an older man, his white beard stained red. He collapses holding him in his lap, and is trampled over by other cowards.
Herus roars the last line, “Never let the revolution die! Fight valorously for the ideals created by the Fathers!”
Soon, piles of the dead stack up on each other from their failed escape—as my growing offerings. The marines kneel before the mounds of mutilated bodies, waiting for more figures’ silhouettes to appear through the smoke so they can waste the traitors again. Some marines start firing away into the corpse piles out of boredom, eager for more prey. Whenever a terrorist finally appears they shoot it down. They shoot at its body ripping apart its shape into an undistinguishable piece of gore. The bullets skip through the smoke and flesh as a lake of blood forms around their boots.
The Commander gives the order and they move pass the piles and main killing zone of carnage. Easy walks over their self-created floor of riddled corpses. They are all terrorists, traitors to the cause—to me—the children too, dead in the arms of their parents. All generations of sin onto more sin. All of them purged.
“Okay hold fire, no enemy targets left,” says the Commander with slight sadness. “Let them pass.”
A woman, her jilbab scorched into tatters from the bombing, and her skin seared and burnt approaches the line as more of similar fate follow behind. The marines stop as the crying horde of injured push up against the front line. The first burned lady reaches the line falling and grasping a marine’s boots. The marine extends his hands out trying to lift her back up, but when he grabs her arm the flesh slides off into his hands exposing her bone.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do!” he says, as other marines fidget and try to push the people away.
A marine from the rear runs to up to the front tossing his helmet and mask aside. It is the Muslim man Peter encountered before that he gave water to. He falls to his knees before the front line, facing everyone. “What have you done! Look!” He weeps bitterly and coughs from the smoke. “Why did you kill them? Because they are different! Because they are Muslim? Look at me!” He grabs handfuls of scorched earth into his palms and rubs it about his face. “I am Muslim! Do you see me running at you, killing you! Why! Why did you destroy their homes, their lives! Why!”
The Commander comes forward. “Get up Private!” His radio goes off informing him that the outspoken marine had disconnected his chemsack. The Commander kicks him down and yells at us, “Keep moving and clear out the city, they’re just animals!”
Commissar Herus and some Party Reps come forward for the outspoken marine. But before they can do anything, he runs up to the Commander shaking him from behind. The Commander falls to the ground from the force as the man cries, “How are you a human! Look at what you have done to these people!”
The Commander strikes him as his officers came to his assistance. The Muslim falls onto his back as Herus raises his sidearm at him. Another officer runs out from the line striking Herus’ arm away. Herus turns and fires at the assaulting officer, and then shoots the Muslim marine in the mud. The two rounds ring about, echoing in the air—a melody of devotion after this outspoken heathen. The Commander takes his mask off to wipe his bloodied face, and then raises his weapon at the front line. “How dare you fucking attack a Commanding Officer! You are marines! I will shoot down anyone who disobeys me again!”
Other officers form into a group, and raise their weapons at the Commander and Herus. Peter and the others stare in disbelief. What is all the discourse about? Aren’t they all brothers? And aren’t there still more terrorists to find and kill.
Herus looks around hesitantly, and talks to the confronting officers. “Even if you shoot us down—”
He is cut off by an opposing officer. “What? Like the civilians you just ordered us to kill!”
Herus continues, “You will all be killed for insubordination and treason.” Helicopters hum in the air as their rotating choppers clear the smoke. They hover over the line of marines, the side gunners aiming at the opposing group. Additional Party Reps clear a circle around the traitors, and aim at them with raised weapons. Herus finishes, “I will give you one last chance to lower your weapons and do as I command, or you will be killed.”
The officers lower their weapons, but one aims his barrel at the bottom of his head, and fires—a pitiful offering, but I’ll take it. Party Reps come and seize the rebellious men, zip-tying their wrists and taking them to the front before the rest of the marines, where Herus stands. The officer who committed suicide is tied up around the ankles and flown away by one of the helicopters, his limbs bobbing about in the air.