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Marine Corps Stories: Their Resolve

The fight comes to Jedda.

By Skyler SaundersPublished 4 years ago 3 min read
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Patrols ruled the day. Each Marine kept his or her head on a swivel searching, always searching. Whether it was a dog in the road, some scraps of refuse tossed to the wayside, or children running up and down the place, the Marines kept a keen eye on their surroundings.

“How much more of this Staff Sar’ent?” Corporal Delia “Disaster” Sutton asked.

“Not much longer. We just have to ensure that there are no threats along this road,” Staff Sergeant Anthony Gallo said.

“We’ve gone one mile and you want to give up now, Disaster?” Corporal Trent Hastings asked.

“Don’t start, Trent,” Delia said.

“All of you shut your mouths,” Gunnery Sergeant Wernick said.

They would’ve said, “Aye, Gunny” but acknowledged the senior Marine’s commands.

Along the roadway, there stood men and women with cold eyes. They cut like splinters into the Marines but did not steal their resolve. They marched another five kilometers to a clearing in the road. All of them stood in awe of the spectacle before them. Skyscrapers and other tall buildings towered towards the sky.

“I just want to ask, Gunny,” Hastings said. “Are we supposed to be fighting these people? They seem rather advanced.”

“Did you not get the briefing, Corporal? Do you not follow the news? History?”

“Not really, Gunny.”

“This whole place was built off of the oil stolen from European and American companies. Jeddah is just one example of this. It’s not about their oil reserves. Hell, Venezuela has more than them and they’re still a complete basketcase. Now, get back in the column and keep quiet.”

“Oh. Aye, Gunny.” Hastings said, running back to position. He didn’t lose his confidence or his nerve but instead felt sustained by the facts that Gunny just spouted.

Then, two jets flew overhead. The Marines’ turned as the jets dropped bombs like mythical storks depositing babies. The bombs exploded with ferocity and intensity that the buildings had no chance of surviving. The tallest ones burned and eventually collapsed. Smaller buildings surrounding the strike zones received considerable damage as well. The Marines on the ground stayed silent and marveled at the destruction. They wanted to cheer. They wanted to express the relief that some fast movers could come through and pound the enemy city with aplomb. Tens of thousands of people flew from their offices and homes in an effort to escape the inferno. Buildings crumpled and buckled under the immense pressure and flames. As they fell, the Marines wanted to yell in celebration. They kept their bearing. Onward, their patrol of the area remained their primary objective. Flames flickered in the distance while the smoke billowed upward and looked like huge, black cotton balls.

Wernick finally turned to his troops and gave the signal for them to return to the vehicle as they completed their mission.

In the armored vehicle, Delia wanted to know what it was like for Wernick to have been a lowly lance corporal in Afghanistan.

“It was worse than this. A lot worse. If ever the cliche 'wrong place, wrong time' ever fit a situation, it was that war. We didn’t have an enemy with the Afghans. Sure, the Taliban and Al Qaeda had been there and in some pockets still remain, but the fight is with the countries that we have invaded now, Saudi Arabia and Iran. They were and are the incubators for jihadist activity. We’re actually doing the world a favor if not for our own selfish gain. And that of course is a virtue.”

“What’s a virtue, Gunny?” Hastings asked.

“To fight selfish wars,” Wernick said.

Delia spoke up, next. “That’s the only kind of war to fight.”

“I guess Colonel Marsh was right,” Gallo said. “We’re taking the war to the jihadists’ front door.”

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