Act 1: Before the Saints

Prologue: Scott

Scott felt a strange euphoria as the chopper touched down at the camp a few kilometers north of Khabarovsk, Russia. He must have been the only one in that chopper that felt ready to serve his country and was moderately happy about his situation. Inside the chopper with him were three other men, also drafted, including his little brother Nathan. He was a skinny boy of eighteen who didn't look like he would be able to handle what was coming. He didn't have a lot of muscle, but he could hold out in a fight. It was Nate's endurance that frequently amazed Scott; the kid could take a lot of abuse and still get up and fight. It was something that Scott envied. They boy wasn't at all happy to be here in Russia, in fact; he was the furthest from it. Nate despised violence, perhaps it was simply because his childhood consisted of a myriad of bullies who made his life a living hell, both physically and mentally.

It didn't matter, however, Nate was here. He would need to fight. He would need to kill, hide, run, crawl, climb, and march. Scott had decided not to worry about Nate, as long as he was there and alive, he would make sure Nate was relatively unharmed.

Scott rose from his seat and exited the chopper, followed by Nate and the other two men, who were the same age as Scott and Nate. Both Scott and Nate were twins, or rather triplets to be exact as they had a sister who was still in the States. Her name was Chloe and she was older than both of them. She had been born four minutes before Scott, just as he had been born ten minutes before Nate. However, all three of them were fraternal. Out of the three of them, she was probably the most mature but that wasn't saying much as they all had the tendency to be childish at times. The three of them got along well but there were times when they seemed like they would murder one another. From Nate's demeanor, it was obvious he missed home. He missed his mother and his sister. He probably missed his girlfriend, Olivia, even more.

Scott brought his hand down hard on Nate's shoulder. "Get it together, brother. War is no place for pussies."

"Fuck off!" Nate replied as he shoved Scott back.

"Alright, calm down."

Scott straightened up as the commanding officer neared them. The man looked like a hard ass, his face was pockmarked and he had black hair that was greying at the temples.

"Alright, listen up!" he hollered, his voice raspy and loud. "I'm not going to waste time bringing you up to speed on how things work out here. You've already been informed of the way you need to live and act here. Now, I won't keep you because it's getting late and I'd rather be kicking my boots of in my tent at this moment. Just remember, you break any rules or regulations and so help me- I'll kick your asses. Now, get lost."

The four of them snapped off crisp salutes before finding space near the campfire and setting up for the night. Scot didn't sleep all night, he couldn't. The land was different, the weather, the air. Beside him, he could hear Nate tossing and turning in his sleeping bag. Both of them were in for a rough day tomorrow.

The next morning, it was time to pack up camp and head west toward Novosibirsk. It would be a long march, but Scott was ready for it. He wasn't going to give up, he had just arrived here and he was ready to do whatever he needed to do to fight this war. Nate didn't feel the same; he seemed to grumble as they marched slowly for hours, keeping alert.

"Hey!" Scott gave a sharp whisper and punched Nate. "Man up!"

The platoon was eating dinner that night when it happened. Out of shadows came four Russian soldiers, firing at them. The greenie that had been posted as guard didn't react quick enough and he was riddled with bullets within the second. The rest of the platoon dropped what they were doing and those not already in their foxholes, dove into them quickly. Sergeant Greg Dunlap, their CO, was the first to return fire. The others followed suit, shooting wildly at the Russians. Scott ducked down as a bullet hit near his ear. He went up again and fired, scanning for Nate. Nate was hiding in his own foxhole, shaking. He hadn't fired a single bullet.

"Dammit, Nate! C'mon, shoot!"

Nate didn't seem to hear him, so Scott shot a few bullets and ran to Nate foxhole. As he entered, Nate turned to look at him.

"C'mon!" Scott hollered. Then the shooting stopped. There was no sound. Both he and Nate slowly stood up. Nothing. The four Russians were dead, along with the platoon's greenie and two others who were unlucky enough to be shot in the head and neck.

"We might not be done yet! There may be more." Dunlap said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Nate raise his weapon. He turned to see his little brother aiming into the trees, still trembling. Nothing happened. Nate didn't shoot, and nothing shot back. Nate slowly started creeping toward the area. Scott went into a crouch and followed, he couldn't let his brother go off alone.

It happened quickly. Scott heard his brother gasp as a bullet penetrated his shoulder. Nate grabbed at his wound and dropped his weapon. A grenade landed a few feet next to him. Scott quickly stood up and sprinted toward his brother, he didn't think, he didn't stop, he quickly pushed his brother away and jumped onto the grenade, hoping to shield his brother from harm. It wasn't that Scott felt that he had to save his brother, or that he had the duty to protect a fellow soldier. It was that he didn't think, he merely acted on instinct. He didn't feel the pain of the grenade; he didn't feel the warm blood that was gushing out of the gigantic hole in his stomach. He only heard Nate's muffled yell. He turned his head to see Nate grab at his rifle and fire in the direction the grenade came from.

His brother had finally used his weapon, and when he saw Nate lower his weapon and run toward him, he knew that Nate had also made his first kill. Then Scott slipped into darkness.