Lurranus 2 (Part 3/4)

(Continued from Part 2)

 

Liam raised his RTL-37 assault rifle, fired off several shots, and scurried for cover. Chris did the same.

The Oaktrus facility was an old warehouse, made of an orange coloured brick, with all the windows either broken or boarded up. The sky above it was a gloomy grey with spots of harsh orange, and the compound was surrounded by row upon row of abandoned vehicles. He had no idea what would've used to be produced at the warehouse now, but he didn't care anymore. Now, it was an Oaktrus base, which was stacked full of weapons and soldiers. And evidently, more security than they had expected.

Scurrying over half a dozen dusty vehicles, he stopped behind an old car, a white seven seater. The glass above him exploded, and showered down on him, as Oaktrus forces fired on his shelter. The bullets shot out through his near useless cover, rushing by, only inches from his face.

He looked around, trying to find what else there was for cover. There were many other cars and a bus, but he doubted they would be a significant improvement over his current position.

Looking at the warehouse, he knew their chances of getting in and retrieving the information were almost no existent. He knew it was time to get out of there.

Reaching on the side of his helmet, he found the button to turn on the microphone and pressed down on it.

The mic, on the bottom left edge of his helmet, blinked green three times, and turned on. A steady green glow signalled it was now transmitting.

"Chris!" He spoke into the mic. "We can't get in there, they'll kill us before we get five metres in their direction. We need to get out of here, now!" There was silence on the other end. "We've lost this. If we stay here, we die, and we achieve nothing. We need to go now!" Putting emphasis on the final sentence, he waited for his commander's responsible. He knew Chris wouldn't want to abort the mission, having achieved nothing and having lost three men, but they had no better option.

The bullets continued to rip apart the car to shredded metal. The jet sat, ten metres away, the automatic turret at the base of the vehicle having activated and started firing off in the enemy's direction. Static still filled his receiver, as Chris said nothing into his mic. He looked over to the car Chris was hiding behind.

"Lets go." He spoke bitterly. "Your right. We've lost this. We won't achieve anything staying here."

They was silence for a few moments. Liam looked up, and saw a line of masked figures coming towards them. "Hey, boss?" He said.

"Yeah?"

"You know your charges? What do you say we put them to good use?"

Liam could imagine his friend smiling at the thought.

"Why don't we? Let's give those arseholes a look at what revenge looks like."

"Alright, lets blow these bast... Oh, shit!"

Liam watched as, thirty metres away, one of the Oaktrus soldiers grasped something behind them and brought it out in front. The figure threw it through the air, and as it sailed above the discarded cars, Liam saw it was a grenade. It landed on a strip of clear ground, sliding along until it suddenly came to a stop, hitting the wheel of the car Chris was hiding behind, the pin nowhere to be seen and the explosive ticking away.

"Chris, get out of the way!" he yelled. "Get out of the fucking way!"

Chris, realising what was on the other side on the car, positioned himself to run to another cover. He set of, taking his first step.

Then his second.

Then his third.

Then his fourth.

Then the grenade exploded.

The car was engulfed. The metal was ripped apart, and the glass exploded into millions of tiny, deadly shards. The shards shot of all over the place, a deadly glittering array of shining glass. And Chris was thrown of his feet.

The blast was to far away to swallow him whole, or at least burn him. But the shock wave sent him flying about five metres, landing head first on a car bonnet, before he crashed back down on the ground. Seeing how obvious a target his friend was, he reached to his side for his single smoke grenade and, pulling the pin, hurtled it over towards the enemy. It exploded, coughing out harsh gas, and its effectiveness as a barrier was evident by the decreased accuracy in shots fired by the Oaktrus forces. Scurrying forward, he hurried to his friend. Chris was on the floor, after hitting his head on the car bonnet, and had rolled down onto his front. He appeared fine from the back but Liam breathed in in horror at the pile of blood steadily forming below his neck. Turning his friend over, he was greeted by a gruesome shock.

There was a great big bloody gash in Chris's neck, and several tiny pieces of glass that were stuck in his throat. He guessed a flying glass shard had caused the damage and watched, sickened, as the blood poured out of the ugly cut, out onto Chris's neck and dripped down onto the floor. The wound was grim, flesh and the inside of his throat visible, and Chris was clearly in pain, his face ghostly white and his mouth stuck in a silent scream.

"Oh, shit..." Liam breathed.

Liam looked back up. The auto-turret was still firing away, and the smoke was disappearing. Bullets still shot through it, but they were aimed at Liam's former hiding place, so he was safe for now.

He reached for his friends hand, and pushed it on the wound, trying to keep pressure on it. Then, he grabbed his friends collar and tugged. Chris was fairly light, and Liam made good progress, but his equipment slowed him down, and the constant cars made the journey akin to navigating a maze. He looked back to see how Chris was, and suddenly saw something. Or rather, a lack of something. The smoke was gone, and he saw the heads of enemy soldiers poke up.

He could see the enterance to the hover-jet, only metres away, within his reach, but suddenly the bullets started flying towards his current position.

They struck all over the place, smashing windows, and tearing up the ground beneath them. But the two continued forward, with some kind of luck keeping them safe.

The bullets pelted the hover-jet as Liam scurried up the ramp, dragging Chris along. He watched as his friend held his trembling hands over his neck, trying in a pathetic effort to stop the blood seeping out. A trail of blood and rustled dust lay behind them as they trudged forward. The bay door was still open, with bullet stains joining the hardened blood ones from a week ago, and Liam rushed up it as fast as he could. A bullet shot right past his right ear. He swore he could feel it as it screamed past his ear, and he staggered the last few steps. Chris gasped as he lay in a pool of his own, steadily widening puddle of blood. His eyes widened in shock as he saw just how much blood there was.

"Liam," he said, in barely a whisper, as the bay door groaned shut.

His friend rushed over, taking his helmet off, and dropping it on the ground. He kneeled down beside his friend. One look told him that he wasn't going to make it.

Ripping off the left arm of his uniform and scrunching it up, he pressed it against the wound.

"Liam..." his friend began.

"It's okay, I'm here for you. You're... you're gonna be alright." But his tone was unconvincing, wavering with emotion and fear.

"Do me a favour, alright." He said weakly. Liam leaned in to listen.

"Anything." He replied, near to tears.

Not another friend, Liam thought to himself. Not another one.

"Find my family. Tell them I loved them. That I still do. Give them something of mine, so they... so they can remember me... and tell them... tell them..."

His friend went silent.

 

[12:50:37] OFFICER 23 SIGNAL LOST

 

"I will." He said softly to the lifeless body in front of him. "I will."

 

[12:50:52] VT-11 HOVERJET MODEL 3 NO. 23 ENGINES INITIATED

[12:51:03] VT-11 HOVERJET MODEL 3 NO. 23 TAKE-OFF PERFORMED

[12:57:34] "OPERATION TERASTION STAGE 6" DECLARED: FAILURE

 

And as the hover jet rumbled away, Liam sat alone. Chris's dead body metres away. His discarded helmet lay on the floor. The rumbling of the engine and the shaking of the floor reminded him just how alone he was. No loud voices to fill the air. He was all alone.

And in that moment, Liam decided it was better that way. He was better of spending the rest of his life alone. No one to worry about. No one to lose. He didn't want too have the burden of caring, the pain of grieving, anymore. He'd lost his mum, his dad, his brother, his friends.

He picked up his helmet, looked at it, and threw it against the wall on the other side. And he walked to the launch door and he screamed. 

"FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUUUUUCK!"

He screamed and he screamed and he screamed, until his voice was to hoarse to make another sound, and he pounded his fists against the door until they were bloody and bruised, and he stopped and slumped down.

He was a broken man. A dead man pulling himself through his meaningless life. And he knew, that with his screams, all the care he still had had left him. And he didn't care anymore. He didn't care. He was just watching his life through empty eyes. Because he was an empty man. A broken man, a screwed up man, and he just didn't care anymore.

So he picked his helmet up and put it back on and he just sat there. And when he got back to base, and everyone asked him how he was, he was barely aware of the voice that spoke out to answer their questions. He just watched as it spoke out to them, to ensure everyone he was fine, and watched as his feet led him into the corner. And he sat down, and just watched the world go by.

He had been doing that ever since.

 

 

2184

 

In an old city, with a name no one was entirely sure of nor really cared about, sat several men. They were surrounded by grey buildings, empty, discarded vehicles and a world devoid of colour, barring the bright sun that was peaking out the clouds and the green of the men's U7U uniforms. Or at least those who had gotten uniforms before they went out of production. The rest wore clothes stolen from shops and found in the street, mismatched and with clashing colours.

The group of men sat crowded around an old radio set. It was coloured a grim grey with a coating of green moss, and looked like it was long past it's best days. They listened as the machine crackled out noise and their heads perked up as they heard the static being replaced by a voice. The men leaned in closer to hear what was being said.

"This is a broadcast to anyone who may be listening. I..." The voice was drowned out by static. The man nearest to the radio fiddled with the dials. The voiced suddenly came back on.

"-onfirm that Carl Roject has successful sabotaged an enemy carrier ship and has crashed in into the main Oaktrus base in Madrid. We can announce that the majority of Oaktrus's forces have been terminated and that the war is over."

The final word brought about no joy to Liam. For the other men, whose faces lit up with smiles, it was a different story. Cheers, laugher and promises of beers filled the air. There was an air of sadness for those who hadn't lived to see the Wars end. But the happiness that came with the Wars end far exceeded that.

Liam sat alone. He'd made a few friends over the years, but they were all dead. He had figured out he was better of on his own. No one to care for, to burden himself over, and no one to lose, to mourn. He was better off alone. It meant that no one would miss him if he died, and he wouldn't miss anyone else if they died. It was easier that way. And so he sat, alone, without a gang of friends or a beer in hand.

All around him was joy. No one seemed to be paying much attention to what was going would happen next. After they had sang their songs, drank their beers and recovered from their hangovers. What would happen when they looked around at all the desolate, ruined cities and ruined fields that would never be able to give them food. When they saw the dead world around then and realised this was their home. That they were to survive in this world, and spend the rest of their days there.

Perhaps they didn't want to think about the future. Maybe they just wanted to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Live life one day at a time. Maybe it was easier that way. Liam could hardly blame them. But all he could think about was what he would do now.

His family was dead. His home, a place he barely remembered, had been bombed to hell, as well as the rest of the street. Probably the rest of the country too. All his friends had either died in combat, or been captured by Oaktrus, and were probably dead now as well. There was nothing for him to do. There was no one left alive for him to see. He had no purpose.

He knew that the top left pocket of his uniform contained a pill, designed to be used if you were captured by the enemy so you wouldn't suffer. He might as well just take it now and be done with the world.

He stood up and walked over to the edge of a giant, debris-filled crater and sat down.

He knew he should be happy. He'd seen old videos of people, at the end of World War One and Two, smiling when the war came to an end. Their flags held high, the people partying away.

But then again, they had a civilisation to go back to. Whereas here, well...

There was nothing left here.

He had no reason to be happy. The war was over, sure, but what now? He had no property, no home, no family, no friends. No purpose.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the pill only took five seconds to kick in.

And it was only now that he felt what Chris had felt. His fear of purposelessness come the War's end.

He never thought he say it, but he missed the War. He didn't miss losing his friends, watching them suffer. But he missed the purpose it had given him, the purpose that he was working towards a better world. The purpose that everyday he was working towards something.

And now he saw what that something was, he just felt... empty. Lifeless.

Purposeless.

And so he sat there, alone, trying not to think about the emptiness that lay before him. And now he finally understood what Chris had told him the day of his death.

Suddenly, Liam heard the gentle thud of boots on tarmac and looked back. There was a man walking his way. He watched as the man came up to him, smiling and swooshing his beer in his right hand, whilst holding something in this left. He didn't know him by name, but recognised his face, and knew he was from another unit. He sat down next to him.

"Finally. We're free. Those bastards are all dead now. About damn time, huh?" The words swayed gently out of his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, about damn time." Liam was only partially aware of himself responding to the question, his mind on other things.

"I'm gonna see my family. My dad, my mum, my daughter." He continued, swaying gently to both sides, not noticing Liam's disinterest. "Catch up, tell each other stories, watch some old tv shows. Only Fools and Horses, Faulty Towers, James and Co., The D-Team, you know. All that. Just sit there all day, watching old shows and drinking and eating crisps and stuff." He paused. "So long as the tv works, eh!"

He looked at Liam, and a more somber part of him seemed to emerge from his drunken state, upon seeing his unsettled gaze.

"Are you ok?" He asked, more seriously.

"Does it not bother you, or have you just not bothered to open your eyes yet to see the world around us? Are you just gonna ignore it, and pretend that it's not there, and pretend to live in your own little self bubble of perfectness?" He spoke bluntly, a razor sharp edge to his voice. "Look around you, mate. There's barely any energy left for you to watch your bloody tv shows. Everybody is dead. And your family, I bet you they aren't around any more and..."

Liam stopped. 

He'd said enough.

He didn't want to push further. He had taught himself to do away with his emotions but this man hadn't necessarily done the same. And hope was a dangerous thing, but Liam felt no desire to further ruin the small glimmer that remained in this man's heart.

"I'm sorry, I didn't me..."

"It's okay." the man interrupted. "It's okay."

Liam looked away. Starring at the ground, he asked, "Your family, do... do you know if there'll still alive."

"Oh, yeah." He smiled gently. "I spoke to them yesterday, actually. My daughter, she's fine, my old man, he's getting along a bit, but he'll pull through. That man's a tough bugger, I'll tell you that."

Liam looked up and smiled at him. Smiled. The first time, he realised, he had done so in a long time.

"I'm John, by the way. John Closer, with Unit 73. Or at least, I was."

"And I'm Liam Treit. Unit 67. Or, I was."

They was silence for a few seconds. Liam hadn't had a conversation in so long, he didn't know what he was meant to do.

In the end it was John who spoke.

"I've got something for you. For an old squad mate, Chris Steep."

 

 

(Continued in Part 4)