A Soldier's Redemption
Disclaimer : I own shite of the Aliens Universe - this is just a fanfic.
Leanna watched as the bullets splattered against the soft concrete wall, carving pock-marked gouts within it's surface.
Her mind froze - caught like a rabbit in the sight of a hunter's light.
Creg and Tomas had already gone ahead, and she knew that they had already been taken.
Suddenly. She could hear shouting, violent cries for help.
Gunshots rung out, and then what sounded like heavy objects thumping against the surface.
Bodies.
Leanna let the rifle drop from her hands, and stumbled backwards.
Years of training, years of discipline and focus vanished at the thought of imminent death.
It was all falling apart. All falling apart at the seams.
Behind her, a firm hand gripped her shoulder.
Leanna recoiled in shock, and spun around in fear.
It was Burns, but her breath was ragged, and blood seeped from her mouth.
Her helmet was half-blown off, and the blank look on her face signalled the end was near.
Her battle fatigues were coloured crimson.
And for Leanna, it was the final straw, as if a thousand threads of sanity had simultaneously unravelled, snapped like piano wire.
She didn't want to die.
She shoved Burns' hand off her shoulder, clumsily grabbed her rifle, and ran as fast she could.
And in her flight, she weeped in grief and rage, for leaving her squad-mates, for her own cowardice. Her instinct pushed her forward, kept her legs running, kept pushing her on.
Shots accompanied her.
Nightfall soon came, and Leanna hid within the dense temperate forest that encompassed the valley. Apart from the odd aircraft that flew overhead, it was quiet and she was afraid.
Tired. Her stomach hurt intensely from a gnawing guilt, a pain so deep and so strong that she lay in the scrub, curled in a fetal position.
Tears welled and streamed from her eyes silently and she forced back sobs that only made the pain worse.
And after what seemed an eternity, she fell into a listless sleep.
She awoke to the soft rustling of brushes.
It was still dark, and she immediately grabbed her errant rifle, holding it tightly.
The rustling increased, and with it, voices.
Leanna held her breathe.
" Shhh…. She's close.."
Click. " Lieutenant sez 10 metres, that wa-"
" Quiet.."
She steadied herself, ready to pounce, her senses ablaze.
A confident whisper echoed out.
" Private Corin, this is Lieutenant Gene Peterson of the 53rd , we know you are here. Show yourself and save us the trouble - we don't want to shoot you accidentally."
Leanna's mind ran.
" Private, we don't have much time. Enemy patrols are getting closer."
Leanna plucked the courage to speak.
" How do I know you aren't one of them?" She said with a mixture of fear and bravado.
Sgt. Peterson was not a soldier who left his people behind.
When he heard that the 51st had been massacred at the valley's mouth - where the river met the hydro-generators, his squad was the closest, and he volunteered for tag retrieval, a solemn tradition within the Marine Corps - the retrieval of KIA soldier's dog-tags from hostile territory when the bodies couldn't be shipped out.
Tag retrieval itself was a difficult mission - and considered in some situations to be too much of a wasteful exercise. But then, that didn't stop stories like how tags from fallen marines were retrieved from the ground zero of a nuke blast.
And when Command found that one solitary Personnel Locator beacon was still active, the squad hit the trails.
Tracking the Bee to a adjoining forest some distance away, the squad watched as Peterson reasoned with a fear filled voice in a dark and ominous environment.
Peterson silently motioned his squad to go IR, and pointed at his stealth man Jervin to push around the scrub lightly.
If he couldn't persuade her, Jervin would help restrain her just in case.
Jervin snuck up through the light cover and crouched by a tree close to the private's position. Through the IR he could make out her form, slumped and cowering.
And she was holding her pulse rifle at the ready.
Jervin lightly tapped his comm. Mike, which got the attention of his sarge.
He held up his hand in a gun-motion, and motioned for caution.
Peterson nodded.
He spoke up, a calming tone in his voice.
" Private, we are stationed at Verinda, 29 klicks from this very spot. There is a large eucalypt that grows in the main courtyard of the base, planted there by AADF garrison troops who transferred control of the base to us when we landed for Operation Hammeraxe. Nearby is the main canteen where the fine Corp crews make our meals, tasteless as they are. Bravo team aren't as great cooks as they are soldiers."
The squad quietly chuckled.
Jervin made rapid hand motions, signalling the private was on the move.
Peterson knew, because the private was standing in front of him.
And even in the dim light, he could make out the features on her face, and it looked like she had been through hell.
Despite some near-close encounters, the group arrived back at the APC - just stationed outside the valley, and more importantly, outside the fire zone.
Over the course of their journey, Peterson gave ample attention to the mental state of the private.
His squad gave her some respectable distance, considering what she'd been through, and she seemed to appreciate it.
But there seemed a dangerous edge to her, as if she was wavering between the line of self-preservation and suicidal grief.
He'd seen it before, many times. Heck, he'd been through this sort of pain, but not so intensely.
When they were pacing up the through the valley, she would suddenly stop and would appear to hesitate in moving further.
Peterson thought she would run back into enemy territory, back to rescue her fallen comrades, or something just as crazy.
His unit were a tight bunch, but the private put them all on edge. He had to take responsibility for her, and just importantly for them.
So he said a few quiet words, she nodded, sullenly - but they continued.
Lt. Ghoran pulled open the APC door to the sight of eight tired, exhausted (both physically and mentally) marines.
He waved them all inside, and they gratefully complied, then he heaved the door shut.
Groans, and sighs of relief filled the APC as everyone unpacked, and unloaded their gear and weapons, and took seats. Ghoran noticed that their new arrival sat away from everyone else, near his command console.
He gave the signal to Cerebis to get moving, and the APC rattled as the engine turbines wound up, and the familiar rumbling sensation that came with the massive wheels turning signalled they were on the move.
Ghoran sat down next to the sergeant, his friend.
" So how is she Gene?" He asked quietly, his question almost drowned out by the jovial banter going around his platoon.
He smiled. It was good to see they were regaining the good atmosphere they usually had.
The sarge rubbed his eyes, and looked at his CO.
" I dunno, it seems like survivor guilt, or some sort of guilt - It's eating at her, I can see that. Anyone can." He sighed.
The LT nodded slowly. " She reminds me of you after BRN-221."
The private was catatonic, just sitting there, looking into space.
" Don't remind me." The sarge said in a mix of mock displeasure and seriousness.
" That WAS hell… we lost a lot of good people, some of them were good friends, and…"
He choked.
The LT finished off his sentence. " Yes, I know… Livvy." He said consolingly.
The sarge wiped back a tear that forming in his eye.
" She… she wasn't supposed to be there.. hell, she was just a civilian medic. But she stay-"
Ghoran stopped him. " Gene, I know…. But the thing is, she saved a lot of lives, including yours." He pointed at the sarge.
" And I'm grateful to this very day." He replied wistfully. " But I wish… wish I could of changed things."
Ghoran sighed.
" Don't we all…"
Disclaimer : I own shite of the Aliens Universe - this is just a fanfic.
Leanna watched as the bullets splattered against the soft concrete wall, carving pock-marked gouts within it's surface.
Her mind froze - caught like a rabbit in the sight of a hunter's light.
Creg and Tomas had already gone ahead, and she knew that they had already been taken.
Suddenly. She could hear shouting, violent cries for help.
Gunshots rung out, and then what sounded like heavy objects thumping against the surface.
Bodies.
Leanna let the rifle drop from her hands, and stumbled backwards.
Years of training, years of discipline and focus vanished at the thought of imminent death.
It was all falling apart. All falling apart at the seams.
Behind her, a firm hand gripped her shoulder.
Leanna recoiled in shock, and spun around in fear.
It was Burns, but her breath was ragged, and blood seeped from her mouth.
Her helmet was half-blown off, and the blank look on her face signalled the end was near.
Her battle fatigues were coloured crimson.
And for Leanna, it was the final straw, as if a thousand threads of sanity had simultaneously unravelled, snapped like piano wire.
She didn't want to die.
She shoved Burns' hand off her shoulder, clumsily grabbed her rifle, and ran as fast she could.
And in her flight, she weeped in grief and rage, for leaving her squad-mates, for her own cowardice. Her instinct pushed her forward, kept her legs running, kept pushing her on.
Shots accompanied her.
Nightfall soon came, and Leanna hid within the dense temperate forest that encompassed the valley. Apart from the odd aircraft that flew overhead, it was quiet and she was afraid.
Tired. Her stomach hurt intensely from a gnawing guilt, a pain so deep and so strong that she lay in the scrub, curled in a fetal position.
Tears welled and streamed from her eyes silently and she forced back sobs that only made the pain worse.
And after what seemed an eternity, she fell into a listless sleep.
She awoke to the soft rustling of brushes.
It was still dark, and she immediately grabbed her errant rifle, holding it tightly.
The rustling increased, and with it, voices.
Leanna held her breathe.
" Shhh…. She's close.."
Click. " Lieutenant sez 10 metres, that wa-"
" Quiet.."
She steadied herself, ready to pounce, her senses ablaze.
A confident whisper echoed out.
" Private Corin, this is Lieutenant Gene Peterson of the 53rd , we know you are here. Show yourself and save us the trouble - we don't want to shoot you accidentally."
Leanna's mind ran.
" Private, we don't have much time. Enemy patrols are getting closer."
Leanna plucked the courage to speak.
" How do I know you aren't one of them?" She said with a mixture of fear and bravado.
Sgt. Peterson was not a soldier who left his people behind.
When he heard that the 51st had been massacred at the valley's mouth - where the river met the hydro-generators, his squad was the closest, and he volunteered for tag retrieval, a solemn tradition within the Marine Corps - the retrieval of KIA soldier's dog-tags from hostile territory when the bodies couldn't be shipped out.
Tag retrieval itself was a difficult mission - and considered in some situations to be too much of a wasteful exercise. But then, that didn't stop stories like how tags from fallen marines were retrieved from the ground zero of a nuke blast.
And when Command found that one solitary Personnel Locator beacon was still active, the squad hit the trails.
Tracking the Bee to a adjoining forest some distance away, the squad watched as Peterson reasoned with a fear filled voice in a dark and ominous environment.
Peterson silently motioned his squad to go IR, and pointed at his stealth man Jervin to push around the scrub lightly.
If he couldn't persuade her, Jervin would help restrain her just in case.
Jervin snuck up through the light cover and crouched by a tree close to the private's position. Through the IR he could make out her form, slumped and cowering.
And she was holding her pulse rifle at the ready.
Jervin lightly tapped his comm. Mike, which got the attention of his sarge.
He held up his hand in a gun-motion, and motioned for caution.
Peterson nodded.
He spoke up, a calming tone in his voice.
" Private, we are stationed at Verinda, 29 klicks from this very spot. There is a large eucalypt that grows in the main courtyard of the base, planted there by AADF garrison troops who transferred control of the base to us when we landed for Operation Hammeraxe. Nearby is the main canteen where the fine Corp crews make our meals, tasteless as they are. Bravo team aren't as great cooks as they are soldiers."
The squad quietly chuckled.
Jervin made rapid hand motions, signalling the private was on the move.
Peterson knew, because the private was standing in front of him.
And even in the dim light, he could make out the features on her face, and it looked like she had been through hell.
Despite some near-close encounters, the group arrived back at the APC - just stationed outside the valley, and more importantly, outside the fire zone.
Over the course of their journey, Peterson gave ample attention to the mental state of the private.
His squad gave her some respectable distance, considering what she'd been through, and she seemed to appreciate it.
But there seemed a dangerous edge to her, as if she was wavering between the line of self-preservation and suicidal grief.
He'd seen it before, many times. Heck, he'd been through this sort of pain, but not so intensely.
When they were pacing up the through the valley, she would suddenly stop and would appear to hesitate in moving further.
Peterson thought she would run back into enemy territory, back to rescue her fallen comrades, or something just as crazy.
His unit were a tight bunch, but the private put them all on edge. He had to take responsibility for her, and just importantly for them.
So he said a few quiet words, she nodded, sullenly - but they continued.
Lt. Ghoran pulled open the APC door to the sight of eight tired, exhausted (both physically and mentally) marines.
He waved them all inside, and they gratefully complied, then he heaved the door shut.
Groans, and sighs of relief filled the APC as everyone unpacked, and unloaded their gear and weapons, and took seats. Ghoran noticed that their new arrival sat away from everyone else, near his command console.
He gave the signal to Cerebis to get moving, and the APC rattled as the engine turbines wound up, and the familiar rumbling sensation that came with the massive wheels turning signalled they were on the move.
Ghoran sat down next to the sergeant, his friend.
" So how is she Gene?" He asked quietly, his question almost drowned out by the jovial banter going around his platoon.
He smiled. It was good to see they were regaining the good atmosphere they usually had.
The sarge rubbed his eyes, and looked at his CO.
" I dunno, it seems like survivor guilt, or some sort of guilt - It's eating at her, I can see that. Anyone can." He sighed.
The LT nodded slowly. " She reminds me of you after BRN-221."
The private was catatonic, just sitting there, looking into space.
" Don't remind me." The sarge said in a mix of mock displeasure and seriousness.
" That WAS hell… we lost a lot of good people, some of them were good friends, and…"
He choked.
The LT finished off his sentence. " Yes, I know… Livvy." He said consolingly.
The sarge wiped back a tear that forming in his eye.
" She… she wasn't supposed to be there.. hell, she was just a civilian medic. But she stay-"
Ghoran stopped him. " Gene, I know…. But the thing is, she saved a lot of lives, including yours." He pointed at the sarge.
" And I'm grateful to this very day." He replied wistfully. " But I wish… wish I could of changed things."
Ghoran sighed.
" Don't we all…"