Back Water Station "Agatstan": Inside Confederate Borders
The hot
desert sun beat down upon the land wit relentless fury. The only means of shade was a high tree
stationed on a cliff edge to the northeast of the camp. Not surprisingly, that was where the platoon
was, completely ignoring the orders being shouted up to them by a commander
wearing a Firebat suit.
The Marines
laughed and continued to ignore the red corporal as he yelled threats and
cursed at the slackers. They began to
toss rocks and sticks at the man and returned the verbal attacks. They
proceeded to disgrace the corporal
until another Marine came up the side of the cliff with a cooler. They all turned to shout approval at the man
and walked over to join him under the tree.
"Hey, Jon,"
a well-built black Marine spoke, reaching into the cooler for an ice-cold beer.
"Why don't you get off that damn pedestal you're on and have a goddamed beer
with us?" He popped the top open and
took a chug, letting the cool liquid spill down his hot armor. He removed it from his lips and let out a
burp that echoed throughout the whole canyon.
The other Marines cheered and slapped him on the back.
"Ha,
ha. Good one Matt! You're the best goddamed beer chugger on this
godforsaken hellhole of a planet. Heck,
you could probably beat the captain if you wanted to!" Matt shook his head in agreement and reached
for another cold one.
The good
cheer of the soldiers lasted a few minutes before the corporal finally made his
way to the top of the cliff. Some
moaned, others cursed and threw beer cans at the red-suited figure. As the commander drew close, Jon stood up
and saluted him. The other Marines
snickered and sent a fresh barrage of rocks his way.
"You're a
suck-up, Jon," the black Marine sneered.
His statement was followed by cheers of "Pussy," "Suck up," and the
occasional kissy sound. The reticent soldier blushed and sat underneath the
tree again. He slowly put his head in
his hands and wished he could just disappear.
The Firebat
stood in front of the Marines and lifted up the visor on the helmet. The cold blue eyes stared sternly through
each of the men until one of them shook.
A low muttering of "oh, shit, it's her," lingered in the
background. Some slowly began to stand
up and pull off a half salute, before being shot at again with those piercing
blue eyes.
The Firebat
removed her helmet to reveal a striking young woman. She looked to be in her
late twenties and had medium blond hair, which was now dotted with black dirt
from her helmet. Her face was drenched with sweat, and the blond and black hair
was matted to her forehead. She tossed
her helmet to the side and watched it roll towards the tree, kicking up dust
with every bounce.
Jon quickly
stood up and ran to pick up the helmet.
Several Marines tried to laugh, but their laughter echoed in the
silence. Jon held the dusty helmet in
his hands and sat near the woman.
After a
minute of dead silence, mind the occasional chuckle and name calling between
the immature Marines in the back, the Firebat licked her dry lips and muttered
something under her breath. She turned
to Jon and motioned him to stand up. He
slowly got to his feet and walked toward her.
"Y-yes sir,
ma'am?" he quietly spoke. His knees
buckled and the sweat on his white, sun-blasted skin began to pour more
profusely than ever. He wasn't shaking
out of fear for the commander, but because she was so cute. He wasn't even close to her age though, only
twenty-one. But that seemed to slip his
mind as he stared into the eyes of the corporal. She smiled at him and whispered into his ear.
As for most
people, the ear is a sensitive place.
Her closeness excited him, and about twelve seconds later, he wished he
had looser pants on.
"Jon, you can go, I gotta teach
these morons a lesson." She slapped him
on the ass and pushed him toward the camp.
He didn't walk fast because, well, it was hard to. The only sounds he heard while climbing down
the cliff was the corporal screaming at his fellow Marines. By the time he was on the ground, he saw
half the squad doing pushups and jumping jacks with the sun blazing behind
them.
After a minute or two, the loud
speaker burst forth with the sound of a siren, a code red siren. Jon quickly ran to the barracks a few yards
away to find out what was going on. He
tried to ask a Vulture rider, but all
he got was a puff of smoke in his eyes.
He ran a couple more yards to the mineral patches to ask the SCVs, but
they were no help either.
Unfortunately, his question was
about to be answered. The female
corporal ran up to him, followed by the panting Marines. She gave him a grave look, followed by one
simple command: "Run."
She slapped her helmet on and ran
to a bunker at the choke point of the camp.
Two tanks rolled next to him and started to go into siege mode by the
bunkers. The SCVs ran into the command
center, and more men started to pour out of the barracks.
Jon knelt down and fastened the helmet on his head
and lowered the visor. He released the
safety on his gauss rifle and ran towards the front line. Before reaching the front, he was rocked by
the sound of siege tank fire and fell off his feet.
Now the ground was shaking harder
than usual. Not siege tank fire, but
more like thousands of feet running at top speed. The noises he heard in the distance were inhuman; these beasts
had a thirst for blood in their
screams.
Jon suddenly realized what the corporal meant when
she said run. He realized that no one
was going to survive this battle. The
whole camp was going to die, not at the hands of humans, but by ungodly
creatures. Some of which these people
have never seen before.
Jon ran to the front bunker where the corporal
was. He opened the door and looked into
the structure. He mustered up his strength
and tossed the closest man he could out of the bunker and jumped in
himself. He then locked the door and
positioned himself next to the corporal.
She looked at him and smiled. She gave him a little kiss on the cheek
before pointing her gun out of the slit of the bunker.
"In the next life Jon, maybe we'll get
married." She shut the visor on her
helmet and began to order the troops to fire.
Within seconds, the bunker was
stripped of its metal and the people inside ripped to shreds.
The rest of the camp fell within minutes of the attack by
the beasts. No one survived; shards of
the warriors' armor and splattered blood saturated the terrain. No structure or piece of equipment was
salvageable for further use. The
soldiers' remains were burned, and this incident was kept under wraps.
