Invasion
There was still a sun in the sky when Doyle awoke. For some
reason he’d imagined there wouldn’t be, not after last night. Not after those
damn aliens had dropped bombs on their heads. He’d hidden in his foxhole
listening to their boys fly past in their fighter jets while all around him
explosions had torn up the hill they’d claimed just a day ago.
Doyle struggled out of his single man tent and saw a bunch
of the boys sitting by a fire cooking up something so rancid that he was sure
everyone in camp had already had a whiff.
Nunez looked up from the pan and raised his arm in greeting. Doyle waved
back before walking off in the direction of the medical tents.
His best friend Mark Roberts had been hit by one of the
Monoterrans’ plasma shells and he’d had a bad feeling all night about Mark’s
wounds. As he moved through the camp he noted that there were a lot more empty
tents than there’d been when they’d started advancing through Europe. Hell the
living didn’t look much better, with plenty of soldiers carrying bandages
around their heads and slings dangling from their slumped shoulders. It wasn’t
supposed to have turned out like this, with half the regular army dead and farm
boys like Doyle and Mark and these other poor souls left to pick up the slack.
The recruiter in Doyle’s hometown had told him they were beating back the
invaders.
When he finally found the medical tents Doyle could only
think he’d been lied to. The screaming he heard didn’t sound like victory. No
one should ever have to scream like that, like they were going to tear their
throats apart and then there was the amount of activity he could see around the
tents! Figures draped in white aprons and masks ran from one to the other blood
covering them from head to toe.
Doyle had to push past one of these frantic figures just to
get inside a tent. When he did he just stood there shocked at the chaos that
confronted him. There were countless men and women jammed into that tiny tent,
their narrow cots barely able to support their writhing bodies. One of the
veiled figures turned around and grabbed him with a bloody mitt. They pulled
down their mask and screamed into his face.
It took Doyle several seconds to make out her words. “Who
the hell are you and what are you doing here?” she yelled.
“I..I’m looking for Private Mark Roberts,” Doyle mumbled.
She didn’t waste a second and roughly pulled him to the back
of the tent. She finally stopped beside a cot with a sheet pulled over what
could only be a body. She turned to him with an impatient look on her face that
vanished once she saw his expression.
He’d known; in his heart he’d known when the medics carried
Mark from their foxhole that there was no saving him. The plasma fires had
leaped hungrily at Mark quickly engulfing his entire body before their shocked
unit had managed to snuff them out. Doyle reached out a shaking hand and grabbed
a corner of the sheet. The nurse or maybe she was a doctor gently put a
restraining hand on his arm.
“Don’t. You don’t want to see him like that,” she said
softly.
“I do. He was my friend,” Doyle said.
She nodded her head and stood aside. Doyle pulled the sheet
back to uncover Mark’s burnt body. Half his face was disfigured and the burns
continued down to his chest. Looking at him Doyle could still remember how
excited he’d been when they joined up. Mark had been such a natural during
basic training, so eager to be a hero and protect his country. Doyle could feel
the tears run down his cheeks and they just wouldn’t stop. The woman who’d
decided to stay with him placed her hand on his shoulder.
While they stood there a siren began ringing somewhere in
the camp. They both looked at each other in alarm. The woman promptly took off
running, probably to prepare more sheets or cots for the boys who’d soon have
them busier than they already were. Doyle studied Mark’s face and couldn’t help
observing how peaceful he appeared even with all the damage to his body.
Who knows maybe that meant something? What Doyle did know
for certain was that the war was calling.
“I’ll see you soon buddy,” Doyle said draping the sheet over
his friend’s head.
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