Post by New Ovinhald on Jun 19, 2023 4:42:33 GMT
Teaser: He Who Cries Bleeds White
(Graphic Warning: Death and Gore)
2015, August 7th, Raccoon City
It's my birthday, dad! Puba is taking me to the local ice cream shop before we get on the train. We're going to the town square as well for the farewell parade for the older scouts getting drafted. Some people don't like it, though, and are protesting outside the school again. They seemed pretty upset. Also, what's a "hulkish rat"? The kids that are leaving kept calling the rebels that until the principal got there. Speaking of scouting, I've grown into your old scout uniform, and I even managed to find pictures of you! If you manage to make it home, we've left pictures and food for you and your friends. Puba said to also check under his bed for something he left for you. He didn't tell me because it's "adult stuff," but when you get it, can you tell me what it is? I'm guessing it's his old stack of baseball cards because I haven't seen them in their display case. I also think it's because he's been talking with Mr. O'Hinely about trying to get rid of something before it's too late, but I guess we will see. But dad! Me and Izaiah went down to the lake last Friday to catch tadpoles, but when we got there, a lizard the size of a dog came at us from under a log! It bit the life out of me; I swear if Izaiah hadn't hit it with a stick, it would have eaten me whole! After it let go, we just ran up the creek until we got to Sir Matthew's house. He let us stay until Izaiah's dad came to pick him up, and let me tell you, it was awesome! Sir Matthew patched my hand up with a butterfly bandage and let us shoot his guns at wild boar that got trapped the night before, and he also showed us how to prepare them if you were out in the wild. He said to come back today for the jerky, though Puba said there wouldn't be enough time to make the train before it leaves for Pop's house. If he's still there when you march into town, can you please, please, please see if you can save it for me? I don't even care if it's stale by the time you get it back to me. I'll do all my chores and even clean the garage!
I wish you were here, dad.
Sincerely, Curtis
2 weeks later
"Orders from the Citadel! They've reached city limits in the north; we must hold to the last man and wait for the 17th armored squadron to start the counterattack!" A boy sits in a dugout with the 47th Infantry Platoon, where he's been deployed as a trench maid. His father was demoted to Platoon Master, thus causing the chain of command to place him with his kin. Jets roar overhead, making the gray sky ever more dull with smoke. Rain never stops in the pocket, and it's a lesson all frontliners learn on their first day. Trenches become pools, and reinforcements are always stopped by mud. The sun gives no quarter; it's almost arguable that it's more cruel than the enemy. "Bevin?" 16 weeks in the pocket does something to the mind that can't be explained by anything other than you just having to be there to see it. Men are clawing their faces off because of thermite IEDs, civilians crying in the rubble of their homes, and worst of all, having to see the world before the war rolls through it. Even a hurricane would be more merciful than this. Before we sent up trench defenses on the southern stream beds, we walked through a city yet to be touched by the hulk. Children still played in the streets, and we were greeted with hospitality. I met a girl who let me dance with her when we celebrated the western frontline pushing back to Arcadia Bay. I know I stunk so bad, but for that moment, the world seemed to be normal again. No war, guns, or unseasoned soup for every meal of the day. We could take a shower and finally get rid of the never-ending dirt. It was perfect again, but of course, reality always rips you back into its cold grasp. When we were asleep, they attacked with improvised mortars and outdated war equipment. For such a weak force, it took 10 hours of fighting before we pushed them out of the city. My mistakes almost cost us everything. 130 people are dead because of me, because I was too scared to fight. I was the only one able to use the old radio systems since ours were damaged in the initial attack, but I was a coward. I could have called in reinforcements, but I didn't because I didn't want to risk my own life. After it was all said and done, the chain of command called me to review what had happened. I would have been sent to jail if my dad hadn't revoked his rank for me. I lost my rank as an officer too, and I won't be able to hold the colors again for as long as I live. The look he gave me—the way his eyes couldn't meet mine after the deranking—"Bevin!"
Bevins eyes snap up from the gun he was cleaning before he stands to salute his commanding officer. "What the hell are you doing? Didn't you hear your orders?" Benson stares at the flustered boy in front of him with a loose smile and a face of disbelief. "N-No, sir, I must have been too focused," Bevin squeezes out. "May you please repeat them for me?" Bevin was on thin ice with his platoon. They never let him forget that night, and he always finds himself on the receiving end of their grief. "Make sure to resupply the machine gun at Nest 9 before running stock; War Daddy wants to know what we have, probably so they can send us into the hills again." And with that, Benson was off to make his rounds to other scouts. He was an older man, maybe 35 or 40. He was also one of the few who still got letters from his family.
Bevin sighs, lightly filling his supply bag. Nest 9 was a hellstorm, and anyone who goes over there is sure to get a rude awakening. Nest 9 is the true account of what war costs. In Bevin's eyes, it always had a stench of death lingering in the air. Maybe it was just the sick bay they had behind the firing posts. Bevin grabs his face mask last, as he always gags walking into the northern trench rings. By far, they were the dirtiest, and he was glad he wasn't the trench maid assigned to them. As Bevin works his way over dead bodies and rats, he does his best to keep his cool. Slow and steady breaths, just like the chaplain told him. Bevin wasn't too religious; however, Chaplain Charles always knew how to boost the morale of the platoon.Before he got there, soldiers wouldn't even stand near Bevin. Formation or not, if you were near him, you had a death wish. Somehow, Charles managed to change the minds of the brokenhearted to accept the outcast again, like an orphaned dog left out in the rain. Soldiers would greet him, while others from the same town he was from would give him a wave. Most took pity on him, but—"Hey! Where the hell have you been? We got hit all fucking night; the least you can do is have some urgency." But some couldn't be swooned.
Some had grief that ran as deep as the mud. Jonas was there that night. His whole squad was wiped out by a suicide bomber. Bevin salutes the soldiers in the nest before resupplying their equipment and taking the things that needed to be cleaned. Some gave him a smile, but it wasn't enough to cover the burn of Jonas's glare. Bevin goes to clean the tobacco butts off the floor by Jonas's bunk, but something must be wrong with that. Jonas knocks over a box of ammo, saying, "Whoops." Bevin holds his gaze on the floor before going over to clean it up. "Two years of work went down the drain in just one night," Bevin thinks to himself. One mistake put him here. One mistake that haunts his dreams at night. When Bevin is done cleaning the nest, he heads out with haste in hopes that Jonas won't make another mess. Jonas follows him out, shouting, "You don't belong here! If it weren't for the hulkish, I'd skin you myself." Bevin clutches the straps of his bag tighter. In through the mouth and out the nose.
No one is free from sin. Everyone must pay their dues and debts in full. Be it blood or pain, it collects every time. "Incoming!' shouts a soilder before artillery fire strikes mere feet from Bevin. It was an early attack covered by the morning fog, not unusual these days. Whistles blew, signaling battle stations, and Bevin rushed to his. Bevin helped medics move troops falling from their firing posts and ran ammo to and from them. Retunring gunfire got closer, and the deadly whisle of their bullets graced the ears of the fortunate. "Over the top! Meet them halfway! Do not dig in and keep pushing forward!" horns blare, signaling artillery fire to do a walking sweep of no man's land. The gunfire faded at the sound of the horns, but soldiers flooded out of the trenches just behind the artillery strikes to keep the pressure on.
Bevin uses these moments of empty trenches to catch his breath. The rotten smell of bodies and burning flesh assaults his senses, but he still takes off his mask. Heavy breaths turn into a cloud of condensation in front of him, and for a moment, the sun graces him with a feeling of warmth. As Bevin admires the clouds, he wonders if God could forgive him for his misdeeds. After all, he never went to church or prayed like he was supposed to. He was a true sinner in the eyes of any churchgoer, though somehow he felt for a second that maybe he could join his friends in the afterlife. But reality is not that. It is cold, dark, and full of suffering. Like the shadow of his father that is currently standing in front of him. "Dammit boy, what is the matter with you?"
The ringing in Bevin's ears subsided as he came to again. Blood covered the bottom of the trenches, and the wails of mercy filled his head. The enemy had launched a surprise attack in no man's land and used mines to separate troops from their trenches. Bevin's father drags him by his unifrom to the last standing trench bunkers and mere momments from enemy rebels jumping into the trenches to follow them. The doors are locked tight behind them, and Bevin stamps out, "I'm sorry, I was just..." Bevin's father's booming voice covered Bevin's small presence, and immediately the recovery phase began. Soilders reawaken themselves, and some get ready to retake the trenches while Bevin's father radios in reinforcements. Bevin stumbles around, trying to make himself useful, and he manages to do so. He helps suit up a trench naut with a machine gun before letting her out to lay down cover fire for surging troops. "Reinforcements need 15 minutes of stall, so let's give it to 'em!" Soilders flood out behind the trenches with battle cries as they mow down unsuspecting rebels who are looting. Rebls try to get out of the trenches or break the line of sight; most succeed, but pools of red change the murky browns that make up the trenches. Bevin helps the last soilders out of the bunker with a groan. He reaches down to adjust his plate carrier before realizing he has been shot...
(Graphic Warning: Death and Gore)
2015, August 7th, Raccoon City
It's my birthday, dad! Puba is taking me to the local ice cream shop before we get on the train. We're going to the town square as well for the farewell parade for the older scouts getting drafted. Some people don't like it, though, and are protesting outside the school again. They seemed pretty upset. Also, what's a "hulkish rat"? The kids that are leaving kept calling the rebels that until the principal got there. Speaking of scouting, I've grown into your old scout uniform, and I even managed to find pictures of you! If you manage to make it home, we've left pictures and food for you and your friends. Puba said to also check under his bed for something he left for you. He didn't tell me because it's "adult stuff," but when you get it, can you tell me what it is? I'm guessing it's his old stack of baseball cards because I haven't seen them in their display case. I also think it's because he's been talking with Mr. O'Hinely about trying to get rid of something before it's too late, but I guess we will see. But dad! Me and Izaiah went down to the lake last Friday to catch tadpoles, but when we got there, a lizard the size of a dog came at us from under a log! It bit the life out of me; I swear if Izaiah hadn't hit it with a stick, it would have eaten me whole! After it let go, we just ran up the creek until we got to Sir Matthew's house. He let us stay until Izaiah's dad came to pick him up, and let me tell you, it was awesome! Sir Matthew patched my hand up with a butterfly bandage and let us shoot his guns at wild boar that got trapped the night before, and he also showed us how to prepare them if you were out in the wild. He said to come back today for the jerky, though Puba said there wouldn't be enough time to make the train before it leaves for Pop's house. If he's still there when you march into town, can you please, please, please see if you can save it for me? I don't even care if it's stale by the time you get it back to me. I'll do all my chores and even clean the garage!
I wish you were here, dad.
Sincerely, Curtis
2 weeks later
"Orders from the Citadel! They've reached city limits in the north; we must hold to the last man and wait for the 17th armored squadron to start the counterattack!" A boy sits in a dugout with the 47th Infantry Platoon, where he's been deployed as a trench maid. His father was demoted to Platoon Master, thus causing the chain of command to place him with his kin. Jets roar overhead, making the gray sky ever more dull with smoke. Rain never stops in the pocket, and it's a lesson all frontliners learn on their first day. Trenches become pools, and reinforcements are always stopped by mud. The sun gives no quarter; it's almost arguable that it's more cruel than the enemy. "Bevin?" 16 weeks in the pocket does something to the mind that can't be explained by anything other than you just having to be there to see it. Men are clawing their faces off because of thermite IEDs, civilians crying in the rubble of their homes, and worst of all, having to see the world before the war rolls through it. Even a hurricane would be more merciful than this. Before we sent up trench defenses on the southern stream beds, we walked through a city yet to be touched by the hulk. Children still played in the streets, and we were greeted with hospitality. I met a girl who let me dance with her when we celebrated the western frontline pushing back to Arcadia Bay. I know I stunk so bad, but for that moment, the world seemed to be normal again. No war, guns, or unseasoned soup for every meal of the day. We could take a shower and finally get rid of the never-ending dirt. It was perfect again, but of course, reality always rips you back into its cold grasp. When we were asleep, they attacked with improvised mortars and outdated war equipment. For such a weak force, it took 10 hours of fighting before we pushed them out of the city. My mistakes almost cost us everything. 130 people are dead because of me, because I was too scared to fight. I was the only one able to use the old radio systems since ours were damaged in the initial attack, but I was a coward. I could have called in reinforcements, but I didn't because I didn't want to risk my own life. After it was all said and done, the chain of command called me to review what had happened. I would have been sent to jail if my dad hadn't revoked his rank for me. I lost my rank as an officer too, and I won't be able to hold the colors again for as long as I live. The look he gave me—the way his eyes couldn't meet mine after the deranking—"Bevin!"
Bevins eyes snap up from the gun he was cleaning before he stands to salute his commanding officer. "What the hell are you doing? Didn't you hear your orders?" Benson stares at the flustered boy in front of him with a loose smile and a face of disbelief. "N-No, sir, I must have been too focused," Bevin squeezes out. "May you please repeat them for me?" Bevin was on thin ice with his platoon. They never let him forget that night, and he always finds himself on the receiving end of their grief. "Make sure to resupply the machine gun at Nest 9 before running stock; War Daddy wants to know what we have, probably so they can send us into the hills again." And with that, Benson was off to make his rounds to other scouts. He was an older man, maybe 35 or 40. He was also one of the few who still got letters from his family.
Bevin sighs, lightly filling his supply bag. Nest 9 was a hellstorm, and anyone who goes over there is sure to get a rude awakening. Nest 9 is the true account of what war costs. In Bevin's eyes, it always had a stench of death lingering in the air. Maybe it was just the sick bay they had behind the firing posts. Bevin grabs his face mask last, as he always gags walking into the northern trench rings. By far, they were the dirtiest, and he was glad he wasn't the trench maid assigned to them. As Bevin works his way over dead bodies and rats, he does his best to keep his cool. Slow and steady breaths, just like the chaplain told him. Bevin wasn't too religious; however, Chaplain Charles always knew how to boost the morale of the platoon.Before he got there, soldiers wouldn't even stand near Bevin. Formation or not, if you were near him, you had a death wish. Somehow, Charles managed to change the minds of the brokenhearted to accept the outcast again, like an orphaned dog left out in the rain. Soldiers would greet him, while others from the same town he was from would give him a wave. Most took pity on him, but—"Hey! Where the hell have you been? We got hit all fucking night; the least you can do is have some urgency." But some couldn't be swooned.
Some had grief that ran as deep as the mud. Jonas was there that night. His whole squad was wiped out by a suicide bomber. Bevin salutes the soldiers in the nest before resupplying their equipment and taking the things that needed to be cleaned. Some gave him a smile, but it wasn't enough to cover the burn of Jonas's glare. Bevin goes to clean the tobacco butts off the floor by Jonas's bunk, but something must be wrong with that. Jonas knocks over a box of ammo, saying, "Whoops." Bevin holds his gaze on the floor before going over to clean it up. "Two years of work went down the drain in just one night," Bevin thinks to himself. One mistake put him here. One mistake that haunts his dreams at night. When Bevin is done cleaning the nest, he heads out with haste in hopes that Jonas won't make another mess. Jonas follows him out, shouting, "You don't belong here! If it weren't for the hulkish, I'd skin you myself." Bevin clutches the straps of his bag tighter. In through the mouth and out the nose.
No one is free from sin. Everyone must pay their dues and debts in full. Be it blood or pain, it collects every time. "Incoming!' shouts a soilder before artillery fire strikes mere feet from Bevin. It was an early attack covered by the morning fog, not unusual these days. Whistles blew, signaling battle stations, and Bevin rushed to his. Bevin helped medics move troops falling from their firing posts and ran ammo to and from them. Retunring gunfire got closer, and the deadly whisle of their bullets graced the ears of the fortunate. "Over the top! Meet them halfway! Do not dig in and keep pushing forward!" horns blare, signaling artillery fire to do a walking sweep of no man's land. The gunfire faded at the sound of the horns, but soldiers flooded out of the trenches just behind the artillery strikes to keep the pressure on.
Bevin uses these moments of empty trenches to catch his breath. The rotten smell of bodies and burning flesh assaults his senses, but he still takes off his mask. Heavy breaths turn into a cloud of condensation in front of him, and for a moment, the sun graces him with a feeling of warmth. As Bevin admires the clouds, he wonders if God could forgive him for his misdeeds. After all, he never went to church or prayed like he was supposed to. He was a true sinner in the eyes of any churchgoer, though somehow he felt for a second that maybe he could join his friends in the afterlife. But reality is not that. It is cold, dark, and full of suffering. Like the shadow of his father that is currently standing in front of him. "Dammit boy, what is the matter with you?"
The ringing in Bevin's ears subsided as he came to again. Blood covered the bottom of the trenches, and the wails of mercy filled his head. The enemy had launched a surprise attack in no man's land and used mines to separate troops from their trenches. Bevin's father drags him by his unifrom to the last standing trench bunkers and mere momments from enemy rebels jumping into the trenches to follow them. The doors are locked tight behind them, and Bevin stamps out, "I'm sorry, I was just..." Bevin's father's booming voice covered Bevin's small presence, and immediately the recovery phase began. Soilders reawaken themselves, and some get ready to retake the trenches while Bevin's father radios in reinforcements. Bevin stumbles around, trying to make himself useful, and he manages to do so. He helps suit up a trench naut with a machine gun before letting her out to lay down cover fire for surging troops. "Reinforcements need 15 minutes of stall, so let's give it to 'em!" Soilders flood out behind the trenches with battle cries as they mow down unsuspecting rebels who are looting. Rebls try to get out of the trenches or break the line of sight; most succeed, but pools of red change the murky browns that make up the trenches. Bevin helps the last soilders out of the bunker with a groan. He reaches down to adjust his plate carrier before realizing he has been shot...