Bad Ronald
"And when he gets to Heaven
To Saint Peter he
will tell:
'One more soldier reporting, Sir
I've served my
time in Hell.'" – Unknown
In the midst of World War II…
The deceased private made for a very disturbing sight, as evidenced by the shabbily dressed and overwrought men looking at it, quickly turning away and covering their noses and mouths, some even cursing under their breaths. This was the fifth corpse they ran into in these woods. This route was supposed to be have been unused, a safe haven. However, war rarely worked that way, if ever.
Indifferent to the grimacing men behind him, the soldier standing over the corpse didn't mind its decay. In fact, he thought that the corpse didn't look as half bad as some of the others that he and his unit had passed. The corpse's eye had been blown out and his jaw was hanging on the side of its bloody, pale face in tendons. Its tongue lolled out, propped on its yellowing teeth. Its intestines were coiled around its midsection like snakes, bloated and purple and pink and dead. And the others couldn't see the soul of this corpse, so admirably strong, brave, and loyal. They only saw a rotting, fetid dead man. It was a shame, really.
The soldier smiled at the corpse and kneeled over to it, whispering to its face. He moved closer, staring into the puckered eye socket with shards of destroyed eye still in it. After a moment's pause, he gently tucked in the stiffened tongue to rest partially inside the decayed throat, granting the corpse's wish to look as presentable as possible. Sometimes these dead asked the strangest favors from him. Not that he would ever judge them on those, though, for his unit was made up of members equally as odd, perhaps even more so. Too bad the members weren't here with him, though, he felt very lonely even with all these scientists here that he had to escort.
"Fucking freak." The soldier heard one of the men whisper behind his back. He smiled gently, very much amused. The soldier was a legend, along with his unit of legends, but now the legendary members of that legendary unit were temporarily leading their own "cargo" on order of the government. Their orders were to bring these important American captured scientists safely over the German war zone and onto the transport helicopter by order of the President. A large convoy of scientists would surely attract too much attention, so the unit decided to give each member a group of eight scientists. They would go their separate routes, away from each other, to keep ahead of the enemy.
The soldier checked his map, knowing that some of the unit members have already gotten to the location, ready to meet up at the rezendevous straight ahead. The soldier nodded to the corpse and patted it on the shoulder, bidding it goodbye. When he looked into the corpse's eye sockets, he could see the private smiling back at him, satisfied and content now that he had been of some help, even while dead.
The soldier stood up and outstretched his arms while staring through the forest and scanning thoroughly. It was twilight, the pale blue light of the moon in the German sky filtering through the leaves and scattering into the grass. No crickets chirped and no birds sang for it was all dead air. The forest was so unnaturally silent because the resident animals had left these woods long ago.
"Well, gentlemen." He said, abruptly clapping his hands to get their attention. "Private Johansson III has affirmed to me that the path ahead has been very recently mined and that we should avoid going that path. So instead, I propose that we head northwest past this path into the woods. The good private was not very clear on the details, but he was sure that it would be a safer trek."
"Mined?" Once of the scientists asked nervously, eliciting the soldier's confusion. After all, hadn't these scientists been forced to work on new killing devices for the Germans? This "mine" was just one of the most recent devices the Germans had been experimenting with for warfare. Nevertheless, the soldier explained for their good benefit.
"Mines are cases of TNT fixed to the base of a supporting structure or a tree with a tripwire, or so the good private says. A very crude device from what he's described to me, but seemingly very effective in taking out squads of able soldiers with supreme finality. I wouldn't risk it, gentlemen."
One of the scientists, a gruff, hairy man named Hunter, exclaimed, "By God, how can you trust this lunatic? I've stayed silent and miserable through this damned thing long enough for two days! From what I've seen, I think it's safe to say that this man, this Mr. Sorrow, actually knows where he is leading us. Look at him, he doesn't even have a radio contact!"
The soldier named The Sorrow merely stared at the bristling Hunter and smiled gently. "I do not need one, Mr. Hunter, for I know where I am going. The information of those fine deceased young men that we passed several whiles ago also collaborate with Private Johansson III's information, and furthermore—"
Hunter angrily turned to his fellow scientists, "Do you pricks even hear this guy? 'Deceased young men' my ass, they're dead!" He turned to The Sorrow and pointed his finger in the soldier's face while gritting his teeth and accusing, "You're a nutcase, Mr. Sorrow, and I can't be bothered to follow you along anymore. We've been walking around for two days straight with no destination in sight, and no proven radio contact. In fact, you know what? I'm going back to the Germans. At least they fed us there and gave us something to work with. Fine young dead men, my ass. They're just idiots that got themselves killed out of nowhere."
Sorrow's smile abruptly disappeared as the gruff scientist glared at him and the soldier returned Hunter's glare with a chilling gaze of his own. Hunter felt his heart seizing up as Sorrow pinned his gaze on him, feeling icy chills run up his spine. That old quote about goose bumps being caused by someone stepping on the ground of his future grave came readily to mind. "Don't badmouth the deceased in front of me, Mr. Hunter. Question what you will of me but not these men. They've been through hell and back for gentlemen such as you."
"They're dead, Mr. Sorrow." Hunter insisted, stepping up to Sorrow and ignoring his stomach, which was churning with fear. "They don't care whatever the hell we say about them. They aren't spirits, they're corpses. This ghost power you keep insisting you have is bullshit, I've seen that ever since you took all of us out. You know, I kept quiet about that because, hey, you were going to save us all anyway. But that was a mistake, wasn't it, you crackpot?"
(1) "Your lack of faith, Mr. Hunter, deeply disturbs me." Sorrow's frown deepened. "We really are scarce on time, so I will show you the proof of my abilities. Your wife was such a beautiful woman, and you should know that what you did in the past wasn't your fault."
The scientist immediately rocketed towards Sorrow and found himself stopped in his tracks, the cold barrel of a rifle pressing roughly into his solar plexus. His stubborn streak didn't allow him to relent, and he growled at the soldier. "What the hell do you know about my wife! You shut up about her!" The other scientists stared at this strange standoff and exchanged nervous glances, murmuring and muttering among themselves, some stepping towards to help Hunter and backing off as soon as the Sorrow glanced at them.
Sorrow cocked his head and Hunter recoiled as he saw the soldier's left eye starting to roll back into the back of his head. "What the hell!" Hunter blurted out as Sorrow blinked again, his left eye normal and blue and staring quizzically at him.
The Sorrow leaned towards Hunter, grasped the scientist's coat collar, and whispered very low into his ear. "Out of respect to you and your family, Mr. Hunter," he said. "I will be very discreet so your colleagues will not know about your dreadful past."
The soldier took a deep breath, then continued, "Your wife gave birth to a baby boy three years ago. You and she were young lovers embarking on a new journey, that of parenthood. You so wanted to be a successful scientist and she wanted a son. Later on in the years, your wife suffered a strange disease that ate away at her mind and no matter how hard you worked; you could not find a cure. She became so insane with delirium that, one night; she tried to kill your son. You fought back in behalf of your son and killed her in self-defense. You and your son had a falling out due to that, and family tensions remain high. You haven't stopped blaming yourself for it ever since--"
"Stop. Just stop." Hunter said, not noticing the tears rolling down his own cheeks as he struggled out of the Sorrow's grasp, almost stumbling to the ground, but managing to keep himself upright. "You win, okay? You win. Enough, no more, all right? I don't wanna hear anymore."
Sorrow solemnly nodded and slung his gun back to his shoulder, giving Hunter a few minutes to recuperate. As he watched Hunter sit on the ground, cross-legged, staring blankly ahead, he knew what the scientist was going through. It was so difficult to be so stubborn and hold on desperately to a line of reason one moment and to utterly lose your resistance to the truth so easily the next. Sorrow knew one person who was just the same… his mentor and his leader, The Boss.
Hunter stood up and joined the other scientists, a listless expression on his face as he ignored the probing questions of the others. The scientists now doubted themselves after seeing their most stubborn colleague turned vacant-minded after a few whispers in the ear from the soldier, so it was no surprise when they all eagerly agreed when the soldier told them to keep moving and to follow him.
"Oh, and gentlemen?" The Sorrow said before moving on. "I hope, from now on, that before you say or attempt something rash, you will kindly remember that I am not a 'fucking freak'. I am a Spirit Medium Soldier. Now then, gentlemen, it's time to leave this forsaken land." The vacantly staring Hunter nodded slowly in agreement before shuffling on.
Author's Notes
I always wanted to make a set-apart character study of each member of The Cobras Unit and started sketching up some ideas and notes and made this atricious excuse for a story. Don't expect me to constantly update this, but I will be finishing this soon enough. Some bad guys from my other waste of a Metal Gear story, Messengers of Truth, may show up here recycled to perfection. And as for Messengers of Truth, the only way I can fix it up is to start all over again, and I'm already busy enough with my other stories as it is.
As for The Program, I'm struggling through Writer's Block on it, and so I'm working on other stories, such as this one, and some other original stories that you wouldn't really care to read.
(1) Due to the latest release of Revenge of The Sith, I couldn't help but smile and randomly stick a Star Wars reference in for satisfaction.