Jak Conwee gritted his teeth as another shell fell above the bunker, blinking manically to get the thick dust out of his eyes. For three and a half days, the Sergeant and his squad had endured the bombardment-half the squad had been rendered useless from shell shock.
They had been told the war would be a quick one-as soon as the Allied Strike Force reached Mars, the Martian rebels were supposed to be crushed in a few weeks.
Jak knew that would not be the case. No war fought across an entire planet had ever been resolved so quickly. And this war was more than that-if the Strike Force failed, Jak knew, then the war would end up being fought across the Solar System.
Bizarrely, it was such thoughts that kept Jak sane, for it distracted him from the continuous barrage above. So he was not surprised that he wasn't the first to notice when the bombardment stopped. The squad was looking upwards, wearily, as though it would fall down at any moment. Jak gulped, the silence could mean only two things-salvation, or near certain death. Surrender was not an option.
Fillop and Mark, the corporals, stood by the door, nervously going over their equipment, testing their guns one last time on the floor. Fillop had been Jak's friend since childhood, and they had gotten along well with Mark. When Jak lost command of the squad, he could rely on Fillop and Mark to restore his authority.
Olliva, who had lost it on the first day in the bunker and had to be tied to the only piece of furniture in the bunker, a wooden chair, to prevent him from running up the stairs into the bombardment, started crying. Jak didn't know why-none of Olliva's actions seemed to make sense any more.
Private Alliston. Jorj Alliston. A psychopath who had served twenty years for murdering his entire family, apparently for pleasure. He simply leaned against the wall and continued to polish his knife, his lip curling slightly. Jak didn't like him. He didn't want to think about why he had been accepted into the army-was this what the Strike Force had been driven to? But Jak couldn't deny that Jorj was an excellent fighter. The best. A terrible soldier, but when it came to killing the enemy, Jorj was unbeaten.
Sitting in the corner were Rojjar and Ben. Jak wasn't sure what they were doing there-even before they landed, they were nervous wrecks. Surprisingly, they hadn't gone over the edge. Somehow, they had coped better than all the other squad members. Perhaps they were the only ones who really knew what horrors war really held. Or perhaps they were just victims of a different kind of insanity.
Private Louk Harrison, one of the more psychologically sound and popular soldiers, stared at Jak, tapping on the helmet slung on his waist.
"Go check it out, Private."
Louk smiled nervously and nodded. He limped towards the door and placed his finger on the scan lock, looking back and nodding at each of the Squad mates. Even Jorj and Olliva solemnly nodded back. Somehow, Jak knew he would never see Louk alive again.
Jak bit his lip. He liked Louk. He wished he had sent Jorj, or even Olliva, but he couldn't risk it. They would probably fight anyone they came across-Olliva would jump to irrational conclusions, and Jorj would simply use it as an excuse to satisfy his desires.
But someone had to go up at some point. And Louk was the only man fit and unimportant enough for the job.
The squad waited nervously, listening intently, stiffly aiming their guns at the open door. It seemed like an age before they heard anything, and when they did, they wished it was an age. At first they just heard gunfire, and Fillop and Mark made for the stairs beyond the door, but Jak stopped them. He needed them alive. The shooting continued for twenty seconds, before the sinister "whoosh" of a flamethrower could be heard, swiftly followed by a piercing scream. Jak shuddered, trying desperately not to think about Louk's fate. But the image of Louk's handsome Human body being reduced to a grotesque parody of a Human continued to repeat itself, going over and over, accompanied by the screams. Over, and over, and over, neverending. Jak could feel the flames. For a moment, they consumed him, as if there was nothing else to feel. At first Jak wondered if he had died and this was Hell, or purgatory, his sins being cleansed just as the life in Louk's body had been cleansed.
Then he suddenly snapped back to reality. If the enemy were close enough to kill Louk with a flamethrower, that door would need to be shut.
Jak nodded at Mark, who shut the door and bolted it. Then Jak buried his head in his hands. He felt the flames once again, consuming him. He knew it wasn't real, but they felt so real, too real. Like they were even more real than real flames.
Was this insanity? Had Jak finally broken?
"No..."
Jak couldn't bear it. He couldn't accept that he had been driven into the same state as Olliva or Jorj. Even Rojjar and Ben. Mark, wiping away a tear, patted Jak lightly on the shoulder.
"It's okay Jak. He died a noble death."
At that, Jak looked at Mark, his teeth bared.
"Never...never, ever, say that again. Leave me alone."
Mark stared at Jak for a few seconds, before nodding and stepping back to the door.
Jak slid down the wall. He wanted it to end. He didn't care how. He just wanted the burning to stop. But he couldn't help thinking about his responsibility-he couldn't allow the squad to die. Their safety was his duty.
So why did Louk have to die?
Finally, Jak couldn't take it any longer. He imagined a line. On one side, the tyrants ruled the sane, with all their rules, so many rules, no care for the feelings of their people. On the other, the insane lived, living their carefree lives in bliss. Jak stood up, and took a step forward-he had crossed the line.
Jak then collapsed, writhing on the floor, giggling and dribbling. He clawed at his face until he drew blood. None of it mattered any more-he was free. And he didn't feel much like living any more.
The squad stood and watched. Those who had not already been reduced to such a nervous wreck knew that their time would come soon. It was only when Jak aimed his pistol at his head that Mark knocked him unconscious.
"Had to be done." Mark said, chuckling lightly.
Olliva went into hysterics at that moment. There was no clear reason why-perhaps he assumed that Mark's mildly humourous joke was in fact hilarious. Perhaps he found Jak's craziness funny. Perhaps he found Jak's descent into craziness comforting.
Whatever the case, Jorj responded by shooting Olliva multiple times in the lower torso.
"Take that, private!" Jorj cackled, partly at his own joke, partly at the interesting colour formed by the mixture of fluids pouring out of Olliva's spasming corpse and legs.
Mark went to restrain Jorj, but was not quick enough-Jorj, a master of contemporary martial arts, kicked Mark twice in the face, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious. Jorj then drew his knife and dissected Mark's lungs, as much with his hand and mouth as with his knife, his eyes wide in the ecstasy of his primitive pleasures. Mark was well and truly dead before he hit the floor.
Fillop, Rojjar and Ben stepped back as Jorj grinned manically at them. They were the last half sane people in the bunker, and they knew that, even together, they were no match for the psychopath.
"What's wrong?" Jorj inquired, suddenly very serious, "You don't think I want to kill you, do you? I want to get out alive too you know!"
Jorj's lips curled, and he stared at Fillop, licking the blood from his knife.
"I'm sorry," he said, "He was your friend, wasn't he? Well, I'll be your friend now. I'll be all your friends. But you all need to obey me-I'm the leader now."
Jorj sheathed his knife and untied Olliva's bonds, ripping off the loosened legs and playfully throwing them at Rojjar and Ben. He then put Jak in Olliva's position, and tied him to the chair. He took a step back and observed the unconscious Sergant, unaware of his horrified comrades cowering against the wall. He began to turn, but then looked back again, frowning, scratching the back of his neck, as though he had finished a piece of art but felt it was missing something.
Finally, as what appeared to be a kind afterthought, Jorj laid Olliva's body on Jak, wrapping the corpse's arms around Jak's neck to keep it from sliding off.
Jorj laughed manically, and abruptly stopped. He turned, eyeing each of the three relatively sane soldiers for a painfully long second. His insane, grinning face settled into a solemn image of acceptance.
"Now, we fight. If we must die, let it be on the battlefield, and we will be known forever more as heroes, and the last stand of the great Jorj, Fillop, Rojjar and Ben. Onward!"
Jorj marched towards the door, holding his rifle with a singe, outstretched arm, like a sword. After unlocking the door, he stared at the still cowering soldiers in disappointment.
"Cowards!" He spat, "If you seek redemption, you will follow, and you will kill the Martians! Think about what they have done to us! We gave them food, and what do they give back? Hmm?"
Jorj swivelled his head, eyeing each of the soldiers individually.
"NOTHING!" Jorj bellowed, his voice so loud a dormant migrane in Ben's head suddenly awoke.
"And that's not all!" Jorj said, melodramatically waving his finger at the ceiling, "They took away our freedom! They no longer needed our food. They could make their own. And that's what caused it, gentlemen. That's what caused the people of Earth to fall, and that is why we must smite them. We shall avenge ourselves! Now, get up!"
Fillop and Rojjar stood up, and relucantly stepped towards the door. Jorj snarled at Ben, and threw his knife at Ben, the long hilt slowly sinking through Ben's eye. Fillop and Rojjar had an uncomfortable feeling that Jorj had actually calculated how to cause such a horrifying death. Rojjar turned away, not wishing to witness the gruesome death of his only friend. As he did so, he noticed Jorj' expression change as Ben's screams slowly changed into a soft whimpering, then a gurgle, and then nothing.
It was worse than any vision of a dying man. Jorj expressed every feeling of pleasure known to Rojjar as he watched and hear Ben's suffering, becoming more intense as the hilt of the knife slowly sank into Ben's brain. It was when Ben began to gurgle, frothing at the mouth, that Jorj came to the climax of his inhuman bliss. That was when the hilt had reached Ben's brain-not killing Ben, but causing him to truly experience his death, as he lost something, and knew that his brain was being destroyed. Jorj groaned as Ben finally stopped altogether, thin threads of spit rolling down the corner of his mouth onto the floor.
"Just a minute."
Jorj retrieved his knife and laid Ben's corpse on top of Jak and Olliva before running up the stairs, singing an inspirational war hymn and shooting his gun into the air.
Rojjar looked at Fillop for five seconds, shaking, before hearing Jorj screeching.
"Are you coming or what?!"
Rojjar closed his eyes, and stepped through the door.
As soon as Rojjar followed Jorj, Fillop slammed the door shut, cutting Jak's bonds and knocking him and the corpses off. There was no way he was going to follow that nutcase, if he could help it. He heard Jorj roaring, rushing down the stairs.
Rojjar opened the door.
"Don't leave me alone with him! Don't...don't!"
Fillop pushed Rojjar out and jarred the door with the chair. By the sound of it, he had done so just in time to prevent Jorj from barging in. Something crashed on the door, denting it several times, accompanied by Rojjar's cries for help. Fillop had a horrible feeling that Jorj considered Rojjar to be the closest thing to a battering ram available. After a minute or so, the crashing stopped, followed by heavy, angry growling.
Rojjar then shrieked. Fillop would later find out that Jorj had severed Rojjar's hand, perhaps in anger, probably as punishment for not keeping the door open long enough for Jorj to kill Fillop.
The shrieking went on for a while, before being replaced by a soft whimper. Fillop suddenly realised the whimpering had come from behind him.
Fillop turned to see Jak staring wide-eyed at the corpses that littered the bunker. Jak looked at Fillop, his lip wobbling.
"What...w-what...h-happened?"
"Crazy Jorj showed just how crazy he really is." Fillop said quietly.
The two embraced, both crying. Partly out of relief, partly out of sadness, overwhelmed by the sudden death of their friends and comrades. The sound of battle began above-Jorj, and possibly Rojjar, were facing overwhelming odds. They seperated from their embrace, both collapsing onto the floor, laughing slightly. Somehow, the fact that it was just the two of them now made them feel like they had an excuse not to fight-that, one way or another, the fighting for them was over.
They listened in silence to the fighting. Much of it was simply a continuous mixture of gunshots, bursts of flame, explosions, the low pitched squeal of Martian planes, and the distant tremble of the enemy tanks. But somewhere in the messy mixture, Jak and Fillop heard what they, somehow, knew was Jorj dual wielding his semi-auto and pistol, no doubt killing at least one Martian with every pull of the trigger.
Despite the horrors of that day, most the works of Jorj's insanity, Jak and Fillop half-heartidly cheered Jorj on. Whenever they heard something that sounded vaguely like a scream or an exploding vehicle, Jak would laugh and comment on who Jorj had avenged with that kill.
The fighting lasted a furious five minutes. Jorj was said to be a one man army, capable of taking on any number of enemies in any shape or form and winning. If that was the case, today clearly wasn't his lucky day, as the Martian rebels eventually ended Jorj's last stand. There were no screams, other than those too distant to be Jorj. Even Rojjar did not scream. But when it went silent above, Jak and Fillop knew who had won. Jorj would have been much noisier as he did his victory celebrations.
Jak and Fillop gave a sigh of relief as they heard soldiers outside, "open this door and surrender!". The two survivors of the disastrous invasion willingly allowed themselves to be arrested by the Martian rebels, uncaring of whether they would be imprisoned or executed-anything was better than this war.
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What do you think? Please give honest reviews-this is intended to be the prologue of a story, which will be written through the perspectives of several characters, including civilians and soldiers of both sides. I also intend to explain the actual reason for the fighting later on in the story, in case you are like me and would be most bothered about why they are fighting.
Also, if you think this is worthy of being an "R" (I assume that is the equivalent of an "18"?) please say, I just decided to make it a 13 because I myself am not 18. I guess it would probably be a 15 if it were a film.
Anyways, I shall repeat for emphasis-please give honest reviews. Thanks!
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