by Kainoa
Gunshots filled the air as my fellow Riders and I took cover behind some trees. The Spanish could straight up fight, and they would not give up. Unfortunately for them, neither would we. Sweat trickled and disappeared under the collars of our tattered shirts and pants. The smell of lead and gunpowder invaded our noses. However, despite the chaos and trauma, I could still hear him shouting, “Don’t give up boys! If you just believe, you’re halfway there!”
Now you have to understand who “him” is. I wasn’t serving any ordinary man. I was serving the great Theodore Roosevelt. A true leader, this man inspired everyone who was around him, and could get any job done. Colonel Roosevelt was physically fit and had tremendous strength, but his biggest weapon was his mentality. Whatever he set his mind to, he would get done no matter what.
We had run to the bottom of the hill that the Spanish had placed themselves on. Specks of dirt and rocks shot up into the air like spouts from a great earth whale. Turning my head, I could hear screams as men dropped after a steady rhythm of bullets sounded. Jimmy Hanks, the farm boy I bunked with at camp had his head snapped back as crimson red sprayed. As I ran past him, he never got up. Diving down, that’s how we got to the trees.
I fired back with my bolt-action rifle towards the pops and flashes among the dust at the top of the hill. Barely exposing myself, I took a careful look and aimed up the hill. A familiar sound echoed. Thock! It was the sound of a bullet penetrating through a shoulder muscle, finished with a scream of agony. One less man to fight, I tried thinking optimistically. The fact of the matter was that we were losing men. Glancing over to a bush, I saw my friend Harrison Wilmon, a Harvard graduate.
“Harry!” I shouted. “I’m gonna move out, cover me!” He didn’t respond. All I could see were his legs while he lay on his stomach. I went to go confront him. “What’s the hell’s the matter with you? He-,” my sentence was cut off. My stomach flopped as I saw cherry blood flowing out of a hole in his temple. As blood turned the golden grass crimson, the world seemed to slow down. It’s hard to believe that only a year ago, this was they guy I trained with, sparred with, ate lunch with, and even wrestled with. He was now gone, forever. Shaking the thought out of my head, I heard Colonel Roosevelt call me.
“Soldier! Soldier over here, lad!” I turned around to see a marvelous sight. A black and gold machine with wheels steadily rolled along the dry grass, taking aim at the top of the hill. The black was bold in the bright day, while the gold illuminated everything around it. I could see ten gleaming barrels casting a deathly gaze in the direction of the hill.
“Man the gun, private, I’ll take another group to the side!” Roosevelt whispered in my ear, “Just keep fighting, boy, and give me all you’ve got! We’re taking that hill on my call. You hear me?” Nodding my head, I stood behind the gun, resting my hand on the crank. He stormed off with another group of men.
“I gotcha, Sammy,” said my friend Willy, as he hooked a heavy belt of bronze bullets into the gun. “Fire it up.”
The sound was like music to my ears. Ten barrels whirled and spat out bullets like a drummer. Tat tat tat! Dust and dirt shot up into the air as Spanish soldiers dropped like potato sacks. We heard screams briefly until they were drowned out by the loud hum of the gun.
The colonel called me to his side. “Be ready,” he whispered. While dust settled, the panic of soldiers could be heard. The world held it’s breath as beads of dripping sweat became audible. In a glorious voice Roosevelt shouted, “Charge!”
At that moment, I no longer felt the soreness in my feet, or the throbbing in my head. The shaking of my hands eased, so they became still, and all the ringing in my ears finally faded. Adrenaline along with the sound of our leader’s magnificent voice seemed to take away all the pain.
That glorious moment of charging up that hill. Despite the flashing of muzzles, nobody stopped. Unsheathing my Bowie knife, I heard a war cry unlike any other. I lifted my head just in time to see Teddy charging up the hill. Nothing was stopping him, even as bullets whizzed past him, one nicking the sleeve of his shirt.
Nobody has ever inspired me the way Teddy Roosevelt did. Every time he was near me, I felt fearless, ready for action, determined and hopeful. This man taught us lessons that nobody else on this planet could. Rather than talking or lecturing us, he simply let his actions speak words of wisdom and inspiration.
That day, we took the hill. In the beginning, all of us were low on morale and hope was fading like a lone flame on a match. But Teddy ignited the flame, turning us into a blazing fire that could not be put out. To this day, I’ve never met anybody quite like Theodore Roosevelt.
