The Last Round

The Last Round

Charley Martin was tired, so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open. This wasn’t good. Charley was on duty for another three hours and it already felt like he had been standing at his post forever. Most nights not much happened out here on this lonely stretch of what is laughingly called a “highway”, but things change and when they do, it is usually in a hurry.

Though he had only been “in country” two weeks, that too felt like an eternity. “Just think,” he mumbled to himself, “six months ago I was graduating high school. Tonight, I’m standing a guard post half a world away from home. Steve and Adam are probably going crazy at some frat Christmas Eve party, drinking until they puke and chasing any available skirt they see. Tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I may have to kill someone.”

Charley hadn’t had to kill anyone yet, in fact he hadn’t even fired his weapon since he arrived in Iraq. His days, and most terribly his nights, had been pretty much filled with mind-numbing drills, guard duty, and endless lectures from non-coms and officers, on the correct and “politically correct” duties and observations he must follow while in this dirty, smelly, foreign land.

Checking his watch, he saw he only had another twenty minutes then he could go back to the barracks; maybe there would be a little eggnog left, "if the damn bastards didn't drink it all!" he grumbled. He still felt a little resentful that he had to stand guard tonight. There hasn’t been any activity on this stupid road in weeks, maybe months, he thought, what makes them think it is so damn important anyway?

Checking his watch again, Charley decided to make his last circuit across to the other end of the perimeter. Figuring that just about the time he returned to the checkpoint, his relief should be there to take over. “That is, unless the lazy bastards are too drunk or busy to get here on time,” he muttered, “I swear if they aren’t here, I’ll just go back to the barracks anyway. Nothing ever happens out here.”

Charlie headed out for the perimeter, but had only made about twenty steps when the first sniper’s bullet caught him behind the ear. He never felt it, nor the other two that struck him before he fell. Within minutes, the whole camp was in an uproar as the mortar shells began whistling in. Alpha Company barracks took a direct hit from the third mortar round; Charley would never know that the eggnog was indeed all gone.

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