- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
Poll: What did you think? [closed]
Total Votes: 1
[b] The Last Marine [b]
I wake up; looked at my clock. 3:30 AM. I rub my eyes, and look around. The rest of my squad are still asleep. I lay back down; staring up at the ceiling… remembering…
{BOOM} I was lying down; face down in mud. Explosions were going off all around me; huge blue “balls” of plasma crashing into the ground. Hell. This is it, and I had jumped feet first into it. A tear leaked from my eye, dripping onto the burned grass and mud below me. I struggled even to lift my head, saw a Banshee as it fired its two cannon, ripping into a UNSC Hornet, spinning it round, sending it crashing into the ground. I coughed. A Pelican and a Phantom, scissoring around each other, like fireflies over a lake. The Phantom fires, shredding the Pelican’s crew. I watch, another tear streaking down my cheek as the Pelican spins, whirring out of control, smashing into the ground. The flames from the ensuing explosion reached just a few feet from my face. I feel my skin char. Hell. Oh yes, I sure jumped into it. Feet first. Into hell. {BOOM} another explosion, a blue ball of plasma, moving my body slowly. I was on fire inside. I looked up at where the Pelican had landed. A man was running around, screaming, burning. I watched as a Banshee dropped an incendiary bomb near him. He fell and twitched - didn’t move again. I close my eyes. Breathe deeply, and look again. Two Marines, running… both with Assault rifles. One of them drops, a foot long spike lodged in his throat. The other turns, slipping on his side as he walks to his felled comrade; running to him, “NO!” he shouts. I can almost feel his pain. His helmet falls off as he scrambles trying to reach his friend, who is struggling on the ground. Why do I have to remember? I hate to remember!
The marine writhes on the floor like a dying fish, writhing, it’s horrible. The other marine reaches him, crying, kicking up dust as he scrambles to help his friend. He tries to administer CPR. That’s not going to work. He slams the floor with his fist, lying on the sand, hitting it again in his despair. “No!” He screams again. With agony. Like me. “PRIVATE! Up and over!” my commander yells. “Over.” It is over for me. I look back to the marine crying, despairing over his dead friend, still twitching from the spike in his spinal cord. I watch as a ball of plasma hits him, sending blood and dust everywhere. I wince, spattered with blood. When I look back again, there is only a pool of blood and a scorch mark - nothing more. I struggle to move my arms, getting my hands either side of my face. “Private! Two types of people are staying in this place. Those who are dead, and those who are going to die! Now I suggest you don’t become neither of those kinds a guys; so, Private, ON. YOUR. FEET!” I stay there for a second, watching as a spike whistles past my head, striking the Commander in the chest. Sending him reeling, writhing as the other marine did. I put my arm up into the air, as though to grasp something. I pushed with my arms. With a lot of force, and my arms shaking, I manage to get up into a press-ups position. Moving my knees under my chest, I crouch. I stand to my feet. I know he’s dead. I shake my head, sand and mud and such are sent from my hair. I look down to the floor, my helmet, my gun. I grab them both, holster my magnum, put my helmet on my head, and pull my assault rifle from my back. After standing there for a split second, I run, getting behind the downed Pelican.
There were two other Marines with me behind the Pelican, and one ODST. I looked down at my leg, I was bleeding. An explosion staggered us. “Hey, Private whatever your name is,” the ODST whispers. “We’re moving out; keep your helmet on your head and dash behind cover. I’ll go first!” I watch a sick feeling in my stomach as he runs for cover behind a wall.
Another explosion, the sound of men shouting. I see spikes whiz past where he had just been, and explosions all the same. He seemed to dodge them all, weaving in and around the various plasma and spike grenades tossed at him. He made it safely behind the wall, but the next guy wasn’t so lucky. He ran and was immediately splattered across the floor by a strange looking piece of blue-ish metal. I couldn’t see the driving force behind it straight away, but when I did… I wanted to cry.
I was almost sick as I saw the intertwining string like things. I saw the tip of the Plasma cannon and that was it. I think I actually wet myself when I saw the cannon charge, the green laser hitting the wall the ODST had so stylishly hidden himself behind. Needless to say, he was splattered. The Hunter turned, and I saw the Plasma Cannon charge again. “RUN!” I shouted, “-blam!-, RUN!” Me and the remaining Marine turned, we ran as fast as we could, faster than I thought I could. We jumped into a ditch where we found a grunt. It squealed, firing an over-charged plasma bolt into the other marine, splitting his stomach. I smacked the small grunt with the barrel of my gun, it reeled and stepped back, I hit it again and it fell on its back, its gas mask fell from its mouth and it let out a small sigh, lying in a pool of blue/cyan blood.
I looked over to the Marine who was hit. He was lying there breathing deeply, the bloody mass of intestines now visible, free from the bounds of skin and muscle, with the sickening aroma of charred flesh, seared, rising from him. I looked to his face, his eyes were shut and his jaw locked tight. He opened his eyes slowly, they were watering. I put my hand on his chest, grabbed his tags and ripped them free of his neck. He nodded, tried to talk. He moaned and said “There’s a letter.” He nodded to the pocket on his shirt, emblazoned with the UNSC Private insignia. I put my hand into it and got the letter out. “It’s for my dad, ow” he groaned, and moved one hand from his chest, pointing to my magnum. “No… I’m getting you out of here” I said. He shook his head, grabbed the handle of my magnum and tried to tug it from the holster. He shook his head again, tears welling in his eyes, one rolling down his cheek.
I opened the holster and gave him the pistol, a tear streaking down my cheek also. I looked to his name “Jake Johnson. I’ll post your letter. Don’t worry.” He nodded, smiling weakly with the pistol in his hand. “Wait!” I said. “Don’t. I’m carrying morphine. I’ll do it, it’ll be painless.” He nodded, smiling again, he dropped the pistol. I prepared the injection, holding out his cold, pale, clammy hand and pressing the needle into his wrist. I pushed on the stopper, pumping the life-stopper into his veins. I stared at his face, cradling his head in my hands. I looked up at the burning sky, flashing with light in all its former glory. When I looked back to his eyes, he was gone. I pressed my fingers on his eyelids and slowly moved my hand down, closing them. He was at peace now.
I heard an explosion, followed by a chain of explosions getting nearer to the ditch we were in. I pocketed his letter and his dogtags, readied my assault rifle, holstered my pistol and stood. I looked out over the horizon, scanning. I jumped out of the ditch; the hunter seemed to have gone. I looked around, seeing the corpse of a Marine and the corpse of the ODST. I quickly ran to their bodies in turn, grabbed their dogtags and found some more cover where a Sergeant was hiding.
That was when a new enemy arrived. He announced his presence with a mighty roar and 7 spikes flew past my head. One caught the Sergeant in the shoulder. I grabbed his other arm, dragging him with me as he fell. He wasn’t hurt bad, so I got him to his feet and handed him his weapon. He didn’t think he could use a two handed weapon, he told me, as he ripped the 12 inch spike from his arm. I handed him my magnum, he had another with the same amount of ammo as mine, and I took his shotgun. I put it over my back and kept hold of my assault rifle. I saw the Brute just next to me, sniffing the air. It placed its spike rifle just in front of me. I rammed the barrel of the assault rifle into its elbow, held onto the forearm and synonymously pushed up with the gun and pulled down with my hand. I fired off 12 rounds in just a few seconds, tearing into the bare flesh, making the Brute scream. The arm was instantly pulled back as I brought the shotgun to my arms, aiming it at the Brute’s chest, firing it twice in quick succession. I flicked a shell into it, and fired again, killing it with a large fragment embedding itself in his skull, and another in the eye. He fired 3 spikes, one slicing into my leg, the other hitting the Sergeant between the eyes. He dropped, I grabbed his dogtags and ran.
I was truly the last Marine.
Please tell me what you think, it took me a while, and if anyone has any suggestions as to what could happen next or anything, I'd apreciate it. Feedback please =]
[Edited on 11.18.2008 1:27 PM PST]