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I ran for my shotgun as soon as I heard the blast. No way I was going to get caught off guard, no sir. Another one followed the first, insistent, and with the sound of crackling that could only mean shrapnel.

Great, and I’m in my pajamas. I loaded the shotgun and walked with a purpose through the living room. The patriotic music from the July 4th concert still played from my radio—fitting, I realized, and I stood taller.

The last notes of America, The Beautiful rung out loud and true as I opened the door. As soon as I stepped outside, light and sound assaulted every sense. I refused to waver, and I shook my gun and yelled, “Come and get it, you pansies!”

The booming intensified, and I raised my gun. I might not be able to see my attackers, but if I shot in their general direction, I could provide covering fire for our boys. Good thing I brought extra rounds.

I leveled my gun at the tree line, knowing that whoever lead the charge of those explosions would be somewhere over there, and fired a round. I heard a few screams nearby and shook my head. So many people not ready for this kind of combat.

The next thing I knew I was getting ready to take another shot and some cop came up to me and asked me to put the gun down. Like hell, traitorous scum.

I shook my gun and yelled again, “Come and get it, you pansies!”

This new place isn’t so bad. Pretty nurses, good food. Music’s a little off, though. For some reason, I flinched today when they played America, The Beautiful.