Cebumopolis
21-06-2007, 13:38
The pistols cold steel lay heavy in his hands, its barrel staring him in the eye, its hollow shadows cutting into his depths. -"Defilade, left 11 ‘oclock, range 500 --!"
-"Incoming!"
On his table, his squads picture, all smiles, their glistening Tanks in the background. The Sergeant had him in a headlock.
"Dammit, they got the sarge! The hellre you doing? Shoot--!"
It was their first and their last picture together, the search team finding the Sarges Tank charred wreckage after the encounter.
He was buried in a jar.
Below this picture, his medal, the Iron Cross, glistening in the dim light of his quarters, a notary of his promotion to Captain, resting under it.
"The hell cant we just run?"
"We leave, the cebu's go for the locals! You want that on your hands!?"
Corporal Halifax, just Hal to the squad.
A ladys man, albeit the looks with his freckles and beady eyes.
His was light tank leaning on the community halls East wall, along with the rest of the team, all encircling the hall.
Being the sturdiest structure in the commune, hed ordered the locals evacd there, his firing heard until hours before their reinforcements arrived. SABOT shells cut through the tanks abdomen. Hal got a closed casket ceremony.
He was found a little after Hal, his tank knocked out sometime in the firefight.
It was the cold, piercing rain that woke him as the engineers cut away at his stricken armor, the same cold rain that loomed overhead as he asked them about the Sarge, Hal, and their team.
All he heard was the steady drizzle that had engulfed him with a bone-chilling mist, as he saw medics carry away 9 body bags. They were a 10-man team.
The chill came back to him now, starting from the steel in his palms, as he sat there.
Why were they there, a backwater commune the Union had forgotten in the annals of their colonizations?
Why couldnt he see the shot that killed the Sarge?
Why couldnt they just run?
"Why?"
His finger barely clasping the trigger, he hears a knocking on the door.
Grumbling, he hides the gun under his pillow, and opens the door.
Its a girl in her twenties, her earthen clothes
and her nervous fidgeting tells him shes not local.
Her earrings.
They consist of feathers and gems carefully inlaid in sinew.
It was Hals handiwork,
Hal often pestering him of a new "catch" in that commune.
He remembered her,
and the scent of sweet earth she had about her.
"Th-they said Id find you here."
"State your business."
He said, letting her in.
"Im sorry if Im interrupting anything. Ill be quick."
She tells him of their very first upcoming harvest festival, and how she was sent to invite him to the celebration."
She tells him a story, of a patrol transferred to their community, and how the soldiers, with hulking Vehicles, left the locals uneasy.
She tells him of a story of how over time, the commune and patrol dispelled their anxieties, the soldiers immersing themselves in the trappings their farming folk offered.
The story told of battle, of their refusal to retreat, that the locals may survive the Cebumopolans ethnic cleansings. It told of their bitter end.
The story continued.
"Weve tried to harvest there for awhile now, with little success."
The story told of a village, touched by their sacrifice, and their refusal to leave for more fertile lands.
"Why?"
"The land is part of us. Had we left, your groups blood, now part of that land,
would have amounted to nothing."
She said, as tears welling up in her eyes.
"So we worked on those fields…"
He was given a bread loaf kept hidden in her robes.
"…until it finally bore fruit. Its the first out of the oven,
our very first harvest. Please, take it."
"Were thankful for you to be alive. Now, we can share our harvest with a friend.
We ask you to come in their stead."
Looking back at his gun, he looks at the bread.
He placed the bread beside the picture, and slumped
on the bed, looking out the window to see the rain clouds in the sky above.
She watched in curious silence.
Rain was coming, and with it memories of the day he lost his team, and marked the day a community would find its own will to survive.
Somehow, their actions that day, the cold rain, and the haunting memories…
They finally meant something.
He looked at her, still waiting for his reply, and glanced at the pistol under his bed…
"When did you say this festival was again?"
-End
"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity."
-Edvard Munch
-"Incoming!"
On his table, his squads picture, all smiles, their glistening Tanks in the background. The Sergeant had him in a headlock.
"Dammit, they got the sarge! The hellre you doing? Shoot--!"
It was their first and their last picture together, the search team finding the Sarges Tank charred wreckage after the encounter.
He was buried in a jar.
Below this picture, his medal, the Iron Cross, glistening in the dim light of his quarters, a notary of his promotion to Captain, resting under it.
"The hell cant we just run?"
"We leave, the cebu's go for the locals! You want that on your hands!?"
Corporal Halifax, just Hal to the squad.
A ladys man, albeit the looks with his freckles and beady eyes.
His was light tank leaning on the community halls East wall, along with the rest of the team, all encircling the hall.
Being the sturdiest structure in the commune, hed ordered the locals evacd there, his firing heard until hours before their reinforcements arrived. SABOT shells cut through the tanks abdomen. Hal got a closed casket ceremony.
He was found a little after Hal, his tank knocked out sometime in the firefight.
It was the cold, piercing rain that woke him as the engineers cut away at his stricken armor, the same cold rain that loomed overhead as he asked them about the Sarge, Hal, and their team.
All he heard was the steady drizzle that had engulfed him with a bone-chilling mist, as he saw medics carry away 9 body bags. They were a 10-man team.
The chill came back to him now, starting from the steel in his palms, as he sat there.
Why were they there, a backwater commune the Union had forgotten in the annals of their colonizations?
Why couldnt he see the shot that killed the Sarge?
Why couldnt they just run?
"Why?"
His finger barely clasping the trigger, he hears a knocking on the door.
Grumbling, he hides the gun under his pillow, and opens the door.
Its a girl in her twenties, her earthen clothes
and her nervous fidgeting tells him shes not local.
Her earrings.
They consist of feathers and gems carefully inlaid in sinew.
It was Hals handiwork,
Hal often pestering him of a new "catch" in that commune.
He remembered her,
and the scent of sweet earth she had about her.
"Th-they said Id find you here."
"State your business."
He said, letting her in.
"Im sorry if Im interrupting anything. Ill be quick."
She tells him of their very first upcoming harvest festival, and how she was sent to invite him to the celebration."
She tells him a story, of a patrol transferred to their community, and how the soldiers, with hulking Vehicles, left the locals uneasy.
She tells him of a story of how over time, the commune and patrol dispelled their anxieties, the soldiers immersing themselves in the trappings their farming folk offered.
The story told of battle, of their refusal to retreat, that the locals may survive the Cebumopolans ethnic cleansings. It told of their bitter end.
The story continued.
"Weve tried to harvest there for awhile now, with little success."
The story told of a village, touched by their sacrifice, and their refusal to leave for more fertile lands.
"Why?"
"The land is part of us. Had we left, your groups blood, now part of that land,
would have amounted to nothing."
She said, as tears welling up in her eyes.
"So we worked on those fields…"
He was given a bread loaf kept hidden in her robes.
"…until it finally bore fruit. Its the first out of the oven,
our very first harvest. Please, take it."
"Were thankful for you to be alive. Now, we can share our harvest with a friend.
We ask you to come in their stead."
Looking back at his gun, he looks at the bread.
He placed the bread beside the picture, and slumped
on the bed, looking out the window to see the rain clouds in the sky above.
She watched in curious silence.
Rain was coming, and with it memories of the day he lost his team, and marked the day a community would find its own will to survive.
Somehow, their actions that day, the cold rain, and the haunting memories…
They finally meant something.
He looked at her, still waiting for his reply, and glanced at the pistol under his bed…
"When did you say this festival was again?"
-End
"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity."
-Edvard Munch