Terminus Mortis
07-18-08, 10:49 PM
Open
His head swam and his whole body ached. He could feel the warmth of the blood on his face and arms. He slipped his ILBE pack off and rolled onto his back without opening his eyes, just letting the cool, misting rain sprinkle over him. I'm alive. The words rang through his mind like church bells, pushing away the throbbing pain. Mother of God, I'm alive! He slapped a hand over his eyes and wiped away the rain water, then sat up and looked around. "What the hell?" His eyes wandered over the green field around him. "We did not use enough explosivve to level the freakin' jungle..." He checked himself over and rolled up his sleeves, making sure he was still in one piece. He wiped down his arm, using the rain water to wash away the blood. Surprisingly enough, most of the wounds had already coagulated. At least I'll stay alive for a little while. His eyes widened and he shot to his feet. "Oh, no, no, no, no! Where in the hell is everyone?" He exclaimed turning around and around, searching for any bodies on the ground or any sign of the compound they had destroyed. "What in the fuck?" He shouted, tearing his hat off his head and throwing it down on top of his pack.
He took a deep breath and steadied himself, still woozy from blood loss. He spied his rifle on the ground a few feet away and collected it, checking it for damage. He removed the 30-round magazine and racked the bolt, observing the chamber. "Oh, no." He felt the chip in the bolt lug, and knew what it meant. "Oh hell no. Not my rifle, anything but my rifle!" He sat down and rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through his buzz-cut hair. He breathed deeply and steadied himself before taking one last long look around. His eyes focused on the cluster of buildings a few miles off on the horizon. He calculated his odds of being shot on sight, then sighed heavily. "Ah, what the hell. Damned if you do, damned if you don't." He scoffed. "And there is no way this is still Colombia."
The light rain continued to fall as he cautiously approahed the town. He read the sign on the outskirts of the village as he passed. Underwood. Sounds nice. He sighed again. That wasn't written in spanish... He eyed the residents strolling through the streets, many ducking from one area of cover to the next, trying to stay dry. Holy crap, he thought, sizing up the odd features of many of the citizens. it's like being in a J.R.R. Tolkien novel. For the love of God, where am I? He spotted a sign hanging out over the street, similar to that of the pubs he had seen in Dublin. What's that one say? The Peaceful Promenade? Jesus, if I can't get a beer here I swear I'll...
He slid open the door and entered, keeping his eyes open for any sign of weapons. A distinct lack of Kalashnikovs, that's always a good sign! He rolled his eyes and sidled onto a bar stool, setting down his ILBE pack. He caught the bartender's attention and asked for a mug of beer, then noticed the man next to him eyeing him with a somewhat concerned expression. "Can I help you?" Sean asked, rasing an eyebrow. The man gestured at his forehead. "You alright? What happened to you?" He asked. Sean wiped a hand across his brow, feeling the blood still slowly seeping down. He had removed his hat, and it was now obvious that one of his head wounds was still open. "You wouldn't believe me if I could tell you." He grunted, taking a swig from the mug in front of him and wiping the blood from his hand on his pantsleg. At least the beer's not bad, and I haven't been shot at yet.
His head swam and his whole body ached. He could feel the warmth of the blood on his face and arms. He slipped his ILBE pack off and rolled onto his back without opening his eyes, just letting the cool, misting rain sprinkle over him. I'm alive. The words rang through his mind like church bells, pushing away the throbbing pain. Mother of God, I'm alive! He slapped a hand over his eyes and wiped away the rain water, then sat up and looked around. "What the hell?" His eyes wandered over the green field around him. "We did not use enough explosivve to level the freakin' jungle..." He checked himself over and rolled up his sleeves, making sure he was still in one piece. He wiped down his arm, using the rain water to wash away the blood. Surprisingly enough, most of the wounds had already coagulated. At least I'll stay alive for a little while. His eyes widened and he shot to his feet. "Oh, no, no, no, no! Where in the hell is everyone?" He exclaimed turning around and around, searching for any bodies on the ground or any sign of the compound they had destroyed. "What in the fuck?" He shouted, tearing his hat off his head and throwing it down on top of his pack.
He took a deep breath and steadied himself, still woozy from blood loss. He spied his rifle on the ground a few feet away and collected it, checking it for damage. He removed the 30-round magazine and racked the bolt, observing the chamber. "Oh, no." He felt the chip in the bolt lug, and knew what it meant. "Oh hell no. Not my rifle, anything but my rifle!" He sat down and rested his head in his hands, running his fingers through his buzz-cut hair. He breathed deeply and steadied himself before taking one last long look around. His eyes focused on the cluster of buildings a few miles off on the horizon. He calculated his odds of being shot on sight, then sighed heavily. "Ah, what the hell. Damned if you do, damned if you don't." He scoffed. "And there is no way this is still Colombia."
The light rain continued to fall as he cautiously approahed the town. He read the sign on the outskirts of the village as he passed. Underwood. Sounds nice. He sighed again. That wasn't written in spanish... He eyed the residents strolling through the streets, many ducking from one area of cover to the next, trying to stay dry. Holy crap, he thought, sizing up the odd features of many of the citizens. it's like being in a J.R.R. Tolkien novel. For the love of God, where am I? He spotted a sign hanging out over the street, similar to that of the pubs he had seen in Dublin. What's that one say? The Peaceful Promenade? Jesus, if I can't get a beer here I swear I'll...
He slid open the door and entered, keeping his eyes open for any sign of weapons. A distinct lack of Kalashnikovs, that's always a good sign! He rolled his eyes and sidled onto a bar stool, setting down his ILBE pack. He caught the bartender's attention and asked for a mug of beer, then noticed the man next to him eyeing him with a somewhat concerned expression. "Can I help you?" Sean asked, rasing an eyebrow. The man gestured at his forehead. "You alright? What happened to you?" He asked. Sean wiped a hand across his brow, feeling the blood still slowly seeping down. He had removed his hat, and it was now obvious that one of his head wounds was still open. "You wouldn't believe me if I could tell you." He grunted, taking a swig from the mug in front of him and wiping the blood from his hand on his pantsleg. At least the beer's not bad, and I haven't been shot at yet.