Tides of War
by Joram
On the other side of the darkness was pain. For a long while that was all he knew. At first it was white, blindingly hot but eventually it dulled to a red throb and dimly he became aware of people moving around him. He tried to call out, to beg them to stay but always they faded away into the darkness again, phantoms of his tortured mind.
And then one morning he awoke clear-headed and remembered. That was when the real pain began. When he knew his life was over.
As his body healed against his will, they tried to tell him that he was still needed, still useful but he blocked the voices out, ignored the anonymous faces of the nurses who came and went. What the hell did they know? He was a marine, a lifer married to the Corps, a crippled tank with no family. There was no place in the Corps for men like him. And no-one else had ever needed him. Except his kids.
Everytime he thought of them the pain struck him anew. For the first time in years he had allowed himself to care. The Angry Angels had been good people but they had never touched his heart like the 58th had. From the start, they had wormed their way under all his layers of armour, bringing him their joys and their sorrows, trusting him to look after them. And he had failed them. He had sent them out to bring hostages back, expecting a peace that had shattered in a single bloody moment. Wang was lost in a blaze, his life given for the others, a Kamikaze at the end after all; Vansen, refusing to leave an unconscious Damphouse, their small craft adrift, heading for the planet's atmosphere and probable burn-up. Only West and Hawkes had made it back. Once he might have been proud of the sacrifices they had all made, now it just hurt.
They'd visited him. The ridiculous stuffed bear that Vansen had given Cooper, Kuylen's picture around its neck, reminding him of their caring everytime he looked at the chair beside his bed. Seeing them so weary, so hurting, had made him want to cry but he had choked back the tears, realising that they still needed him to be strong. Nathan had his Kuylen back at last but Coop, more alone than ever before, had convinced him that there was still a place for him. For the first time since the explosion, the depression lifted a little, the clouds of guilt and self-pity rolling away. After that day, he had even allowed Commodore Ross to convince him that he was still worth something to the Corps. He might only have one leg but he was still a student of history, a fine tactician. And the war against the Chigs was still raging on.
Life suddenly had meaning again. A purpose and someone who cared, who loved him regardless of his crippled body. With that love and strength to lean on, he could face life again. And this morning he had received a packet of letters from the Saratoga. He recognised Nathan's writing on the envelope.
When the nurses came to wheel him in from the garden, they found him slumped in his chair, staring blindly out over the quiet lake, a stuffed bear tucked forlornly at his side. They thought he had fallen asleep until they saw the two letters lying in his lap. The blood from his wrists had obliterated most of the writing but the nurses didn't need to read them. It was enough to know that one of them was yellow.
"Dear Colonel McQueen, We regret to inform you of the death of Lt Cooper Hawkes. He died bravely whilst on a rescue mission..."