Permanence

by gega.cai

One Shot. Post Judgment Day future: What does it take to make it as a captain in John Connor's Resistance?

Title: Permanence
Author: gega cai
Pairings: Original Character with John Connor and Kyle Reese mentioned.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some graphic imagery/gore and language
Summary: Post Judgment Day future: What does it take to make it as a captain in John Connor's Resistance?
Disclaimer: Characters and other likely inventive scenarios based on the world created by James Cameron and William Wisher Jr.

Author's Note: My first attempt at an OC fic. I admit the writing style of this was influenced by a book I just finished reading and have been holding off on sharing. I'd appreciate any feedback.

Permanence
by gega cai

Few men are fortunate to live long enough to get used to the unexpected. One veteran has been around as long as John Connor. In the Resistance, he's simply known as Captain or the Captain. Some would say that he's one lucky son of a bitch. That was probably more accurate than he would like to admit. Deep down, he took some pride in knowing he has lived long enough to understand what it takes to survive. Unfortunately, he believed there was not a lot worth living for. Most of what he had enjoyed or might have even loved was gone. Some things never change, though. Sure, the day to day events of living and dying for the Human Resistance are endured with sudden deaths and destruction. But, that is expected. There are always new faces, the good and bad news about what is really happening out there, and the echoed words from a bigger-than-life general past on the lips of every living soul is always constant for any brave or foolish enough to fight. It's always the same battle cry.

At some point in their young lives, every Resistance soldier looked up to the Captain as much as they looked up to John Connor. The Captain was patient and every move was calculated to win the war. He had a habit of crawling behind enemy lines to gain the upper hand. It's a suicide mission, sure. He was no pretty thing as a result. His face and body was scarred and disfigured from one too many close calls.

The Captain humored his soldiers with stories about what it was like before the bombs fell and what John Connor was like before the machines gave a damn. He really did not give it any significance that he knew General Connor and had met with him on many occasions. Connor might even consider the Captain a friend. The general was just a man as the Captain was. But, all his stories gave the soldiers something and in return, they gave their lives. The Captain had met all the heroes: Danny Dyson, the insane generals that escaped the first few camps with Connor, and of course, Kyle Reese. Everyone could see that John Connor favored the young sergeant. He was a good kid and a damn good soldier.

For so long John Connor was a man on a mission. The Captain would even go as far as to say General Connor could be mistaken for a machine. Connor's days were endless and he would go days without sleep but no one would see except those that had fought along side him in the beginning and those that watched him build and nurture a Human Resistance.

The general changed when he met the young soldier, Reese. Connor had always had patience as if he were steps ahead of not only the machines, but himself. Yet, the Captain could see he had an urgency in his eyes. Maybe it wasn't Reese, the Captain wondered. But something changed. The general seemed to struggle with that patience now. Urgency was replaced with an expression of vindication and, amazingly, sadness. The Captain found some comfort in knowing their general had found a true friend in Kyle Reese.

Perhaps other soldiers and officers could see that too. A lot of soldiers respected Reese and not because he was respected by John Connor. The Captain had the chance to fight side by side with the young soldier. Reese was quick and unyielding when it came to his objectives. He did not allow himself to lose sight of what must be done. Connor, no doubt, would know if Reese had succeeded or not. Pride was a tricky thing; the Captain understood that much. But, the young soldier only took pride in destroying Skynet one machine at a time.

Their chance meeting was while the Captain was waiting along an offensive line for his men to charge when Kyle Reese had reported. The two men had a few moments to reflect on what it was to be soldiers. Looking back, the Captain regretted laughing at Reese's simple strategy. He [Kyle Reese] was muttering something about pain and how it could be ignored. The Captain chuckled at him, but deep down he understood what Reese meant. The Captain just didn't agree with it. He used the pain; he always had. The pain made everything acute and magnified. It was his advantage.

He learned how to use pain years ago when a laser pulse-watt grazed his abdomen in one of the first Skynet scourges. The Captain had just joined the Resistance.

The warm ache brought him to his knees before the deep throbbing of incredible pain nearly made him fall forward at the shock of being hit. He cupped the seared rip in his jacket, gently pressing and half expecting to feel his entrails. Instead, there was only wetness from sweat, not blood. The heat coming from the cauterized wound surprised him. The Captain's sergeant saw him on his knees, struck dumb in a state of confusion and yelled over at him to snap out of it. When the Captain looked up to nod at the sergeant's command, he only saw the last moments of the sergeant's body being blown apart by an aerial HK flying high above. That snapped him out of it.

Everyone has their moment when they come to terms with mortality. Unlike the dead sergeant, the Captain could still feel pain and use it to his advantage. The pain set him a part from the dead and from the metal motherfuckers that couldn't feel anything. He relished in it.

Now, in his old age compared to so many that die young, nothing got to the Captain. Pain, like the everyday struggle of humanity against machines, was constant. The Captain thought he might be going mad when he started to take some pleasure in the beauty of the war. When hunter-killers exploded in the sky and their shrapnel and turbines rained down crushing humans, infiltrators, and bleached skulls below, he allowed a moment of awe in the spectacle. It was only a matter of time before his own death would come and play out like so many had in his memories.

The Captain's end was a glorified soldier's death, or so they told generations after Skynet's defeat. The battle was one of the last that were a victory and turning point for the Resistance. The Captain saw his chance: There was a break in Skynet's lines and an outflanked Hunter Killer was in the open. The damn thing had nearly wiped out all his men. Climbing atop bodies and debris, the Captain positioned himself and launched a satchel-charge. The grenade was tossed and made its mark, but not before the Captain's arm was shot off and another lethal pulse laser passed through his gut. Its precursor was forgiving unlike this shot. The Captain knew it was fatal and fell back hard laughing at the enemy and himself. His delirious smile faded as he felt some comfort when his old comrade, pain, washed over him.

The throbbing and the shock of his injuries were calming. His body took over and his senses heightened. From where he had fallen, the Captain witnessed the retreat of the machines and looked over at the beauty in the destroyed landscape inching towards some solace. The moment was interrupted when the sound of rubble and bones crushing signaled the approach of an infiltrator. The machine stepped into the Captain's view; its battle-damaged endoskeleton teetered to balance its weight on the uneven slop of dead bodies and bones. The battle continued around them as the machine looked down at the Captain with a menacing stare like a neo-grim reaper holding its scythe of choice: a phased plasma rifle held out to its side. Explosions and purple streaks of light criss crossed against the evening sky reflecting off the metal surface of the infiltrator. The Captain waited, but the machine did not bother with finishing him off as it finally turned to rejoin the battle. The Captain smirked; he was sure that through the machine's HUD vision, he was viewed as no threat and is left to die in pain. The Captain laughed again, this time sputtering blood down his chin.

He laid his head back and watched the light show above him. He could accept the beauty in it now. He was finally a part of it --his pain present even in the end. His vision blurred; softened pulse streaks and distant explosions left the sky gradient with colors of pink, purple and blue. The world grew dim before the sounds of the war muffled into a dark silence.

When John Connor was informed about the Captain's death, he was visibly shaken. Though the Captain wouldn't have made it significant, many soldiers found it to be the most honorable accolade. The Resistance could understand that so many died while few lived: How could Connor outwardly acknowledge each man, woman, and child lost at his command? In mourning the loss of his captain and friend, he mourned them all. He mourned every last one of them.