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Of Poor Soldier James
Posted By: Cacogen<residentpark@aol.com>
Date: 29 May 2004, 4:17 AM
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-Dear cousin, for whom the funeral bell never seems to toll-
I am currently on a mission, and I will probably die. Not that you would care, but I am currently recording my conversations and thoughts on this nerve-connecter, and will send it to you in the case of my death, or hopefully, just a non-fatal injury.
Here we go, Danah.
-James, your dear, sweet... something. I am not good on relations, I am sad to say. Hope this is a good holo.-
"It certainly seems to be a beautiful place." I commented, to a rather pale faced girl next to me.
"Are... are you joking? We might die out there." She looked sick; I read her tag, blurred slightly by the personal shielding. I couldn't make it out; some Russian name.
"Russian?" I asked. It was nothing new; even with the advent of the UNSC and the coming of the Covenant the superficial boundaries of the humankind had still been left intact, out of respect and also the unwillingness to disturb the also-superficial peace the common enemy had provided. Often, Americans fought beside Russians, whom with the Second Cold War were- were -bitter enemies till the invention of the means of reaching the far away stars.
"No. They ran out of uniforms." She turned away from me, never telling me here name. I considered jerking her to myself, then told myself that I didn't want to get my balls smashed by a irate woman.
Towards the Yucatan. I am currently part of a attack on the Covenant fortresses, which are, at least seeming to be, excavating the ancient temples there. Which was rather strange; but I was a soldier, sent to die, so I really don't give a bugger about motives or whatnot. I just hope that we catch them with their pants down; but that is not likely. (lame joke coming, cousin) They don't have pants, not in our sense of the word. Ha, Ha, Ha.
I turned instead to the windows, and watched the recently-forested areas, now torn down, and pissed on with salt poured on for a good measure.
Now towards the rather misty areas of my half-assed philosophies, cousin: I apologize for the pains it will give you to hear my rantings.
If the universe is really a part of an infinity of such universes, then it will be inevitable to say that what is impossible here in our universe must be possible in some of the other universes, as in a realm of infinite universes there is an infinity of possible events that might occur. Thus, angels and demons, heaven and hell, and duplicates of our selves WILL exist; and so will the sodomical gods of the Greek Pantheon, and our own, rather hazy GOD, or JHVH.
Thus, it would be inevitable to say that in some of the other universes, what we desire most WILL have happened. Thus, it might be possible to say that in some of the luckier universes, a duplicate of mine may be wondering about the same issues inside his own, comfortable home next to a virgin and a bottle of wine instead of stuck in this goddamn transport, awaiting death.
On with the account of James, the pitiful soldier of approaching doom:
I activate my own shielding, the pitiful copy of the ones the Elites use. The queasy sensation of being encased inside one's own funeral coffin comes and goes, leaving me retching inwardly. I compose poems, soddy affairs of self-pity worth it's weight in shit, as I gag and cough:
Though the poor soldier James
had his fun,
now he goes, towards his doom.
The flowers may revel, in the approaching day
But the poor soldier James, doesn't delight.
Did I not tell you it was shit?
Anyways, the Pelican slowly, with unsteadying motions approach our drop zone, 275 kms south of the first Covenant outpost. We storm out, battle-ready with piss trickling down our pants and breaths coming out in gasps...
I run to the approaching train of tanks and recon vehicles, first of a swarming hundred. I don't know how many Pelicans that was; but it was few enough that if we were shot down, they (the command) would learn not to send any aerial help, and if we made it there in one piece we might make a small difference. Outfitted with yellow shields that lurched my bowels and battle rifles that just might kill a Elite with fifty or so shots, I felt confident.
I was being sarcastic, Danah dear cousin, if you didn't get it, being a empty-headed pretty head of thirty.
"Hey, you, jewboy! Come on up!" People always assume, just because I have a big nose, that I am a person of Jewish descent. It is insulting to Israelis in general, because I'm sure they wouldn't want me amongst their own. I ruin the kids with my heathen ways.
I ignore the soldier who called me a Jew, and walked on, determindedly ignoring him. At last he said,
"You! Private James Yakuh? Better come up, last seat left! Unless you want to walk..." I run to the transport truck. It is merely a Phobos Ford, outfitted with steel sides and plasma repelling-coating. I jump on board.
(part 2 hopefully coming soon)
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