A Hero's Stand

Helicopters formed a line in the horizon, their silhouettes shouting danger to the ground dwellers below. The metal birds moved across a sea of sand towards a lonesome mound of buildings. The sun beat heavily on the abandoned land, heat creating mirage waves in the golden waters.
Jason leaned forward on the balls of his toes, gun held lazily in his fingers. Full of rumbling dunes and poking cacti, the desert appeared to be nothing, but a wasteland for the creatures shunned to destruction by God. Yet, it was the home to some of the most enduring and most beautiful beings in the world. Jason observed from the Helicopter, staring at their destination in the distance. His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm.
He heard the voices of his comrades behind him, but couldn't comprehend their whispers in his state of mind. The time seemed to tick away to the same beat of his heart, muddying his senses and clouding his mind. He'd imagined this day for years, even dreamed of it, but now it only seemed terrifying.
The town they were flying towards slowly started to evolve from an uneven mass of squares into a rounded, stone walled arena. Black smoke thick as wool smoldered from burning buildings, orange flames licking the sky with forked tongues. He heard the sound of explosives in the distance, reverberating booms announcing the deaths of even more people.
Jason's copter swooped to the ground a few yards from the 20 foot stone wall protecting the town. His team jumped out, weapons raised. His heart began to pound in his chest, he barely heard the lieutenant shouting orders. He followed, mind made of ice as the mission came rushing back to memory. He stalked towards their rendezvous point with purpose, gun raised like he was trained so hard to do.
The team entered the town, a live wire in water. Grenades were going off in every which direction, bullets zooming past. They were low to the ground, using buildings as cover. They reached their destination unscathed, meeting three others not from their team. Two were classic American blond blue eyed men, the other distinctly Iraqi.
Jason guarded the door as his lieutenant spoke with them, receiving and giving information. The Iraqi spoke in his native tongue in which his lieutenant responded hastily. Voices were raised and then quieted, clearly disagreeing. Outside fighting was still going on, sand would suddenly erupt as grenades went off. Screams of wounded and dying men became music, the bullets keeping the tempo, the marines the band.
A flash caught Jason's eye, something unnatural. He narrowed his gaze, hunting for what alerted him. His jaw tightened when he saw the arm peeking from the shelter of a building, the flash being some type of explosive. He raised his gun, locking in on the target. He adjusted his scope, lining up the sight with the enemy's hand and pulled the trigger. Blood exploded on the walls of the building, a man's scream piercing the air.
As if on cue, chaos erupted. Jason ducked behind the door as bullets ripped through the wood. He turned his head to see his team duck down from the windows as they too were shot at from unknown sources. Commands were screamed, in English and in Iraqi. Jason blindly followed them, peering through the crack of the door to see what was outside. He couldn't see any targets... they had to be above. Adjusting his footing, he let out a deep breath, gripped his weapon tighter and, with a burst of speed, stood and shot upwards. He ducked back down just as fast, closing his eyes tight as an ambush of bullets whipped past him.
His brain scrambled for what to do, something in his training that would tell him what to do. His team was scattered, ducking behind fallen furniture, shouting commands that weren't being followed. He had no advantage over the enemy, didn't know where to fire, didn't have a way to escape.
His thoughts were abruptly stopped when he heard a scream. A man went down, his weapon skidding to Jason's foot. Jason stared at it, his blood running cold. He slowly looked up to see who had been shot; he could hear the name being yelled, but didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe that one of their own had been killed. That's not how it was supposed to be, that's not how they planned this. He wasn't supposed to lose any friends today.
The medic leaned over the body, putting pressure over the wound, but it was too late. Ben Lillison was dead.
Jason closed his eyes again, wanting the image gone. He fought back the shock, the grief, the tears. He fought back with an iron will. He blocked out the sounds of gunfire, of yelling, he blocked out all of it. His heartbeat echoed the sound of his racing thoughts. Time seemed to slow down as he opened his eyes. The medic was lying over Ben's body, blood leaking from his head. The two American boys were slumped over on the far wall. Under the window lied another man, his legs at an odd angle. Slouched over the windowsill was another body. His lieutenant lied on the floor like an eagle, eyes wide open, a small hole in the center of his head.
Jason's body went cold with fear, panic starting to set in. He was alone... all alone. He searched for a way out, getting low on his belly and starting to slowly crawl towards the back.
There was movement. He stopped, bringing his gun up to his face to aim. More movement and then... the Iraqi man appeared. He too was on his belly, but unarmed. Their eyes met, dark brown to icy blue. Slowly, the Iraqi man waved Jason towards him. Jason began crawling again, holding his breath when he had to move body parts out of his way. They were so stiff, so resistant... as if still fighting in death.
He reached him, but didn't know what to do. The Iraqi man placed his hand on Jason's shoulder, a look in his eyes that told Jason he understood. Jason placed his hand on the man's shoulder in return, nodding. Together, they crawled to the back exit, getting to their feet and exiting quickly.
The Iraqi man led the way, leaning against the wall and peering into the first alley way. Jason grabbed his arm and the man looked back in confusion. Taking the pistol out of the holster on his leg, Jason handed the man the weapon. The Iraqi looked at the gun, then at him and nodded.
They moved in sync, as if they had trained for this for years. The Iraqi man led the way, knowing the town's layout like the back of his hand. Jason covered him, checking all corners, high and low ground. When they reached the end of the houses, there was a long break between their hiding spot and the opening in the wall.
The Iraqi man looked back at Jason, their eyes meeting again. There was ice cold determination in the dark man's face. Jason knew what they had to do. They had to run for it. He nodded at the Iraqi, pulling out his only smoke grenade. They would use it as cover. Switching places, Jason tossed the grenade into the open space. The smoke spilled out of the container, swiftly spreading into a thick cloud. The Iraqi man took off, Jason on his heels. He sprinted as fast as he possibly could, the Iraqi only steps ahead of him.
They reached the wall, turning the corner and... suddenly Jason was looking up at the sky. His entire face burst into pain. He heard a distant yell, his name perhaps? His head hit the ground, his vision went blurry. Something hit him in the ribs, crushing the air out of his lungs. There was a scream, he couldn't tell if it was his own or not.
A face appeared, dark eyes peering into his. The Iraqi. Jason's name was repeatedly being said, but he found that he could not respond. He was being lifted, the man putting all of Jason's weight on his shoulder. Jason tried to use his feet, but they tangled underneath him. Words of encouragement were pouring from the Iraqi's lips, he could tell by the tone of voice, but he couldn't comprehend what he was saying. It was jumbled and slow and... is that... a jeep?
Why is there a baby crying? Why is his wife here... in the desert? Nora... he tried to say. Nora..., but her face disappeared in the darkness.
When his eyes opened again, it was still dark. He could hear muffled voices, someone was crying, the sound of children. Where was he?
He slowly sat up, swung his legs off what he assumed was a bed and stood. Blinding light shined into his eyes, warmth spread through out his body. He used his hand as shade and peered into the mass of faces surrounding him. Everyone was dressed up in black clothing, sitting in fold up chairs. They were outside, the grass was as green as emeralds, trees were shedding their blossoms. He recognized many of the people and as he slowly turned he saw his wife, Nora and his baby girl Lucy.
His heart leaped with joy. How he had missed them! But then he noticed someone else standing beside them.. the Iraqi man from the desert. And next to him was a large portrait of Jason in his uniform. Next to that was a beautiful black casket showered in flowers, the traditional American flag folded on top. Behind it stood the line of marines.
He quickly moved towards Nora, placing his hand on her shoulder.
She didn't respond, she was staring at his portrait, clutching Lucy to her side. Her dress was an ebony that complimented her olive skin, lace sleeves and collar. She was so beautiful, even with the tears staining her cheeks.
He turned to Lucy, taking her small hand and peering down into her face. She looked right at him, blue eyes just like him, dark hair like her mama.
He whispered her name, choking on the last syllable.
She blinked and looked at Nora, then back at him. She reached out towards him and he went to take her, but Nora pulled her arms back, cradling the child to her breast. She couldn't.. see him.
He saw his mother in the first row of chairs, his father. They were clutching the pocket watch he had inherited from his grandfather and each other in a tight embrace. His mother's eye make up was starting to smear under her eyes. He went to them.
They too stared right through him.
He stared at his hands. God, they were pale. He could see himself. Why couldn't they?
Slowly, he turned back to the casket, the portrait, the people. Understanding washed through him. He looked over at the Iraqi man, he had tears in his dark eyes, but he stood at attention, hands behind his back.
The guns started to go off and the Iraqi man raised his hand into a salute. Jason moved to stand behind his wife and leaned his head on her shoulder. Sobs were shaking her body, she was holding Lucy tighter than ever. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her pain as his own.
He whispered his love to her, willing her to hear it. He vowed to protect her, their child. He would never leave them. He was still fighting in death.