The Madness

There I was, with my back to the sand dune protecting me from the hail of gunfire and bombs soaring overhead.

Iraq - I didn’t even know why we were here anymore. We’d been lied to. We were fighting in a war that had nothing to do with us. But what the hell were we actually fighting for? To line the pockets of oil fat-cats, that’s what. Trying to keep the peace in a land that doesn’t want us. Fighting an enemy that is not afraid to die.

So as the ’copters fly overhead, as the blood spatters the sand and walls of nearby buildings, as the bullets rip through anything in their path, as my comrades literally lose their heads to sniper fire and their legs to land mines, what do I do..?

I relax. I breathe. I reach into a pocket and pull out a photograph of my wife and daughter and I silently promise them that I’ll be back soon. We’ll laugh again. We’ll go to the movies again. We’ll go on vacation again. And it keeps me going.

So I put the photograph back into it’s pocket, grip my machine gun and take out a few more of these heartless, fear-inducing terrorists. I fire round after round. I get lost in the moment. Caught up in it. You’ll never take me alive. Hell, you’ll never take me dead.

And then there’s a loud noise. And blackness…

* * *

And then I’m awake. I’ve been awake since the door to the tiny room I was in swung open and one of the Taliban dragged me out by the scruff of my neck, ropes tied around my wrists, behind my back.

See, what had happened was a grenade had gone off near to me. It hadn’t caused any serious damage but it had knocked me out cold. And I woke up here.

This room, however, was different to the small room they dragged me from. It was bigger. It was darker. There was a huge black flag with Iraqi writing on pinned up on the wall behind me. There was a camera sat on a tri-pod, aimed at me. There were people in black garments with guns scattered around the room. I knew the exact number of people. I knew the exact placement of everything.

I was pushed down on to a chair, blindfolded, but I knew my surroundings because they didn’t put the blindfold on until after they’d sat me down. They wanted me to see all this. They wanted me in fear. They wanted my head. They’d starved me all day to weaken me so I couldn’t resist.

But they were about to witness their very own apocalypse. They were about to see a side of me they wished they hadn’t but will remember for the rest of their drastically reduced lives.

They call me The Madness. And they’re about to find out why.

They start to chant and recite ‘Praise Allah’, as if God approves of what they do to human-kind. As if He’s on their side and is happy about their actions. God approves of no war. No human killing another, whether in combat or not. I know that now. God is not here for us.

They have tied my hands behind my back with rope, but the knot is not very good. I’ve been working it loose. I know there’s an armed man either side of me.

I can feel the blade as it nears the bottom of my cheek. It’s hot here. The air is dry. I’ve been sucking back saliva the whole time I’ve been sitting here. My mouth is completely dry, my teeth with no moisture on them.

As the blade is almost touching me, I thrust my head forward and grip the knife between my teeth and yank it out of the sweaty hand of the terrorist with a strong, sharp thrust of my head.

Then, at lightning speed, my hands come up, being free of the rope. I rip off the blindfold, take the knife in my hand, bolt up on to my feet and plunge the knife into his chest. I grab the machine gun still wrapped across his chest and, standing behind the dying man, fire a string of bullets into the man the other side of me.

I spin around, keeping the knifed man in front of me as a shield as a hail of bullets come my way and pound into the body of my human shield, tearing him to pieces amid shrill screams.

Say goodbye, everybody. . .

I open fire with the machine gun, turning left to right of the room, back and forth, taking the whole damn lot of ’em out. I rip the gun off of my human shield and kick him to the ground. Just to make sure, I walk around and put a few double-taps into each one of them and shoot the camera into tiny bits.

Then I walk right out the building. Into a busy street, machine gun in hand. I'm covered in blood. I don’t care. Mess with me. Anybody. I dare you.

I’m going back to base. Then I’m going home. They can fight their own pointless war.

I've got a family. I’m more worried about keeping us alive. Out of love.

I’m coming home guys. I’m coming home.