Authors note;
This story is a graphic portrayal of what would happen if Dustbowl were
real, and as such, it contains scenes of a graphic and potentially
disturbing nature.
If you don't like this sort of thing, do not read this story.
For everyone else, here's some background information. I wrote this nearly 3 years ago, and never got round to posting it anywhere. Since it's my first published article, I'd like as much constructive feedback as possible.
Thanks Spyder
A TFC story
There I stood, shotgun in hand, waiting, just waiting for the moment, that we would once again become feral men, feuding for dominance, living on the 'rush' of combat.
I glanced around the room, looking at the rest of my squad with the faint knowledge that one of them may not see the sunset that ends the day.
The sandstone walls were damp and soggy with sweat, the air tasted foul, but no worse than the smell, thought by now, it was becoming usual.
The smell scared me, as it was the one thing I hated. It was the smell of fear.
Though no-one would admit it, we were all scared, each man with his own problem, own fear, but when we were in combat, on top of the 'rush', that all faded and real men were born.
As the commander stepped forward, a cold gust of air chilled the room, but it did little to cool us.
Each man knew his place and his job, and how to do it, hopefully surviving.
We approached out places as the commander yelled, "Lets do this!" trying to stir us even more, focussing us on the task at hand, letting us know that there is someone beside us, and that we weren't alone.
I gripped my shotgun tighter, shunting a pellet into the chamber, hoping, praying, that this piece of metal would keep me alive. But fate, it seems, did not look on us that day.
As the gates opened, the whirr of autocannons was drowned out by the sound of grenades and rockets exploding all around us.
A single soldier stepped forward, out, through the gates, only to be ground into dust by a sentry gun. I could only stare, as a medic primed a grenade, only to have his arm shot off be a sniper. As the grenade fell, I dived 'round the corner to escape the blast, but two of my comrades who where standing near the medic, were rapidly turned into wallpaper by the force of the blast, taking one mans leg off. He was lucky. His friends were plastered, their blood, and muscle painting an abstract image on the wall.
A Heavy Weapons Expert trudged forward, hosing anything that moved, taking out three enemy soldiers, an engineer and his sentry gun before a sniper struck again. The bullet penetrated through the protective visor, flying through his left eye, making the back of his head explode.
Alone
No one was left.
Not the commander, medic or the Heavy Weapons Expert had survived the firestorm. In a desperate attempt to save myself, I piled the bodies of my friends into a stack, as a wall, but the sniper saw me, and shot my leg off, forcing my head to rapidly hit the ground with extreme force. I opened my eyes and turned my head, only to greet my end.
I saw three pairs of dust-ridden boots standing by me. I tried to move my head only to be pelted in the stomach. I managed to focus past them, to see why our attack failed. The sniper team.
I tried to get up, but one of the boots found my back, and I was crushed. My eyes started to fog over with tears of pain, as my back roared with pain, and my chest in agony. It felt hard to breathe, as I knew I had broken a rib.
Fighting back tears of pain, I stared at the snipers, to see a sniper pick up his rifle, and aim it. Then I shut my eyes, as I felt the heat from the laser sight, track my forehead.
I thought death would feel a lot different, stranger even, not just a 'here today, gone tomorrow' feeling. But this felt weird, I felt warm, especially my leg. Strangely, I felt the wound heat up, getting warmer, and warmer, moment by moment. I began to embrace death only to open my eyes, and find the sniper standing over the bodies of his dead comrades, and a soldiers head lying neatly in the gaping hole that was my missing leg.
I tried to smile, but blacked out.
As I awoke, the horrors still filled me with fury and pain, as the soft realisation of life hit me. I was alive, but I did not feel truly alive, I felt empty somehow. What I had seen only came to a select group and as I got up, my emotions hit me, hard. They all rushed in at once; I felt fear, dread, and pain. I felt everything for an instant.
Now that was my fear.
My head darted around the room, searching for some comfort, some sort of relief. And then I found it.
As the silenced shot rang out, no body outside heard, not until the sniper came walked back in, wearing the combat uniform of a spy, looking down on my sedated body with tranquiliser gun in hand.
I heard a chuckle, but that was the last I heard, blacking out a second after I realised I was in a friendly hospital.
The last thing I did was smile, and the world went black once more.
If you don't like this sort of thing, do not read this story.
For everyone else, here's some background information. I wrote this nearly 3 years ago, and never got round to posting it anywhere. Since it's my first published article, I'd like as much constructive feedback as possible.
Thanks Spyder
A TFC story
There I stood, shotgun in hand, waiting, just waiting for the moment, that we would once again become feral men, feuding for dominance, living on the 'rush' of combat.
I glanced around the room, looking at the rest of my squad with the faint knowledge that one of them may not see the sunset that ends the day.
The sandstone walls were damp and soggy with sweat, the air tasted foul, but no worse than the smell, thought by now, it was becoming usual.
The smell scared me, as it was the one thing I hated. It was the smell of fear.
Though no-one would admit it, we were all scared, each man with his own problem, own fear, but when we were in combat, on top of the 'rush', that all faded and real men were born.
As the commander stepped forward, a cold gust of air chilled the room, but it did little to cool us.
Each man knew his place and his job, and how to do it, hopefully surviving.
We approached out places as the commander yelled, "Lets do this!" trying to stir us even more, focussing us on the task at hand, letting us know that there is someone beside us, and that we weren't alone.
I gripped my shotgun tighter, shunting a pellet into the chamber, hoping, praying, that this piece of metal would keep me alive. But fate, it seems, did not look on us that day.
As the gates opened, the whirr of autocannons was drowned out by the sound of grenades and rockets exploding all around us.
A single soldier stepped forward, out, through the gates, only to be ground into dust by a sentry gun. I could only stare, as a medic primed a grenade, only to have his arm shot off be a sniper. As the grenade fell, I dived 'round the corner to escape the blast, but two of my comrades who where standing near the medic, were rapidly turned into wallpaper by the force of the blast, taking one mans leg off. He was lucky. His friends were plastered, their blood, and muscle painting an abstract image on the wall.
A Heavy Weapons Expert trudged forward, hosing anything that moved, taking out three enemy soldiers, an engineer and his sentry gun before a sniper struck again. The bullet penetrated through the protective visor, flying through his left eye, making the back of his head explode.
Alone
No one was left.
Not the commander, medic or the Heavy Weapons Expert had survived the firestorm. In a desperate attempt to save myself, I piled the bodies of my friends into a stack, as a wall, but the sniper saw me, and shot my leg off, forcing my head to rapidly hit the ground with extreme force. I opened my eyes and turned my head, only to greet my end.
I saw three pairs of dust-ridden boots standing by me. I tried to move my head only to be pelted in the stomach. I managed to focus past them, to see why our attack failed. The sniper team.
I tried to get up, but one of the boots found my back, and I was crushed. My eyes started to fog over with tears of pain, as my back roared with pain, and my chest in agony. It felt hard to breathe, as I knew I had broken a rib.
Fighting back tears of pain, I stared at the snipers, to see a sniper pick up his rifle, and aim it. Then I shut my eyes, as I felt the heat from the laser sight, track my forehead.
I thought death would feel a lot different, stranger even, not just a 'here today, gone tomorrow' feeling. But this felt weird, I felt warm, especially my leg. Strangely, I felt the wound heat up, getting warmer, and warmer, moment by moment. I began to embrace death only to open my eyes, and find the sniper standing over the bodies of his dead comrades, and a soldiers head lying neatly in the gaping hole that was my missing leg.
I tried to smile, but blacked out.
As I awoke, the horrors still filled me with fury and pain, as the soft realisation of life hit me. I was alive, but I did not feel truly alive, I felt empty somehow. What I had seen only came to a select group and as I got up, my emotions hit me, hard. They all rushed in at once; I felt fear, dread, and pain. I felt everything for an instant.
Now that was my fear.
My head darted around the room, searching for some comfort, some sort of relief. And then I found it.
As the silenced shot rang out, no body outside heard, not until the sniper came walked back in, wearing the combat uniform of a spy, looking down on my sedated body with tranquiliser gun in hand.
I heard a chuckle, but that was the last I heard, blacking out a second after I realised I was in a friendly hospital.
The last thing I did was smile, and the world went black once more.