It doesn’t take long for the gunfire to return, more intense
than ever. I can’t instruct my squad to shoot back, only run faster. How could
I instruct them to do anything else when I know the truth now? They’re sending
children and teenagers to fight us. They’re no older than when my older brother
died. The same cause of death, different situations. Suicide was how he chose
to die, guns are pretty effective at killing people, even yourself. The
difference being my brother got to choose, and that kid didn’t, I chose for them.
Even if they chose to become a soldier, and attack, I chose death for them.
“We have to return fire,” Habeeb calls out.
“Do whatever, just keep running,” the only answer I can
give.
My brother had his heart broken by a girl. He just couldn’t
see how his life could move forward without her. He moped around for days
before taking his own life. The marines could have been better help for him,
helped him sort out the mess he felt he was in. Perhaps he could have been
provided with an outlet for those emotions, found a purpose in life. Those are
the things I contemplate occasionally, nowhere near as often as I did when he
first died. Sometimes I forget that I ever had a big brother, I’ve known him as
a memory longer than I ever knew him as a person at this point in my life. Now
that kid is just a memory to someone who cared about them.
The taste of dirt rips me from thoughts. Did I fall? No, the
pain tells me I was hit in the back. Not by a bullet, likely a stone tossed
using psionics. I roll over and realize we’ve been pinned down again. I can’t
see the sun through the trees, and for the first time I’m realizing this jungle
has been lit by some kind of growth on the upper tree branches. With no real visible
sun, I have to wonder just how long we’ve really been out here. Casey tries to
check on me, make sure I’m not hurt too bad to continue. I wave him off and
crawl into a covered position, ready to return fire.
I aim my gun into the wall of brush, aiming where I know the
enemy is. I know there could be more kids behind there, but I don’t want to die
either. There’re over one million recognized religions in the Milky Way, each
with their own view of the afterlife. I never chose one, didn’t want to, wasn’t
sure I believed, wasn’t sure I could die so soon.
On the inside, I often laughed at others who were so devout
to religions that science couldn’t prove. Didn’t matter if they were
worshipping some man in the sky, unproven cells in our bodies, a concept such
as karma or whatever. Now I’m wondering who was right? Did it bring them peace
in their final moments? Were the hours of devotion spent worth it? I’d rather
not find out what happens after death right now.
I don’t want to die. I want to start a family of my own. A
wife, husband, alien or whatever, doesn’t matter, and a kid, maybe a few kids. Kids,
they start as a smaller version of you, and then they grow into this completely
different and new person. Sometimes they keep some of your traits and habits,
just natural. My parents were never proud of my accomplishments, but if I had a
kid, I’d be proud of everything they did, their biggest supporter. I wonder if
the kid I killed was anything like their parents, were they proud of them?
I squeeze the trigger, but the gun doesn’t fire. It takes
several attempts and rifle checks for me to realize my finger just won’t
squeeze the trigger. I’m telling my body to fire, I’m giving the signal, I can
feel the gun fire, but it just won’t fire. I’m trying to force myself, but my
body knows I don’t want to fire this gun anymore. I just can’t. I pretend I’m
aiming and firing as my squad shoots back, unaware they’re snuffing out the
potential future of the Vaznian race.
“Everyone get ready to run,” Faramund tosses two grenades at
once toward our attackers.
Before I can turn, I watch as the grenades stop and redirect
in midair. Divine intervention, these rebel Vaznians really might have god on
their side for sure. No matter what, they always seem to be one step ahead of
us or they get one lucky break when we can’t seem to get one. I don’t have time
to run, I just scatter with everyone else.
There’s no pain when the grenade makes impact. Dirt blurs my
vision a little and I can’t hear a damn thing but the constant ringing in my
ears. I pat myself down with both hands and seem to be in okay condition. My
right arm is no good helping me get up from the ground. I look for my squad,
they seem to be in a centralized location staring at something. I make my way
towards them and realize Casey is the one missing, likely they’re surrounding
him. He probably took the biggest part of the blast. I stumble, towards them,
only stopping when I spot an arm on the ground. Casey should be left in full, I
grab the arm from the ground and keep moving.
Horror fills the eyes of my squad when they spot me
approaching. Casey isn’t dead, being treated by Maura, but still alive. His
wounds don’t even look too gruesome. We’re less than half a mile from the exit
of this hell, but he should make it just fine.
“Sergeant,” Casey’s eyes become the size of small plates
when he catches a glimpse of me.
“Sorry about that, but I told you, I wasn’t going to let you
die,” I force a smile that makes me lightheaded.
“Sergeant,” Casey just repeats.
“Hey, how about you take your arm as a souvenir. They might
be able to put it back if we’re fast enough,” I place the arm on his chest.
I lose my balance and fall hard to the ground unable to
catch myself. The blast must have thrown off my equilibrium. My armor should
help me adjust in a few moments. Casey starts to scream, not in pain but
horror. It happens, people come back changed from missions like this. PTSD, I
feel sorry for him. Hopefully, therapy can provide him with some coping
methods.
“That’s not my arm,” Casey pushes it away.
“Sure, it is, it looks a lot like mine, but it’s yours.
Humans are funny like that,” I’m great at telling jokes.
I realize Casey has both arms as he continues to panic, so I
take mental inventory of my squad. It’s getting harder to focus, but everyone
seems to have two arms. I wonder who’s arm that was. Maybe it was another hallucination,
it wouldn’t be the first one out here. Actually, that does look a lot like my
arm.
“Captain, sit down,” Maura starts to yell but fades out.
“Oh shit, that is my arm.”
