20 left

Could you last?

Twenty bullets. That was all he had left. He looked over the boulder, his only haven left. Nearly fifty black masked, bloodthirsty radicals advanced toward him. Snipers hid up on the hills. His squad of thirty proud and honorable Marines lay dead at his feet. He ducked as the hail of gunfire returned and punched into his cover. He was going to die across. He’d never see his father or mother again. His wife. Never meet his unborn son. This was it. These sands would bury him. 

     But he was taking as many of them with him as he could.    

Author's Note

Hope you guys like this!

Reviews

[Chris Stephenson]

I like it. I think it also kind of like a poem as I say the words they rhyme. But does the man or his squad live. Or is this poem sadness. But I still like. I didn't mean to edit so much with little word. It is also maybe a good war story. The further you go. I understand.

ChrisCanDream