In the Summers Sun

In the Summer's Sun

        Paul stood guard outside the barracks where he and his friends were holed up.  They had each left their home countries to fight as soldiers of fortune.  They were paid hefty amounts and didn't care much about where the work came from.

        They had fought on both sides in Iraq and Afghanistan.  They even took on short jobs in Yemen.  But now, they were in Syria.  After spending some time earning their money from ISIS, the group sought employment from the Syrian rebels.

        Paul was the most relaxed of any of the soldiers, so the enemy waited until he was on guard before making their move.

        As Paul rested against the wall outside the complex, he could feel the warmth of the sun caressing his tanned and muscular form.  One of the rebel soldiers approached, but Paul did not stir.
  
        With a forceful jab, he thrust his sword deep into the mercenary's rock-hard abs.  The blade made a crisp, cutting sound as it quickly slit through Paul's chiseled abs.

        Paul awoke from his slumber and tried to yell.  Only a trickle of blood escaped his lips as his handsome, muscular body slowly slid down the wall into the sand.

        Martins had stepped out of the compound to check on Paul, only to see his brother-in-arms falling dead.  He turned to run back in the gate of the complex, but was met with a spear thrust right into his navel.  

        The spear completely pierced the taller, leaner soldier.  His arms flung back instinctively as his body fell forward with the shaft of the spear sliding through him until the hands of his assailant were flush against his abs.

     "Die, you scum."  The assailant's words were cold and brief.  He ripped the spear from Martins' gut and the once powerful soldier fell dead in the street.

        The rebels made their way into the compound.  Where they caught Deandre sitting in one of the vehicles.  He tried to get out, but a flung dagger nailed him in the abs just above the navel and knocked him back down into the seat.

        His strength quickly left him as he writhed in the sear of the vehicle.  He looked up at the rebels, knowing his brothers-in-arms were all going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

        As the rebels penetrated the soldier's compound, they next came across Clark.  He had just been working out and his muscles were ripped and bulging.

        One of the rebels rammed a spear directly into his rock-hard abs.  Clark let out a grunted groan as his abs muscles tightened and gripped the shaft of the spear.

        The rebel ripped the spear out, causing the soldier to take a couple steps forward.  The rebel then rammed the spear straight in a second time, a little higher than the first wound.  

        Clark was brought up onto his toes as the spear pierced through him a second time.  For the first time in his life, the strong and mighty warrior felt completely powerless.

        When the spear was torn out a second time, he fell to his knees, clutching his gut.  The crimson blood flowed gently over his fingers until he fell face-down on the floor.

         Paterson was the next soldier-for-hire the rebels encountered.  He had heard the commotion with Clark and when he saw him lying in a pool of his own blood, the youngest soldier ran for his ammo box.

        He had just unhooked the latch when one of the rebels threw a knife, nailing him directly in the gut.

  
        The young soldier bent down, wincing in pain at the steel sticking into his stomach.  The searing sensation sent tears welling up in his eyes.  He was afraid to die and the blade in his gut was something far more frightening than he had ever imagined.

        The rebel who had thrown the knife got up behind the soldier.  He grabbed Paterson around the neck and pulled him to an upright standing position.  Paterson could feel the tearing in his abs as they were stretched out.

        The rebel reached around the soldier and pulled the blade out of his gut.  Paterson instantly felt some relief from the pain, but it was short-lived.  

        The rebel started pounding the blade multiple times into the young soldier's gut.  Paterson let out a series of grunts and cries with each stab until his body became limp and the rebel dropped him on the ground like a pile of trash.

        Meanwhile, Smith and Daniels were in the rec room of the compound when the rebels stormed in.

        Smith had no time to even get up from the table when a rebel spear plunges straight into his chest, piercing his heart.  He was the one most likely to have put up a fight, but this quick blow left this bulky soldier dead in less than a second.

        Daniels watched in horror as their mightiest soldier fell dead so quickly.  Lucky for Daniels, he was near the butcher block.  He pulled out several knives and sent one flying, nailing the rebel who had just killed Smith in the forehead, killing him instantly.

        A couple other rebels came at him and he thwarted their attack with well-placed knives stabbed in their guts.  The other rebels were slow to advance and Daniels backed out into the dark storage room, where he grabbed a small sword.

        The first rebel to enter was met with a knife flung from the darkness, nailing him in the chest.  The second one was decapitated from one single slice of Daniels' sword.  

        Daniels was out of knives, so he had to make his swordsmanship skills count.  Three of the had their bellies sliced open by Daniels' blade.  Another charged and Daniels only had time to lower the blade, causing the rebel to run right into it.

        Before Daniels could pull the blade out, another rebel took advantage of him in this vulnerable state and sank his own sword deep into the soldier's belly.  

        Daniels let out a cry of pain and anguish as the blade pierced his young, muscular body.  He let go of his own blade and stared into the eyes of his attacker.

        The rebel sliced upward with his blade, causing the soldier to rise up on his toes.  Daniels' body began quivering and convulsing as blood poured out of his gut and mouth.

         McKesson, the leader of the mercenaries was resting in his bed with his headphones on.  He didn't like to be disturbed on his day off.  

        He was jolted awake when the door to his room was kicked open.  He had only enough time to sit up in bed, where he was greeted by the blades of three rebels.  

        Two blades sank deep into his chest while the third one came was jabbed upwards from his upper abs, into his chest cavity, piercing his heart.

        He instantly fell back in the bed, and died gripping his pillows.  The rebels looked down, well-pleased at the final kill.  This unit of treacherous mercenaries was no completely destroyed.