Disclaimer: Don't own and never will
AN: Okay, this oneshot was inspired by the Killzone wiki page.
Driver Charles Seto gunned the engine on the Lancer and prayed that the vehicle would move this time. Harder and harder he pressed down on the accelerator and he drew more and more fuel into the engine, but try as he might, the lancer remained stubbornly stuck.
"Any luck driver?" his commander asked and Thomas shook his head.
"No sir. We're stuck solid," he replied and he heard someone kick the side of the vehicle. He couldn't really blame them either. The Lancer was a fine vehicle on nice urban roads, but whatever idiot designed the thing forgot that most wars weren't only fought in cities with nice solid roads. They might, for example, be fought in muddy forests with muddy, unsurfaced roads. Like the one they were currently stuck in. Especially interplanetary wars that involved stopping a fucking invasion. It was fair to say that he was more than a little annoyed by his vehicle.
It didn't help that their commander had only just taken command of the vehicle only a few hours earlier, all bright eyed and clean shaven. He was forgettable in every sense of the word, from his nondescript face to his nondescript name, which Charles just couldn't remember.
"Man, we've been stuck how many times now?" the grating, almost whining voice of Loader Martin Thoud asked and Charles rolled his eyes. Loader Thoud had one of those voices that made you want to rip off your own ears. Or rip out his tongue. That would at least shut him up. He had a greasy, unpleasant round face with blond hair and blue eyes.
Maybe I should really stop watching that old Earth show Game of Thrones, Charles mused to himself. I'm beginning to think in their terms.
"Get your weapons out from the vehicle and set up a perimeter," the commander ordered, ignoring Martin's question. Martin raised an eyebrow but said nothing and pulled his long barrelled M-66. Unlike the version issued to Shadow Marshals, this particular version had a longer barrel instead of a silencer and a forward pistol grip. He turned to face the gunner, a pimply-faced youth with narrow face who went by the name of Tom Shroud.
"Get into the vehicle and man the co-axial gun. I don't want any Heghast surprising us. Driver, keep trying to get the vehicle moving," he ordered and they went to work like a well oiled machine. The commander and Martin moved to set up a perimeter, while Tom moved into position behind the guns and Charles adjusted the tires on the Lancer and tried again. Not surprisingly, it had little effect beyond splattering Martin and the commander in mud.
"Hey watch it driver, we don't need a mud shower here!" Martin complained and Charles closed his eyes. Maybe ripping Martin's tongue out was too kind a fate. He should try something more…colourful. What exactly he wasn't sure, but he was sure he could think of something.
"It's no good sir, nothing seems to work," he called out and he was sure he heard his commander sigh, almost as if he was convinced that Charles simply wasn't trying hard enough.
"Then grab your weapon and help us set up a perimeter," he ordered with just a hint of annoyance. Charles pulled his weapon out of its holder and climbed out of one of the exit hatches and jumped down onto the path.
"Where do you want me sir?" he asked and the commander gestured to an unoccupied corner. Charles had barely started to move again when there was a sudden whoosh sound and the Lancer exploded in a roar of fire, knocking him to the ground.
"Attack!" bellowed a Helghast officer and a volley of fire smacked into the ground around them, kicking up dirt and pinging off the still burning wreckage of the Lancer. Martin and the commander returned fire as they lay prone on the ground, while Charles lay behind them, barely aware of what was happening as he lay concussed on the ground. His gun was almost half a metre away from him, but it might as well have been fifty.
The commander was the first to be hit, a string of Helghan bullets stitched across his chest to form a brutal and bloody garden there. Then Martin died as a bullet opened up half his skull and splattered his brains across the mud.
"Keep moving, there are bound to be more ISA troops nearby," the Helghast commander ordered and there was a sound of boots marching past. They paid no attention to Charles and the others, assuming they were dead. It was an assumption that probably saved Charles's life. The Helghast were after all not noteworthy for their compassion to those they captured.
Twenty minutes later, an ISA patrol approached the burned out wreckage of the Lancer, their rifles raised as they cautiously approached. Lancers had a short burn out time and they were well aware that the Helghast could still be close.
"We got a live one here!" one of the soldiers called out as he found Charles and the medic examined him briefly, grimacing as he looked at his head.
"Severe head trauma," the medic said as he applied one of the specialist head trauma bandages to Charles head and gave him an injection. "He needs to go back to base pronto."
"He must have serious luck," one of the soldiers said as he hauled Charles onto his feet and Charles resisted the urge to chuckle. Lucky? Ha! His crew was dead and he hadn't even been able to lift a finger. No, he didn't think he was lucky at all.