Guaritore- Chapter 1-The Sargent
The flag stood bright in what was an ominous, dark, and evil sky that surrounded the earth. The end of the flag waved in torn shreds in the shrill wind. A clear reminder to what the world had become... to what the country had become... that the boy who stood with a clear dismay yet stern look on his face so protected and adored.
He rarely spoke a word... in fact he only spoke to utter words of reassurance, of instruction, and of sheer confusion to those who encountered him. Yet everyone knew his cause but never knew the flag he truly stood beneath or held valiantly in the sky in front of him. He was only known as Guaritore. The patch he carried in his right pocket of his torn and tarnished cargo pants was his simple definition as a... well, whatever he was...
In fact his whole appearance was covered in the same insignia. He wore the same patch on each arm and was also proudly displayed on the vest that covered his entire torso. The 'star of life' as it was known to those who still inhabited the broken country. An insignia only the Guaritore wore.
The man... or still boy... slid his back down the rock behind him until he gratefully met the cold ground beneath him. He let his arm slump lifelessly beside him letting the cold rifle he held slung around his shoulder clack as it hit the ground itself. He let out a long sigh of relief as his feet were relinquished of there distraught task of carrying the boy and his... baggage.
His side arm met the ground as his legs slid outwards laying flat. He then rested his right hand on the still holstered weapon peering cautiously out of his closed eyes. He lifted his chin high in the air so as to raise his nose as well... inhaling the scents that surrounded the boy as he sat in a leap of limps and metallic weaponry.
He smelt burning grease... particularly that of the soviet T-90... the monster itself that seemed to always be traveling in packs of its own metallic kind... they were far enough away to not be heard by, his even though partially deaf, ears. But he retained another scent that he knew to be no other than human sweat... particularly that of the beaten and worn soldier that fought for the colors of the flag that stood, still waiving violently, before him. The boy scowled in his slump against the rocks.
"More blood to be shed... and yet no advance to be made..." he uttered out loud to his own surprise. He gazed off into the distance waiting to see the giant metallic beasts appear along the horizon. He suddenly felt as if he'd been in this field before... in fact he recognized the house that stood in pieces along the horizon and fell into a deep thought...
"Lets go!" The captain of the truck screamed in dismay. "Grab that two anda quarter kid... guess your being baptized today" he said with a tooth grin underneath his helmet as he continued to bark orders to the other men.
The boy ran to the side of the truck grabbing the dirty and rough hose line as he fumbled with a mask trying desperately to place it snugly on his face and run with the hose in his arms at the same time.
Suddenly he was stopped by a stiff and strong hand being planted on his shoulder. A hoarse but strangely calming voice bellowed down to him "just relax kid... I got your back... first rule 'Hurry up and slow down'"
The boy shuttered from either the comfort he was given or the corniness of that oh-so-true unwritten law of fire fighters... yet he did as he was told and stopped... took a deep breath... collected himself and his equipment... and charged headfirst into the engulfed building with the man still behind him with his hand on his shoulder... reassuring the boy he wasn't alone... and never would be.
He began climbing the st-
"SWEOFT"the boy step sideways as a bullet graced his shoulder... he didn't wince in pain but just stood in his new position with his eyes still set on the horizon. No blood oozed from his shoulder... he just placed the other hand over the wound closing his eyes briefly and then reopening them to reveal a aged scar on his arm where the gash once split his skin.
He stepped down from the ledge he stood on and crawled down the short rock face he was atop. As he reached the bottom he slung his rifle to his back freeing up his hands to run as he made his way down the tree covered hill...
"God fucking dammit!" The SF sniper yelled as a piece of scrap metal scraped his already broken ankle... he rose again from the pile of leaves and snow... the world around him seemed to be in a ball of flames... he heard the cracking of automatic rifles behind him in short bursts... feeling the air break as the bullets wized past his bruised and gashed head...
"So they send out scouts in front of me... and then attack me from behind like cowards... the fucking bastards" he muttered through his scowl. He amusingly hopped forward dragging his...expensive...rifle behind him.
Suddenly...two sharp thuds slapped his back as he fell face first in gully he so 'carefully' drudged down.
"F-fu-fuck..." he muttered as the mud bubbled around his mouth. The man was done for... he surely had his fare share of this...war...
He managed to gather his last thoughts as his eyes slid close...
"...YES SIR!" the new Sargent recruit bellowed from deep in his lungs.
"What was that recruit?... I don't think i've ever heard a more panzy ass recall from a so called solder in my enti-"
"...YESSS SIRR!" the man desperately screamed trying not to let a crack in his voice rise from his throat.
"Well there we go recruit. Now gather your gad damn equipment and get back to your squad... I don't ever wanna see you face in the dirt again or your ass is gr-"
"...YES SIR!" the Sargent bellowed again and gathered his heavy unnecessary equipment from the ground. No matter how beat, sore, and utterly exhausted he was he still managed to crack a devious smile. It was his last day in the notorious 'hell week'.
The man bubbled in the mud again... letting out his last breaths. The solders closed in around him... mussels of the rifles being shoved closer and closer in his face... until...
"Hvatit!" the russian captain screamed at the closing barbarians. As he pulled the pealing cigar out of his mouth and placed it like a pencil on his ear.
He whipped his silver side arm out of the front of his belt shoving the barrel right down the Sargent's mouth as he glazed open jawed at his...executioner.
"So this is the bastard who blew my comrades brains into oblivion" he uttered in his ugly accent.
"So I finally get to see the face of the cowa-"
The Sargent managed to spit a bloody loogy right on the captains uniform pants.
The captains cool smirk suddenly darkened into a deep scowl... He cocked the silver side arm now to the Sargent's groin and let two shots randomly pierce the already dieing Sargent's skin.
The Sargent could only open his mouth in an attempt to scream but found his voice had already left his body before the life could flo-
"Now you filth... I won't even give the mercy of last wo-"
The captains head disappeared into a pink mist... as the cigar somehow unshaved flew in circles of smoke upwards till it finally found its resting spot in the snow with a long soft but fierce sizzle.
Suddenly bodies were dropping all around the Sargent... splashing as they hit the mud... he tried, foolishly, to stand but his efforts to move his muscles went in vain when they barely twitched... All he could see was the boot of a man... no a boy... with a star... the star of life?
"What an ugly...instrument this is", the boy scowled as the smoking rifle in his hand. He dropped it only to let it be caught by the sling around his back...
"What the f-fu-" he managed to utter before death's train finally rang the last bell... dragging him ruthlessly behind it.