From the Journal of an Unknown Soldier
By Lt. Noin (imnutz@hotmail.com)
Status: complete
Category: vignette
Spoilers: none
Season: none
Rating: PG-13
Content Warnings: language
Summary: An unknown soldier writes before he goes into
battle.
Disclaimer: the people aren't mine, the show isn't mine,
the original storyline isn't mine, and The Common People
concept belongs to Kielle and Phil Foster and is used
with permission; nothing here is mine but the prose. Be
nice and don't sue?
Author's Notes: Please just ask me for permission if you
want to archive this? I'm usually very nice about this; I
just like knowing where my stuff is. Other fics of mine
can be found at http://www.geocities.com/tmtestosterone
in the library. And C&C is always greatly appreciated!!
^_^
=========================================================
I'm going to die today. If not today, then tomorrow. If
not, then the day after that. But soon, that's all I
know. I don't know how I'm ever going to find the courage
to get back in my MS and go into battle, especially after
today. Today was my first time out there, you know, and
it scared the shit out of me. I mean, sure, I've been in
those simulations they put you through in boot camp, but
out there, it's nothing like what they show on the
computer. When you're in front of the screen, you know
it's a screen. No matter how good they've made the
system, you know the guys you're blowing up in there
aren't real -- they're just random assembled pixels, and
what the hell, 'cause they can't hurt you back. It's a
whole lot of fun when you're pointing your fake MS at
things and just watching the brilliant colors of the
explosions. But you don't feel the heat on your face,
and they don't show you what you've really done on the
simulations; I guess the engineers just didn't have the
imagination or the stomach to show what a body shot
through with MS parts looks like, and they sure as hell
didn't bother to let you know how it smells like. Figure
no one would be stupid enough to go out there after
seeing something like that, but I probably would have
anyway. So I'm stupid, but how was I to know what it was
really like? I'm a dumb grunt with not even a smidgen of
imagination. My sister told me I was completely insane
to enlist, and I, the fool, decided what did she know?
She was just a girl. I had to do it, to - well, I don't
know. Not anymore. I think it had something to do with
proving how brave I was and what she would have labeled
male chauvinistic behavior. I hope I get the chance to
tell her in person just how right she was. Is, I mean.
Damnit. I've got myself thinking in past tense already.
What struck me most about battle before today was the
glory of it all, the absolute heroism required to die
for your country, or rather, for the freedom of the earth
in these days. Well, that's what the movies showed. Even
through the blood and the tears, these brave guys in
camouflage ran out there, guns ablaze, and they, as a
team, managed to destroy the Nazis, or the Russians, or
what have you. I thought it was beautiful, and I wanted
with everything in my body to be a part of that.
Normally, I'm not much a guy for courage. I'm just like
everyone else, but this was so tantalizing, like the
sweetness of my arms around a girl's waist. Now, though,
all that's really left is the bitter taste of ashes on
my tongue, left over from the smoke and the metal and
the endless rounds of bullets. I guess that's what a
dead dream would taste like, this horrible acrid burning
that just hangs in the back of my mouth. I tried drinking
to scrub it out, but I don't think it'll ever go away. I
thought my life was bad before, when I was just out of
school and had nothing to do, no work, no girlfriend,
not even a bank account in my name. But now, oh God, now,
it's not the hazy uncertainty of not having a dream that
gets to me, but rather, the stark terror of knowing that
I had one, and it was ripped from me in the combat zone.
Combat is too weak a word, actually. What's out there is
more like pure hell than anything else, all brimstone
and fire, with the devil sitting at your shoulder while
you try to find your last drop of courage in a world
that's gone completely out of its mind.
I can't do this anymore, and the fact that I have to go
out again, tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day
after that, until either my guts are blown out by the
demons they call Gundams or until the blackness in my
brain takes over and drowns out everything I've ever
loved. I don't know what's scarier: my fear that I'm
going to live on forever, but disfigured horribly, or
that I'm going to die. Me. Blinded, or deafened, or
missing a limb or, God forbid, my dick. Or, me,
extinguished entirely from this thing that I call life.
I never really realized just how easily this thing I
call myself could be blotted out of all existence,
eliminated by a random bullet and dying in a painful
flash. Or worse, having to bear the agony of an infected
gut wound, too scared of dying to tell the doctor to end
it quickly while the poison courses through me. I'm so
afraid that it'll all end here, that these 18 years of
being on this earth can just be squished out like an
irritating insect. Anything could do it, at any time.
Just boom, and no more me. Ever. And I won't even
realize that I don't exist, I'll just go back to being
random atoms without even knowing that I was once a
person with thoughts and feelings. I'm so terrified that
I can feel myself shaking right now, and the cold sweat
sure doesn't help. Just lying here in the dark,
surrounded by people, worsens it. They can't know this
dropping sensation in my stomach, can't feel how my
breathing is getting faster, don't know how my heart
feels like it'll jump out any second now. And I know I
have to go back out. I can't live with myself or with my
buddies if I don't, and I can't crawl back home with my
tail between my legs. Because if I give up, one of these
inhuman Gundams might just blow the hell out of my mom
and my sister, or someone else I know. And I think the
shame of that would kill me just as thoroughly. So
somehow, someway, I'm going to make these watery legs of
mine walk me back into my MS cockpit tomorrow, and I'm
going to go out there and try to kill someone who's
probably as scared as I am. I want to go home.
By Lt. Noin (imnutz@hotmail.com)
Status: complete
Category: vignette
Spoilers: none
Season: none
Rating: PG-13
Content Warnings: language
Summary: An unknown soldier writes before he goes into
battle.
Disclaimer: the people aren't mine, the show isn't mine,
the original storyline isn't mine, and The Common People
concept belongs to Kielle and Phil Foster and is used
with permission; nothing here is mine but the prose. Be
nice and don't sue?
Author's Notes: Please just ask me for permission if you
want to archive this? I'm usually very nice about this; I
just like knowing where my stuff is. Other fics of mine
can be found at http://www.geocities.com/tmtestosterone
in the library. And C&C is always greatly appreciated!!
^_^
=========================================================
I'm going to die today. If not today, then tomorrow. If
not, then the day after that. But soon, that's all I
know. I don't know how I'm ever going to find the courage
to get back in my MS and go into battle, especially after
today. Today was my first time out there, you know, and
it scared the shit out of me. I mean, sure, I've been in
those simulations they put you through in boot camp, but
out there, it's nothing like what they show on the
computer. When you're in front of the screen, you know
it's a screen. No matter how good they've made the
system, you know the guys you're blowing up in there
aren't real -- they're just random assembled pixels, and
what the hell, 'cause they can't hurt you back. It's a
whole lot of fun when you're pointing your fake MS at
things and just watching the brilliant colors of the
explosions. But you don't feel the heat on your face,
and they don't show you what you've really done on the
simulations; I guess the engineers just didn't have the
imagination or the stomach to show what a body shot
through with MS parts looks like, and they sure as hell
didn't bother to let you know how it smells like. Figure
no one would be stupid enough to go out there after
seeing something like that, but I probably would have
anyway. So I'm stupid, but how was I to know what it was
really like? I'm a dumb grunt with not even a smidgen of
imagination. My sister told me I was completely insane
to enlist, and I, the fool, decided what did she know?
She was just a girl. I had to do it, to - well, I don't
know. Not anymore. I think it had something to do with
proving how brave I was and what she would have labeled
male chauvinistic behavior. I hope I get the chance to
tell her in person just how right she was. Is, I mean.
Damnit. I've got myself thinking in past tense already.
What struck me most about battle before today was the
glory of it all, the absolute heroism required to die
for your country, or rather, for the freedom of the earth
in these days. Well, that's what the movies showed. Even
through the blood and the tears, these brave guys in
camouflage ran out there, guns ablaze, and they, as a
team, managed to destroy the Nazis, or the Russians, or
what have you. I thought it was beautiful, and I wanted
with everything in my body to be a part of that.
Normally, I'm not much a guy for courage. I'm just like
everyone else, but this was so tantalizing, like the
sweetness of my arms around a girl's waist. Now, though,
all that's really left is the bitter taste of ashes on
my tongue, left over from the smoke and the metal and
the endless rounds of bullets. I guess that's what a
dead dream would taste like, this horrible acrid burning
that just hangs in the back of my mouth. I tried drinking
to scrub it out, but I don't think it'll ever go away. I
thought my life was bad before, when I was just out of
school and had nothing to do, no work, no girlfriend,
not even a bank account in my name. But now, oh God, now,
it's not the hazy uncertainty of not having a dream that
gets to me, but rather, the stark terror of knowing that
I had one, and it was ripped from me in the combat zone.
Combat is too weak a word, actually. What's out there is
more like pure hell than anything else, all brimstone
and fire, with the devil sitting at your shoulder while
you try to find your last drop of courage in a world
that's gone completely out of its mind.
I can't do this anymore, and the fact that I have to go
out again, tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day
after that, until either my guts are blown out by the
demons they call Gundams or until the blackness in my
brain takes over and drowns out everything I've ever
loved. I don't know what's scarier: my fear that I'm
going to live on forever, but disfigured horribly, or
that I'm going to die. Me. Blinded, or deafened, or
missing a limb or, God forbid, my dick. Or, me,
extinguished entirely from this thing that I call life.
I never really realized just how easily this thing I
call myself could be blotted out of all existence,
eliminated by a random bullet and dying in a painful
flash. Or worse, having to bear the agony of an infected
gut wound, too scared of dying to tell the doctor to end
it quickly while the poison courses through me. I'm so
afraid that it'll all end here, that these 18 years of
being on this earth can just be squished out like an
irritating insect. Anything could do it, at any time.
Just boom, and no more me. Ever. And I won't even
realize that I don't exist, I'll just go back to being
random atoms without even knowing that I was once a
person with thoughts and feelings. I'm so terrified that
I can feel myself shaking right now, and the cold sweat
sure doesn't help. Just lying here in the dark,
surrounded by people, worsens it. They can't know this
dropping sensation in my stomach, can't feel how my
breathing is getting faster, don't know how my heart
feels like it'll jump out any second now. And I know I
have to go back out. I can't live with myself or with my
buddies if I don't, and I can't crawl back home with my
tail between my legs. Because if I give up, one of these
inhuman Gundams might just blow the hell out of my mom
and my sister, or someone else I know. And I think the
shame of that would kill me just as thoroughly. So
somehow, someway, I'm going to make these watery legs of
mine walk me back into my MS cockpit tomorrow, and I'm
going to go out there and try to kill someone who's
probably as scared as I am. I want to go home.
