Post by Feyd on Jun 22, 2010 14:19:41 GMT -5
1st Lieutenant James Irwin had been forced to land his damaged Tin Cod on part of the newly emergent moonscape that had only this very morning been covered by the lush and verdant forests of the Amazon basin. A section of the hellish landscape had been cordoned off for a temporary air field as surviving pilots maneuvered crippled planes to rest beside fresh craters. With the loss of the Lleu Llaw Gyffes and the extensive damage to Jaburo itself there was nowhere else for them to go.
The slowly setting sun that had finally brought a stop to the fighting had also heralded the arrival of one of the summer storms that nourished the surrounding forest. Rain was supposedly a symbol of cleansing, according to most of what he had read, but the steady drizzle that now enveloped them seemed only to expose the contamination that had despoiled this stretch of earth.
Jim walked to the dull background noise of the water hissing as it changed states upon contact with hot metal and openly burning fires. Some of the flames that had engulfed the forest were slowly being smothered but those fires which fed on diesel and aviation fuel still burned brightly as he watched crews scurrying to control the most dangerous with pink foam bursting from fire hoses. Smoke emerged from various openings in the ground, hinting at the fires that were burning in the base itself below.
The freshly churned forest floor was quickly turning to mush as rivulets meandered off to empty into some crater in the beginnings of a lake. He continued moving closer to the center of the base as if pulled by some unexplainable force. He had nothing of value to report. The enemy had retreated, command knew casualties in the air had been extensive, logistics were a nightmare. Yet he kept walking ever forward because it is the only thing he knew how to do in such an alien landscape.
As he got closer to the center, a sea of humanity began swelling up around him. He passed line upon line of Zeon prisoners, sitting in huddled masses on the soggy ground with blank and dejected looks on their faces as they stared at those who passed by, apparently resigned to their fate. The penetrating green eyed stare of a boy no more than seventeen in a muddy and torn TAF uniform caught his gaze as he approached. The sad stare expressed his loss of youthful innocence more than any words could. As Jim slowed to stare at the boy a large boot slammed into the slender green uniform and the boy fell back, groping his gut in pain.
“Eyes down! No looking at the officers!” the owner of the foot barked as he readied a blow with the butt of his rifle. Irwin lunged forward and caught the man’s arm.
“That’s enough, Sergeant! He’s just a damn boy for God’s sake!”
The MP shook out of Irwin’s grasp and looked him over, clearly noticing the Lieutenant’s flight suit before he spat out his next words.
“Excuse me, SIR, but I don’t believe the airmen are in charge of securing the enemy POWs. These bastards already killed five men in my unit today and I never got the chance to shoot a damned one of them!” The commotion had drawn the attention of the other enlisted men in the NCO’s squad who moved to the back of their leader.
Jim could tell he was in dangerous waters with these MP’s and had no interest in making things worse.
“Be careful sergeant, you wouldn’t want to be charged with war crimes after this shitfest of a war is finished would you?”
“No sir,” the NCO’s lips curled into a slight smile before throwing up a lazy salute and turning back to his men.
Jim took another glance at the young Zeon soldier, sitting up defiantly even as he clutched one hand tightly on his abdomen, before turning to continue onward to mutterings of “stupid fly boy” in the background.
War crimes. What a stupid thing to say. No one would be charged with war crimes after this was over. The Federation would return to being the ruling monolith and would hardly criticize itself. There would be a few show trials sure, but nothing substantial. The victor would hardly revel in its villainy. Only the defeated ever committed war crimes.
The absurdity of it all threw his mind further in depression as he continued until a strange thought emerged from the abyss. Why had there been so few women? He knew the proportion of women serving would be fewer than that of men much as was the case in the Federation but the numbers still didn’t add up. Maybe they were making separate groups for women POW’s somewhere else in the wasteland but he remembered having seen a few women among the group he had just passed. Things were still unorganized so maybe… but no, he remembered now, the faint female screams he had heard while out by the airfield. He had assumed they were just the cries of the wounded at the time but this new explanation made far more sense. He imagined those that survived wouldn’t be brought in until the following morning.
Irwin’s sadness simmered into anger as his delirium increased. He was passing nearby a hastily erected field hospital, cries of the genuinely wounded emanating all around him. He stared helplessly as a handful of GI’s raised a dirty tarp over a group of burn victim crying in anguish each time a rain drop touched their wounds like a burning needle. Bodies were being piled outside some of the tents being used as morgues, some having died during the battle, others during surgery. A group of Zeon wounded huddled under the meager shelter of a group of largely branchless trees being tended to by Zeon medics who had already worked through their own supplies and were quickly expending those few items given to them by the Federation.
The immensity of the suffering overwhelmed his exhausted frame and already weary psyche. What could one man do in the face of so much sorrow? Rage, fury, anguish, despair, emotions tumbled inside him until his own head was spinning. He sank to his knees and raised his arms skyward, raindrops mixed with tears pouring down his cheeks. His voice boomed, a combination of prayer and pleading to both no one and everyone.
“Make it stop!”
The exhausted lieutenant’s face slumped forward into the muck.
The slowly setting sun that had finally brought a stop to the fighting had also heralded the arrival of one of the summer storms that nourished the surrounding forest. Rain was supposedly a symbol of cleansing, according to most of what he had read, but the steady drizzle that now enveloped them seemed only to expose the contamination that had despoiled this stretch of earth.
Jim walked to the dull background noise of the water hissing as it changed states upon contact with hot metal and openly burning fires. Some of the flames that had engulfed the forest were slowly being smothered but those fires which fed on diesel and aviation fuel still burned brightly as he watched crews scurrying to control the most dangerous with pink foam bursting from fire hoses. Smoke emerged from various openings in the ground, hinting at the fires that were burning in the base itself below.
The freshly churned forest floor was quickly turning to mush as rivulets meandered off to empty into some crater in the beginnings of a lake. He continued moving closer to the center of the base as if pulled by some unexplainable force. He had nothing of value to report. The enemy had retreated, command knew casualties in the air had been extensive, logistics were a nightmare. Yet he kept walking ever forward because it is the only thing he knew how to do in such an alien landscape.
As he got closer to the center, a sea of humanity began swelling up around him. He passed line upon line of Zeon prisoners, sitting in huddled masses on the soggy ground with blank and dejected looks on their faces as they stared at those who passed by, apparently resigned to their fate. The penetrating green eyed stare of a boy no more than seventeen in a muddy and torn TAF uniform caught his gaze as he approached. The sad stare expressed his loss of youthful innocence more than any words could. As Jim slowed to stare at the boy a large boot slammed into the slender green uniform and the boy fell back, groping his gut in pain.
“Eyes down! No looking at the officers!” the owner of the foot barked as he readied a blow with the butt of his rifle. Irwin lunged forward and caught the man’s arm.
“That’s enough, Sergeant! He’s just a damn boy for God’s sake!”
The MP shook out of Irwin’s grasp and looked him over, clearly noticing the Lieutenant’s flight suit before he spat out his next words.
“Excuse me, SIR, but I don’t believe the airmen are in charge of securing the enemy POWs. These bastards already killed five men in my unit today and I never got the chance to shoot a damned one of them!” The commotion had drawn the attention of the other enlisted men in the NCO’s squad who moved to the back of their leader.
Jim could tell he was in dangerous waters with these MP’s and had no interest in making things worse.
“Be careful sergeant, you wouldn’t want to be charged with war crimes after this shitfest of a war is finished would you?”
“No sir,” the NCO’s lips curled into a slight smile before throwing up a lazy salute and turning back to his men.
Jim took another glance at the young Zeon soldier, sitting up defiantly even as he clutched one hand tightly on his abdomen, before turning to continue onward to mutterings of “stupid fly boy” in the background.
War crimes. What a stupid thing to say. No one would be charged with war crimes after this was over. The Federation would return to being the ruling monolith and would hardly criticize itself. There would be a few show trials sure, but nothing substantial. The victor would hardly revel in its villainy. Only the defeated ever committed war crimes.
The absurdity of it all threw his mind further in depression as he continued until a strange thought emerged from the abyss. Why had there been so few women? He knew the proportion of women serving would be fewer than that of men much as was the case in the Federation but the numbers still didn’t add up. Maybe they were making separate groups for women POW’s somewhere else in the wasteland but he remembered having seen a few women among the group he had just passed. Things were still unorganized so maybe… but no, he remembered now, the faint female screams he had heard while out by the airfield. He had assumed they were just the cries of the wounded at the time but this new explanation made far more sense. He imagined those that survived wouldn’t be brought in until the following morning.
Irwin’s sadness simmered into anger as his delirium increased. He was passing nearby a hastily erected field hospital, cries of the genuinely wounded emanating all around him. He stared helplessly as a handful of GI’s raised a dirty tarp over a group of burn victim crying in anguish each time a rain drop touched their wounds like a burning needle. Bodies were being piled outside some of the tents being used as morgues, some having died during the battle, others during surgery. A group of Zeon wounded huddled under the meager shelter of a group of largely branchless trees being tended to by Zeon medics who had already worked through their own supplies and were quickly expending those few items given to them by the Federation.
The immensity of the suffering overwhelmed his exhausted frame and already weary psyche. What could one man do in the face of so much sorrow? Rage, fury, anguish, despair, emotions tumbled inside him until his own head was spinning. He sank to his knees and raised his arms skyward, raindrops mixed with tears pouring down his cheeks. His voice boomed, a combination of prayer and pleading to both no one and everyone.
“Make it stop!”
The exhausted lieutenant’s face slumped forward into the muck.