All I knew was the cold… and the gunfire. Shots whizzed overhead, and even pinged off the ground around me. I brought my elbow forward, and dug it into the mud in front of me. "Faster!" my nightmares screamed. I cringed, and did the same with my other elbow. If I stood up, I'd either be cut to ribbons or plainly killed. If I didn't move, I'd be a coward… a failure. I hauled my knee forward, and dug it into the mire. My body screamed at me to stop… yet my mind urged me on. The whistle of a bullet passed overhead. I cringed, and moved my other knee. My fatigues were soaked and soiled… they added to the discomfort by untold amounts. Forward… forward… keep moving… I urged myself. "Move it, you maggots!" Silently, I cursed the voice.
Slowly, I repeated the process, inching forward. The darker side of my mind prodded me to stop. You'll never make, you know… you're going to fail. Again. I pushed it down, and crawled forward another inch. My slid my arm forward… and felt solid ground. I opened my eyes. Grass… sky… and my nightmares. "Well, well, well, my little maggot… glad you could join me," the drill sergeant growled mockingly. "It seems you've made it… somehow," he muttered. I hauled myself from the trench, joining the men who made it before me. I stood, and surveyed the Hell behind me. Remote mounted machine guns chattered, spewing fire over the trenches. Strands of barbed wire spanned the pit, caging in the pitiful men within it. Muddy forms writhed and slithered down the trenches, fighting the same battle I had fought only moments before. I wished them a silent prayer. Not all of them would make it.
That night, we gathered in the barracks. Some of us sported bloody bandages, reminders of the dangers of the exercise. Martinez had managed to smuggle a couple cases of beer to celebrate, and we enjoyed them enthusiastically. Tomorrow was Judgment Day, and we wanted what time we had left as comrades to be happy. We belted a drunken song. We were brothers.
The next morning, I woke from a fitful sleep to the morning roll call. Or rather, I gave up trying to sleep. I had a mild hangover, and didn't relish the day's events coupled with it. I sat up, and grabbed a bottle of aspirins from under my bunk. I popped a couple, and swung out of bed. Around me, the others acted similarly, reeling from the night before. I pulled on my boots.
Roll call was dull, but special somehow. There was nothing particularly special about it… and yet there was. It was my last roll call. Either my very last… or my last as nobody for tomorrow, I could be one of two things. A failure… or a marine. Scott McKinley… UNSC Marine.