There was a serious, furious firefight. Gunfire was exchanged from block to block in a war-ravaged cityscape where vehicles were overturned and set ablaze all along the route. Losses were heavy on both sides of the conflict and the small group I was with was very much on the verge of being overwhelmed by sheer numbers and their multiple angles of attack as we slowly retreated to what was once perhaps a hospital, but had become our headquarters of sorts.
We eventually made it back to the building, which was multi-story and once inside we sought refuge and hiding places, hoping to conceal ourselves long enough for the threat to pass, but they were a relentless bunch. They searched room by room and we kept retreating, being backed 'up' all the way to the top floor, and what was once a control room- with many monitors that were fed images from cameras placed virtually everywhere. Those screens were now dark and non-functional, providing us with no overwatch at all. We huddled for a moment in the dark and then climbed the wall ladder to the roof access hatch, knowing this was indeed the point of no return with no other avenue of escape.
So we climbed through the hatch and onto the roof, with nowhere else to go-- me and this small band of brothers, and there awaited our fate. We no longer had the advantage of any weapons, having spent all ammunition- we closed the hatch from above and covered it with a tattered and torn tarp, and then upon this I sat, the last means of defense.
In time, we could hear them in the room below- cursing us.... mocking us. Telling us what we already knew- that our situation was hopeless and that there would be no escape. Their leader, my adversary- was well known to me. He was particularly defiant and vocal in his taunting, boastful of imminent defeat. Suddenly he burst through what would have been the ceiling from the room below, which was also the surface or floor of the roof area-- his head and upper torso crashed through right not directly through the access hatch, but directly beside me. The breech was sudden and the hole they had made was jagged and tight and though he could see me and I him, he could not raise his arms-- as if he had burst through the ceiling like a ram or a bull with just his head.
We made eye contact and his were filled with hate and rage and a darkness that can't be described. He shouted hateful things and swore to dismember us all and tear limb from limb. But with his arms pinned by the small opening like this he could raise no weapon, so I took that torn tarp I was sitting upon and flung the loose edge of it over his head, covering his face and blinding him momentarily.
Immediately I circled behind him and caught him in a rear-naked choke hold and he was rendered powerless to resist. He was lifted up from those below and as they pushed him up, he came free of the opening and the two of us were then standing on the rooftop, wrestling this way, him firmly in my grasp and unable to fight, but back he pushed me-- and the two of us toppled and fell off the roof, hurtling down from the top of this highrise to the earth below. As we fell, the descent seemed to take forever- but I didn't relent or relax my grip upon his throat the whole way down. I pulled his head back towards my face with the crook of my elbow under his chin, sure that he could not hold out much longer before succumbing completely to my choke. And like this I awaited the life-ending impact that must come.
But it didn't. There was no final thud upon the ground, and no.... I didn't awaken from this dream as I was falling. Instead, the two of us landed softly upon deep snow and upon a steep inclined slope that was like the side of a mountain. With hardly a bump we landed like this and together we slid down the mountainside in a slushy, slurry of melting snow and water until we came to rest against the side of an old farmhouse building and there our struggle continued. He had been able to get his hand up and wedge it in between my arm and his chin, and like this- no matter how hard I squeezed and pulled he was able to breath. I held him like this a long time and he actually began to laugh. He laughed at my efforts- and then with a sneer began to mock me. He said-- "You don't what you are up against. You don't know what you are even doing. You don't even know how to choke out anyone." And then he said the strangest thing-- As we lay there in the water and mud against the side of this farmhouse, he said-- "Oh my father's gonna love this..." And I supposed he was talking about my futile struggle there with him in the mud and the muck and the melting snow against the wall of that farmhouse.
And I suppose- in that moment, I realized he was right. But it came back to me. I adjusted my grip and stopped pulling up on his chin. Instead, I used the freehand with which I was gripping my wrist to push the back of his head forward, greatly increasing the pressure on his neck and with this small adjustment, in seconds I felt his body start to relax. And then I felt his body go limp. Finally I let his head drop from my grasp, but taking no chances with this one, I pushed his face down into the small pool of water we were laying in. I stayed on top of him, holding his face in the water until there could be no doubt that he had expired.
Exhausted, I rolled off of him and looked up to see the worn, ragged faces of many people gathered in a doorway to this farmhouse. They looked afraid, and as tired as I felt. They looked like they had been starving and kept in the dark, like prisoners from a concentration camp, first stepping out from their long captivity. In pity I looked at them and encouraged them to come out-- that it was okay to do so. Having nothing to give them, I emptied the contents of the pockets of my adversary and there was really nothing of value within. Just a few small plastic containers of trinkets-- such as children's toys-- small tin soldiers, and these I dumped out on the ground for them to see. Amounting to nothing more-- there were no spoils of war. Leaving them, and their children to have these playthings... I left.
