Out of Ammunition | Teen Ink

Out of Ammunition

April 29, 2013
By Miniterror GOLD, Yuma, Arizona
Miniterror GOLD, Yuma, Arizona
10 articles 1 photo 54 comments

Favorite Quote:
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." John 3:16

I push another clip into the light machine gun that sits in front of me. I’m almost out of ammo, I’ll need to find some before I run out, that would be bad. My finger twitches on the trigger and the gun jerks to the left as I fire at a movement through the fog. My hands are shaking now, I can barely aim the gun. I fire at another distinct white uniform and the fog stirs as my bullets pierce its ranks. Another shadow begins moving at me and I see the Japanese uniform before I open fire. Two or three rounds escape before I hear the heart crushing ‘click’. The shape continues to run at me and I jump behind the thick dirt barrier to my right. I reach to my side, grab my knife, then reach to my other side and pull my brass knuckles out my pocket. I put the brass knuckles onto my shaking right hand and hold my combat knife with the same hand. I can feel my breathing quicken as I expose myself and begin running toward the shape in the fog. I see the soldier raise his rifle and recognize the common shape of the Japanese automatic ‘Burpie’ rifle. I lower my torso and hear the round zing by my head. I tackle the enemy and punch him across the face before stabbing him three times in the gut. I quickly look around as my now blood covered hands shiver at their act. I see another soldier coming through two trees in the fog and I charge, as low as possible, towards the ominous shape. I punch him in the gut and his gun lets a few rounds enter the dirt as his hand clenches from the impact. I hit him in the face with an uppercut and manage to cut his face with my knife in the process. His face begins gushing blood as he falls and floor, screaming in agony. I stab him in the chest. I hear a rustling behind me and I jerk around to see a green uniformed soldier with and M1-Thompson clenched in his hands. He puts his hand out and lowers the tip of his gun as he inches towards me.
“Calm down, I think that’s all of ‘em. The hill’s clear.” He says. I lower my hand and straighten up. Know more, I think. I follow my comrade back to my machine gun outpost, now restocked with ammunition. I sit down on the collapsible camping chair as he sits at the gun before taking it in his hands and watching the hill for movement. I pick up my canteen and look at my shaking hands. I manage to take the cap off the top and get the majority of the water into my mouth. Know more, I think, but we won’t be safe for a long time.

The author's comments:
I based this story off of a story told by a WWII veteran. I intensified the story and added a few things for the sake of the story.

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