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post #6 of (permalink) Old 03-03-12, 01:57 PM Thread Starter
VixusKragov
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(Thanks for everyone's suggestions! They've all been great so far. Here's the next part.)

The next day...

My cheek folded in, slamming against my teeth. Blood flew in my mouth as the inside was slightly torn.

I fell to the ground, snow softening my fall. A cheer went up around me, my opponent smiling triumphantly.

Not for long. I pushed myself up and spat blood into the snow. Just as I began to get my bearings, my opponent rushed towards me, and threw a fist towards me. I grabbed the arm, shoved it to the side, brought my knee up, and slammed it into his stomach.

As he doubled over in pain, I smirked with my new advantage for as long as I could allow. Give the audience a show.

Then, I grabbed his head and shoved, sending him sprawling in the snow; He twisted as he fell and grabbed my ankle, trying to pull me down. A stomp to the wrist and kick to the jaw put a stop to that.

A victory cheer went up around me, and I reached down, grabbing my battle-brother's arm and helping him up. When he had regained his stability, we bowed to each other. "A good fight. Almost had me there, Dalmak."


"Aye, almost. Next time it'll be yer skull in the snow." We both laughed.

We stepped out of the CQC training area, two more fighters replacing us. As we left, we walked beside each other, talking and joking about the compound and military life. He and I had been friends nearly from birth, and luckily had been placed in the same squad. Delta Strike, so named for being the fourth strike team in the regiment.

We had been shipped off to numerous wars in our fourteen years of service before our regiment was called back to quell a rather large cultist group the PDF couldn't handle. As it would turn out, we were asked to join them. It was an honor. Or at least we thought at the time.

Our view of valiantly protecting our home from the cults and such had been dimmed when we often had to train the green grass. Only thing that had kept us for asking permission to roam again was that we knew our home needed us. We were Cadian. If our home was in need, leaving was no option for a good man.

"Haven't had much protecting to do lately though..." I thought, apparently through my mouth.

"Aye. I'm itching fer some action."

Weren't we all.

************
It would finally come two days later. I & Dalmak were on patrol in further reaches, combing through the area on foot for any sign of trouble, when an airship passed overhead. I looked to Dalmak.

“Cargo. Normal routes fer em.”

I nodded, and kept walking, thinking nothing of it. But then a crate fell, two klicks to the east.

We began to run through the thick snow, excited for action and looking for trouble. We hit the deck as a land speeder began coming in from the north.

I pulled my binoculars from my waist, observing the vehicle. “Civilian-issue. Driver’s in poor condition. Emaciated, skin grimy, hair caked with mud. Heading directly towards the package.”

We reached to our backs, getting our M36 Kantrael lasrifles out from their harnesses and following the vehicle as it moved. As he got off the land speeder, I noticed something odd about him. Adjusting my scope, I looked at his face and saw...nothing.

His eyes were just...gone. Blank skin covered them. He stretched his hands out and moved them around himself, pointing them at the crate and moving towards it. I looked at his fingers and saw tiny eyes at the tip of each.

I had seen horrible things during my service. But this was wrong. Deeply, morally wrong. This was heresy. I panicked, turning my rifle to full-auto and standing from the snow. I pointed it in the monster’s general direction and began to spray fire across the snow. Four of the 150 round clip went into it, the rest punching into the snow or the crate.

As my gun finally began clicking, Dalmak stood up and tackled me, wrestling the gun away. I began to struggle, and he had to hold me down until I had stopped. We stood, and I walked shakily to the drop site.

The man was twitching, blood staining the ground around him.

“What do we do with him?”

“He knew this was here, and he’s a mutant. Let’s patch him up and bring him back to the compound. Load him and the crate into the speeder; we can probably re-outfit it for our use.”

I nodded, choosing to go away from the unsightly task of helping the monster. I loaded the crate into the speeder and got into the driver’s seat, testing its systems. Was working, but seriously needed a tune-up. He loaded the other package into the back and got into the passenger, and we began driving back to the compound.

“Ya went wild out there.”

“What?”

“We can’t afford to ‘ave people losing control. A snap like that on the battlefield could cost you and yer squad mates lives.”

I turned my attention back to driving. We both stayed silent the entire trip, trying to ignore the injured man’s groans.


Last edited by VixusKragov; 03-09-12 at 10:16 PM.
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