It dawned on him like the birth of a day without a sun, this was the end. He stared at the smoking crater that had once been the medic and more importantly the field hospital kit. His eyes fell slowly downward to his right hand held over his lower chest. He gently and even more slowly pulled it away and stared at the dark crimson fluid draining out of the wound. Nineteen years of life wasted away in six minutes of hell. Nineteen years of girls, friends, parents, and school, all to be become just another name in a miserably long list of casualties of war. However, it was not war; it simply was another one of the Federation/Auroran border disputes on the pollution choked world of Tichel.
His mind took in every shred at once, the black mud at his feet, the glowing fires in the wrecked Industry city, and the Auroran artillery raining death upon scattered and helpless comrades and the last Dreadnaught battle tank that he rested on. It was as useless and dead as the countless treaties and compromises the two governments had reached. The rain began again, falling from the thundering dark grey skies, filling in the shell holes and drowning those who could not or dared not sit up.
He shifted his slight weight and hundred and fifty pounds of gear slightly, as the strength ebbed slowly from his body. There was no pain. No glorious pain. What was it that his drill instructors told him? Pain is your pansy little bodys way of knowing you are alive! Pain is weakness leaving it. I love the pain! You should love it, well come on say it!
We love the pain, Drill Sergeant Sheall! fifty fresh recruits shouted as loud as they could across the scorching hot pavement on that bright sunny day at Fort Marshall training base.
Oh, what was that? I cant hear you!
Sergeant, we love the pain! They shouted with even more gusto.
Oh hell no! Hell no! Get it back, get it back! Scream like you go a pair of lungs that is! The lone buck sergeant yelled louder then the combined strength of all the recruits.
They tried once more and failing the sergeants lofty standards, spent the next eight hours doing impossible physical fitness as punishment. The next month followed the same general plan with intermittent combat training mixed in. Ian Sanders made many friends during boot camp and they helped each other through every trying obstacle. They had flown to the combat zone in the same ship, landed in the same black muck and died facing the same rail guns.
Of course, none of it mattered any more now did it? Ian muttered as he slipped further towards the mud. The rain pelted him thoroughly and mixing with the red streak that ran down his side. He let his head roll to the left until it rested against the thick tank armor. His eyes wandered slightly over the drenched corpses of the 113th fighting regiment. His unit had fought very bravely and died very quickly trying to clear out one of the Auroran suicide detachments sent to burn the city. Intel had pinpointed the enemys exact whereabouts and determined that their strength would be about one company. Yes, the unit was fanatical and would fight to the death, but Intel could never have determined that these were the best equipped and trained warriors that the empire ever fielded. They were the accused underlings of the Herein house who chose death over dishonor.
It was all in vain, Ian thought. He would never figure out why command sent green troops to fight an elite enemy. He grimaced as he identified the bodies of Private Ryan Waters, and Burt Tree. Soon, his own flesh would be lying in the mud with two of his closest friends. He continued to stare at the corpses as he waited for deaths icy grasp to take him from the cursed battlefield. Strangely, a corpse began to move dragging itself forward.
It was Private Tom Gaves, Ians best friend. Ian watched in utter fascination as the determined seventeen year old peered over a small boulder and began to set up his IR missile launcher. That would be his style, Ian thought. He briefly recalled that all the other members of the unit had been drafted; only Tom had been courageous enough to volunteer. Other presumed corpses began to move brandishing their assault blasters and gradually oozing forward. For the first time, since he could remember, Ian leaning against the duranium wall, peered forward.
Most of the Aurorans had pulled out their pens and began to tattoo each other in their odd custom, obviously congratulating each other over the slaughter they had committed. Their laughter filled the air. Three other warriors reloaded a mini chain-gun and waited for the remnants of the 113rd to begin their expected second assault. They sat back behind the gun and stared intently at Tom and the pathetic survivors behind him.
Oh no, they are going to be cut down for sure! Ian cursed under his breath. He had just witnessed the effects of chain guns on his unit. That demonic weapon with the support of pulse grenades and rifle rail guns had reduced the thousand or so troops of the 113 down to the few that were left now. He also knew that that gun had already ended his life.
He remembered being in the cramp hold of the Fed Patrol cruiser, everyone weapons at the ready. He recalled all of the doomed troops sitting in utter apprehension when the pilot radioed in that they were about to land; he ended the transmission with an emotionless, good luck.
Next to him, Tree looked over I heard this unit we are going in against has scorched the whole city, how do you think we will do against them
You know Private Tree, before normal people go to battle they usually are quiet or something like that, you know like on the holovid games, but you all you ever do is flap those pudgy jaws of yours, you never know when to shut up. So let me ask you for the three hundredth and sixth time, Shut up! Ryan Waters shouted.
Man, I am just sayin I mean it sounds like a tough group we are going against, you know. What if
Tom Gaves stopped him in mid sentence I dont care if they are Moashi or even Herein, all I need to know is where to shoot.
Look Guys, all we have to do is follow the dreads in, if were lucky we wont even have to fire a shot. Ian added
The Patrol cruiser settled down, letting the cargo holds open up and that is when the hell was unleashed. Some men ran forward, others retreated into the holds, while all were shredded by rail slugs and 20 mm bullets.
Few ever made it out before the cruiser lost its valuable shielding and the rounds cut through the hull. The pilot desperately tried to pullout, throwing the shattered unit out of his hold, as he shot star ward. The four fed tanks already waiting on site rushed forward only to be blasted by radar missiles. One almost made it through, but was cut down by a hail of concentrated fire. Ian just ran, before the sword of rounds cut through him as well. Now he looked at that infernal cannon knowing full well that its blaze of death would begin again. He could not let it happen. He picked up his assault blaster and for the first time set to fire and took three quick steps. He summoned all of his fading strength as adrenaline again rushed through his veins. If he was going to die he would not go quietly.
Two of the Auroran warriors never knew what hit them as they fell burnt through with blaster pulses. The others threw their guns up to their shoulders and started firing wildly in all directions. It took them half a heart beat to notice the lone figure charging at them with his weapon belching death.
Ian covered the ground at a pace he did not know was possible firing at a speed that seemed to defy physics. Most of his shots went wildly into the grey skies but the blasters rapid rate and mostly accurate fire soon cut into his opponents. The entire universe seemed to slow down as he charged, and suddenly he felt omnipresent. He watched outside of himself as five warriors shouldered their rifles and fired at him. He also noticed the near instantaneously assault by the other section of the 113. Tom fired the massive rocket that tracked the opponents makeshift ammo dump and the others laid down an impressive wall of deadly light. Three shots tore through Ians stomach. Again there was no pain. He fell to the ground momentarily before he ripped a grenade from his belt, armed it, and threw it at the enemy. A shock wave from an explosion stole the blaster from his other hand. He quickly drew his M-40 machine pistol blaster from its holster and pulled off several shots.
The IR missile lodged itself in the crates of munitions but did not go off. Ian closed the remaining distance and charged the enemies bunker, despite receiving numerous more wounds, he still fought. To several of the enemy warriors he seemed more of an apprehension then a physical figure as they poured rounds in his direction but missed. Ian gunned down several more with the little gun before it made a terrible click and mutilated itself into the empty position.
An Auroran warrior, heavily covered with tattoos rose with his gun leveled. He peered at Ian with an air of authority and disgust. The enemy captain spoke in slaughtered basic.
You are brave, but it is no more, why you fight?
The color drained from Ians cheeks as the multiple battle wounds caught up to him. He collapsed before he could speak. At the same moment, Toms missile exploded ripping the encampment to shreds. The few Aurorans that survived the blast met an expedient death from Private Gaves and the 113rd blasters.
Tom found Ians mangled but living body and knelt down besides him. I do not know what to say, you saved us. I knew they had me in their sites. If you did not start to distract them you saved me. By all that is holy, why did you kill yourself like this?
Tears fell from Gaves eyes as he stood over his friends body. Ian feebly grasped the other mans chest armor and pulled him closer. His breath was hard and short, his life barely an ember in the shell that had at once held so many old girlfriends gently. I did it not for the Feds he winced slightly in a pain that had finally come as he clung onto life desperately just long enough to finish. I did it for you. His grasp let loose and he fell softly into the mud, finally at peace.
One of the other bedraggled survivors looked down at the Tom and the body as Tom looked up. The man spoke Greater Love hath no man then this that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Tom stood up sort of absently and wandered around for a moment deep in thought.
Giles, you were never particularly a poet where did you get that.
I dont know, I found it in some old book, I guess, when I was little, for some reason it just came to me.
Oh yeah? You wouldnt know who said it do you?
I think it was someone named Jesus, Do you think Ian was like that, I dont know I cant remember the book.
Like Jesus Tom chuckled slightly amused. He looked at the dead tank and the distance between it and the base. Considering the warriors they fought, there was no way any man could have made that run, he gazed around at the desolate place. True, he was friends with Ian but he never considered it anything to die for. He suddenly realized how much Ian had cared for him although he, in return, did not care too much for Ian. The thought haunted him.
Hours later as the sun set against the red hued clouds, the 113rd wandered off the battlefield following their new leader, field promotion Lieutenant. Gaves. He led the men purposely towards the landing zone. Every few minutes, he slowed down and repeated those two words. Like Jesus
---------
EVula's Edit: Here is an alternate version, titled "Six Minutes on Tichel (Without the religous ending)." I didn't feel like both should go up as individual stories, but didn't want to pick one in favor of the other, so here are both. 
---------
It dawned on him like the birth of a day without a sun, this was the end. He stared at the smoking crater that had once been the medic and more importantly the field hospital kit. His eyes fell slowly downward to his right hand held over his lower chest. He gently and even more slowly pulled it away and stared at the dark crimson fluid draining out of the wound. Nineteen years of life wasted away in six minutes of hell. Nineteen years of girls, friends, parents, and school, all to be become just another name in a miserably long list of casualties of war. However, it was not war; it simply was another one of the Federation/Auroran border disputes on the pollution choked world of Tichel.
His mind took in every shred at once, the black mud at his feet, the glowing fires in the wrecked Industry city, and the Auroran artillery raining death upon scattered and helpless comrades and the last Dreadnaught battle tank that he rested on. It was as useless and dead as the countless treaties and compromises the two governments had reached. The rain began again, falling from the thundering dark grey skies, filling in the shell holes and drowning those who could not or dared not sit up.
He shifted his slight weight and hundred and fifty pounds of gear slightly, as the strength ebbed slowly from his body. There was no pain. No glorious pain. What was it that his drill instructors told him? Pain is your pansy little bodys way of knowing you are alive! Pain is weakness leaving it. I love the pain! You should love it, well come on say it!
We love the pain, Drill Sergeant Sheall! fifty fresh recruits shouted as loud as they could across the scorching hot pavement on that bright sunny day at Fort Marshall training base.
Oh, what was that? I cant hear you!
Sergeant, we love the pain! They shouted with even more gusto.
Oh hell no! Hell no! Get it back, get it back! Scream like you go a pair of lungs that is! The lone buck sergeant yelled louder then the combined strength of all the recruits.
They tried once more and failing the sergeants lofty standards, spent the next eight hours doing impossible physical fitness as punishment. The next month followed the same general plan with intermittent combat training mixed in. Ian Sanders made many friends during boot camp and they helped each other through every trying obstacle. They had flown to the combat zone in the same ship, landed in the same black muck and died facing the same rail guns.
Of course, none of it mattered any more now did it? Ian muttered as he slipped further towards the mud. The rain pelted him thoroughly and mixing with the red streak that ran down his side. He let his head roll to the left until it rested against the thick tank armor. His eyes wandered slightly over the drenched corpses of the 113th fighting regiment. His unit had fought very bravely and died very quickly trying to clear out one of the Auroran suicide detachments sent to burn the city. Intel had pinpointed the enemys exact whereabouts and determined that their strength would be about one company. Yes, the unit was fanatical and would fight to the death, but Intel could never have determined that these were the best equipped and trained warriors that the empire ever fielded. They were the accused underlings of the Herein house who chose death over dishonor.
It was all in vain, Ian thought. He would never figure out why command sent green troops to fight an elite enemy. He grimaced as he identified the bodies of Private Ryan Waters, and Burt Tree. Soon, his own flesh would be lying in the mud with two of his closest friends. He continued to stare at the corpses as he waited for deaths icy grasp to take him from the cursed battlefield. Strangely, a corpse began to move dragging itself forward.
It was Private Tom Gaves, Ians best friend. Ian watched in utter fascination as the determined seventeen year old peered over a small boulder and began to set up his IR missile launcher. That would be his style, Ian thought. He briefly recalled that all the other members of the unit had been drafted; only Tom had been courageous enough to volunteer. Other presumed corpses began to move brandishing their assault blasters and gradually oozing forward. For the first time, since he could remember, Ian leaning against the duranium wall, peered forward.
Most of the Aurorans had pulled out their pens and began to tattoo each other in their odd custom, obviously congratulating each other over the slaughter they had committed. Their laughter filled the air. Three other warriors reloaded a mini chain-gun and waited for the remnants of the 113rd to begin their expected second assault. They sat back behind the gun and stared intently at Tom and the pathetic survivors behind him.
Oh no, they are going to be cut down for sure! Ian cursed under his breath. He had just witnessed the effects of chain guns on his unit. That demonic weapon with the support of pulse grenades and rifle rail guns had reduced the thousand or so troops of the 113 down to the few that were left now. He also knew that that gun had already ended his life.
He remembered being in the cramp hold of the Fed Patrol cruiser, everyone weapons at the ready. He recalled all of the doomed troops sitting in utter apprehension when the pilot radioed in that they were about to land; he ended the transmission with an emotionless, good luck.
Next to him, Tree looked over I heard this unit we are going in against has scorched the whole city, how do you think we will do against them
You know Private Tree, before normal people go to battle they usually are quiet or something like that, you know like on the holovid games, but you all you ever do is flap those pudgy jaws of yours, you never know when to shut up. So let me ask you for the three hundredth and sixth time, Shut up! Ryan Waters shouted.
Man, I am just sayin I mean it sounds like a tough group we are going against, you know. What if
Tom Gaves stopped him in mid sentence I dont care if they are Moashi or even Herein, all I need to know is where to shoot.
Look Guys, all we have to do is follow the dreads in, if were lucky we wont even have to fire a shot. Ian added
The Patrol cruiser settled down, letting the cargo holds open up and that is when the hell was unleashed. Some men ran forward, others retreated into the holds, while all were shredded by rail slugs and 20 mm bullets.
Few ever made it out before the cruiser lost its valuable shielding and the rounds cut through the hull. The pilot desperately tried to pullout, throwing the shattered unit out of his hold, as he shot star ward. The four fed tanks already waiting on site rushed forward only to be blasted by radar missiles. One almost made it through, but was cut down by a hail of concentrated fire. Ian just ran, before the sword of rounds cut through him as well. Now he looked at that infernal cannon knowing full well that its blaze of death would begin again. He could not let it happen. He picked up his assault blaster and for the first time set to fire and took three quick steps. He summoned all of his fading strength as adrenaline again rushed through his veins. If he was going to die he would not go quietly.
Two of the Auroran warriors never knew what hit them as they fell burnt through with blaster pulses. The others threw their guns up to their shoulders and started firing wildly in all directions. It took them half a heart beat to notice the lone figure charging at them with his weapon belching death.
Ian covered the ground at a pace he did not know was possible firing at a speed that seemed to defy physics. Most of his shots went wildly into the grey skies but the blasters rapid rate and mostly accurate fire soon cut into his opponents. The entire universe seemed to slow down as he charged, and suddenly he felt omnipresent. He watched outside of himself as five warriors shouldered their rifles and fired at him. He also noticed the near instantaneously assault by the other section of the 113. Tom fired the massive rocket that tracked the opponents makeshift ammo dump and the others laid down an impressive wall of deadly light. Three shots tore through Ians stomach. Again there was no pain. He fell to the ground momentarily before he ripped a grenade from his belt, armed it, and threw it at the enemy. A shock wave from an explosion stole the blaster from his other hand. He quickly drew his M-40 machine pistol blaster from its holster and pulled off several shots.
The IR missile lodged itself in the crates of munitions but did not go off. Ian closed the remaining distance and charged the enemies bunker, despite receiving numerous more wounds, he still fought. To several of the enemy warriors he seemed more of an apprehension then a physical figure as they poured rounds in his direction but missed. Ian gunned down several more with the little gun before it made a terrible click and mutilated itself into the empty position.
An Auroran warrior, heavily covered with tattoos rose with his gun leveled. He peered at Ian with an air of authority and disgust. The enemy captain spoke in slaughtered basic.
You are brave, but it is no more, why you fight?
The color drained from Ians cheeks as the multiple battle wounds caught up to him. He collapsed before he could speak. At the same moment, Toms missile exploded ripping the encampment to shreds. The few Aurorans that survived the blast met an expedient death from Private Gaves and the 113rd blasters.
Tom found Ians mangled but living body and knelt down besides him. I do not know what to say, you saved us. I knew they had me in their sites. If you did not start to distract them you saved me. By all that is holy, why did you kill yourself like this?
Tears fell from Gaves eyes as he stood over his friends body. Ian feebly grasped the other mans chest armor and pulled him closer. His breath was hard and short, his life barely an ember in the shell that had at once held so many old girlfriends gently. I did it not for the Feds he winced slightly in a pain that had finally come as he clung onto life desperately just long enough to finish. I did it for you. His grasp let loose and he fell softly into the mud, finally at peace.
Greater Love hath no man then this that a man lay down his life for his friends.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 12-22-2003).)