The Klitchko War: Battle for New Chicago Chapter 2
A/N: Here's a short filler before the action. I want the stage to be set so I'm sorry if I disappointed you with such a short chapter.
"Dammit, I don't believe this! How could he just send us in there like that?" the soldiers of the 7th ground squadron were in dismay as their commanding officer reported the news. The 7th ground along with seven other squadrons would be stationed inside the walls of New Chicago while the rest of the army was to fight outside of the walls. Saunders could hear his comrades cursing and denouncing the general for being so foolish, but Saunders knew the plan. Unlike the other soldiers who complained about not getting any military action, Saunders was dreading something else, something far worse than not fighting.
Ever since Timothy entered school, his teachers had been praising him for having such a quick mind and being able to think of alternate possibilities for every situation. In fact, when he enrolled into the military, he could have been a commander if not for his cowardice and unwillingness to lead. Now, his mind would be an advantage to him.
The moment the news was delivered, Saunders knew that they were to be bait. He had studied military history before and he recalled how brilliant generals lured their enemies into a trap and then devoured them in a single swoop. Suddenly, Tim began to feel an uneasiness inside of him. This could very well be the turning point of the war and Saunders was too nervous to be fighting. Slowly, he walked back to his sleeping area and lied down until the uneasiness passed.
All around him soldiers were busy checking equipment and preparing for the departure. Many were testing the artillery cannons that were just shipped in a few hours ago. As the artillery cannons came online, the warehouse was filled with a low hum. Most of the soldiers became silent as they watched the gigantic hulks of titanium begin to move around. After roaming aimlessly for a few minutes, the artillery cannons were ordered to regroup outside. Eventually the hums from the power reactors dissipated and the warehouse was restored to an ominous silence.
Saunders did not see or hear the artillery cannons. He was still engrossed in the plan of the battle. Perhaps General Simpson and General Murphy were planning to lure Klitchko into the city and block the entrance. Or maybe they were last minute reinforcements. He tossed ideas around in his head until he could not think anymore. Although he did not know the plan exactly, he did know that his brains would be his only weapon if he were to survive this ordeal. The rest of the day went by uneventfully except for the occasional equipment failures and explosions of unstable plasma weapons.
The next morning revealed a crimson sunrise that blanketed the barren lands on the outskirts of New Chicago. Through the haze and scorching heat, small animals could be seen dashing to and from their holes. What used to be a forested area was turned into a fruitless desert by mass deforestation. Private Saunders stood outside the warehouse and gazed off into the distance. Humans never really thought of the consequences to their actions, and when they finally realized their effects, the humans would just move on to commit more heinous acts. He walked back inside to his makeshift living area and began to write. It was the only way he knew to express his anger, sadness, joy and desperation. Suddenly, just as he began to put pen to paper, a deafening alarm sounded.
"Lord save us," Saunders whispered as he grabbed his pack and ran to his squadron location. The battle for New Chicago had commenced and the soldiers of the English and American armies would never be able to prepare themselves for the immanent fight.
As the Chinook lifted off the ground, its propellers pushed off the sand, creating a miniature tornado of dust. Inside, the scene was just as chaotic. Soldiers were getting into their seats and securing heavy equipment. Soon, everyone was settled and the mood changed drastically into silent anticipation. No more were the excited visages that each warrior wore. The battle of their life was only a Chinook flight away and not one of them was looking forward to it. Feeling just the same as the others, Timothy looked out his window again. There wasn't anything special about this land, nothing that made it deserve a battle upon it. He wondered if each thing and person was destined to everything and that each action and thought was dictated by fate. If this was so, he thought, then his survival in the fight for New Chicago was already determined. Yet he wouldn't, he couldn't accept his fate. The will to survive suddenly surged into Timothy, like a wave crashing upon the coastline. There was no fate. There was no fate except what we made of it.