It wasn't a large photograph, or very high quality. It didn't even have a frame, for God's sake. The yellowed, frayed edges stood in sharp contrast to the marine's standard issue black glove, fitting neatly into the palm of his hand.
A young woman and a small girl flashed grins at the camera, sunlight falling softly onto their dark blonde curls and lightly tanned skin. The toddler's blue eyes were crinkled in laughter, and her mother's emerald eyes gazed at the camera with a knowing, mischievous look. Corporal John Wiley closed his eyes- her could almost smell her pumpkin pie, could almost feel his daughter clamber on his back, laughing raucously.
He was jolted out of his reverie as his Pelican overcame a rough spot of turbulence. The photo disappeared into his breast pocket as he slid his fingers lightly along his assault rifle, still slightly out of his comfort zone holding a gun. He was the type of guy more suited to calling the shots than firing them, but everyone had to do their part, he supposed.
"Hey, Wiley, you ready to kick some alien ass?" asked Pvt. Suter, an 18 year old enlistee just out of basic, with a feral grin.
"Hell yeah," he replied automatically, the edge of his mouth tugging up to mirror the younger man's facial expression, "I'm always up for it."
"Y'all know your job," drawled their sergeant in a faint southern accent, "Kill the Covenant bastards, and save humanity!" he ended with a motivational 'Hoo-rah!', pumping his rifle into the air as the entire squad echoed him excitedly.
The Pelican shuddered as is neared the ground, never quite landing. "Touchdown! Clear the LZ for the next wave, C'mon men, let's go,go,go!" the infallible sergeant ordered, as the squad of ten marines shuffled out in a hurried jog.
John always felt the same when he went into battle: he loathed it, yet he craved the adrenaline rush. Time was brought to a standstill as the two point men were set upon by wave after wave of grunts, but the minutes flew faster than bullets as he dove for cover. He held down the trigger desperately as his breathing grew fast and rapid.
Blue and crimson blood congealed around his boots- it was caked into his skin, his soul.
Suter, the fresh-faced young recruit, eager to prove himself, was gone with the swipe of an elite's plasma sword, his startled cry of pain still echoing in the air.
Sgt. Miller, the no-nonsense, gruff leader crumpled face down in the dirt, a needler emptied into his chest.
Dodging from rock to plasma- scorched rock, diving, rolling, burning?
His synapses flared in protest as the jackal kept firing that damned plasma pistol. His body was jerked backed one, two, three times as the shots went straight into his stomach.
The stars wheeled above him as he fell into the blood and the mud. The beautiful orbs danced in the sky, so far from home. The screams and bursts of fire faded. All he'd wanted to do was help humanity. All he'd wanted to do was-
A private cemetery, full military honors, a small group of friends and family. The coffin was empty, simply a formality- bodies were near impossible to retrieve from combat.
"Mommy," starts a small child, looking up at her mother in confusion, "Why are they burying Daddy?"
A lump was in the older woman's throat as she choked on her sorrow, her already red eyes filling with tear as she clutched his box of personal effects- a folded flag, a pair of fatigues, and a small, yellowed picture, tearstained and bloody.
"He said he had work to do!" the young, childish, innocent voice was full of pain and utter desperation. "He said he was keeping us safe! Don't let them, mommy, how will daddy keep us safe?" she sobbed, "Mommy!" her voice broke on this last word, and she buried her face in her mother's black-clad knee, hiding her heartbreak from the world.
A/n: well, pretty depressing, but that's reality: a lot of brave men and women die. I'm an Air Force brat, and my dad just got back from half a year in Iraq, so I'm a tad emotional… anyway, I hope you thought it was ok, please review!
A/n 2: Slightly changed, thanks shakespeare's entourage! =]