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[WIP TITLE]

Post by Zombiedude101 on Wed Jun 19, 2013 2:26 pm



I remember from the time back when I first served in the military as an infantry grunt, before I had a clue about how things really worked,  spending my first
six months in some far-off African country who nobody could bother to remember the name of, with absolutely nothing save for an abundance of dirt farmers, goats, mass graves and a legion of pissed off 'African Liberation Front' soldiers. The latter of which we were sent to combat, in order to quell a piss poor so-called 'revolution' where these dumb fuckers hoped to sieze control of the region from EarthGov, in turn provoking their wrath when it started affecting their business. A very unwise decision, but then again, I've never heard of a dirt-farmer with a gun making wise decisions.

Typically, we'd been sent in to do our part in quelling this 'liberation movement' and, in the words of the higher-ups, 'restore stability to the region' which pretty much meant killing anyone who's interests conflicted with EarthGov's. Of course, back then I didn't particularly see it that way, but I was young and somewhat naive, unfamiliar to the true ways of EarthGov. My squad, referred to as 'Sigma Seven', had been sent in to clear out and capture a forward operations post for the ALF in some town who's name was so complex and long-strung that pronouncing it would be too much of an effort.

Things had been relatively successful, and within a half hour the operations post was under our control. No doubt this was due to the fact that it'd been only guarded by about a dozen poorly-fed, poorly-armed and poorly-trained child soldiers who'd probably been dragged out of some dirt farmer village and conscripted into the ALF's ranks at gunpoint. As one would expect, eliminating them wasn't much of a challenge, and the remaining four had quickly surrendered once they'd realised their chances were slim to fuck-all, and had been promptly taken into our custody. So, being the good little soldiers we were, the NCO in charge of our ragtag band of misfits and PMC rejects, Sergeant Matthews, managed to get the ancient, yet functional radio equipment to work, because aparrently our piece of shit comms headsets lacked the range needed to contact the big guy.

"Red Crown, this is Sigma Seven. Objective has been captured and all but four of the hostile forces have been eliminated, the remaining four are currently in our custody, how copy?"

"Understood, Sigma Seven. However, Command have specified that all hostiles be terminated, no survivors. Carry out your orders, the max time that evac will wait is ten minutes, over."

"..... Copy that Red Crown, we'll get back to you in five, out."

Then, having just finished his conversation with the big voice behind the radio, the crackling of the equipment came to an abrupt halt as the Sarge turned back to me, drawing his sidearm from its holster and holding it out to me, as he spoke.

"Moss, this is on you. Make it quick an' clean, no fuckin' around."

Hesitating, I failed to accept the sidearm from the Sarge, allowing my moral side to get the better of me as I voiced my objections to what had obviously been expected of me.

"Sarge? We're talking about kids here, not even full-grown men. They probably didn't even want to fight for the ALF, probably just got conscripted out of some tribal village. It feels wrong, y'know?"

"Look kid, I don't give the orders and I sure as hell don't fuckin' question them. You heard what Red Crown said, and besides - do you really want to risk going against Command and facing a charge? We're paid to follow orders, nothing more and nothing less, so just carry them out already."

He gave me a firm stare, which eventually prompted me to reluctantly take the pistol from his grasp. Offering me a re-assuring nod, as if he somewhat understood my doubts, he then turned back towards the others to prep in the meantime, whilst I turned around and headed towards the small room where we'd been keeping the prisoners out of the way. Stepping inside, I spotted Corporal Vickers standing guard in the corner, and noticing that I was carrying the Sarge's sidearm, he gave me a nod and headed towards the doorway, making a quick remark as he left, with that typical shit eating smirk of his.

"Happy hunting."

Once he'd passed by, I gave the four kneeling prisoners a look over - none of them could've been older than twelve years, at most, and even then they didn't appear to be in the best of shape. But, not wanting to waste time, I decided to get it over with, clicking off the safety on the pistol.

The first of them was a boy who appeared to be about nine years old, with scruffy, unkempt hair which'd been allowed to grow out wildly, and he wore an oversized, dirty checkered shirt which sagged down to around his knees. I could tell that he was afraid, even if he refused to show it, and I noticed how he seemed to flinch as I approached him, muttering a strange chant in some random tribal dialect, as if he were making peace with whatever spirits or gods he answered to. Raising the barrel against his head, I slowly squeezed the trigger until I saw the flash and heard the loud crack, and watched his body fall limp against the old tile floor.

Even younger was the second boy, a scrawny little thing who had barely been able to hold himself together, if the soft whimpering, dried tears and the suspicious dark patch around his pants were anything to tell. Unlike the other boy, he wore nothing above the waist, save for a tribal necklace which hung around his neck. Again, I brought the barrel of the pistol to around his head level, and the brief flash and the loud snap which followed shortly thereafter signalled the end of his short, unfortunate life.

The third boy must've been the oldest of them, if his size and behaviour were something to go by. Around his neck was a scarf of sorts, alongside some kind of makeshift combat vest that was hung over his shoulders, with little pouches meant for holdering magazines and other items. Unlike the other two, who'd kept their eyes either locked on the ground or closed altogether, this boy looked me in the eyes as I carried out his sentence. Whilst I couldn't be sure, I had a feeling that he'd been through something like this before, only that he'd been saved from death at the last minute at the cost of seeing his friends die. Yet this time, nobody was here to save him at the last minute. Of all the four, he seemed to be the most understanding of his predicament, and even seemed to embrace it, just a little. Though this didn't do much to numb the distaste I felt when I finally carried out the sentence and ended his life with a shot to his head.

Finally came the fourth, the last - the boy who'd been made to endure the agonising wait and watch his friends die, one by one. I felt pity for him, and was somewhat tempted to secretly allow him to live. However, the Sarge had somehow managed to ingrain himself in the back of my head, reminding me that I was here to carry out my orders, nothing more and nothing less. I wondered what the consequences of my actions would be, whether or not any of these boys had family or friends who would miss them, whether their bodies would end up being tossed onto a burning pile or not. Again, the Sarge's words nagged me into mental submission once more, and I decided that it'd be best if I didn't think of it at all. I aimed the pistol at his head a final time, then squeezed the trigger, giving the boy a quick, clean death, his body laid out next to the other three.

Then, heading towards the doorway, and maintaining a calm, straight tone, I raised a hand and called out to the Sarge.

"Sarge, it's done."

He threw me a quiet nod before returning to the century-old radio equipment and fiddling with it, until that familiar crackle came within earshot once more.

"Red Crown, this is Sigma Seven. Confirmed no survivors, how copy?"

"Copy that Sigma Seven, evac is enroute to your location. E.T.A fifty seconds."

And with that, the antique radio equipment died down once more, prompting the Sarge to whistle and call us over.

"Alright people, we're buggin' out. Evac'll be here in just a sec, anyone who isn't onboard that shuttle within the next fifty second's getting left behind, so grab your gear and haul ass."

Wordlessly, the rest of us retrieved whatever equipment we'd temporarily set aside and, once the evac shuttle had landed on the clear strip of rooftop above, we quickly climbed onboard to proceed with the remainder of the day's objectives.

And lived to fight another day.



Last edited by Zombiedude101 on Fri Jun 21, 2013 1:43 am; edited 5 times in total

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Re: [WIP TITLE]

Post by Anony on Thu Jun 20, 2013 1:06 am

HERE'S TO YOU, NICOLA AND BART
REST FOREVER HERE IN OUR HEARTS
THE LAST AND FINAL IS YOURS
THAT AGONY IS YOUR TRIUMPH

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Re: [WIP TITLE]

Post by Ducky on Thu Jun 20, 2013 3:03 am

*moment

last and final MOMENT

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Re: [WIP TITLE]

Post by Anony on Thu Jun 20, 2013 4:38 pm

typing while listening op

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"I haven't shown my hand - I've shown one card. I've given my enemies a single, provocative datum upon which to fixate. They have no idea what other cards I'm holding. It's a strong hand, believe me - I dealt it to myself."
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Re: [WIP TITLE]

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