Fuego! A Mexican AAR
José eyeballed the government troops standing infront of him. He stared at them, a long hard stare, looking straight through them. He began to grit his teeth, slowly. His eyes didn't close, but just kept staring at the ten troopers assembled in front of him. He didn't care about the consequenses, but why should he? What else did he have to lose or gain from doing so?
One scruffy trooper, with a sergeants chevron loosely sewn to the arm of his baggy tunic, stepped out from the group. He walked up to José, with a face that was torn between joy and fear, and spoke to him.
'Now, bandidos, this is what you get for defying the government of Mexico!'. The sergeant pulled out some rope from his small knapsack and grabbed the shoulder of José. The man dragged José, who was putting up no fight, towards a small wooden post, about 10 feet behind where he had been standing. The sergeant slammed José's back onto the pole and placed his hands around the piece of godforsaken wood, tying them tightly to it. The sergeant stood up straight again, gave a short and resounding grimace, before turning around and walking back to the troopers.
The sergeant, when he had reached his troops, turned round on his heels and slowly unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, and held it pointing directly upwards infront of his face. When he had done this, the troops instictivly began to form a ragged line towards José.
'Preparados' shouted the sergeant. José's heart began to race. The rifles leveled towards him. He coud almost look down the barrels, if his eyes had not been full of dust.
'Á Punten!' said the sergeant. José regained control, and with his last ounce of courage, pulled a smirk across his face.
'Fuego!!!' screamed the sergeant, his sword plumeting towards the ground! The nine guns answered *BOOM* *BOOM* in an unperfect volley. The shots sliced into various parts of José. Blood splat over his face, but somehow he managed to keep the smirk on his expression. However, the smirk slowly turned into a gasp for air as the lifeblood slowly drained out of his wounds. He slumped forward, as far as the rope would let him. His eys finally shut. Rushing before his vision, he saw his life, what he had done and how he done it...........
Introduction - Fuego!
José eyeballed the government troops standing infront of him. He stared at them, a long hard stare, looking straight through them. He began to grit his teeth, slowly. His eyes didn't close, but just kept staring at the ten troopers assembled in front of him. He didn't care about the consequenses, but why should he? What else did he have to lose or gain from doing so?
One scruffy trooper, with a sergeants chevron loosely sewn to the arm of his baggy tunic, stepped out from the group. He walked up to José, with a face that was torn between joy and fear, and spoke to him.
'Now, bandidos, this is what you get for defying the government of Mexico!'. The sergeant pulled out some rope from his small knapsack and grabbed the shoulder of José. The man dragged José, who was putting up no fight, towards a small wooden post, about 10 feet behind where he had been standing. The sergeant slammed José's back onto the pole and placed his hands around the piece of godforsaken wood, tying them tightly to it. The sergeant stood up straight again, gave a short and resounding grimace, before turning around and walking back to the troopers.
The sergeant, when he had reached his troops, turned round on his heels and slowly unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, and held it pointing directly upwards infront of his face. When he had done this, the troops instictivly began to form a ragged line towards José.
'Preparados' shouted the sergeant. José's heart began to race. The rifles leveled towards him. He coud almost look down the barrels, if his eyes had not been full of dust.
'Á Punten!' said the sergeant. José regained control, and with his last ounce of courage, pulled a smirk across his face.
'Fuego!!!' screamed the sergeant, his sword plumeting towards the ground! The nine guns answered *BOOM* *BOOM* in an unperfect volley. The shots sliced into various parts of José. Blood splat over his face, but somehow he managed to keep the smirk on his expression. However, the smirk slowly turned into a gasp for air as the lifeblood slowly drained out of his wounds. He slumped forward, as far as the rope would let him. His eys finally shut. Rushing before his vision, he saw his life, what he had done and how he done it...........
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