Thought I'd share a prologue to an old story I wrote a long time ago. If you like SCI-FI war stories, have a look. The images I created as well using DAZ3D elements and models, some of my own texture paint for uniforms (that I used to sell through DAZ), and a few 3D/2D editors like DAZ Studio, Poser, Vue, and Pixelmator. Plan to do a post breaking down how I made a few of my old works, maybe some new as well... but that is for the art section. This, however, showcases my first obsession, writing. I may not be the best at it, but I enjoy the challenge. Have a great day!
Prologue...
Gunnery Sergeant Todd Baker checked his Tac. unit. The patrol had finally reached the last checkpoint, and so far, all was quiet within Seline's western sector. No movement, no dampening fields, no suspicious activity... just another gruelling hike under the watchful eye of Dawson Colony's blistering sun.
"Alright, Marines, fall in! Harper, Casey, Mitchell, take watch! The rest of you can do what you like for the next few minutes before we turn tail and head back home." The gunnery sergeant's order was merciful, sending the exhausted patrol to the ground.
After nearly eight months of deployment, the sergeant started to get use to the Darson heat. He had been stationed at the colony for nearly twenty-two months now, but he could still remember things being worse. They could always be worse…
Two more months and his tour of duty would finally be over. No more patrols, no more policing the populous, and no more desert sand to track through. It wasn't that he minded peacekeeping missions, they were a vital part of being a Colonial Marine, he just wished that High Command had posted him elsewhere. Perhaps someplace that didn't boast such an incredibly hot climate.
Baker dropped the ground hard, the force of it escaping his lips in a rush of air. Every muscle ached, every pore bled with sweat, and there was still the walk home to look forward to. Someone had told him a long time ago that the life of a Marine was a good life. Perhaps, but not if that Marine was stationed at Darson. Between the undying heat, the blowing sands, and the sweat soaked thermo-suits, life on Darson was insufferable. Still, Baker wouldn't have to deal with the heat and sand much longer. Soon, the sergeant would be going home and someone else would be sent in his place to continue trudging through the wastes. It was a thought that sent a bit of a grin to his face as he removed his filter mask long enough to wipe the sweat from his eyes and steal a quick drink from his canteen.
"Hey, Gunny!"
The call had come from Private Casey, his eyes locked on his Tac. Readings, his face giving away his concern.
It was hard to move, but the private seemed nervous; enough so, that it finally prompted Baker to his feet, sending him to Casey's side as the others continued to flake out, nestled in the remains of an old foundation.
"What's up?"
"I'm not sure, Gunny. My Tac. seems to be malfunctioning. One minute, I'm picking up some movement a few meters out, headed this way. The next... it's
gone."
Baker checked his Tac. to verify. "I don't see anything. You probably got some sand in it. We'll have to.... Wait a minute... did you see that?"
Casey shook his head in agreement. A large movement reading dead ahead and twenty degrees left. Then, nothing at all. "What do you make of it, Gunny?"
"I don't know... but I sure don't like it."
Rising from the site, Baker made a dash for his gear. "Breaks over, people! Pack up and make ready to move out... now!"
"What's the rush, Gunny?" Baker wasn't sure who had asked... nor did he care.
"Your mother called; said I had to get you home in time for supper or she'd rip me a new one! Now, move it... mama's waitin'!"
The patrol was on the move in record time, trying to put as much distance as they could between them and whatever was out there. Gunnery Sergeant Baker kept a close eye on his Tac. unit, its scan pulse reaching out into the surrounding area, coming back clear one moment, then reading several moving targets the next. No matter how fast they picked up the pace, the movements continued to match both the patrol's speed and direction. It wasn't a coincidence; Baker and his people were being hunted. The only thing the sergeant couldn't figure out was why? U.C. forces had always maintained their neutrality on Darson. For one of the parties to suddenly attack them now, after all this time, just didn't make sense.
Baker continued to review the situation, while he nervously checked his Tac. unit and took the safety off his rifle. That's when he heard the scream and watched as Private Layne’s upper torso came clear of his lower, his blood staining the debris littered streets of Seline’s western sector a deep crimson.
"Incoming! Take cover!"
From the first shot, there was no time to think, only react. Two more Marines went down before the rest could find a rock big enough to hide behind, the desert air filling with tracers, smoke, and exploding debris.
Baker checked his Tac.... nothing. They were being jammed by some kind of low frequency dampening field their scanners apparently couldn't detect. The sergeant instinctively went for his comm unit, praying the field wasn't strong enough to disrupt communications as effectively as it had their scans.
"Foxhole, this is Delta-0ne! Foxhole, this is Delta-One! Patrol under heavy fire! Multiple casualties! Requesting air support and immediate EVAC!”
“Repeat! Patrol is currently under heavy fire! Holding position in sector two-seven-zero, approximately seven klicks southwest of Fire Base Charlie... Foxhole, do you copy?" Baker's voice was mixed with labored breath. Fear and exhaustion were taking their toll, but sheer will kept the sergeant going.
Baker wasn’t sure how long the battle had lasted; it seemed like hours, but perhaps it was only a matter of seconds. Fear and rage have a way of distorting time, so does unconsciousness brought on by a nearby explosion. All he really knew for certain was that the sounds of war had vanished... right along with the feeling in his legs.
Gunnery Sergeant Baker lay staring up at the Darson sun as his blood continued to drain into the sands beneath him. He began thinking of his family back home and wished he had been sent anywhere else but here. That's when he saw the face of the enemy staring down at him, the soldier's weapon ready to fire.
Baker refused to show his fear. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and awaited the shot that would finally set his soul free. If nothing else, he would at least die with his honour still intact.
There you have it, my attempt at story telling back in I'd say 1991? Like I said, old story. Anyway, opinions welcome and thanks for reading.