Disclaimer: I own My characters and the story. Nothing else matters. I wouldn't mind owning Sailor moon, but then I wouldn't like to deal with all of the responsibilities. On with the REAL show!
This story piks up where Faith and Dreams left off. I think that the latter was a large prologue, and this is the main thing. It's kinda dark, but it will pick up, and I hope that my style has improved since the last one. Anyway, Reviews are wonderful!
Italics: Thoughts, Dreams and third
person point of view.
The H&K G-36 assault rifle bucked and roared in his strong grip, sending a wall of lead out to rip into the space between two buildings on his left. The young man was running; running from not just the dangers in the alley, but also from his memories of a not so distant past. As the 5.56 caliber rounds tore into the night, soft, clear tears stained the dirt-streaked face of the young man who created them. He was dressed in tattered and bloody army BDU's and combat boots, soiled by his very own blood. The muzzle flash illuminated his face every time the gun fired, letting the night glimpse the emotions playing out so freely on the man's face. Pain, anger, frustration, hatred, sadness, and love all fought for dominance on an already crowded face. There was no fear, however. No, fear was the furthest thing from him, along with his love. His one, true love that thinks he died, only a few days earlier. For him, it felt like centuries.
Tangible Destinies
Chapter 1
Suburbs of Birmingham, Alabama
United States of America
December 28, 2005
"Rodriguez, Johnson, Avery, Maddox! Take the west end of the campus! The rest of you, follow me. Stay in radio contact at all times. We won't let these terrorist escape!"
These were the first words to reach my ears as I slowly regained consciousness. I could feel the cold of the night slowly seep into my body from lying on the ground too long.
Where was I? I thought that Heaven was supposed to be warm, and a lot brighter. Then I remembered. I should have just stayed asleep. Oh the pain from those memories was worse than the burning in my chest and back. When I finally decided to open my eyes, I never thought I would be in that spot again. The fountain, that glorious instrument of my awakening, lay only a few feet to my left, quietly burbling in the night hours.
That's when I saw them. They were dressed almost exactly like me, and they were most definitely more heavily armed. A squad of four men with combat webbing that seemed to encase them were making their way across the small courtyard where the fountain sat.
I tried to sit up and wave to them, but quickly found that my body was a tad bit rebellious tonight. All I could muster was a raised hand and a sad excuse for a moan. The point man must have heard me, cause he instantly lowered his mean-looking H&K MP5 in my direction. When his eyes finally found mine, he softened and called out, "MAN DOWN!"
The private, later I found out to be Jenkins, called the rest of his squad over to my resting place. The squad leader, a rough man by the name of Walker, by his uniform tag, looked me over and then ordered for a medical evac. Judging from his voice, he was the one I first heard. He walked steadily over to where I lay, and crouched down. The polish on his boots was sickening. He even managed to smile as he said, "Don't worry, son. We'll get you patched up in no time."
I could already tell, I disliked the man.
What happened next was a blur of two days, the first of which I spent lying on an army MASH cot, listening to a nurse rattle off questions that I tried to answer as best as I could. I don't even remember the questions she asked.
A round little nurse with auburn hair tied into a bun busied herself moving various medical supplies from one side of the trauma tent to the other. She was very bored and hoped that this "incident" would not last much longer. These little tests of the nation's resolve on the terrorism issue we really starting to become mundane. She was missing her shows! When she finished moving a small box of hemostatic medicine to the far side of the tent, the call came through.
The advance team reported a man down and called for a medevac.
"Well, now I know that we didn't come here for nothing. I hope he's not too bad. I really do hate it when they come in here just barely hanging."
She prepped herself with sterilized utensils and hands taking priority.Since the Army's national guard armory was located only a half a block from the scene, she could expect her charge any minute. Little did she know of what lie ahead of her. The flap of the tent was thrown unceremoniously aside as two army corpsmen carried the latest casualty in. She grabbed her clipboard from a near-by collapsible table and began her initial analysis. She read aloud all that she put down.
"White male, approximately six feet tall, one hundred sixty pounds. Severe lacerations to the torso," she walked around the cot in the middle of the tent as the corpsmen placed him on it. She got a good look at his back and winced, "And back. Possible heavy blood loss, and trauma to the internal organs. Equipment present includes one empty pistol, of type I am not familiar with, and double shoulder holster. No recognizable unit insignia, or rank, and no uniform name tag. Possible clandestine operative, or terrorist. Will proceed with medical treatment and evaluation immediately."
With that, the nurse began to treat the injured John Doe, with hopes of him regaining consciousness so she could have a few questions answered. She was not aware that her patient was not out, but rather very, very much awake. The first needle she stuck him with, he cried out in pain. The startled nurse almost fell back against the ground at his sudden outburst, then regained her composure.
"Sorry sweetie, but I need to take care of your blood loss. I need you to keep talking to me while I do this, so tell me about you." Her voice had a nice middle range tone and carried a southern bell lift to it, almost lulling her patient back to sleep. He mumbled a bit, and she had a hard time trying to understand him. A few of the phrases that she did catch, were strange.
"What unit are you with?" she asked him.
"Ugh, the 2nd... 2nd Sword of Light." he managed after several attempts.
"Never heard of them. Are you a terrorist?" She almost hit herself for raising such a question now. Instead of being angry, her patient just groaned and shook his head.
"Oh. Well, what rank? Were's the rest of your unit?"
"I... I am, I hold the rank of Centurion in the Regimental Combat Teams of the Light."
The nurse was stunned. "You must have been hit pretty bad if you are hallucinating. I think that you should rest now, and we'll try these again later."
With that permission, the blackness once again enveloped him.
When I woke up, I noticed that I wasn't alone. More marines were laid up on the cots next to mine in various states of pain. I could hear the sound of the more injured ones groaning farther down the tent. I wasn't feeling as bad as the night before; apparently the military doesn't spare expense when training nurses. I tried to sit up, and after a bit of a struggle, I managed a sitting position in my cot. This must have caught the nurse's attention, cause she looked up from behind one of the wounded and hurried over to me.
"Oh good! You woke up! Can you stand? We are going to need your cot. It seems that these terrorists are more dangerous than we thought," she said.
I moved my legs to the side of the cot and managed a weak standing posture. Her clouded and distraught face lifted a bit at my condition, and she smiled at me. Her brown eyes reminded me a lot of my own, and her accent brought back fond memories of my home.
"I didn't catch your name or your rank, soldier." She tried to sound casual while she tucked a few strands of auburn hair back that had fallen out of the bun she wore it in.
"I'm Cen, I mean Captain Jonathan Fowler. Spec Ops." I don't know why I said that last part, but I'm glad I did. She took it, hook, line and sinker. I also don't know why I had trouble with the rank. This image just kept on coming into my head. I shook it to try and rid myself of the thoughts, and that's when the radio decided it was left out and joined in with the fountain in messing with my fate.
"AHHHHH! Anyone left alive? Bravo team! HQ? This is Private Jenkins from Recon. I am cut off and half of my squad is dead. Sergeant Walker is dead. The terrorists have some sort of monster with them and it's tearing the guys apart! Anyone, respond!" His voice was filled with terror as he related his story. I didn't even stop to think as I hurried over to the radio sitting by an injured marine.
"Private, Where are you? I'm coming out to get you." I said. I tried to sound in command and in control. It apparently worked for him.
"Oh thank God there is someone else. We're at the Science Center at the west end of the campus. These terrorists are trying to get the planetarium. I don't know why, but they are fanatical! It took half a clip to down one of them!" BANG "Damn! They have grenades! Stone! Save your ammo! If you could get here quick, that would be nice!" Then a new voice came on, must have been Stone, "And I hope you bring a tank! This bastard is tough! We'll keep em busy for you." And then there was a burst of machine gun fire, followed by static. The nurse and I exchanged glances, then I spoke up.
"Where's the armory?"
After a brief directional conversation, I headed out of the warm, yet gloomy MASH tent, and across the grounds to the brick armory. The Army National Guard maintained a small cache of weapons and ammunition near my campus, and the forces assigned to take on the terrorists invading my school set up a temporary headquarters there. Without a second glance at the present military staff, I shouldered my way past the officers and enlisted men to the large double doors. They were too busy trying to direct their men to notice me.
Inside, I felt that familiar feeling of wonder. Looking to the right, I saw a rack of assault rifles of different makes and models. I headed there first. I picked up the first one I saw, a Heckler and Koch G-36, and slung the strap around my shoulders. On the floor next to the gun rack, was a box of 5.56 caliber rounds in 30 round banana clips for the weapons. I grabbed four of them, and a web belt and put them on. Next, I hunted for some .45 ammo. I noticed that the nurse left my pistol in the holster, and thanked God that she had been too busy to properly treat me. I might have lost it had she performed a more thorough heal. The medical personnel tend to disregard personal effects and clothing in emergencies.
On shelf in the back, I found clips of .45 ammo and I quickly grabbed them up, fitting the extra in the webbing's pouches. On my way out, I saw a box half full of grenades and flares. I picked up two of each, and placed them in the webbing as well.
"Alright." I nodded to myself. During all of this, I never once stopped and actually thought about WHY I was fighting. It never really occurred to me to be anything out of the ordinary. I was just acting on instinct, fulfilling a destiny. Living a dream. Or perhaps, a little bit of both.
Ok, If you stayed with me this long, You won't be disappointed. I have to add this stuff for my mind to accept the rest of it. Long story, but I am beginning to think of Faith and Dreams as a very large prologue. This is the "main" story, and it will have a lot of action, but also romance and humor. I am thinking of writing a side story, called The Summer Vacation, and trying a straight up romance humor with no action, but I might need some help. Anydangway I have rambled enough. This is a Sailor Moon story, I promise, it's just a bit different than most of the rest of them out there. I think that my style will be better for this one, and I urge you to make constructive comments on my writing. It's the only way to know whether or not It's any good! Besides, I kinda like the attention. But anyway, thanks for reading, and please drop me a line!