Who: Cedron, Maryna What: Trenches before reinforcements arrive. When: Mid-May, 2511 Where: Serenity Valley, Hera Rating: R for gore Status: Ongoing
Mud stuck his fingers to his gun, freezing them under the glare of a cold moon. Seventeen hours of constant fighting and it was a miracle any of them were still moving. A miracle, that was to say, if one counted the constant fear and the strained bodies trying to push the line just a little further as fortunate. They were tired and demoralized, nursing wounds and panic like a well-loved sweetheart, but they had no other choice. Command had ruled they were to hold their ground until reinforcements arrived. A noble goal, to be sure, but hardly realistic.
Cedron shouldered his gun, helping a fallen comrade to his back. A nasty hole separated his skull in two half-moons, like a piece of soft fruit felled by a rock. His stomach twisted painfully and for a moment, he was glad at the scarcity of their rations. There was nothing to heave. He crawled into the trench, around the body, and picked up what rounds had been left unused. Munitions were plentiful, if one could afford to go back and forth--something the bastards on the other side didn't seem likely to allow.
A volley of fire flew by his head and he ducked, listening to the screams of the less fortunate. Basic training covered this, but in the heat of battle there was many a man who forgot his own name, let alone a rushed course on a Central Planet where joining the armed forces was just a fun way to say fuck you to mom and dad. Whatever the reason, they were here now and survival depended on keeping a clear head. Every breath was on borrowed time anyway.
He eyed the length of the trench on either side, trying to gauge where the next bomb might fall. He picked the right hand, on a whim, crawling with his head down and the gun in his hands while the sound of battle intensified above. Right meant closer to the machine guns and therefore closer to a potential target, but his orders demanded they hold their ground. Losing firepower could tilt the balance in favor of the Browncoats and he couldn't allow that.
Something thin and black fell into the trench, bouncing off his shoulder to fall to the mud. Cedron didn't wait to see it to know what it was. With gear dragging him down, he pushed himself up, crawling, running over wet ground until he had rounded the corner. The explosion shook the wall of dirt behind him as his shoulder pressed into someone else's.
"Grenade," he surmised, clutching his gun. As if it hadn't been obvious.