The bomb

Not for the faint hearted. If you are repulsed by gore look away now. You have been warned.

The bomb, by Jonesy Jones

Six o’clock in the evening and I am moved from my place of rest, put on a long trolley and towed out to where they are arming the planes. My one and only flight is to be under the fuselage of a Tornado Ground Attack aircraft. We have watched these bad boys take off and land all week.
Its sunny here in Cyprus. We are well looked after, kept in shade with guards and armourers watching over us.
As we reach the plane my brother is hoisted up under a wing and clamped in place. His nose prop spun gently to check its rotating free.
Now its my turn. Me being a big lad I am not carried under the wing but under the belly of the plane. All the checks are done by a quite cute lass, a sergeant from Brum.
Now we wait. It feels like eternity until dusk finally falls upon us. Long shadows creep across the base. Now there is movement as a pilot walks over toward us. He is assisted up the ladder followed by his number two. They get comfy and sit in their seats with the hud open for now. Its still scorching hot.
The radio squarks into life and the canopy is slowly closed. The crew signal those upon the ground and the wheels are freed of restraint.
The engine increases tempo and we slowly manoeuvre forwards, resting for a minute or two at the end of a long runway. Then suddenly the engines scream and I can feel the clamps holding me firm as we tear down the runway, bumpy at first but then smooth, with only the wind letting me know just how fast we are moving.
This my maiden and final flight seems to pass so quickly. Very soon even though we are skimming the water at 200 feet and travelling at over seven hundred miles an hour, i can see the lights of a sleepy town ahead. Now there are flashes of small arms that I can see coming from little clumps of men dotted about. Thats no real risk to us. But suddenly the crew are reacting to an alarm as a SAM (surface to air missiles) site tries to lock on to us. Tonight however luck is with us, now there is general tracer anti aircraft fire seeking us out, but again we just fly through it.
Now its my turn to shine. I am no thorough bred, I have no laser guidance, just a lifeblood of phosphorous and explosive.
My clamps release and I fall to the ground as if a stone from a child’s catapult. As I hit I explode into a bright but deadly star. This is my moment. I reach out to all of those humans close by. My phosphorous igniting buildings, cars, furnishings and skin as my explosive wave demolishes all barriers between my victims and I.
Part of me, an ounce from the hundreds of pounds I started as lands upon a soldier, on leave from his unit, he will not be returning to serve. A clump hits his wife, within seconds she breathes no more, but shards of me penetrate the skin of their seven year old daughter. Five minutes ago she was smiling as her daddy cuddled her to sleep. Now she is screaming with a pain no person deserves to endure, especially an innocent child.
Fear keeps her from slipping into the abyss of unconsciousness, as I burn down deeper into her flesh. Her screams an accompaniment to the searing destruction I wreak upon her failing body. A second, minute, hour or day passes, I know not which for now there is nowt of me beyond the weaponised chemical burning her away.
Someone finds her as the dig amongst the rubble. They do not see her fractured and broken bones, just the mask of a demonic monster that is now her burnt face. The bones of her hands and arms uncovered as the skin continues to wither from the chemical induced heat.
My job is done. The last remaining embers of my existence are dug from her small body by a local doctor, over a desk in the child’s own classroom.
I will never know if this victim of my being will live or die. I truly now hope it is the latter, for her sake.
I feel no remorse however, for I feel nothing, I am inanimate, not evil nor good. I am a weapon, a simple tool fashioned with but one purpose. To kill.
I am not guilty of the pain and destruction I cause. That is down to those who built me, who ordered me and who set me free. And sadly it is you that allow them to do this. It is you that will always and forever be the ones responsible for the pain and suffering endured by this once happy child.
Your inactivity grants them mandate for me and all those like me to kill, destroy and maim in your name.
And why? To save lives? To make the world better? To fight ancient evil? No! For power and greed. Its that simple.
I truly hope this account wakes someone up.
I am sorry its so graphic, but I am more sorry its so true.
#NoWar #NoGreed #NoCorruption
#NotInMyName

Jonesy

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Jonesy the Dog of Socialism

I am in my 50's (ok 51), I have life challenges but still continue to be a father, a biker, a socialist and a human being. I fight hate and injustice in any way I can. I am me.

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