I eyeballed the luau dancer on the dashboard as it swayed back and forth against the blooming cherry trees. 

       “We are here,” groaned the unidentified driver. Things in the Service were secretive like that; you never knew who was leading you to your death.

       As I climbed out of the black van I took in the smell of fire and the sound of chanting, screaming, and gunfire. After taking in the horror I noticed my trembling hands were shaking my rifle, so I took a deep breath, regained my confidence, and stepped toward the white-columned building.

       “Right, your unit will be covering the exits; we don't want our terrorists escaping, now do we, Boys?” our staff sergeant scoffed.

       “No S.S.G. McAleese,” our unit collectively answered.

       Our Staff Sergeant herded us into groups of three and directed us to our exit. I thought back to our mission brief, exactly three exits, one forward, one in the back, and one on the rooftop. I got James and Harris in my group; both had more experience than me, but only by a year or two. We were assigned the backdoor; great.

       We made our way to the back in our fully black uniforms, trying to avoid the swarm of — as S.S.G. McAleese called them — “Terrorist Supporters.” How could they support …

       Harris’s gravelly, frustrated voice cut off my thoughts. “Oye, Greyson, stop being a space cadet and get over here!” 

       I didn't realize I was falling behind; I quickened my pace and apologized for being a total dip. We passed the squadron climbing up the building; everybody around me was so quick to it, unshaken by the sound of crying and ammunition. 

       We made it to the backdoor and organized our formation. The sounds of heavy boots echoed in the building. It would be quiet, then I’d hear a battle cry, a gunshot, silence, and everything repeats. 

       I examined the two in my group. Harris had dark curly hair and stubble, most likely in his 30s, and the same goes to James with his unruly golden hair and large nose. My thoughts were besieged by the smell of vinegar. I quickly turned to see tear gas rapidly filling the building, and Harris ordered us to fasten our gas masks.

       I took in the agonizing scene of the white building through the suffocating mask. The glass panes had been smashed in, and the flags were torn down. Once regarded as a safe space to help Iranian immigrants, now seen as a warzone.

       “Jeez, this is going quick,” James commented, checking his wristwatch.

       “Well, we got the best in England doing their work in there,” Harris replied.

       “It's been 10 minutes, and the commandos are halfway through!” James exclaimed.

       More gunfire echoed out the smashed windows, and I flinched;  Harris and James kept their composure. If they are being courageous then I need to be as well!

       “Five outta’ six gunmen down, and McAleese is bringing out the sixth,” Harris’ radio barked.

       Harris and James nodded to each other, then to me, signaling to the front. As we jogged back in our heavy gear I looked at the once beautiful building, blackened by smoke, slung by ropes, and dented by bullets. 

       As we turned the corner we noticed the crowd had multiplied in size, all pointing at something on the ground. S.S.G.McAleese had been holding down an Arabian man wearing a white shirt. 

      “Let him go!” a man in the crowd yelled as S.S.G.McAleese cuffed the man on the ground. 

       “Oye, Greyson, Harris!” McAleese said, looking at me. “Put this Airhead into the van!” Harris and I ran toward the staff sergeant and clasped onto the dangerous man. He spat back vigorously at me; I ignored the foul fluid as we walked him towards the van. We threw him in as he squirmed like a worm in the metallic handcuffs. We slammed the back door of the van and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I grabbed the radio from my belt with shaky hands and reported, "Operation Nimrod, successful," but my mind raced, seeking an explanation on how any of this was moral. All this violence, and for what? Seven casualties occurred! It didn't make sense; it didn't seem right.

-Ava P.