The innocent can never last
Oct 3, 2013 4:56:33 GMT -5
Post by John S. Rhodes on Oct 3, 2013 4:56:33 GMT -5
"Want a smoke?" Sitting with his back against a mound of dirt, John held his rifle, listening to the sounds of foreign voices, speaking in an equally foreign tongue. They'd been stuck there for a good day and a half while the bastards waited them out. It was pretty safe to say that they were surrounded. Glancing over at Charlie, to his left, John considered the cigarette in his hand. Strictly speaking, John didn't smoke and hadn't done so since high school. "If I'm going to die, I might as well," he said, lighting up. "That's the spirit," came the sound of private Harrison's voice, before he gave a sort of half laugh. They all knew that he was only half kidding.
Had the commander still been there, the man surely would have known what to do, more so than John. At least he had made it out alive though, providing that he would survive his injuries. It was just three days prior that John had carried the commander himself to the helicopter. The entire platoon had known that, the moment the commander had lost consciousness, they were under Staff Sergeant John Rhodes' authority. Given the situation, it had scared John shitless, though he certainly didn't let that show. Suddenly, the lives of his brothers at arms were all in his hands. And what had he done with that knowledge? He got them trapped. The staff sergeant could deal with endangering his own life, but his men?
Taking a long drag of the cigarette, John remembered just how much he had hated the taste. "My old man would have killed me if he ever saw me smoking," he said, flicking the ashes off the end. "I guess it's a good thing he's not here then. Without you, that asshole would be in charge," Harrison said, nodding toward Charlie. "We'd all be dead already, if I were in charge," Charlie responded with a nod, grinding out his cigarette and flicking it away. John just smiled the slightest, leaning his head back. Night had fallen and he knew that, all around him, others among his company were starting to doze, however reluctant they may have been to do so. Each of them was waiting on his command. "Can I trust you enough to let me close my eyes for a few minutes?" John looked to his best friend, waiting for his response. After receiving a short nod, the staff sergeant handed him his half-smoked cigarette.
John was eight years old again, sitting in the back of his father's car and looking out the window. "Hey dad?" John asked, sitting there in his little black suit and tie. His brothers argued in the back seat and Elizabeth, who was just a baby, slept soundly in her car seat. John's mother sat, staring out the window, stroking her husband's hand that she held between them, even as he drove. The past few days had been rough, especially on his father. John had never lost someone before and the idea of going to his grandfather's funeral... well, it scared him. "Yeah sport?" his dad asked, looking back at him through the rear view mirror. "Do we have to go?" John didn't even have to tell his dad how scared he was, he just knew. "I know it's hard, John. But listen kid... You don't need to be afraid of death. You're going to go to a lot of funerals in your life time." He smiled the slightest bit, despite his grief. "But it's that last funeral that's the real kicker." Sophia looked over at her husband, shaking her head. "Jimmy..." was all she said, her tone disapproving. It was something that John had heard often as a child. Peering out the window, he watched as it was starting to rain.
Watching the rain drops racing down the window. "They can't win them all, sport," James said with a laugh, almost amused by how disappointed his son was about the hockey game. "It's all about the game, kiddo. That's what games are about, winning and losing." Ten year old John looked over at his father, the sleeves of his jersey pushed up as he drove. The radio was on, though James had turned the volume down to talk to his son. "I know," John said, watching the windshield wipers swiping back and forth. It was late and well past his bedtime, the game having gone into overtime. Smiling a little, James looked from his youngest boy and then back to the road, trying his best to see. "Your mother's going to give me an earful when we get home... I hope she doesn't know that I broke the cookie jar yet..." John couldn't help but smile, remembering how his father had claimed that Eric had broken instead, just that afternoon. Looking back at John as he laughed, James had a smile on his face and a look in his eyes that he didn't quite understand. It was a look of fatherly pride.
"DAD!" Just ahead of them, car ran right through a stoplight. John readied himself for his dad to slam the brakes on, closing his eyes tight. Nothing. Opening his eyes again, the boy looked around. Everything had stopped. The rain had stopped splashing onto the car, frozen in the night air. No cars moved, not even theirs, and even the song on the radio had stopped. Blue eyes shifting to his father, James still had that look of pride on his face. "I'm so proud of you, John." Knitting his brows together, John had a look of confusion on his face. In the passenger seat, where there had been a ten year old boy sitting, there was now a twenty-eight year old man. "You're dead." was all John could manage to say. James smiled sadly. "That last funeral really was a kicker," he said with a nod. "You've come so far kid. You've really grown into a man, more of a man than I ever was."
John looked out the window at the frozen cars, his voice tight. "But I haven't done anything. I acted out, I ran away from my problems. How can you be proud of that?" His chest felt heavy and, trying to breathe evenly, he looked back to the father that he had lost. "I failed you." James laughed. "You could never fail me, John. You've been through so much... you may have started out running, but look at you now. You've accomplished something in your life and you've been given the chance to either stand up and do what needs to be done... or sit back and watch everything fall apart." John was silent, just staring at the face that he had seen so many times in such dreams. "Only you can decide where to go from here, son. Life isn't easy, but it's a road worth travelling, believe me."
John thought about this for a moment. "Do you ever miss it? Life, with us?" James smiled. "There's nothing to miss. I've been with you every day since this happened. You haven't gone a moment without me and I haven't gone a moment without you." John wiped at the moisture in his eyes. "You're a great man John... and no matter what, you'll always be my son." Both men looked ahead at the other car, both knowing full well what was coming. "Am I going to die?" John finally asked, almost afraid of what his answer was going to be.
"Yes... we all have to die eventually, but only you can decide when and where." John didn't quite know what to think of that answe, his brows coming together as he just stared at his dad. "You have a decision to make son, and I know you're scared... but if you don't take the leap, then who will?" Outside the car, the rain was very slowly starting to inch back down, as if in slow motion. "NO..." he said, panicking. He needed more time, he didn't want to go through this again. He needed more time with his dad. "DAD!"
James was entirely calm. "Relax," he said, grabbing his son's shoulder for a moment before setting it back on the steering wheel. "Some things are just meant to happen. You already know what you have to do, kiddo, and I'll be right there with you when you do it... but only you can decide where to go from here." The sound of static was starting to come through the radio and John swore he felt the car starting to move forward at a snail's pace. James was still staring at the car ahead, like he had somewhere to go. "My road ended here, yours didn't. You need to accept that." Looking back at him, he smiled once more at John. "I love you, son."
"DAD-" All at once, the world jumped back to life and he was ten years old again, rain pounding the earth and cars speeding forth. Lights flashed by and, the look of fatherly pride vanished from James's face as he whipped his head around to face forward. Slamming the brakes on did very little, the car still flying forward, brakes squealing followed by the sound of metal on metal. It was a hideous sound, one that made John jolt awake.
For a moment, the staff sergeant was confused, having no idea where he was. His heart was pounding and it took a moment for him to calm himself. "How long was I out?" He asked Charlie who was sitting there and sharpening his knife. "An hour or so. I didn't want to wake you." A few of the other guys were talking about home... about their mothers, wives and children. For a moment, John was silent, wondering if he would have been a good father, given the chance.
"What are you doing?!" Charlie stopped what he was doing, looking at John as if he were crazy. A few other guys looked at him as well. "If I'm going to die, it sure as hell isn't going to be in a trench of dirt, with my tail between my legs." John responded, making sure his guns were loaded. Following suit, the other men started to prepare as well, without so much as questioning him. "I want you to cover me." he said to Charlie, pausing for a moment. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and John figured it would be his last sunrise. This was something that he thought about regularly. "I want you to tell my mother that I love her. Give my brother, Eric, my tags and tell my brother, Andrew that I'm sorry and that he was a good father figure. And Elizabeth..." John stopped for a moment, strapping on his helmet. "Tell her she has two choices. She can either join a convent, or she can marry you. I want some of you to stay back to cover the rest of us." He said this last part for the rest of his men, nodding to another private to radio the others that were scattered about. Charlie looked startled. "STAFF SERGEANT-"
"Cover me," John said again, throwing his rifle up before he climbed out. He was the first one to go, a number of his men following behind. He'd never been quite as scared as he was in that moment, running forward and firing at everything that moved ahead of him. Bullets were whizzing by his head one grazing his arm. Still, he kept going, never having run so fast in his life. With sheer, brute force, John's company was able to push the lines back, despite being outnumbered two to one. Jumping over the body of a man that he had shot himself, John finally made it to the cover of the trees, where someone jumped out to meet him. Hitting him in the head with the butt of his rifle, John took him down, hitting him a few more times until he was sure that the guy wasn't getting back up... ever.
Hearing the sound of a familiar voice screaming, John looked back to see one of his own men, on the ground and clutching his leg. Without even a moment of hesitation, he ran back for him. "I'm gonna die! I don't wanna die. I wanna go home to my mom..." the guy, a few years younger than John himself, was crying. "I've got you," John said, pulling his arm around his own neck and pulling him up. "You'll be fine, damn it!" John half dragged the kid back to the cover of the trees, where two other guys came forward to relieve him of the extra weight, so that they could do what they could for the injured marine. The others were already pouring out of the trenches.
They were past the worst of it, but they weren't yet cleared. His back against a tree, he could hear jets flying overhead. "TAKE COVER!" John yelled, hearing the sound of explosives being dropped. Barely a moment later, there were explosions all around them. Help was on the way, but John wasn't going to leave without taking down as many of those bastards as possible. The time that followed was full of chaos and confusion. Men were wounded, but a hell of a lot more of the enemy soldiers fell at their hands. Help was waiting for them just ahead, past the trees. Their own jets could be seen above now. For a moment, as his company ran through the woods, he thought that they were all going to make it out alive, even the wounded.
"JOHN." Skidding to a stop, John looked back at Charles who had stopped completely. Faces draining of color, they both looked down to where Charlie's boot was, standing right upon a land mine. "NO..." John said, stepping forward. He had to do something, anything. Even as John was running toward him, he knew that he wasn't going to make it. John could see that the man was scared out of his wits, even as he stepped off of that land mine like the bravest son of a bitch in the world. "CHARLIE!" John's yell was drowned out by the sound of the explosion, the force of it blowing him back. When he landed on the ground and his body came to a halt, his ears were ringing, drowning out the sounds of war around him. The pain was unbearable. The hand of his uninjured arm grasped something, a pair of dog tags, and everything went black.
John woke with a jolt, his heart pounding and his entire body quivering. He waited in desperation for the feeling to pass, the feeling of still being back there... in the trench and amid the gunfire and explosions. He tried reminding himself that he wasn't, he was at home, in the apartment he now shared with Eric. Katerina was laying beside him... Kat, the mother of his unborn child, the same woman that he'd just spent an amazing night with. None of that helped though. If anything, it made it worse; he didn't want her to witness one of his breakdowns.
Not even knowing if his sudden waking had woken her in turn, John stumbled out of bed. He barely had control over his own body and had to catch himself on the door frame. If I'm going to die, I might as well. He could still smell the cigarette, even feel it in his hand and taste the nicotine. We'd all be dead already, if I were in charge. He couldn't breathe, stopping in the hallway to lean against the wall. He was panicking, close to hyperventilating.
It was too real: the flashes, the sounds of jets over head. If I'm going to die, it sure as hell isn't going to be in a trench of dirt, with my tail between my legs. "God no, no, no, no." Finally stumbling into the bathroom, he managed to knock a number of things off of the counter in his attempt to turn on the cold water. STAFF SERGEANT- Splashing the water on his face, he closed his eyes tightly. Cover me. "It's not real, it's not real," he tried telling himself, still gasping for air. His hands shook visibly, the water not helping, even as it dripped down his bare chest. The city's lights shone through the windows, like a giant nightlight, as always. I don't wanna die. Nothing was helping.
Backing away from the sink, his back hit the wall, but all he felt behind him was the trunk of a tree, the sound of screaming, wounded men filling his ears. He could smell the explosives and the burning flesh. TAKE COVER! Gripping the back of his head, John tried to focus. It was all too much, it was overwhelming. He felt like he was going to die, he wanted to die if it meant getting away from such misery. JOHN. Hyperventilating, he gripped his hair, moisture flowing from his eyes, though his crying was completely soundless. The pain of mostly healed injuries returned to him and his panicking only worsened. It wasn't going to stop, it was never going to stop. "NO, NO, NO, NO..." He could still see the look in Charlie's eyes.
Had the commander still been there, the man surely would have known what to do, more so than John. At least he had made it out alive though, providing that he would survive his injuries. It was just three days prior that John had carried the commander himself to the helicopter. The entire platoon had known that, the moment the commander had lost consciousness, they were under Staff Sergeant John Rhodes' authority. Given the situation, it had scared John shitless, though he certainly didn't let that show. Suddenly, the lives of his brothers at arms were all in his hands. And what had he done with that knowledge? He got them trapped. The staff sergeant could deal with endangering his own life, but his men?
Taking a long drag of the cigarette, John remembered just how much he had hated the taste. "My old man would have killed me if he ever saw me smoking," he said, flicking the ashes off the end. "I guess it's a good thing he's not here then. Without you, that asshole would be in charge," Harrison said, nodding toward Charlie. "We'd all be dead already, if I were in charge," Charlie responded with a nod, grinding out his cigarette and flicking it away. John just smiled the slightest, leaning his head back. Night had fallen and he knew that, all around him, others among his company were starting to doze, however reluctant they may have been to do so. Each of them was waiting on his command. "Can I trust you enough to let me close my eyes for a few minutes?" John looked to his best friend, waiting for his response. After receiving a short nod, the staff sergeant handed him his half-smoked cigarette.
John was eight years old again, sitting in the back of his father's car and looking out the window. "Hey dad?" John asked, sitting there in his little black suit and tie. His brothers argued in the back seat and Elizabeth, who was just a baby, slept soundly in her car seat. John's mother sat, staring out the window, stroking her husband's hand that she held between them, even as he drove. The past few days had been rough, especially on his father. John had never lost someone before and the idea of going to his grandfather's funeral... well, it scared him. "Yeah sport?" his dad asked, looking back at him through the rear view mirror. "Do we have to go?" John didn't even have to tell his dad how scared he was, he just knew. "I know it's hard, John. But listen kid... You don't need to be afraid of death. You're going to go to a lot of funerals in your life time." He smiled the slightest bit, despite his grief. "But it's that last funeral that's the real kicker." Sophia looked over at her husband, shaking her head. "Jimmy..." was all she said, her tone disapproving. It was something that John had heard often as a child. Peering out the window, he watched as it was starting to rain.
Watching the rain drops racing down the window. "They can't win them all, sport," James said with a laugh, almost amused by how disappointed his son was about the hockey game. "It's all about the game, kiddo. That's what games are about, winning and losing." Ten year old John looked over at his father, the sleeves of his jersey pushed up as he drove. The radio was on, though James had turned the volume down to talk to his son. "I know," John said, watching the windshield wipers swiping back and forth. It was late and well past his bedtime, the game having gone into overtime. Smiling a little, James looked from his youngest boy and then back to the road, trying his best to see. "Your mother's going to give me an earful when we get home... I hope she doesn't know that I broke the cookie jar yet..." John couldn't help but smile, remembering how his father had claimed that Eric had broken instead, just that afternoon. Looking back at John as he laughed, James had a smile on his face and a look in his eyes that he didn't quite understand. It was a look of fatherly pride.
"DAD!" Just ahead of them, car ran right through a stoplight. John readied himself for his dad to slam the brakes on, closing his eyes tight. Nothing. Opening his eyes again, the boy looked around. Everything had stopped. The rain had stopped splashing onto the car, frozen in the night air. No cars moved, not even theirs, and even the song on the radio had stopped. Blue eyes shifting to his father, James still had that look of pride on his face. "I'm so proud of you, John." Knitting his brows together, John had a look of confusion on his face. In the passenger seat, where there had been a ten year old boy sitting, there was now a twenty-eight year old man. "You're dead." was all John could manage to say. James smiled sadly. "That last funeral really was a kicker," he said with a nod. "You've come so far kid. You've really grown into a man, more of a man than I ever was."
John looked out the window at the frozen cars, his voice tight. "But I haven't done anything. I acted out, I ran away from my problems. How can you be proud of that?" His chest felt heavy and, trying to breathe evenly, he looked back to the father that he had lost. "I failed you." James laughed. "You could never fail me, John. You've been through so much... you may have started out running, but look at you now. You've accomplished something in your life and you've been given the chance to either stand up and do what needs to be done... or sit back and watch everything fall apart." John was silent, just staring at the face that he had seen so many times in such dreams. "Only you can decide where to go from here, son. Life isn't easy, but it's a road worth travelling, believe me."
John thought about this for a moment. "Do you ever miss it? Life, with us?" James smiled. "There's nothing to miss. I've been with you every day since this happened. You haven't gone a moment without me and I haven't gone a moment without you." John wiped at the moisture in his eyes. "You're a great man John... and no matter what, you'll always be my son." Both men looked ahead at the other car, both knowing full well what was coming. "Am I going to die?" John finally asked, almost afraid of what his answer was going to be.
"Yes... we all have to die eventually, but only you can decide when and where." John didn't quite know what to think of that answe, his brows coming together as he just stared at his dad. "You have a decision to make son, and I know you're scared... but if you don't take the leap, then who will?" Outside the car, the rain was very slowly starting to inch back down, as if in slow motion. "NO..." he said, panicking. He needed more time, he didn't want to go through this again. He needed more time with his dad. "DAD!"
James was entirely calm. "Relax," he said, grabbing his son's shoulder for a moment before setting it back on the steering wheel. "Some things are just meant to happen. You already know what you have to do, kiddo, and I'll be right there with you when you do it... but only you can decide where to go from here." The sound of static was starting to come through the radio and John swore he felt the car starting to move forward at a snail's pace. James was still staring at the car ahead, like he had somewhere to go. "My road ended here, yours didn't. You need to accept that." Looking back at him, he smiled once more at John. "I love you, son."
"DAD-" All at once, the world jumped back to life and he was ten years old again, rain pounding the earth and cars speeding forth. Lights flashed by and, the look of fatherly pride vanished from James's face as he whipped his head around to face forward. Slamming the brakes on did very little, the car still flying forward, brakes squealing followed by the sound of metal on metal. It was a hideous sound, one that made John jolt awake.
For a moment, the staff sergeant was confused, having no idea where he was. His heart was pounding and it took a moment for him to calm himself. "How long was I out?" He asked Charlie who was sitting there and sharpening his knife. "An hour or so. I didn't want to wake you." A few of the other guys were talking about home... about their mothers, wives and children. For a moment, John was silent, wondering if he would have been a good father, given the chance.
"What are you doing?!" Charlie stopped what he was doing, looking at John as if he were crazy. A few other guys looked at him as well. "If I'm going to die, it sure as hell isn't going to be in a trench of dirt, with my tail between my legs." John responded, making sure his guns were loaded. Following suit, the other men started to prepare as well, without so much as questioning him. "I want you to cover me." he said to Charlie, pausing for a moment. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and John figured it would be his last sunrise. This was something that he thought about regularly. "I want you to tell my mother that I love her. Give my brother, Eric, my tags and tell my brother, Andrew that I'm sorry and that he was a good father figure. And Elizabeth..." John stopped for a moment, strapping on his helmet. "Tell her she has two choices. She can either join a convent, or she can marry you. I want some of you to stay back to cover the rest of us." He said this last part for the rest of his men, nodding to another private to radio the others that were scattered about. Charlie looked startled. "STAFF SERGEANT-"
"Cover me," John said again, throwing his rifle up before he climbed out. He was the first one to go, a number of his men following behind. He'd never been quite as scared as he was in that moment, running forward and firing at everything that moved ahead of him. Bullets were whizzing by his head one grazing his arm. Still, he kept going, never having run so fast in his life. With sheer, brute force, John's company was able to push the lines back, despite being outnumbered two to one. Jumping over the body of a man that he had shot himself, John finally made it to the cover of the trees, where someone jumped out to meet him. Hitting him in the head with the butt of his rifle, John took him down, hitting him a few more times until he was sure that the guy wasn't getting back up... ever.
Hearing the sound of a familiar voice screaming, John looked back to see one of his own men, on the ground and clutching his leg. Without even a moment of hesitation, he ran back for him. "I'm gonna die! I don't wanna die. I wanna go home to my mom..." the guy, a few years younger than John himself, was crying. "I've got you," John said, pulling his arm around his own neck and pulling him up. "You'll be fine, damn it!" John half dragged the kid back to the cover of the trees, where two other guys came forward to relieve him of the extra weight, so that they could do what they could for the injured marine. The others were already pouring out of the trenches.
They were past the worst of it, but they weren't yet cleared. His back against a tree, he could hear jets flying overhead. "TAKE COVER!" John yelled, hearing the sound of explosives being dropped. Barely a moment later, there were explosions all around them. Help was on the way, but John wasn't going to leave without taking down as many of those bastards as possible. The time that followed was full of chaos and confusion. Men were wounded, but a hell of a lot more of the enemy soldiers fell at their hands. Help was waiting for them just ahead, past the trees. Their own jets could be seen above now. For a moment, as his company ran through the woods, he thought that they were all going to make it out alive, even the wounded.
"JOHN." Skidding to a stop, John looked back at Charles who had stopped completely. Faces draining of color, they both looked down to where Charlie's boot was, standing right upon a land mine. "NO..." John said, stepping forward. He had to do something, anything. Even as John was running toward him, he knew that he wasn't going to make it. John could see that the man was scared out of his wits, even as he stepped off of that land mine like the bravest son of a bitch in the world. "CHARLIE!" John's yell was drowned out by the sound of the explosion, the force of it blowing him back. When he landed on the ground and his body came to a halt, his ears were ringing, drowning out the sounds of war around him. The pain was unbearable. The hand of his uninjured arm grasped something, a pair of dog tags, and everything went black.
John woke with a jolt, his heart pounding and his entire body quivering. He waited in desperation for the feeling to pass, the feeling of still being back there... in the trench and amid the gunfire and explosions. He tried reminding himself that he wasn't, he was at home, in the apartment he now shared with Eric. Katerina was laying beside him... Kat, the mother of his unborn child, the same woman that he'd just spent an amazing night with. None of that helped though. If anything, it made it worse; he didn't want her to witness one of his breakdowns.
Not even knowing if his sudden waking had woken her in turn, John stumbled out of bed. He barely had control over his own body and had to catch himself on the door frame. If I'm going to die, I might as well. He could still smell the cigarette, even feel it in his hand and taste the nicotine. We'd all be dead already, if I were in charge. He couldn't breathe, stopping in the hallway to lean against the wall. He was panicking, close to hyperventilating.
It was too real: the flashes, the sounds of jets over head. If I'm going to die, it sure as hell isn't going to be in a trench of dirt, with my tail between my legs. "God no, no, no, no." Finally stumbling into the bathroom, he managed to knock a number of things off of the counter in his attempt to turn on the cold water. STAFF SERGEANT- Splashing the water on his face, he closed his eyes tightly. Cover me. "It's not real, it's not real," he tried telling himself, still gasping for air. His hands shook visibly, the water not helping, even as it dripped down his bare chest. The city's lights shone through the windows, like a giant nightlight, as always. I don't wanna die. Nothing was helping.
Backing away from the sink, his back hit the wall, but all he felt behind him was the trunk of a tree, the sound of screaming, wounded men filling his ears. He could smell the explosives and the burning flesh. TAKE COVER! Gripping the back of his head, John tried to focus. It was all too much, it was overwhelming. He felt like he was going to die, he wanted to die if it meant getting away from such misery. JOHN. Hyperventilating, he gripped his hair, moisture flowing from his eyes, though his crying was completely soundless. The pain of mostly healed injuries returned to him and his panicking only worsened. It wasn't going to stop, it was never going to stop. "NO, NO, NO, NO..." He could still see the look in Charlie's eyes.
2893 WORDS FOR KATERINA A. MONTGOMERY | HURRICANE LYRICS BY 30 SECONDS TO MARS | TEMPLATE BY MERCY
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