His Bound

"Load the guns! SHOOT to kill! SHOOT TO KILL!"

Although the Sergeant detested giving that order, he was all too aware that it was sometimes a stone-cold-fact-of-life necessity. And in this instance, in the middle of that stinky, muddy, humid, mosquito-infested godforsaken jungle where their latest mission took them, he knew it wasn't just necessary.

It was a command.

And it took no less than that when one has to take down a group of highly trained diabolical terrorists right in their very own hideout.

The Sergeant, affectionately nicknamed Sarge Ben by his team, wove in and out through the trees, shooting his powerful Galil assault rifle and ducking behind whatever protective cover he came across. Banyan trees, moss-covered boulders, dense foliage, anything that would shield him from the almost continuous rain of artillery fire. Not to mention occasional explosions from rocket launchers and grenades. It was a good thing each and every member of Sarge Ben's high-level militia ranger team was fully protected with cutting-edge Kevlar armoured vests and helmets. As the minutes ticked by, the rain of gunfire and artillery became less frequent and less deafening until complete, dead silence.

The Sergeant and his troops now had to mentally prepare themselves for the most difficult portion of their task.

The extermination of anyone unlucky enough to still be alive.

Once he reached the extremists’ hideout, the Sergeant slowly picked his way through the trail of dead bodies to look for survivors when he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Before he knew it, he felt someone pounce on him - with a knife poised to plunge right into his chest!

Whoever this person was, the experienced military commander could tell from his attacker's movements that he or she was silent but lethal. Thank goodness Sarge Ben was able to disarm his assailant by grabbing the hand that held the weapon, giving the wrist a sudden twist, and bending it at a sharp angle, causing the attacker to give a yelp of pain and surprise as the knife fell to the ground. Along with the one holding it.

Finally, Sarge Ben got a good look at his mysterious assailant. It turned out to be - a kid! Well, not exactly a child but still barely in his teens. Looking at the somewhat scrawny boy with a shaggy mop of dirty-blonde hair, he still seemed too young and way too reckless to be able to take on a full-grown military officer.

But the Sergeant’s perceptions suddenly changed when the youngster resumed attacking him again - but barehanded this time.

It was clear that the youngster knew where to hit, and his strength and speed indicated that he had received intensive training. Despite the Sergeant’s skilled dodging and parrying, the younger fighter managed to breach his defences and get in some well-aimed kicks and punches. But it was obvious the boy was fueled by anger and was too enraged to pay close attention to his foe's movements.

As the fighting progressed, Sarge Ben found himself analyzing, even doing an internal play-by-play, while his young and dirty opponent traded punches and kicks with him.

I've got to counter his lethal high kick with a weak chin punch. Catch his fist and turn him around, so I can kick him in the stomach. Quick recovery, eh? He's got strong abs, I'll give him that. Combinations of open palm hits to his torso. Still standing, kid? Let's see if you can still stand after one of my roundhouse kicks! Damn it, boy! Why won't you stay the hell down?!!?

But after half a dozen more hits, the teenager slumped to the ground, exhausted and half-conscious. His face was covered in bruises, and his lower lip was swollen and bleeding from a cut. The loose-fitting, grimy shirt he wore was torn in a few places, but Sarge Ben knew it covered much bigger bruises, maybe even a fractured rib or two.

I know we're supposed to leave no survivors - but I guess I can make an exception here! After all, Paraluman did request for this to happen.

As he looked down at his now-defeated opponent, Sarge Ben finally made up his mind and spoke the words that would alter his life, their lives, forever.

"Get a stretcher and carry him out, along with everyone else we find who might still be alive. He's coming back to camp with us, along with any other survivors!"

"Found another one, Sarge! Definitely alive, but he's knocked out cold with a gunshot wound through his stomach. Must have collapsed from extreme blood loss."