Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2: The Belle and the Blade
"That which starts sweet ends bitter, and that which starts bitter ends sweet."
Washington Monument evacuation site
Day 5-02:34 am
Second Lieutenant Rachel Pierce
US Army Medical Department
Washington D.C., USA
She was more then tired, exhaustion had begun to effectively set in. She had blood caked onto her forearms and uniform. Everyone seemed to; the medical staff seemed to have had gallons poured onto them. She ripped her rubber gloves off in disgust and with a fatigued sigh she pitched them into the overflowing trash bin. She missed the once in a while injury, not the constant need to amputate limbs of those who fell victim to explosive ordinance or shotgun ammunition.
She leaned up against the wall behind her sliding down with a stifled huff. She felt like she'd been run over by a tank; she ran her meek and slender fingers through her auburn locks, wrenching control from her bandana. She angrily dug into her pants pocket for her cigarettes, fumbling with the pack as tears ran down her face.
She quickly wiped them away, pulling a cigarette out and putting it in her mouth while checking the hour; 02:34am. She sighed as she realized the late hour and her vacant fire starter. Suddenly a hand was outstretched before her, lit Zippo hovering just before her. She smiled leaning forward allowing the soldier to light her up.
As she took a sultry puff, the constant pounding of the artillery didn't seem so close, "Thanks you're a life saver." She spoke, giggling wryly at the irony of her comment. The figure that stood before her lit his own cigarette before uttering "How do you figure?" and snapping the Zippo shut; exposing the insignia of the army special forces. She had heard of their duties; nearly four days straight of constant brutal combat. The figure spoke earnestly "May I join you miss?" she nodded in agreement.
He propped his rifle against the wall before sliding down the wall. He took a puff of his death stick, embracing its horridly welcome stench with a relaxed grin. She could tell, full well, that he was tired. The faded camouflages face paint; the torn and bloodied uniform; Even the combat stubble. In the last few days he had seen and done things that she could barely fathom. She rested her head against the sturdy concrete wall of the bunker and thought of home. Though it was far away it was attainable in some small way in the safe and secure confines of her mind.
The soldier's breathing was rhythmic and soothing, giving him the appearance of being asleep without actually being so. It calmed her erratic thoughts, she wanted to talk to someone, anyone. Seeing as how a lot of her friends perished in a helicopter crash; their medical transport being mistaken for gunship support. Their screams echoed in her mind as she dreamt, being her back to the sad notion of reality.
The soldier tilted his head slightly in her direction, eyes still closed. "Where you from miss?" she wanted to answer him, she really did. But in their line of work, conversation was the first step on the road of heartache. She could be killed by any number of things. He could be killed by a lucky crack shot. Instead she opted for playful banter, "Whose asking soldier?" the operator retorted, "No need to get snippy darling, just curious." Grinning as he shot back. She played his game. "New Haven Connecticut. You?" he replied, "Newark, New Jersey."
She sighed playfully, "Looks like you and me are a long ways from home." He nodded lightly, taking a puff, playing defense; maybe his notions were the same as hers. It was nice though; that she could still flirt with a handsome yet haggard gentleman. His face suddenly changed to a frown as he pressed his hand to the earpiece of his radio. He put his cigarette in his mouth, standing quickly he grabbed his rifle and racked the action on the weapon.
"You're leaving?" she spoke softly. He smiled replying, "If you like miss, we can continue this later?" ashing out his cigarette on the heel of his boot before turning to leave. She stood up sharply, grabbing the collar of his vest and brought him in for a kiss. It was short, yet sweet, watching his eyes go wide with intrigue. He blurted out, "Uh- um." She said caressing the back of his neck. "For luck, keep your ears open for Pierce, that's me." He moved closer affectionately touching her chin. "We are definitely going to continue this later."
He turned palming his helmet off his vest and began to put it on, allowing her to engage his chin strap. But as he began to walk away she shouted after him. "Wait, what's your callsign?" he put his bandana over his face and continued to walk away "You don't want to know." But before she could protest, another soldier adorned in much the same way came bounding down the hallway.
He shouted, "Butcher! We're Oscar Mike, we gotta go bro!" he raised his hand in acknowledgement, ashamed. She moved to him, "Its fine, but how about I just call you Smiley?" he responded cautiously. "I'm good with that." She could see him smiling behind his mask, before he turned to follow he compatriot down the hallway from which they came from.
She sat back down against the wall as one of her friend joined her as she stubbed out her cigarette on the ground. "Who was that Rachel?" she replied, "A spec-ops guy; his callsign was Butcher." Her friend's mouth and eyes went wide. Rachel retorted playfully, "What Lisa?" she responded harshly. "That guy is a heartless monster; do you even know why they call him that?" Rachel was curious; but her faith in humanity outweighed her intrigue of their brutal and possibly immoral actions during times of conflict.