A Matter of Belief

Sergeant York kept his back against the rough brick wall as he sidled up to the corner. He was avoiding detection by using senses that had been highly honed in the heat of many battles similar to the one in which he was engaged at the moment.

They always seemed the same, these battles. Always a reason to fire, always an enemy to fire at. In truth, his war-hardened heart had a soft spot for the enemy; they kept him in a job he loved. This particular enemy was familiar, he'd fought them before, on much the same battle ground. They were among the sneakiest of adversaries, ready with a surprise move that was never repeated. Sergeant York had been jumped before, been hooded and bound, been trip-wired in one particularly nasty episode. He was not about to make any of those stupid mistakes again. THIS time was war, and he was going to win.

"York! Come in! York! You there? Over!" A tinny voice whispered from the walkie-talkie at his belt, turned to a volume so low that the words were more felt than heard. "York! Come in! There's trouble!"

"York here, what's up?"

"We've been in contact with the enemy, and they're calling a truce."

"What? That's impossible!"

"It's for real, we've verified their position and triangulated the squawk signal - it's them all right."

"Why NOW? I'm so close to their nest!"

"They say they need our help fighting a new enemy."

"Oh, no WAY. This has got to be another of their tricks. I'm not falling for it - I'm going IN!" and the Sergeant clicked off the walkie-talkie, intent on finishing the mission as planned.

In the distance there was the sound like a building collapsing. Sergeant York gritted his teeth, cursing the evil that the enemy would undertake to lure him out. They were hard-bitten, they were, and despite having fought them for years he still had to admire their creativity.

They wanted him? They'd get him, allright. They'd get him as he blew into their sniper nest with all guns blazing. This was it, this was the last damn time. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

Sergeant York raised his shield in front of him as another explosion rocked the ground under his feet. A cloud of brick dust blew out of the alley behind him. He swung quickly into the street, guns blazing at the approaching enemy, a scream tearing at his throat in blood lust.

A gigantic foot smashed Sergeant York into the pavement. His last thoughts were of the tremendous lizard beast that had just torn his torso from his legs, and of Mother who was going to be so angry that he'd ruined his good new pants.

No way for a ten-year-old to die, he cried. Hot tears mixed with hot blood, bathing the street with bitter gore. No way at all to die.





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This post brought to you courtesy of Biff Spiffy, who decided that the WSU prompt picture needed a little "something" (aka a Godzilla foot), and just HAD to share his results with me. Therefore, I blame this tale of woe on HIM.... cuz who would've guessed that a tale of WAR would come outta me? I surprise even myself sometimes. :>