Jason and the Soldiers

Peach Hill was a pleasant enough town, minus the flames and corpses and molten glass and sandbagged cafes.
Very pleasant, considering the war going on.
A screaming missile plowed into the city hall at nine-thirty that morning. Jason LaVay was sure of that, at least. He had a nice watch which told him so. Exactly nine-thirty.
Jason wasn't sure of much these days. Sleeping in the sun out in his father's orchard was fine until the Ki-Imperian Coalition marched right up and burnt the peach trees. Jason had followed a gaggle of farmers to the city.
Peach Hill.
It was a fine name.
Jason once again consulted his watch.
Eleven Twenty-three.
The rapid chattering of some gun, not too far away, sounded like chattering teeth. Something in the sky briefly metamorphosised into a brilliant tulip of flame, and then it fell into the commerce district.
Young Mr. LaVay was hungry.
He hunched over a lump of roast meat which had presented itself to him on the sidewalk.
A ragged unit of soldiers ran past, hauling something dangerous.
Another one followed them a few minutes later. These ones were all shiny and ordered. Jason reached out to them for food. They didn't see him.
The firsy few soldiers were cornered further up the road, and they fumbled with the dangerous thing. They pointed it at the shiny soldiers, who were very low and had lots and lots of eyes, like scallops.
Jason had scallops once.
His mother and father took him to the seashore further up north. He enjoyed the sand, but he couldn't see any peaches, so he wanted to go home.
The shiny soldiers saw the dangerous-looking thing and shouted. They sounded scared.
The ragged soldiers must not have heard them, because the dangerous thing roared and spat and they were on the ground and bleeding and not moving and screaming and then it was very silent except for the war in the distance.
Jason looked at his watch.
Eleven twenty-eight.