He was enveloped in a pocket of air that
got thicker and hotter by the second. Shells hit and exploded all around him,
making him wince and hide his face to protect it.
He held his position though.
It was vital to get the timing right or the strike would never work. Heat seared
down his back as a shell passed closely over his prone body. He couldn't think
about the others involved in this, if he did he would go insane and never be
able to carry out the strike. 
Suddenly
gunfire erupted around him. This wasn't supposed to happen! he thought wildly.
His instincts screamed at him to run, to get out of the hail of bullets raining
down around him. Someone nearby got hit by a shell...he heard the scream grate
on his ears and his mouth and nose filled with the acrid smell of death. His
stomach turned and before he could control himself he emptied the contents of
his stomach out onto the ground. Get a hold of yourself man! he thought. In a
minute you've got to get your ass in gear so stop losing it!
He started to move forward to get a better
view of his objective when a loud piercing scream tore through the smoke and
blood to the men crouched in various positions. Their time had run out. If they
were to strike now was the time. Like a finely tuned machine the men ran
forward, each to his own objective, to his own orders. Gunfire and shells
continued to rain down upon them, but the smoke and haze was so thick no one
could see them coming. Through the noise he heard the man next to him run into
one of the enemy. He hoped for his comrade's sake that his comrade would come
out victorious...he could not stop to help.
Finally his objective was in front of him.
From his right a woman came at him, furious and carrying a nice compliment of
weapons, sufficient enough to kill him and then some. I don't have time for this
bitch! he thought, defending himself with military precision until an opening
came and he took it. Looking up at the building in front of him, he pulled the
dying woman off his knife and threw her to the ground. Quickly he stepped up to
the door. It was locked of course, but that was no real obstacle. Taking a deep
breath he turned and took cover behind a boulder before pulling the pin from a
grenade and throwing it at the door. In a final blast of heat and debris the
door blew open and apart. In his hurry he ran through the door before it
finished blowing apart, as a result found himself with a burnt cheek and hand.
He could hear others of his group already in the building, taking out what enemy
lay inside. He could not help them. His mission was the most vital of all. The
key to the whole strike.
Ahead of him lay an intricately designed
panel behind which there was a hidden door. Quickly he pried the panel off and
broke through the door with an axe he had taken from the dead woman outside.
Stepping inside he found himself in a small room which contained only one thing:
a man tied to a chair. The man's eyes opened wide in fear. He knew who had come
into the room. He knew why. The man in the chair closed his eyes and prayed to
God to save his life.
"Eat lead" was all he said as he
pulled out his gun and shot the man in the chair point blank in the brain.
For a
moment he stared at the bloody mess that was in front of him and felt no
remorse. He had done what he came to do and what needed to be done. The strike
was a success.
Sean concluded his
telling of his dream to the therapist and sat back nervously. "Well
Sean, I believe your mother's concerns are unfounded. It would seem to me
that, like any normal young man, you've watched too many movies and wish to be a
hero," said the therapist.
"And you will tell her that, right?
Get her off my back." Sean leaned forward eagerly.
"Of course I will tell her. She has
nothing to worry about and neither do you. And don't stress about not
being the hero you dream you are. Your time will come." Sean
stood and shook the therapists hand, then turned and left with a quick
stride. He didn't want anyone that knew him to see him coming from a
therapist's office.
Hopping into his truck, Sean breathed a sigh of
relief and headed for work. It was bad enough going to a therapist to
begin with, but to be 22 and his mother sending him there because of a few
dreams...he could only pray that none of the guys at work caught wind of
it. Palm trees flashed by as he increased speed and turned onto the
freeway. He worked as an intern at one of the larger hospitals in San
Diego. At 6'3, Sean was taller than most of his fellow
employees, with dark hair and the greenest eyes ever seen. His build was
more suited to that of maybe a construction worker.
Medicine wasn't really something that he enjoyed, but his father forced him into
it, and as his father lay on his death bed, he begged his son to become the best
damn doctor alive, that he wanted to be proud of him. For only this reason
had Sean stayed in medicine. He was good at it, had a natural talent
his father always said.
Screeching to a halt in the employee parking
lot, Sean rushed into the hospital, putting on his lab coat as he went. He
had arrived just in time to see his fellow interns rush after a doctor to the
emergency room. Quickly he followed them, trying to act like he'd been
there the whole time. The scene in the emergency room made him stop, jaw
to the ground in surprise and fear. Ambulances were bringing in too many
people for him to count, all in various states of ill-being. A woman
stumbled into him and he saw a crater-like red mark on her arm, that appeared to
be getting larger. The doctor that the interns had been following turned
and started issuing directions. These people all had spider bites and
needed to be treated, and quickly. Sean took a deep breath and began his
work.
Next--->