Richard and his patrol crested the small, rock strewn ridge. An enemy machine gun opened up from a cluster of brush and stones with a ‘brrrrrrrrrrrrrttttttttt’ that knocked him and two others off their feet. The remaining four soldiers hit the dirt. Face down in dusty gravel with ricochets screaming past him and his left lower leg on fire, clutching his M1 tightly in his right hand, Richard began to slowly inch backwards off the rise. At his motion the machine gunner zeroed in on him with what seemed personal attention, spattering him with soil and small, sharp edged stones. Damn!
Richard turned his head to the right to see if he could see any of his patrol members’ and verify their condition, but a large clump of bunch grass immediately next to his head foiled that. The motion of his head got attention from the enemy machine gunner again. Immediately to his left was a slight rise that prevented any scanning in that direction without raising his head, something he was not about to do. Sobbing with frustration and fear, Richard prayed to God to make it stop. Dear God, please make it stop! Please, please, just make it stop! Again and again, Richard made efforts to back off that ridge for what seemed an eternity. Each time the enemy gunner singled him out with a long burst.
Eva held the old farmer’s head face up in her lap, stroking the receded, coarse, curly gray-streaked hair while his frail body shuddered. Tears streaked down his temples and into his ears. She quietly sobbed with him, tears staining her cheeks and admiring his overly large hands on once robust, farmer-strong forearms. How strong he once was! Not so many years ago, he downed a cow that charged him for getting between her and her day-old calf with a single blow of his rock hard fist between her ears. Now he was thin, unable to walk or even to speak and was fed via a tube directly into his stomach. A degenerative nerve condition had withered him away in his few retirement years to a frail, shadow of his formerly splendid physique. His once barrel chest showed every rib, his skin thin, sagging and wrinkled. Eva marveled at how thick the hair on his chest still was, though entirely gray.
Oh! How she loved this man!
What were the terrible nightmares her husband had suffered all these years? What would cause them to come late in the night, seemingly at random? He only once ever spoke of them, only saying they were something he brought home, but he was always grateful for Eva’s devoted presence those late nights.
Nearly 50 years we have been married, Eva thought.
His breathing was suddenly shallower and somewhat irregular. “Oh, dear God! Please don’t take him from me now!” Eva begged in a quiet whisper. “You don’t want Richard! He’s all I have!”, she sobbed uncontrollably.
Sorry, I couldn't resist that. I'm not really qualified to critique, but I will say it was easy to read.