A War Story...
By Tyler Hickson, aged 13
Afghanistan, 23rd March
“Get down!” yelled Pete.
That’s all I remember. I’ve just awoken, there’s a Taliban pointing an AK-47 at me. I become scared, there’s a flare lighting the room. I look around and I see Pete lying there dying, blood pouring out. BANG! The Taliban shot Pete, he’s dead. I yell, “NO, why, just why?” The Taliban gun butts me in the cheek, I think I’ve broken my jaw. The Talibans have gone now, I hear a helicopter land. Suddenly Sergeant Major James runs in like an Olympic athlete when he sees the finish line. He is armed and ready. He bellows at me, “Come on let’s move it NOW!” James unties me and we run and jump into the helicopter.
I hear the helicopter whirl then we start to ascend. “How are you, Tyler?” asks James.
I reply, “I’m good thanks, just a little sore on my jaw,” then we start to hover away into the British base. Suddenly the Taliban start shooting, the bullets are bouncing off our helicopter. The pilot gets shot, he’s dead. We start falling and we crash into a lake about a mile away from our British base, we swim to shore, our guns still work, which is good. We start to run back to base, it soon becomes night. We are there in the pitch raven black sky, waiting there, so we sit down and I start the conversation: “So how are you?”
He shouts back, “How do you think I bloody am?”
“Okay bro I’m sorry,” I reply with a soft voice.
“I’m not your bro, I’m not even Sergeant Major James.”
“So everything you have just told me is a complete and utter lie, tell me the truth and we might both live.”