Tear it apart; it's my first creative writing piece... ever. I'll probably be continuing this later.
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_"Chris. Hey, buttercup, wake the hell up!"
_Stumbling into the conscious world rather suddenly, Christopher Meddleton opened his eyes to the friendly, joking expression of his good pal Nicolas Tucker. Nick was a large man, standing at six feet, three-and-a-half inches. His Dominion CMC-660 model power armor only served to increase the humongous marine's stature. Serving as a Dominion Firebat was no joke, and Nick Tucker was quite living proof of this.
_Chris rose to his feet, surveying the interior of his platoon's barracks. His power armor was model CMC-400, a step below the CMC-660 and used by most other Dominion marines. CMC-660 power armor was used by Firebats alone, as it was specialized with use of napalm rockets and flamethrower attachments.
_"Glad ta see yer up that easy, bud," chuckled Nick, nudging him a bit with his shoulder. "Heard the ell tee's gonna give us a low-down 'a the mission."
_"Hell, it's about time, don't ya think? I think he's kept us in the dark fer quite awhile now."
_Chris was never one too keen on not being told everything. "Left outta da loop," he called it. He always wanted to know everything he could as soon as he could, mirroring the idea that "knowledge is power" in many a way.
_"Well. let's head ta tha mess," Chris said, walking towards the mess hall portion of the barracks.
_"MARINES, REMIND ME AGAIN," barked the lieutenant. "WHAT ARE YOU HERE FOR?"
_The response was an uproar of "TO SERVE AND TO PROTECT."
_Chris and company were in their barracks' ready room, with Lieutenant Wilhem Conrad pacing to and fro in front of their lines.
_"Damn straight. You're also here ta put these rebellious dogs back in there place!" At this, he turned 'round to face the platoon. "AM I RIGHT, MARINES?!"
_"SIR, YES SIR!"
_Chuckling softly, Conrad said, "Damn right, I am! Let's go over this one more time. I'm takin' half the platoon to regroup with a small detachment of tanks. Rest-uh yuh'll intercept a supply convoy, headed to an enemy outpost from the north. After that, ye'll take control of the convoy an' radio in to report under a specialized frequency. We'll give the frequency to your commanding officers before the drop. Am I one-hundred percent clear, troopers?!"
_"SIR, CRYSTAL CLEAR SIR!" barked the marines.
_"File in, then! Eight men to a ship, go, go, GO!" was the response. Chris and his troopers jumped up.
_Eying Nick, Chris said, "This is it."
_"This is it, buddy!" Nick said, chuckling.
_"Hop on out, boys. Meet you at the other side." The pilot's feminine voice blared uncomfortably loudly over the APOD-33 dropship's loudspeaker. Chris woke, again rather groggily, and stood up at attention. Nick and the others were already jumping the ten-foot gap between the ship's ramp and the dirt.
_Chris hating jumping in his suit. It always had a shock factor in his knees that was more uncomfortable than painful. Hopping out, he joined Nick and another Firebat, Clyde Simmons. They were discussing some personal contest between each other, most likely one how-brutally-can-you-kill-a-Zergling variant or another. Pausing his speech only to nod in Chris' direction, he continued telling a vibrant story of just how easily a Hydralisk's arm snapped off in his hands. Waiting for a second pause in their conversation, Chris said, "So, fellas, when're we movin' out?"
_Clyde simply stared blankly at Chris as if he had grown a second head. Nick answered, "We aint movin' until the convoy's here."
_"Oh, so they dropped us in the middle of their route?"
_"Well, what duh 'ell did you think dey were gunna do?" responded Clyde.
_Promptly, Sergeant Perez shouted from somewhere behind the group, "THEY'RE COMIN', YOU DOLTS! GIT INTO POSITION!"
_"Fuck, kid, how many cigs you gonna smoke today?"
_Johnny Poltz hollered "Shut up, Kyle!' from inside the driver's cabin. The dim, flickering lighting inside the cabin was starting to give him a headache, which caused him a bit of stress. Everyone coped with stress differently. Johnny's way was simple; smoke a few Rebel Reds cigars every now and then. Sure, he smoked more than he liked to admit, but what else was he gonna do? "Lay off, I've got a fuckin' headache."
_One of the front-end lights was failing, and the other one was long gone. Through the dim light cast by the aforementioned failing light, he could see some large object directly in his path.
_"FUCK!" Poltz hollered to Kyle, "HEY! Yoo min' tellin' them bastards out back behin' me dat we gots tah SLOW DOWN?! Some bitch-ass foo' lef' us a lil present..."
_After hearing an acknowledgment from Kyle, Poltz hopped out the cabin and walked outside to inspect the pieces of machinery in front of him. On his way over there, he thought he heard some leaves rustling to his right. His eyes flickered in that direction, but he saw nothing but darkness. Silently cursing the convoy truck's failing headlights, he walked a little faster.
_"Dat sure is a shitload uh shit righ' there," he remarked. He heard the screeching of brakes behind him, followed by some rather loud, metallic thumping. Assuming it to be nothing but Kyle angrily smashing another dent into the inner walls of the truck, Poltz headed back to the cabin. He silently chuckled at his pal's anger management (or lack thereof) as he slipped into the seat.
_Almost as soon as he sat down again, he felt the air around him change. There was little sound, other than his breathing and his slightly-accelerated heartbeats. He heard another thump, and another, and another yet, as rhythmic as a man's footsteps. The air got thicker, more humid, as the thumping grew louder. A lump grew in Poltz's throat; he knew that if he were to try and scream now, no sound would emanate from his often smoke-filled lungs. His head thought "Run now, you fool. Run before they get you! At least do something, shithead!" But Poltz could not concentrate enough to even attempt to do these things. Thoughts and memories flew by in a whirl, too fast and too uncoordinated to be pieced together in any intelligible way. All he could concentrate on was the heavy thumping. It grew louder and louder, closer and closer, until finally, mercifully, it stopped.
_"Poltz! What the FUCK is goin' on here?!"
_Surprised as ever, Poltz wheeled around in his chair. Standing in front of him was Jerry "Sterling Silver" Renn, cabby of another truck in the convoy.
_Relieved, he exhaled. "Holay shit, bud-eh, ye had me scared there."
_Mouthing "What?" Jerry opened his mouth to speak again as the truck's rear promptly exploded. Hit by shrapnel, metal or some other fragment of truck, Jerry was either killed on-site or knocked unconscious. Either way, he hit the floor of the truck rather hard.
_"SHIT! SHIT! OH, SHIT!" screamed Poltz as several armored suits stepped into the hole left by the explosion. Screams echoed from the other trucks as well, and, had Poltz been paying attention, he would have seen an inflamed civilian dashing out and attempting the "stop, drop and roll" maneuver.
_Unable to face the fact that his death was this close and forgetting the fact that he thought it was all ending less than a minute ago, Poltz attempted to run towards the cabin door. His peripheral vision caught something, some hand movement or another, and he heard deafening gunshots...
_...and then, he heard nothing at all.
_Stumbling into the conscious world rather suddenly, Christopher Meddleton opened his eyes to the friendly, joking expression of his good pal Nicolas Tucker. Nick was a large man, standing at six feet, three-and-a-half inches. His Dominion CMC-660 model power armor only served to increase the humongous marine's stature. Serving as a Dominion Firebat was no joke, and Nick Tucker was quite living proof of this.
_Chris rose to his feet, surveying the interior of his platoon's barracks. His power armor was model CMC-400, a step below the CMC-660 and used by most other Dominion marines. CMC-660 power armor was used by Firebats alone, as it was specialized with use of napalm rockets and flamethrower attachments.
_"Glad ta see yer up that easy, bud," chuckled Nick, nudging him a bit with his shoulder. "Heard the ell tee's gonna give us a low-down 'a the mission."
_"Hell, it's about time, don't ya think? I think he's kept us in the dark fer quite awhile now."
_Chris was never one too keen on not being told everything. "Left outta da loop," he called it. He always wanted to know everything he could as soon as he could, mirroring the idea that "knowledge is power" in many a way.
_"Well. let's head ta tha mess," Chris said, walking towards the mess hall portion of the barracks.
* * *
_"MARINES, REMIND ME AGAIN," barked the lieutenant. "WHAT ARE YOU HERE FOR?"
_The response was an uproar of "TO SERVE AND TO PROTECT."
_Chris and company were in their barracks' ready room, with Lieutenant Wilhem Conrad pacing to and fro in front of their lines.
_"Damn straight. You're also here ta put these rebellious dogs back in there place!" At this, he turned 'round to face the platoon. "AM I RIGHT, MARINES?!"
_"SIR, YES SIR!"
_Chuckling softly, Conrad said, "Damn right, I am! Let's go over this one more time. I'm takin' half the platoon to regroup with a small detachment of tanks. Rest-uh yuh'll intercept a supply convoy, headed to an enemy outpost from the north. After that, ye'll take control of the convoy an' radio in to report under a specialized frequency. We'll give the frequency to your commanding officers before the drop. Am I one-hundred percent clear, troopers?!"
_"SIR, CRYSTAL CLEAR SIR!" barked the marines.
_"File in, then! Eight men to a ship, go, go, GO!" was the response. Chris and his troopers jumped up.
_Eying Nick, Chris said, "This is it."
_"This is it, buddy!" Nick said, chuckling.
* * *
_"Hop on out, boys. Meet you at the other side." The pilot's feminine voice blared uncomfortably loudly over the APOD-33 dropship's loudspeaker. Chris woke, again rather groggily, and stood up at attention. Nick and the others were already jumping the ten-foot gap between the ship's ramp and the dirt.
_Chris hating jumping in his suit. It always had a shock factor in his knees that was more uncomfortable than painful. Hopping out, he joined Nick and another Firebat, Clyde Simmons. They were discussing some personal contest between each other, most likely one how-brutally-can-you-kill-a-Zergling variant or another. Pausing his speech only to nod in Chris' direction, he continued telling a vibrant story of just how easily a Hydralisk's arm snapped off in his hands. Waiting for a second pause in their conversation, Chris said, "So, fellas, when're we movin' out?"
_Clyde simply stared blankly at Chris as if he had grown a second head. Nick answered, "We aint movin' until the convoy's here."
_"Oh, so they dropped us in the middle of their route?"
_"Well, what duh 'ell did you think dey were gunna do?" responded Clyde.
_Promptly, Sergeant Perez shouted from somewhere behind the group, "THEY'RE COMIN', YOU DOLTS! GIT INTO POSITION!"
* * *
_"Fuck, kid, how many cigs you gonna smoke today?"
_Johnny Poltz hollered "Shut up, Kyle!' from inside the driver's cabin. The dim, flickering lighting inside the cabin was starting to give him a headache, which caused him a bit of stress. Everyone coped with stress differently. Johnny's way was simple; smoke a few Rebel Reds cigars every now and then. Sure, he smoked more than he liked to admit, but what else was he gonna do? "Lay off, I've got a fuckin' headache."
_One of the front-end lights was failing, and the other one was long gone. Through the dim light cast by the aforementioned failing light, he could see some large object directly in his path.
_"FUCK!" Poltz hollered to Kyle, "HEY! Yoo min' tellin' them bastards out back behin' me dat we gots tah SLOW DOWN?! Some bitch-ass foo' lef' us a lil present..."
_After hearing an acknowledgment from Kyle, Poltz hopped out the cabin and walked outside to inspect the pieces of machinery in front of him. On his way over there, he thought he heard some leaves rustling to his right. His eyes flickered in that direction, but he saw nothing but darkness. Silently cursing the convoy truck's failing headlights, he walked a little faster.
_"Dat sure is a shitload uh shit righ' there," he remarked. He heard the screeching of brakes behind him, followed by some rather loud, metallic thumping. Assuming it to be nothing but Kyle angrily smashing another dent into the inner walls of the truck, Poltz headed back to the cabin. He silently chuckled at his pal's anger management (or lack thereof) as he slipped into the seat.
_Almost as soon as he sat down again, he felt the air around him change. There was little sound, other than his breathing and his slightly-accelerated heartbeats. He heard another thump, and another, and another yet, as rhythmic as a man's footsteps. The air got thicker, more humid, as the thumping grew louder. A lump grew in Poltz's throat; he knew that if he were to try and scream now, no sound would emanate from his often smoke-filled lungs. His head thought "Run now, you fool. Run before they get you! At least do something, shithead!" But Poltz could not concentrate enough to even attempt to do these things. Thoughts and memories flew by in a whirl, too fast and too uncoordinated to be pieced together in any intelligible way. All he could concentrate on was the heavy thumping. It grew louder and louder, closer and closer, until finally, mercifully, it stopped.
_"Poltz! What the FUCK is goin' on here?!"
_Surprised as ever, Poltz wheeled around in his chair. Standing in front of him was Jerry "Sterling Silver" Renn, cabby of another truck in the convoy.
_Relieved, he exhaled. "Holay shit, bud-eh, ye had me scared there."
_Mouthing "What?" Jerry opened his mouth to speak again as the truck's rear promptly exploded. Hit by shrapnel, metal or some other fragment of truck, Jerry was either killed on-site or knocked unconscious. Either way, he hit the floor of the truck rather hard.
_"SHIT! SHIT! OH, SHIT!" screamed Poltz as several armored suits stepped into the hole left by the explosion. Screams echoed from the other trucks as well, and, had Poltz been paying attention, he would have seen an inflamed civilian dashing out and attempting the "stop, drop and roll" maneuver.
_Unable to face the fact that his death was this close and forgetting the fact that he thought it was all ending less than a minute ago, Poltz attempted to run towards the cabin door. His peripheral vision caught something, some hand movement or another, and he heard deafening gunshots...
_...and then, he heard nothing at all.
