Ficlets

BA-THOOM!!!
A bar of gold streaks the horizon in the blink of an eye, and with a thud and yellow spark, impacts a rolling Sherman. It continues a few yards then ceases. Instantly, a hatch flies open; grey smoke pouring out. Within the smoke, a dark figure appears, and like a fish on land, wriggles out. He hits the ground convulsing blood, with fleshy stumps.
BOOM !!
The tank blows its turret; shrapnel of, taking men who approach the stricken tanker.
“Bastards”, I think, tapping a fresh magazine against my helmet before inserting and cocking rifle. A vengeful syncopation of rifle pops and cracks respond, covering my advance through hedgerow.
I come upon a customer.
Kneeling before me is an enemy, tugging on his helmet in grief before a dead comrade. A twig snaps and he turns to look; we freeze, our eyes locked in stare.
My arms recoil, my rifle flinging hot brass case. Puffs of pink indicate hits as my victim turns with impact. He falls motionless, columns of dust rise around him and his comrade.