((Cripes - mine is so much longer then everyone else. I'm sorry if that's some kind of thing. Prompts do things to my brain -_- If you want to skip down to the second half, that's where the action is. The first part is character, scene, exposition...also, I dunno how to do spoilers))
It had been some time since the last snow. Since the trees were washed white, and all the blemishes of the year were washed away. Like a second chance. It seemed almost as though the world could forget itself, in times like these.
Wouldn't that be something.
Though he faced forward, listening studiously to the briefing, Micah's mind was a hundred miles away. And he reckoned that he wasn't the only one. The men were starting to wear thin - that was clear - and no one, no matter how patriotic they claimed to be, wanted to be sitting in this cold weather, listening to battle plans that only wore on and on, for the umpteenth time that week. But of course, no one dared speak up. Not when the enemy lines seemed to crawl closer every day; not when another man was lost every patrol. No sir did anyone speak aloud - they didn't have to.
"...suggests they contained explosives. It is likely that the ground we walk on will soon be in there hands, as well. Make sure all patrols know to step carefully from now on. Speaking of transports; there is news that this week's food will be a little late, so meals will be rationed accordingly..."
Transports? Explosives? Micah suppressed a guilty sigh. Some of this was undoubtedly important, or else the Commander wouldn't be wasting their time with it. He glanced silently to his side, where his co-captain, Luke, studiously took note of their leader's every word. Were it not for him, their rank would probably fall apart. Micah was pretty sure he had some purpose in leadership; though what it was exactly, eluded him. Ah, well. He shifted his eyes back to the softly falling snow. If ever a time the world needed to lie down and forget, this was it. If only everyone would just step back and breath...so many could be save. If only everything could just be quiet, if only for a moment, then maybe--
''--Captain Lyre?" Immediately, Micah's head snapped back from where it had been drifting down, and he inwardly winced at the Commander's questioning look. To his side, he could feel Luke's eyes on him, silently trying to tell him the info he needed. Apparently, his look was clear, because a moment later, the question was repeated.
"The provisions? I seems wise that we send a group to them, if they can't make it to us. The storm may not let up in awhile. Do you want to lead it, Captain?"
"Oh. Yes Sir, I can do that." Micah returned, lamely. The Commander nodded, and Micah had to wonder how the man put up with it; one of his supposedly top men, zoning like a school child. There was a moment of silence, before he rose an eyebrow. Behind him, a few other officers smirked.
"Maybe you should get to it." Micah mouthed a sheepish 'oh', before hurrying to his feet, offering a sloppy salute that was probably entirely out of place, and kind of stumbled outside. Maybe a good ol' enemy soldier coming along and blowing his brains out wouldn't be such a bad thing. He sighed, this time not even trying to hold it back.
///|\\\
"Remember; we don't know exactly what the other side has to its disposal. Keep every step light, and don't let your guard down for a second." Micah let his words stand in the silence that followed. He had five men with him, and most of them were seasoned enough to know this enough. One man, young and fresh in, regarded him with wide, fearful eyes. Micah made a mental to note to keep an eye on that one.
After a moment, he allowed, "'Course, we're only getting food for the fickle. The worse thing to attack us will probably be hungry birds." The newb relaxed a bit, and Micah turned, and started. The truth was, it wasn't the enemy or pests they had to worry about, but the weather itself. He cast a stony look up at the gathering clouds. The wind had picked up a little, but the snow wasn't falling too hard. Hopefully, they'd be able to beat out the storm.
Micah chose a rather fast pace, if nothing else then to warm up a bit. He considered drilling the group, but the idea seemed cruel and rather useless. One eye on the five figures huddled against the cold; the other taking in the path before them, Micah let his mind wander once again. This time, it went out to the men somewhere on the other side of this godless land form. Were they huddled up in tents, skipping out on exercises and wondering what they were doing here, too? Or could they be working tirelessly, focused only on destroying their enemy? Micah found it unlikely. As easy as it was to paint the enemy a monster, they were still human, and no one would happily be out in this...
He quickly glanced to the side as a flash of darkness registered on the side of his vision. He stopped, and for a moment, studied the stark white field beside them.
"Somethin' there?" That was Adam, a seasoned member of the rank. He peered after Micah's gaze, gun twitching for the gun on his back.
"...No, I don't think so. Let's keep going."
Even so, after that, he kept a much closer eye on the sides, looking for any sign of color that would betray a man amidst the frozen white. He saw nothing. But he idea of someone creeping after them, a near clear shot on the open land scape, when no one would be around in quite possibly days, kept his on his toes. Soon, he was drifting to the back, so that he could glance over his shoulder and finger the blade he held in his pocket without creating fear amongst his men. Nothing good could come of that.
crunch.
Micah stiffened. That was no snow fall. And that was no bunny, either. From behind him, somewhere, was a man. And that man, doubtlessly, held a weapon. That weapon aimed to kill. He kept walking, as though he had heard nothing.
His mind switched to combat mode quicker than a rat from its hole. Adam glanced back, casual, and said something about the weather. His eyes, however, asked a question. He knew, too. Micah gave a short nod, slowly down, if only by a fraction, as he did. Adam gave him one last look - possibly of regret - before turning. He snapped, "Come on, we haven't all afternoon! I wanna get to bed." Micah smiled, despite himself. Adam wouldn't let anything happen to them. He stopped, and for a moment, only heard the sound of the storm around him and the blood pounding in his ears. He turned, slowly.
Nothing.
He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Could he have made a mistake? What if the man had gone sfter them, after all? Micah turned again, but his men had already disappeared. Or what if there was no--
crack!
That was a gunshot. That was definitely...
That was Micah's first thought. Then he was on the ground - on his knees - now his hands. Now - crap crap crap crap! - there was blood burning his frozen fingers. His own breath, materialized in the cold, fogged his already flashing vision, and for a moment, he sat there, waiting for the next shot that would end it. It never came. Ribs...probably seventh or eighth. Not actually a bad injury - how far off were they shooting from? Or are they really using such weak weaponry? Never mind that. In a moment, he was back on his feet, stumbling toward a naturally occurring berm. The few meters felt much further, and he gratefully stumbled down behind it, straining to hear past his own breathing.
He held a hand over the wound, while the rest of him struggled to contain his breathing. A moment later, the figure appeared from the storm, cursing in a thick accent as he tried to locate his target. Apparently, he wasn't very learned in tracking through snow - that, or he wasn't very learned at all. It took him far too long to locate the tracks in the snow. By then, Micah was crouching, knife in hand (for he didn't trust a gun in his shaking hands), ready to spring out and retaliate. He counted the seconds in his head, as the enemy drew closer.
4...3...2...
Micah was swift, even with a gun shot to the side, and the enemies eyes visibly widened a second before his arm was slashed into, the gun dropping into the snow with a soft thud. He nursed his arm - two seconds - struggled for a weapon - a few more. Micah flew forward again, and though he stumbled, the other guy was even more clumsy. A part of his mind pitied the guy. He was probably pretty new, and already thrown into some crazy combat mission. Micah thought of his own new kid, stumbling somewhere ahead through the snow.
War was unfair.
He slashed his weapon now over his leg, his face. He didn't dare try any stabbing, lest the blade get stuck, but he didn't have to. With every swipe, the poor kid got more and more confused; more and more sluggish. He blocked one with his hand. It went through his ring finger. Blood spurted out, and he near screamed.
Finally, Micah faked a blow to the right, but instead used his bare arm to topple his opponent, who plodded unceremoniously into the ground. He struggled to get back up, but Micah put his foot firmly over his chest, He could see it more clearly now; the proportions, the fuzz barely decorating the guy's chin. Nothing but a child. He held his hand to stop the blood, and stared up at Micah, terrified. Micah shook hos head.
"Go home, kid. You don't belong here." No of us do.
He hoped that this enemy could understand his words. If not literally, than his meaning was surely clear. It was wrong, he knew, to leave an enemy that might come back later. But he was pretty sure that this guy wanted to run. And Micah was willing to give that to him. Just that, if no one else would.
The Captain stepped back, and stumbled into the storm. It was picking up, now. Faster then before. It got caught in his eye lashes, and several times he lost the road. And then then was a cold thickness below him. On the ground, again. His mind told him to stand, run to safety. His limbs shrugged it off. And despite himself, his eyes were drawn downward, to were his own blood dripped down. On the surface 9f the injury it was frozen over, but he still bled. And it dropped, melting the snow where it fell. Soon enough, it had established a random pattern of bright red, blinding on its stark white canvas.
He blinked. It was sluggish. He reached down, to paint the color around. No. His hand stopped. Behind him, a trail of red followed him. Stop. Get up! An odd, animal-like sound momentarily took his attention, and after a moment, he realized that it had come from him. He had been shot. Now his whole right side seemed to be dyed crimson. Micah glanced up. Snow met his lazy eyes. Then his head was on the ground, enveloped in numbing cold. It burnt the wound on his side. He shut his eyes.
"...re! Captain Lyre! Micah!"
It was cold.
"Micah!"
His body ached.
"Wait a minute...here he is!"
He was pretty sure there was something...
"Dammit Micah!"
...something he should be doing...
"Freakin'...grab 'is other side. You, too."
Mostly, though, he wanted sleep.
...
It had been awhile since it had snowed. Now he remembered why he didn't like it very much. It coated everything in a hopeless layer of cold, and made everything painfully. It almost seemed like the world was dead, in times like these.
"Heyya, Capt'n. Rise and shine."
Micah opened his eyes to the image of shaky faces above his own.
"I hurt."
Adam - he was there - snorted. "Yeah? That's what you get, trying to get hypothermia. You aren't light you know." Luke breathed out a sigh of relief. Apparently his comment cleared his health. He rolled his eyes, "We send you out to get of lunch, and you can't do even that right. I swear, Micah...getting yourself shot like that...alone!"
To the side was the young soldier - Micah still still know his name - dancing from foot to foot in nervous energy. That made him remember,
"What about the other guy?"
"Other guy? Like, the one who shot you? We didn't see anyone else...should we have?"
"No, I guess not."
...
...
:omg::omg::omg:
