~I blame Stosh. Why? .......Dunno either.
XLS Thunderstom--
Legendary Spec Ops
-- Godz of Tactical Combat
I am a Lone Wolf of Reach's Ruins. I am in a Team, and I will listen; although when I can, I go my own way, and lead my own way. When the situation calls, I will do as ordered.
Only when I must.
Entry #2
'Groggy Routine.'
Morning bells went off, and by then I would have been waking up and getting ready for the day. I was already in my casual uniform though, walking out of my quarters and down the metal hallways before it ever went off. I found no sleep, and I was not even tired. I was, more or less, a walking dead. I was over the initial pain of John, Dan, and Alex, but they were like brothers to me. I knew them well, as I did most people, but something about them...
Walking the same halls they so often did, knowing that, by know, I would be talking, eating, and training with them, left an emptiness in my heart that still haunts me.
I should have been hungry, staying up for, what, twenty-four hours or more? I would have been starving. Instead, I walked emotionlessly down the hall and to the right, opening a metal door - the metal door - to the training field outside.
A little over a week ago, I would have been training with the other three at my side.
I grabbed an Marksman Rifle off of the wall, loaded the gun, and started shooting targets habitually, almost like a robot programmed for one function. As I finished my third clip and grabbed a Sniper Rifle, a thought crossed my mind. Why? It had come to me so many other times, the wonder as to why these deaths - deaths that I should have been accepting in the UNSC - troubled me so, and caused me so much grief. But they did.
I pushed the thought aside and set the scope on my sniper, aiming a little over a hundred meters right and upward towards a Sanghelli-Shaped target. My sniper skills were lackluster, and I wanted to fix that. I pulled the trigger, and watched the bullet fly, and found satisfaction in my headshot. I lined up another shot, and quickly adjusted left and down to a ground target, firing a few seconds after I made sight.
I hit the arm. Not bad, but I had room for improvement.
I heard the sound of moving hinges, and turned back. One of the standard marines came outside, and I tossed him the sniper. He wore a marksman badge. He smiled at me, and within 10 seconds, had 3 headshots and a neck shot on targets many meters out. I smiled, impressed. It was a weak smile, but the man knew what I had been through. Some thought me weak and crazy. Some pitied me. Some cared and some didn't care what-so-ever. This man, apparently, atleast had the sense to be comforting.
I walked out, and was ran into by one of my Generals.
"Im sorry, si-"
He cut me off. "I don't care, Isaac. Come with me, Corporal. I got something to show you."
I followed him to the office of our base commander, and walked in to the man smoking a pipe with some papers out infront of him. He dismissed the General, and turned to face me.
"Isaac, I know that you are feeling depressed-"
God, I feel more than depressed. He really undercut that feeling, but I stood, silent.
"-and we can all see that. But that won't help you on the battlefield. I feel your pain-"
I doubt that. I really doubt you do, sir. Still, I stood silent.
"-but we can't stop our entire operation-"
Operation Quake, striving for the quick destruction of some covenant in a valley near a not-to-far away outpost.
"-for your personal, petty grudges! Now get outside and help pack the warthogs. We leave in two hours, so move it!"
I stood there, my face expressionless. I nodded and gave a curt 'Yes sir' to him, and quickly walked out. I wanted to scream at him, but it would have been for no reason. He was right - it was a selfish, petty, and rather personal desire for revenge.
I would still find it. For now, though, I had to report outside. We would load up and move out in two hours time, heading in to aid the outpost in Operation Quake.
----
The man looked at the others, and walked away, oblivious to the stares of more than a dozen men.
"Weak!"
"Wimp!"
"Calm down, calm down," said one of the more commanding of the crowd. "If he wants to go, let him go. Maybe this life is not for him."
The casually dressed, medium-haired man grinned, and walked towards the door.
"But," said the other man again, "we may have to kill him now. I mean, surely, he knows too much about our lifestyle and our locations."
The walking man stopped, and looked back, his face calculating.
"I have my reasons for walking out." He grinned. "Those ODST's we killed recently got me wonderin' about why I am in this gig. Pardon me, but I don't want the military on my head."
The other's continued their insults, but the one, the same one who threatened to kill him, was the very one who wanted most for him to go. He knew the reasoning for why this man - Phillip Caloon - was leaving.
And he would return. He would return with vital information for their cause.
[Edited on 04.29.2011 12:51 PM PDT]