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Flashbacks [Story of James Stacy]

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"Stacy, Get your FUCKING head down!"


04 March 2002

Shahi-Kot Valley, Takur Gar, Afghanistan

The double rotors of a Ch-47 Chinook whir overheard

"Hey, Stacy! Make sure you have one in the chamber! It's almost time to bail those SEALs out of trouble!" My sergeant was speaking to me.

"Yeah, Ready to go Sarge!"


Entering AO

The ping of bullets hitting the CH-47 rattle all over. The two minigun gunners return fire.

Immediately, the right door gunner is struck in the head and killed. Blood sprays like a mist through the enclosed cabin of the helicopter, splattering the walls and the people inside with tiny little droplets.

"Mother fuck! Keep your fucking heads dow-"

An explosion rocks the helicopter and fills the cabin with smoke as the chopper descends towards the ground.

"We got hit! Razor 01 is going down! Razor 01 going down!" A pilot screams over the radio.

A plethora of noises, exploding from all around, shake the QRF inside as the helicopter smashes in to the earth below them.

The ramp door is pushed open and the first three soldiers are cut down by automatic gunfire, splattering the men behind them with even more blood and gore.

"Stacy, get your FUCKING head down! Shoot back! Shoot back!" My CO yells over the battle raging around us.

The soldiers return fire and push out of the helicopter, seeking cover around it. The battle intensifies, gunfire coming from every possible angle. Several of the US Army Rangers are hit, but continue fighting. The rattle of gunfire is all that can be heard for a long time. Grenades explode on the insurgent positions while rocket-propelled grenades sail over the Rangers.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! I'm hit! Doc! I'm hit!" It was the worst pain i've ever felt. Being shot felt like someone had cut a hole in my right side and poured in molten metal.

"Stacy! Fight back! I have too many wounded to deal with right now!" The medic cries from the only fully covered position, frantically working on a man who had been shot in the throat. The blood spilled over the medic's hands and stained the dusty ground below the pair a deep, dark red.

"It's a fucking trap!" Another shouts.

Gunfire continues to drown out all sounds.

I must have killed twenty or so. I remember one specifically. I poked my head up and saw a young boy, probably about fourteen, carrying an AK-47. He started to aim his gun and I decided it was his time to die. I took aim and fired at him. I shot him three or four times and all I saw after was red mist. His father freaked and just sort of stopped fighting. He dumped his magazine and ran to his son, who was already dead, I think. I shot the dad too. In the head.


The battle is still raging. The Rangers are running desperately low on ammunition and are beginning to lose hope. Every once in a while, a militant fighter makes it to the edge of the makeshift cover and is pulled in and stabbed to death to conserve ammo.

"Anybody got a mag!? I'm all out of rounds for my M4!" I shouted during a break in the gunfire. My seargeant threw his last full magazine to me. I dusted the dirt from the thirty-round 5.56 magazine and loaded up my rifle. I flicked the gun to semi-auto, I only had thirty rounds then it was down to my knife and service pistol.

With that magazine, I musta killed two or three more. I didn't really keep count. I was a little preoccupied. 

"Motherfuckers! They hit me again! Fuck that hurts!" I looked to my left and saw my shoulder was ripped open and bleeding pretty fuckin' heavily. It was only a graze though so I took a dive and stuffed some dirt and grass in it- we were all out of bandages.

I whipped out my handgun after dumping my mag in a few that rushed my position. I shot the only one that survived in the head. I had to sit up a little more to be accurate with my M9 and I took a few slugs to the chest but my plate carrier stopped 'em.

I heard somebody shouting bloody murder a few feet from me. I looked to my left and sometimes, I wish I hadn't.

An insurgent had climbed over the dirt mound on to a Ranger that was facing the wrong way. The insurgent pulled up his rifle and shot the man point-blank around twenty times. The plate carrier the soldier was wearing stopped the first two rounds but the rest went through. The soldier pulled out his pistol and tried to fire back but the insurgent was faster. He pulled out a little pocket machete and began to hack away. The first thing to go was the hand. The soldier's hand just dropped in to the dirt and the soldier let out a blood-curdling scream. It seems like everyone heard it, the battle kind of ceased, like nobody could believe what was happening. The insurgent kept stabbing and hacking away at the soldier and then hit him in the neck a couple of times and blood started spilling everywhere. Then his head rolled off and the insurgent just sheathed his little pocket machete and took the guy's pistol. 

As soon as he finished, I snapped out of it.

"Die you fucking prick! Fuck you! Fuck! You!" I dumped my handgun magazine into the insurgent's chest and jumped on him after, trying to stab him in the face and neck. The medic pulled me off the dead insurgent and I sat there for a minute, looking at the sky. I thought this was where I would die. I thought that was it.


After night had fallen, the battle stopped. A relief force came in and extracted all of the US personnel under the cover of darkness. Over the course of the fourteen-and-a-half-hour battle, two Rangers were killed and two were wounded, including James Stacy. It is estimated that over two-hundred Al-Qaeda and Taliban fighters were killed, with an even higher number wounded.

Present Day


South Zagoria

Time unknown

It's dark out and two men are sitting inside a house. The house is bright and warm with a fire while a cold rain pours outside.

"You know, looking back at those days, I really don't miss them. Here, in the apocalypse, I can take whatever, do whatever, and be whatever I want. Sure, I can't go to the fridge and grab myself a nice cold beer or sit down on the couch and watch a movie anymore, but here- everything is simple.

Actions are simple, people are simple, and best of all, consequences are simple. So, Mister...."

"Po'shyol 'na hui, piz'da!" (Fuck you, cunt!)

"Yeah, whatever the hell you said. Well, you tried to rob me tonight and kill me. So, in the air of simple consequences, i'm going to blow your fucking head off."

"Suka!" (Bitch!)

A very loud shotgun blast vibrates along the walls of the cozy house at night. Blood sprays Stacy's whole being, from face to feet. The russian man's head is now on the walls and ceiling behind him- giving the wall an oozing red paint job. The headless corpse of the thief drops to the wooden floor with a dull "Thud." Stacy stands up, pumps his twelve-gauge and drags the body outside. He rolls it down the steps of the cozy little house and closes the door, this time blocking it by knocking a bookshelf in front of the door. Stacy resumes his meal of lukewarm canned beans, slightly annoyed that the thief interrupted his meager meal. After scarfing down the can the ex-soldier rolls over, the thief's shotgun laying next to him, and pulls a patchy blanket over himself, falling asleep easily.

Trivia: Based this off of the Battle of Takur Ghar during Operation Anaconda!

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