Title: Lest We Forget
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel or any of its characters. The poem is written by Lawrence Binyon (God Bless Him) and I'm unsure of the title.
Summary: Terminal City remembers those who have fallen in the heat of battle.
Author's Note: Okay so this story was inspired by ANZAC Day in Australia. Any Aussies and New Zealander's will recognise the poem from countless number of services. Also the quote, I have no idea who first said it but it was on the ABC news and Channel Seven news.
For those who don't know ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps and is now, against better judgement (at least in this humble authors opinion), defunct. And ANZAC day is our national day of remembrance. It is our most celebrated national holiday. I could give you a huge lecture on the exact importance of it but I don't think anyone who doesn't know wouldn't really be interested in an Australian history lesson. Anyway onto the story.
Dedication: This is dedicated to all the troops that lost their lives in the service of Australia and to the mothers and wives who lost just as much. We will remember them.
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Max felt a shiver pass through her body as the lone bugle played the last strains of The Last Post. She relaxed gently as the speaker began to speak.
They shall not grow old As we that are left grow old Age shall not weary them Nor the years condemn At the going down of the sun And in the morning We will remember them Lest we forget.
Silence fell over Terminal City and almost as one the soldiers snapped into a salute. Complete silence, complete stillness. The only movement was that of their flag as it flapped gently in the breeze. Silent tears traced down some of the transgenics faces as they remembered the fallen.
Each super soldier brought their hands down in synchronisation as a quiet minute passed, still at attention as the bugle started on the haunting notes of The Reveille.
The last note had played and each soldier relaxed completely, wiping away their tears walking away with their friends whispering quietly feeling a noise too loud would disturb the ones who they had so much respect for.
Max felt the people pass around her. She was numb, oblivious to the first rays of the sun gently falling across her face. It wasn't until she felt a gentle arm wrap itself around her shoulders that she moved. Sighing she gently relaxed into that arm. She wasn't going to cry. There was no point. She had already cried all she could.
For the longest moment they stood there watching as the sun gently played across the wreath that had been placed at the bottom of the flag pole. "There should be more," Max whispered.
Hazel eyes stared down at her, surprised. "A plaque," she bit her lip in thought. "And a honour roll."
"We are not here to glorify war. But to honour those who have served and suffered," he whispered. Max knew it was a quote, she was not sure from where, but it was very fitting. Exactly one year to the day of the beginning of the siege and ordinary's still thought that they were war hungry. "Next year," he told her. "We'll have some next year."
Max nodded sobering quickly. "Assuming they'll be a next year."
Hazel eyes locked with chocolate brown and a gentle hand came up beneath her chin. "They'll be a next year, Maxie. You got us all this far."
"But at what cost, Alec?" Max whispered. Alec's grip tightened slightly around Max's shoulders and he dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "We've just lost so many."
Silence enveloped the pair once more as the remembered their friends and comrades, their heroes. This was their day.
"I was stationed with some Australian troops, just before the whole Berrisford affair," Alec began. "The whole time they kept going on about the ANZAC spirit. Apparently it dated back to World War One. It meant mateship, loyalty, respect for those before them, an extreme love for their country, everything Maticore tried to drill into us day after day. The thing was it wasn't drilled into them. It came from somewhere within, a passion. I never got that until today." Max looked up at him slightly confused. "Its here. Everyone in Terminal City, we're starting to act a lot like them. Like the Manticore spirit." Alec smiled trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Max looked up at Alec smiling a bit. "So these Australian's, they wouldn't be where you got the idea for this ceremony from would it?" Alec smiled and she knew she had him. "Or the funky game with the two penny's?" Alec's grin got wider. "Thought so."
Silence crept over them again. "Manticore spirit," Max whispered. "I like it."
Alec's attention turned back to the wreath laying gently on the muddy ground. "Lest we forget.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ A/N: Okay so the Manticore spirit bit was a bit lame; I know that; but I didn't know how else to explain it.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel or any of its characters. The poem is written by Lawrence Binyon (God Bless Him) and I'm unsure of the title.
Summary: Terminal City remembers those who have fallen in the heat of battle.
Author's Note: Okay so this story was inspired by ANZAC Day in Australia. Any Aussies and New Zealander's will recognise the poem from countless number of services. Also the quote, I have no idea who first said it but it was on the ABC news and Channel Seven news.
For those who don't know ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps and is now, against better judgement (at least in this humble authors opinion), defunct. And ANZAC day is our national day of remembrance. It is our most celebrated national holiday. I could give you a huge lecture on the exact importance of it but I don't think anyone who doesn't know wouldn't really be interested in an Australian history lesson. Anyway onto the story.
Dedication: This is dedicated to all the troops that lost their lives in the service of Australia and to the mothers and wives who lost just as much. We will remember them.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Max felt a shiver pass through her body as the lone bugle played the last strains of The Last Post. She relaxed gently as the speaker began to speak.
They shall not grow old As we that are left grow old Age shall not weary them Nor the years condemn At the going down of the sun And in the morning We will remember them Lest we forget.
Silence fell over Terminal City and almost as one the soldiers snapped into a salute. Complete silence, complete stillness. The only movement was that of their flag as it flapped gently in the breeze. Silent tears traced down some of the transgenics faces as they remembered the fallen.
Each super soldier brought their hands down in synchronisation as a quiet minute passed, still at attention as the bugle started on the haunting notes of The Reveille.
The last note had played and each soldier relaxed completely, wiping away their tears walking away with their friends whispering quietly feeling a noise too loud would disturb the ones who they had so much respect for.
Max felt the people pass around her. She was numb, oblivious to the first rays of the sun gently falling across her face. It wasn't until she felt a gentle arm wrap itself around her shoulders that she moved. Sighing she gently relaxed into that arm. She wasn't going to cry. There was no point. She had already cried all she could.
For the longest moment they stood there watching as the sun gently played across the wreath that had been placed at the bottom of the flag pole. "There should be more," Max whispered.
Hazel eyes stared down at her, surprised. "A plaque," she bit her lip in thought. "And a honour roll."
"We are not here to glorify war. But to honour those who have served and suffered," he whispered. Max knew it was a quote, she was not sure from where, but it was very fitting. Exactly one year to the day of the beginning of the siege and ordinary's still thought that they were war hungry. "Next year," he told her. "We'll have some next year."
Max nodded sobering quickly. "Assuming they'll be a next year."
Hazel eyes locked with chocolate brown and a gentle hand came up beneath her chin. "They'll be a next year, Maxie. You got us all this far."
"But at what cost, Alec?" Max whispered. Alec's grip tightened slightly around Max's shoulders and he dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "We've just lost so many."
Silence enveloped the pair once more as the remembered their friends and comrades, their heroes. This was their day.
"I was stationed with some Australian troops, just before the whole Berrisford affair," Alec began. "The whole time they kept going on about the ANZAC spirit. Apparently it dated back to World War One. It meant mateship, loyalty, respect for those before them, an extreme love for their country, everything Maticore tried to drill into us day after day. The thing was it wasn't drilled into them. It came from somewhere within, a passion. I never got that until today." Max looked up at him slightly confused. "Its here. Everyone in Terminal City, we're starting to act a lot like them. Like the Manticore spirit." Alec smiled trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Max looked up at Alec smiling a bit. "So these Australian's, they wouldn't be where you got the idea for this ceremony from would it?" Alec smiled and she knew she had him. "Or the funky game with the two penny's?" Alec's grin got wider. "Thought so."
Silence crept over them again. "Manticore spirit," Max whispered. "I like it."
Alec's attention turned back to the wreath laying gently on the muddy ground. "Lest we forget.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ A/N: Okay so the Manticore spirit bit was a bit lame; I know that; but I didn't know how else to explain it.