Post by Spartan-777 on Sept 17, 2010 15:57:44 GMT -5
The figure was up to his ankles in mud. It had been raining for the last week and a half, and the trenches were becoming so washed-out that they had to be sealed off. He stared with seemingly dead eyes, a crumpled photograph in his hand. He had been sitting like that for well over an hour. Several Marines sat off to the side, occasionally gesturing in his direction and speaking in hushed tones. He ignored them, cramming his hatred down into the pit of his stomach.
There was a panicked scream, and the shelling began again. He clenched the photo, jamming it into his belt as he took up his rifle. Through the screams of the wounded, the cries for suppressing fire, he felt things slowing to an almost unnatural crawl. A terrible numbness had settled over him, his eyes defocusing slightly. A nearby shell-burst rattled him back to reality, although the men beside him were not so fortunate. Jagged pieces of shrapnel had embedded themselves along the interior of the trench, the blood of the wounded mingling with mud and water than had worked its way into the trenches.
The recoil rattled his teeth, an insurgent toppling from his perch as a round whistled through his head. He kept firing, his mind on autopilot. The sense of calm that washed over him would have startled him, were it not for his current situation. There were shouts from his left, and he turned. They were screaming at him, frantically gesturing at a point off to his side. He turned...
A small band of insurgents vaulted over the trench, M247's in hand. He dove into the muck, the .30 caliber rounds chewing away at the dirt around him. There was a metallic ping, and a searing pain in his leg. He unleashed a blood-curdling scream, unpinning a grenade and lobbing it towards his attackers. They flinched, and before they had time to realize what had landed amongst their ranks, the frag detonated. Pink mist filled the air.
He clenched his teeth, eyes flickering to the ragged hole in his armor. He threw his helmet aside, the visor now spattered with blood from wounds he didn't know he had. He tossed a glance down the length of the trench. Everyone had either fallen back or been cut down by the snipers that had taken up positions all around this god-forsaken town. He clutched at his leg as he struggled to his feet, rifle hanging loosely from its strap.
The rebels realized numbers were now on their side. They roared victoriously, and began converging upon his position. A quiet puff of air escaped the corner of his mouth, and his eyes closed in a moment of reconcilliation. He reached for the photograph again, but a rapid cacaphony of gunshots caused him to drop it as he returned fire. He couldn't remember how many of them he had killed, but as the numerals on his ammo counter rapidly depleted, he knew he wouldn't make it. The rifle clicked empty, and as he fumbled for a magazine, an insurgent knocked him to the ground with a punch that left him daze. He grabbed for his sidearm. The man growled, and with a wrist-shattering stomp, wrenched the pistol from his grasp. A swift kick to the ribs left him writhing in the mud. But over the sounds of gunfire in the distance, and the continous downpour above, he heard the insurgent rack the slide. Through the blood and tears streaming down his face, his gaze locked on to the photograph, partially buried in grime and spent casings. The man was yelling at him, demanding information. But the Marine continued to gaze at the photo. The insurgent grumbled, disengaging the safety.
The Marine didn't flinch. He kept his gaze straight ahead, eyes locked upon the woman in the photograph. The world around him seemed to be playing as if the audio had been cut. He saw the man above him spit on the ground, shift the pistol to his dominant hand, and clench the trigger. The Marine exhaled, the pistol's report deafening him... but only for a moment.
***
"Why don't you ever talk?"
The boy looked up. Over the sounds of the thumping bass in his head, he was vaguely aware of someone talking to him.
"Me?"
"Yes you. You're too quiet. Why don't you say anything?"
He stared blankly for a moment. "Don't have much to say."
She gave him a curious look. "Oh... well, that's cool."
***
The soldier blinked repeatedly, struggling to reclaim the memory that had been so rudely ripped from his mind. He was exhausted, but he willed himself to remain conscious. That's what you were supposed to do, wasn't it? Stay awake long enough for someone to come and get you. But no one was coming for the Marine. He struggled to lift his head. The insurgent had left, leaving him to bleed in this ditch he had fought so hard to protect. He clenched his teeth, face contorting with pain as he spotted the picture. A weak arm extended towards it, only to see it be snatched up by the figure standing over him.
He was dressed in the standard gray fatigues of the local insurgents, a pair of MA5K's slung across his shoulders. The rebel examined the image, and closed his eyes for a moment. He leaned down the wounded Marine, wrapping the soldier's fingers around the slip of paper. The soldier smiled feebly, and he gestured to the insurgent's magnum. The man nodded, and as he racked the slide, the Marine let his head slump backwards.
He clutched the image in his hand. There was a blinding flash, a sound of thunder.... then nothing.
There was a panicked scream, and the shelling began again. He clenched the photo, jamming it into his belt as he took up his rifle. Through the screams of the wounded, the cries for suppressing fire, he felt things slowing to an almost unnatural crawl. A terrible numbness had settled over him, his eyes defocusing slightly. A nearby shell-burst rattled him back to reality, although the men beside him were not so fortunate. Jagged pieces of shrapnel had embedded themselves along the interior of the trench, the blood of the wounded mingling with mud and water than had worked its way into the trenches.
The recoil rattled his teeth, an insurgent toppling from his perch as a round whistled through his head. He kept firing, his mind on autopilot. The sense of calm that washed over him would have startled him, were it not for his current situation. There were shouts from his left, and he turned. They were screaming at him, frantically gesturing at a point off to his side. He turned...
A small band of insurgents vaulted over the trench, M247's in hand. He dove into the muck, the .30 caliber rounds chewing away at the dirt around him. There was a metallic ping, and a searing pain in his leg. He unleashed a blood-curdling scream, unpinning a grenade and lobbing it towards his attackers. They flinched, and before they had time to realize what had landed amongst their ranks, the frag detonated. Pink mist filled the air.
He clenched his teeth, eyes flickering to the ragged hole in his armor. He threw his helmet aside, the visor now spattered with blood from wounds he didn't know he had. He tossed a glance down the length of the trench. Everyone had either fallen back or been cut down by the snipers that had taken up positions all around this god-forsaken town. He clutched at his leg as he struggled to his feet, rifle hanging loosely from its strap.
The rebels realized numbers were now on their side. They roared victoriously, and began converging upon his position. A quiet puff of air escaped the corner of his mouth, and his eyes closed in a moment of reconcilliation. He reached for the photograph again, but a rapid cacaphony of gunshots caused him to drop it as he returned fire. He couldn't remember how many of them he had killed, but as the numerals on his ammo counter rapidly depleted, he knew he wouldn't make it. The rifle clicked empty, and as he fumbled for a magazine, an insurgent knocked him to the ground with a punch that left him daze. He grabbed for his sidearm. The man growled, and with a wrist-shattering stomp, wrenched the pistol from his grasp. A swift kick to the ribs left him writhing in the mud. But over the sounds of gunfire in the distance, and the continous downpour above, he heard the insurgent rack the slide. Through the blood and tears streaming down his face, his gaze locked on to the photograph, partially buried in grime and spent casings. The man was yelling at him, demanding information. But the Marine continued to gaze at the photo. The insurgent grumbled, disengaging the safety.
The Marine didn't flinch. He kept his gaze straight ahead, eyes locked upon the woman in the photograph. The world around him seemed to be playing as if the audio had been cut. He saw the man above him spit on the ground, shift the pistol to his dominant hand, and clench the trigger. The Marine exhaled, the pistol's report deafening him... but only for a moment.
***
"Why don't you ever talk?"
The boy looked up. Over the sounds of the thumping bass in his head, he was vaguely aware of someone talking to him.
"Me?"
"Yes you. You're too quiet. Why don't you say anything?"
He stared blankly for a moment. "Don't have much to say."
She gave him a curious look. "Oh... well, that's cool."
***
The soldier blinked repeatedly, struggling to reclaim the memory that had been so rudely ripped from his mind. He was exhausted, but he willed himself to remain conscious. That's what you were supposed to do, wasn't it? Stay awake long enough for someone to come and get you. But no one was coming for the Marine. He struggled to lift his head. The insurgent had left, leaving him to bleed in this ditch he had fought so hard to protect. He clenched his teeth, face contorting with pain as he spotted the picture. A weak arm extended towards it, only to see it be snatched up by the figure standing over him.
He was dressed in the standard gray fatigues of the local insurgents, a pair of MA5K's slung across his shoulders. The rebel examined the image, and closed his eyes for a moment. He leaned down the wounded Marine, wrapping the soldier's fingers around the slip of paper. The soldier smiled feebly, and he gestured to the insurgent's magnum. The man nodded, and as he racked the slide, the Marine let his head slump backwards.
He clutched the image in his hand. There was a blinding flash, a sound of thunder.... then nothing.