Free Dark Days Rough Roads by Matthew D. Mark Page A

at her a bit and she said, “What? They just looked at her some
more and she glanced down to see what the problem was. She saw blood droplets
all over her clothing and the previous night’s events rushed back to her.
    She ran
to the bathroom where she flipped up the toilet seat and threw up again. There
wasn’t a whole lot to come up, but she still managed to empty her stomach. She
grabbed a towel and wiped her face off. She knew this was a natural reaction.
She knew it would haunt her for some time, until she learned how to handle it.
Haliday relayed a story about what to expect.
    Years ago
in the mid-eighties when Haliday had been stationed down at Fort Stewart
Georgia in the 24 th MP Co. he had been involved in his first
shooting. There was a grunt that had gotten in trouble financially and decided
he was going to get out of it by robbing the post credit union.
    He walked
in one morning with a nylon stocking over his head and a shotgun, along with
his demand note. A cashier who spotted him as soon as he walked in had hit the
silent alarm button, which went directly to the Provost Marshalls Office where
they monitored all of the post’s alarms. Units were dispatched before the guy
even made it to the counter.
    The road
patrol supervisor had been the first to arrive and started approaching the door
to glance inside. He didn’t really know any better. He was a freshly promoted
sergeant, E-5 and had little experience. His original MOS, or military
occupational specialty, was communications.
    He had
just finished changing his MOS and graduated from the MP academy three months
ago and two months before he had gotten his promotion. To top it all off, his
English was hard to understand because he was from Puerto Rico. But, being the
army, there was no rhyme or reason and here he was in a position he didn’t need
to be in.
    In the
meantime two units showed up toward the back of the credit union and one more
up front by the road patrol supervisor. The grunt inside saw the reflection of
the blue lights and got scared. He started toward the front door and the road
patrol supervisor literally lost it and took off running toward the back of the
building.
    The grunt
exited the building and headed the same way. The unit up front hadn’t even
gotten out of the car yet and was in awe at what was happening. The units in
back were standing ready when the sergeant came running around the back yelling
in Puerto Rican.
    Haliday’s
senior partner, who was also from Puerto Rico, was the only one who knew what
was being said. He yelled, “watch out,” and motioned toward the side of the
building. No sooner had the road patrol supervisor passed them by when the
grunt came around the side as well.
    The four
MP’s at the back were yelling for him to stop. The grunt almost fell over
trying to stop so quickly. “Drop it, drop it now!” It was in chorus from all
four of them. The grunt shifted his stance and raised the shotgun. The sounds
of the 1911’s, .45 caliber pistols firing was a deafening sound. The grunt was
jerking violently around and then dropped to the ground in a large mass of
flesh and blood.
    Haliday
and his partner approached the grunt’s body slowly after a quick magazine
change and one MP from the other car stood watch while the fourth called it in
to dispatch. Dispatch acknowledged and said they were sending an ambulance.
Wouldn’t do any good for the grunt, but the road patrol supervisor could use
it. He was standing there in shock.
    This was
his worst day as an MP and this would also be his last day as an MP. Looking
down at the poor guy, they realized he never had a chance. Between the four of
them, 32 shots of .45 had been fired. They only hit the guy 11 times, but with
a .45 it was enough to turn him into hamburger. Haliday had never seen anything
like that in his life.
    He told
Dawn the story and told her some of the emotions she could expect if she ever
had to do this. There would be shame because you took a