Smoke rose from the clearing; the scorched remains of hover cycles littered the battlefield, here and there lay motionless bodies of the once well-trained men of squadron T-1. This clearly wasn’t a battle; it was a massacre.
The forest sounds that had been there before the battle had ceased. The smell of burning plantation, and liquid metal would fill the nostrils of any onlooker.
Much time passed before a figure stirred, first he gasped for air as he rolled the hover cycle that lay atop him off his chest. His battlesuit groaned as he staggered to his feet. Beholding the scene about him, he reached for his pistol, only to realize it was missing. He frowned.
Moving his hand to his com-link Agent Charles said, “Agent Ken?” He received no reply. “Agent Ken?” He said into the com again, as he hobbled across the tortured battle scene. Once again, there was no answer. “Agent Ken?!!” He shouted into the com, yet again to no avail.
He muttered some obscene language under his breath as he began to move amongst the dead. He totaled 47 dead of his original group of 56. Of the other 9 there was no sign.
“HQ, come in.” He said over the com, yet he only received static, “Damn! We lost HQ, we lost the best squadron in Valhalla, and I lost the only two men I trusted on this lousy excuse for a planet.” He sighed, “Well, if there ever was a hopeless cause, it’s this one.” He said, cocking a laser rifle he recovered from the battlefield. He then turned to face the battle field once again, “Fellas, if you believe there’s a god out there, you sure as hell better pray to him for me. Now rest in peace.” With this he turned, and made his way out of the clearing, and into the forest.
Ten hours since his departure from the clearing, agent Charles was gasping for breath in the dense forest air, sweat and grime covered his face, he had decided to shed his battle suit a while back, as it was only making traversing the terrain more difficult.
He didn’t know where he was, he just knew that he had to find his friends, dead or alive, he needed to know what happened to them.
The world about him began to spin; it was hot and he couldn’t see straight, it was as if he was walking about in haze. He stumbled, he fell…. he didn’t get up.
“…I just need… to rest for a minute… Yeah,… I’d be no… good to my soldiers if… I’m too weary to… to stand…”
With this he slept, whether it was from exhaustion or grief, he knew not, but he welcomed the apathy as it engulfed him.
He woke much later; the world about him was dark. His wounds had been cleaned and bandaged. His clothes were still torn and tatter, but they were clean, also.
He sat up and looked about him, there was a small campfire about three yards away, he noticed two strange figures stooped over it. He reached for his rifle, only to find it missing.
Unsure of what to do, he began to stand up as quietly as possible, but let out a groan as he re-opened his wound and fell back down. He hadn’t realized how bad his wounds were.
The two figures swung around. And much to Agent Charles’ horror, they were Marro.
February 20th, 2014, 08:07 PM
A really good read, keep up the good work.
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