Chapter Five

A/N: Apologies for the delay. I've been working on other projects as of late.

December 24th 2010

Year of Farore's Wind

Soldier's Log: Marth

Day 371

We buried Mario in a quiet spot overlooking the sunset. The funeral was small and unnoticed by most, but there was still something about the whole thing that made it seem just right for Mario. After all, Mario was always one to love the simpler things in life. If he had the choice between this or a grand funeral, I believe that he would choose this any day.

Luigi met Ike, Link, Pit, and myself right after dinner. Being Mario's brother, it was only fit that he held the body. We went over to a hole Link had dug earlier and placed the body in it. Few words were said as Link stooped down and filled in the hole.

Mario has no headstone.

Much as I would prefer to spend the next few days in mourning, there is no time for that. No matter how many people fall, this is war. We must continue to hold our ground and fight, lest we should choose to sacrifice what little advantage we have. The moment all of us withdraw from this place, Subspace shall fall into anarchy.

Link has spent much of his time in the medical tent. Much longer than he would need for a mere bullet wound. I can't help but wonder if there is something much worse plaguing him. Ike merely states that he has likely met a nice looking nurse. I dearly hope that is the case.

Strange happenings have plagued the roads. It is by our honor that we have chosen to deliver jeeps filled with supplies once a week to the nearest Subspace town in order to feed the starving women and children. This past week, three jeeps have set out to deliver the supplies.

None have returned.

General Ganondorf has grown worried. It is quite evident in the behavior of the higher officials. They try not to show it, but the mess hall has been unusually quiet these days. The more jeeps go missing, the more troops and precious supplies we lose. If something is not done about this soon, then we'll likely starve to death before we are completely wiped out in battle.

I have been chosen to be among those who will go out and search. Ironically, this is a search party for a search party. It is truly an honor to be chosen for such, but I can't help but wish that I had not accepted.

There is something dark out there.

And it's calling my name.

"Marth, hurry it up, will ya?" Red called as he loaded the jeep. "This jeep ain't gonna drive itself, you know!"

Marth allowed a small smile to creep onto his face as he carefully unfolded a white flag. "Hold your horses, Red. We need this thing to prevent us from getting shot at."

"Aw, c'mon Marth!" Red laughed. "It's Christmas Eve! Who the Hell would shoot us on Christmas Eve?"

Christmas Eve…

The mere mention of those two words was enough to silence him. It was today when many would prepare for the coming of Christmas Day. It was the day when housewives would stuff the geese, when presents would be wrapped, and when hearty dinners were shared.

He remembered the excitement he felt two weeks ago, when he was preparing to hop on the plane and fly home. He remembered how his mouth had watered at the thought of the rich plum pudding and the delicious fruit cake his mother would no doubt purchase. But most of all, he looked forward to the time when he would finally see Caeda's face again. When he could finally take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.

But he was here, fighting this war. He was here because the war had to go on. He was here because war never rested during the holidays. George Washington had proven that when he crossed the Delaware River on Christmas Eve, despite the biting cold of a great snowstorm. It was the victory that followed such an unpredicted move that helped turn the tide of the American Revolution.

He could look at this war as a way to help give Caeda a better world. She would like that, he knew. This was his pre-wedding gift to her. He was going to give her a better place to live in. Him being here, foregoing the joyful tidings of Christmas, was completely and utterly worth it if it meant making her smile.

He carefully wedged the white flag in between some of the crates in the back of the jeep. The flag was an extremely vital object. It signified that the people in the vehicle did not intend hostility. It also meant that attacking this jeep would be a grievous violation of a Law of War. After making sure it was secure, Marth took his spot as the driver of the jeep.

There were four of them that were going on this mission. Red, who travelled often, knew these lands best. He was to serve as navigator. Bowser, one of the best gun-men in the regiment, was going to be the main line of defense if anyone should dare attack the jeep. Captain Falcon, another higher ranking member of the Smash Regiment, was to serve as their commander. Marth himself was to serve as the driver of the jeep.

There were many tactical advantages for an enemy to take down any one of them. If Red was killed, they would lose their source of navigation. It would be quite possible for them to get lost and eventually die of thirst or starvation. If Bowser was slain, then they would lose their main line of defense and make them easy prey for others to attack. If Falcon was shot, then that would take out one of the leaders of the Smash Regiment, thus weakening the commanding aspect of the army. All three of them were in extremely dangerous positions and would cost the regiment greatly of any of them should fall.

But it was Marth that was in the greatest danger of all.

He was the driver of the jeep, thus being the most lightly armed and the most unlikely to be able to block an incoming attack. Take him out and the jeep would go out of control. Make the jeep go out of control and the other three were susceptible to more attacks. Make the other three susceptible and it would be easy pickings for the enemy.

In one single blow, all four of them could be eliminated.

He had to make sure that that never happened.

"Everyone seat belted?" he asked as he put on his own seatbelt.

"Check," Bowser said, obviously bored.

"Check!" Red said eagerly.

"Of course," Captain Falcon said. "Just fire her up, Marth. We've got a search party to search for."

The moment Marth turned the key, the engine roared to life. Black smoke plumed out from the exhaust pipe as the jeep zoomed steadily along the sun-baked dirt road. A dust cloud steadily followed them in their wake, sometimes coming close enough to cause them to nearly choke.

It was a torturously hot day, a day that not even the air conditioning of the jeep could solve. What was more, the drive was tedious, the scenery relentlessly unchanging. Marth's eyes glazed over as he continued to stare wistfully at the endless road before him. It would seem like years before they would find anything of significant importance.

He couldn't help but remember that it was on a day like this that he met Hardin for the first time. He had been a student in the military academy back then and was learning how to drive a jeep for the first time. It had been extremely hot as well and it didn't help that he had forgotten to bring water with him. Overcome by thirst and exhaustion, Marth had fainted and fallen right out of the jeep. Miraculously, he had been otherwise unharmed.

He had woken up some time later to be met by a gourd of water held to his lips. The man holding it was dressed in the gauze of the dessert with dark hair and even darker eyes. His face had borne the look of seriousness that only truly experienced soldiers could ever possess. He had rehydrated Marth and it was not long until he had delivered the still dehydrated young man back to the military academy.

He had learned very little about the man who quite possibly saved his life, but despite that, he had still felt that he had made a friend. The only thing he did learn was that he was a well-respected spy from the Akaneia Regiment and was more often than not used in order to help extract information from the enemy lines. He supposedly spoke at least 30 different languages and was a master of deceit.

That had been years and years ago.

"Everything's awfully quiet," Red remarked, yawning. "Too quiet, if you ask me."

"It's because we've got this white flag thing," Bowser grumbled. "if it were up to me, we'd just ditch the flag and run in waving AK-47's. Those Primids won't know what him 'em."

"This is a search party, Private," Captain Falcon said sharply. "Our mission is to look for those who have gone missing and possibly help any civilians that are in need." he shifted his position. "… Step on the gas, Marth. The faster we find someone, the faster we can get back."

Red grinned. "Totally. I could use a-"

BOOM!

The front bumper was blown right off the car, causing everyone in the jeep to jump. Thrown off balance, the jeep jerked forward, the intense momentum causing the car to flip over, smashing its headlights and causing the roof to cave in. Marth's elbow slammed into the window, causing glass shards to spray everywhere. Warm blood flowed freely from a large gash on his cheek, burning into his flesh like acid. The airbags deployed, but they were not enough. The moment Marth's face smashed into them, his nose was broken with a sickening crunch!

Bowser's gun discharged as the jeep flipped over again, this time losing its back left wheel as it landed on yet another invisible landmine. Blinded by blood flowing from his forehead and deafened by the explosion of the gun, Marth wildly spun the wheel in an attempt to regain control. He faintly heard Captain Falcon cry out for just a moment before more gunfire filled his ears.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The windows smashed as the bullets pierced the glass, some of them friendly fire whereas others belonged to their attackers. Marth, exposed by the window his elbow had shattered, gritted his teeth against the intense pain of the bullets biting into his flesh.

"ARCEUS DAMN THEM!" Red cursed, pulling out his gun in an attempt to counter. "THEY'RE SHOOTING A JEEP WITH A GODDAMN WHITE FLAG! THEY'RE-"

More blood pooled and mixed with Marth's, painting the interior of the army jeep a deep red. Desperately wrenching the wheel, Marth tried his best to get the jeep to head back to the Regiment Camp before he was too injured to drive. Red's deathly pale corpse bumped against him steadily as he slammed his foot into the gas.

Bowser and Captain Falcon were both desperately trying to keep the enemy off their tail, using what little weapons they had. The machine guns rattled off bullets quicker than lightning, but those were not enough. Their pursuers outnumbered them greatly. If they didn't make it to the camp soon, none of them would make it out alive.

Through the completely shattered front window, Marth saw it first. A large object, jet black against the bright blue sky. As it slowly turned in midair, he could just barely make out the dreaded fuse, already pulled and primed for detonation. He had exactly 23 seconds from the moment the fuse was pulled to either swerve and dodge it or somehow send it hurtling back.

It landed in the backseat.

BOOM!

Marth undid his seatbelt just in time, allowing him to leap out of the way just in time to avoid the explosion. Blood splattered his clothes as metal and glass scraped every exposed bit of his skin. He landed on the ground and watched in horror as body and car parts flew through the air, mingling with the gallons upon gallons of blood that sprayed the ground.

A searing pain in his right leg told him that he had not escaped the explosion unscathed. A large layer of his skin had been cruelly ripped off, exposing the muscle underneath. Gasping in pain, Marth desperately crawled away as fast as he could, trying his best to ignore the pain that was shooting through him.

He watched in silent horror as three army jeeps stopped at the rubble, each of them holding at least four Primids each. While eight of them investigated the mess, four of them turned their guns on Marth. Shaking with fear and exhaustion, Marth glared silently as one man stepped forward.

It was Hardin.

"Y-Y-You…" he stammered, his vision wavering slightly from the loss of blood.

"Ah, Marth Lowell," Hardin replied, giving him a cold smile that never quite reached his eyes. "It is, I admit, horrid to see you again."

Marth tried to reach his pistol, but his fingers refused to respond. "W-Why…?"

"I am a man of many things, Marth Lowell," Hardin said calmly. "But most of all, I am what most would call a mercenary. My services are top notch, yes, but I require the proper payment of some kind. Lord Tabuu has offered me much if I simply take out the Brawl Regiment. And the way you fools simply keep sending out jeeps. You have become easy targets, old friend."

Marth's glare became venomous. "D-Damn… you…"

Hardin laughed, high and cruel. "Is that all you can muster, Marth? I thought you were better than that…" he pulled out a .98 Colt Revolver and pointed it at his prey. "I will send my greetings to Caeda… I'll tell her just how you went down…" he placed his finger on the trigger. "A sniveling, begging, crying, pathetic coward…"

Isaac looked at the large wooden door and hesitated.

He was never one to enjoy bearing bad news.

But the order had arrived from Captain Pit himself today. And it was in his nature to follow orders. Sighing, Isaac raised one shaky hand and knocked.

A woman answered. A beautiful woman at that. She was tall and slender, with clear skin and gorgeously kept dark blue hair. Her sapphire colored eyes sparkled with the merriment that could only come from the celebrations of Christmas Eve. He watched as her pristine face twisted itself into an expression of surprise for a moment before her features became serene.

He saluted her.

She allowed him inside. In spite of the news he wished to give her, he accepted a drink from her. There were others here as well. But he had been ordered to speak only to three people: Caeda Regina and Lord and Lady Lowell.

The fire was roaring. The apple cider they gave him was warm and sweet. He finished the entire glass. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice their eyes on him.

He had to deliver the message.

"… I… I don't suppose you know me," he said quietly. As he spoke, the temperature of the room seemed to drop at least ten degrees. "My name is Isaac… First Corporal of the Assist Regiment… I have worked alongside your son, Marth, as well as others."

They remained silent. But the expressions on their faces gave everything away. They wanted to know why he was here. A lump appeared in Isaac's throat as he saw this.

He swallowed.

"I regret to inform you that your son will not be arriving home at the end of this war..."