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Alone In The Silence
tanding there, alone, listening, the distant sounds of battle, a drum roll of
thunder, creeping ever closer. A solitary figure, gripping the firing levers
of the laser cannon, the last vestige of defence between the peaceful city and
the encroaching death.
Wishing he could brush away the sweat trickling between his shoulder blades
beneath his power armour, he squints through the targetting scope, now and
then pin-pointing an ant like vehicle, scuttling across his vision, too fast
to track, the big guns' frictionless pivot hopelessly hampered by the flesh
and blood operator, too distant to identify.
The twilight gloom created by nuclear pollution occasionally lit by blood red
bursts as another machinery of destruction is split a twain by the earth
shattering power being thrown back and forth, a quick death, seemingly a
silent death to the far distant watcher. The hours drag slowly by, the relief
column still hasn't arrived, were they ever coming? Were they gone forever? So
many young lives senselessly taken for so little, the prize, a few klicks of
tortured, barren, atomic wasteland.
The noise rolls closer, insignia on the great battle machines becoming
distinguishable, friend from foe, rushing toward him at high speed. He swings
the cannon, pinpointing an enemy machine, a bolt of light splashes against the
machine as it draws to an abrupt halt, its carbon armour decaying under the
onslaught.
Battle suddenly rages all round him, blasts of heat washing across him as the
destruction continues. A confusion of steel and carbon, looming all round,
turrets swivelling and cannon firing. He fires again and again, trying to halt
the flow of the enemy. But, alas, all in vain as a single bolt of green fire
rushes forwards and smashes his face plate, letting the deadly air flow over
and through his frail body, a slow agonising death.
Slumped there, all alone, the distant sound of battle dwindling as death and
destruction roar towards the city. Battle continuing unheeding of another life
extinguished, all for so little.
Site © BlackQpid Productions, Page last modified: 2008-10-21 21:25:05
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