Note: As far as the copywrite thing goes, I renounce.
Trapped
Dawn's coming. The first few rays of gray light seem like hope shining through what trees remain below my foxhole. Nothing I could say could describe the intensity and beauty of the experience after all we've been through holed up here in this rock. It's like everyone's always telling you to live each day like you might be gone the next; well, here we know each probably is going to be our last, which makes the intensity of these moments all the more gratifying.
I guess I'm starting to write all this down 'cause I don't have any kids of my own or much family either, for that matter, and it'd be nice to know someone somewhere might preserve this record of my existence for posterity, should humanity ever come this way again, or should it survive the planet-wasting nuclear barrage some of the others think is coming soon. (Though, I think if we were gonna get nuked, it'd have happened by now, but then again the Dominion's not what it used to be.)
Nothing can be done about that anyway, I should probably introduce myself at this point and tell you a little about our situation (for posterity, of course): My name is Harper Wigat, Harp for short, which the others call me 'cause they say I can make my Impaler sing like a harp (not that they're always a trustworthy group). Formerly, me and the others served as marines for the Dominion, about which I'll have more to say later. When our forces got wiped out by the Zerg, I and few other survivors managed to get away from the slaughter. Of course, the Dominion abandoned all its forces on the surface when it became apparent the cause was lost. Now, we survive as best we can in a fortress we constructed in a small rock knoll. When or if we'll get out of here nobody knows.
The old rock as we call it ain't much to look at, but it's been defensibe enough to keep the critters at bay up 'til now. The basic layout of our defenses allows us to project firepower in all directions fairly easily, which is necessary when you've get a pack of Hell's dogs coming in from all directions screaming their weird insect cries. We've got our one salvaged artillery piece on top of the knoll, so that it can fire in all directions. Beneath that, you've got two rows of foxholes (one of which I'm in now), where individuals pick off anything that survives the mortars and the big gun. And if we need it, we can roll out a couple of heavy caliber gauss cannons that can get through the thickest of Zerg hides easily.
Inside the rock we've got a nice little base set up. We managed to salvage a good supply of food, ammo, and equipment from when we served the Dominion, which we used to etch out the small cave network in the knoll. It's not cozy or anything, but we've got space enough to manufacture the new munitions we need to keep on fighting in addition to living space.
Our little group of survivors has been in the rock for about four months now. During that time, we've killed more Zerg and different kinds of Zerg than anyone can count. They attack any old time, night, day, whenever, and seemingly without reason.
Last time they came through here was a couple of days ago, a perfect example of how crafty non-sentient creatures can be. Our spotter up on the crest of the rock caught sight of a pack of about thirty of the critters coming our way. They were just charging right in this time, not that they always do that.
Of course, we've cleared most of the vegetation away for about half a kilometer in all directions, like any good military outfit would do around their fortification. On this particular occasion, artillery and mortars cut loose just as soon as they could site in (we're quick about that after all the practice we've had). It was a good shot, hit right up in front of them, blasting several to pieces in a cloud of dirt and flame. Undeterred, they ran on looking like a flock of demented looking bunny rabbits hopping at about 100kph. We opened fire when they were within a couple hundred meters, pretty much annihilating the first row of the buggers, but, as usual, they're resilient and had a little trick of their own they were about to spring.
They'd formed a tight formation, so that while the first few took it hard, those following behind were protected from the fire.
Lanz and Tolson had rolled out the anti-air guns by this point, and the heaver caliber weapon caused 'em to scatter when it hit, blasting through the first row to the one behind. They were scurrying in all directions. Bad news, 'cause now they were so close they couldn't easily be killed individually before they over ran our first row foxholes.
I got two of 'em coming my way pretty easy, and Lanz and Tolson got three more, but not before the last one had jumped into Bard's foxhole. The little sucker got him, stuck an arm-scythe in the gut and then about half cut his head off with the other. Lanz and Tolson brought everything to an end a moment later when they turned the critter to mist with a few shells from their guns.
Losses like that are felt deeply around here, not just 'cause we don't have any replacements for our casualties, but because we've grown pretty tight around here since the Dominion abandoned us, which is kinda weird considering marines aren't the most cultured type of person you might run across. There's about fifty of us left at this point. We're fighting on and hoping we can suck enough knowledge out the tech. manuals we salvaged to get deep space communications working.
That should give you a pretty good idea of our situation. It's time for me to get some shut-eye after keeping watch all night. Sleep's a dark and dangerous thing 'cause we're all worked to the bone defending this place, but it beats reality hands down any day we're here.
That's all for now, here's to hope and, failing that, posterity.