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Regarding Death and Pain by Jester
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Regarding Death and Pain: Chapter 1
Date: 23 June 2005, 1:33 am
War is composed only of two things: death and pain. These two actions become your entire world; they encompass all that you once stood for. Death brings with it mercy for some and cruel suffering for others. Never submit to death. Pain only exists in the mind, and thus does not exist for some. Pain is a tool though. It teaches you to react quicker, to sense threats, and avoid death. Pain leads the way to death, and death is a release from pain. - Excerpt from The Universal Book of War.
Mark Rice woke to pain. His eyes felt like they had been gouged out with a hot skewer. He couldn't feel half his body. Definitely not a good sign. He tried opening his eyes to see what had happened to him. White hot knifes of pain stabbed at him in response and he could barely breathe. Mark lay there trying and failing to remember anything. A metallic detached sounding voice spoke suddenly.
"Mark. Mark, open your eyes."
Mark refused with grim determination.
"It will only bring pain." Mark was surprised at the sound of his own voice. It sounded weak and pathetic even to his own ears.
"Yes, it will. Open your eyes."
"No, it will only bring pain." He repeated this sentence over and over again. It seemed to be the only one his mind was able of conjuring up from his shattered head. The other voice went away, yet he kept repeating that single sentence. It was his only existence.
"Flank left!... move guys, come on… get yer butts out of that hole.. move it."
Mark leapt out of the slimy trench that had been his home for the past three weeks. Battle Rifle in hand he followed the voice of his Sergeant. He couldn't see anything, but it didn't matter. He had memorized the layout of the battlefield over the past three weeks, and could tell that the sarge was heading for the fallback trench about 700 yards away. Mark's boots slammed into the muddy earth of the scorched field that lay in front of him. The haze around his vision cleared for a second and he could make out the tree-line that lay directly behind the fallback trench. He was probably 500 yards away now.
The whine of banshees above tore through him in spasm of fear. Mark rolled to his right just as a deadly string of plasma stitched holes in the space he had just vacated. Man that was close, Mark thought to himself. He looked upwards just as the banshee swooped over his head. The craft came so close that he could have reached out and touched the Elite flying it. His brain had a better idea and his body followed through with action. He took a plasma grenade he had found, pinned it, and hurled it at the banshee. The fiery blue orb registered the banshee and stuck defiantly to the craft. The Elite realized what was happening too late. The grenade exploded, consuming the banshee and its pilot in a mass of smoke and flame. There was no time to rejoice though, for there were still three banshees left, and they weren't happy. The ground shook under Marks' boots as massive balls of plasma slammed into the earth. This was bad. He had to get to their fallback position soon. Walking around out here was going to get him killed. Mark strained to hear the sergeant through the chaos of war. He finally found the sarge's commanding voice.
"Form up over here! Get over here now! Jameson, Markus get on those 50 cals, and take down those banshees! Ryan, get a group together and take out those tanks!"
Mark was still following the sarge's voice through the smoke when pain erupted in a shower of hot sparks along his side.
The smell of wet earth beneath him clogged his nostrils. He lay in the mud there, perfectly content to die. But death would not take him. Something else would.
"Mark, wake up. Wake up Mark."
Mark woke slowly. His first sensation was that of a cool breeze drifting lazily across his body. Sheets were plastered around what was left of his body. He lay in darkness. He moved his one remaining hand up to his forehead; sweat as hot as blood met his touch.
"You're fine Mark, just open your eyes."
Mark did so slowly, opening them centimeter by centimeter. There was still pain, but not as bad as it had been. It was the pain that you felt when you went outside after being in the dark for too long. Mark blinked twice to clear away the fog from his vision, and rather wished that he hadn't opened his eyes. He could barely look at what was left himself. His skin was mottled and wrinkled, the flesh burned, and the missing ligaments didn't help the overall effect. His body seemed to be clothed in light, yet he couldn't make out anything beyond himself. Mark closed his eyes.
"Open up Mark, just look up."
"Why?"
"We need a scan of your eyes. It won't hurt, I promise."
"How can I trust a promise from someone I've never met."
"Please Mark?
Mark opened his eyes again and looked upwards. A small device bearing resemblance to a camera swooped down from the nowhere and rested it's self on his left eye. There was a short beep, and the process was repeated on his second eye. The device whirred and clicked as it shot back to where it came from.
"Good job Mark. Now you can go back to sleep if you wish."
"No, wait. Where am I? Who are you? What happened to me?" Mark needed to know all these things, though he wasn't sure if he was ready for the truth.
"That is for you to figure out. Good night Mark."
Mark slipped into blackness again.
"Inbound Longswords on our position sarge." the radio officer said with relief.
"Excellent. Tell them to bomb anything out here that isn't us. Everybody get in yer holes! It's about to get loud out here."
Mark heard the entire conversation through a fog. The piece of shrapnel that had pierced his abdomen had been removed, but the pain lingered. His chest cavity hurt too. The medic believed that it was just residual pain.
Mark ducked down as far as he could. It hurt. Pain was only temporary though. He'd deal with the wound after the battle was over.
The familiar roar of Longswords caught his ear. They were getting closer, which was good because the Covenant's aim was getting better. Each new impact of plasma shook the ground heavier than the last. The marines would have been long ago dead if not for the lucky aim of one soldier. Somehow a marine had managed to nail a banshee with an unguided rocket. The banshees had stopped their strafing runs for fear of losing another pilot.
The Longswords streaked in above him then and he resigned himself to watch the carnage. Five Longswords came in faster than the rest. Missiles flashed from their sides as they arced overhead. Both remaining banshees were hit twice over. The remaining missiles sought new targets: Wraiths. The sixteen remaining missiles slammed into the Wraith's full on. As four of the wraiths exploded in a burst of blue fumes the remaining two began turn 180 degrees and boost towards the forest. The first five Longswords continued to fly ahead, machineguns coughing up death to Grunts, Jackals, and Elites. Five more Longswords came only seconds behind, and Mark's eardrums felt like they were about to burst. Each Longsword dispelled a series of carpet bombs along the Covenant formation. Even the bravest of Covenant ran at the sight of the 200lb explosives coming their way. The bombs slammed full on into the alien army. The remaining wraiths were nailed in their backs as they tried to flee. Covenant corpses were flung across the killing field until the Longswords had passed.
A chorus of cheers rose up around Mark at the sight of the dead Covenant army. Is it finally over? Mark wondered. Mark sat there thinking about what he was going to do now. Will I get to go home now? Will I see my wife, my family? These thoughts brought a small smile to his face.
The cheers and backslaps continued for long minutes, and then a dead silence struck the soldiers. Mark looked up to see what had dumb-struck the others so quickly. The rest of his comrades stood in a circle around their commander. Two figures stood taller among the rest. The sun reflected off their drab olive, scared, plasma burned armor. Spartans.
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