The water all around the small ship writhed as more projectiles slammed into the sea, determined to sink the small boats. Some had already succeeded. Fires bloomed in the foggy distance. Lucian could faintly hear the screams of those aboard the now-sinking ships. Cold sweat slid down his face.
"Stay low!" the man in front screamed over the exploding sea. "Jamerson!"
Someone at the back of the ship, holding a big pole alongside his rifle, responded.
"Yes, sir?"
"Come up front with the Bangalore. I want you up the beach as fast as possible!"
"Yes, sir!"
A figure behind Lucian began pushing toward the front. As he passed Lucian, his forehead bent inward, red painting the side of Lucian''s face.
Another man, wearing an armband marked with a red cross on white, scrambled forward to help, but Jamerson was dead before he hit the floor. Blood pooled beneath the corpse''s head, stretching toward the crouched crew.
Sound faded from Lucian''s ears as his vision locked on the lifeless body. Everything else blurred. His hands began to tremble.
It wasn''t like he hadn''t seen someone die before; he had. People in the community service factories worked quickly, desperate to meet the daily quota and get back to their actual jobs, but rushing often led to mistakes.
In the two years since he''d become eligible for shift selection, he had seen four people get caught in heavy machinery—one of them a close friend. It was always a mess. The factory would shut down, shifts logged and postponed, and cleanup crews would arrive to gather what was left of the unlucky worker.
A workplace accident was one thing. But this... the cold, uncaring butchery was something completely foreign to him.
A cold fear crept into him. He realized he had no idea where he was—or, for that matter, when. Who was shooting at him? Why? None of this made sense. The hallucination was supposed to come from his subconscious, so why was he here?
He had never taken any history classes, nor had he ever been interested in the subject. This wasn''t fair. It was bad enough being a pillar—and a particularly strong one, from what he could tell—but...
Lucian felt like an idiot. That doctor—if he even was a doctor—had lied to him.
Lucian touched the cut on his cheek.
Completely fabricated, my ass, he thought. This was probably a test to see how well he could hold up under pressure—or something just as annoying.
A hand gripped his shoulder, and sound rushed back, slamming into his eardrums. Lucian looked up into a tanned face—the man with the red cross armband.
"Vitara, you alright? Did you hear the Captain?"
"Y-yeah, I''m fine. What did he say?"
"Grab the Bangalore and stay put."
Lucian nodded, shifting over to where Jamerson''s body lay. He wrenched the Bangalore out from under him, the action feeling heavier than it should.
It struck him then that the man with the cross had called him by his last name instead of his first which he found that a bit odd.
At the front, the Captain caught Lucian''s eye and nodded.
"When we hit the beach, find me at the beachhead!" The Captain yelled to the rest of the ship, his voice cutting through the explosions and the sharp patter of bullets bouncing off the hull.
"We''re nearly there! Prepare yourselves! As soon as the ramp drops, get up the beach!" he commanded, gripping his rifle tightly.
"If you dig in anywhere else except the beachhead, you will die! Do not bunch up!"
Lucian looked around. Some of the men were praying. Others looked like they might be sick. A few were. But all of them were terrified.
The screams from the beach were audible now—piercing cries of pain, frantic shouts of orders, and guttural wails of fear. Lucian braced himself for the inevitable. He could do this. He just had to meet the Captain at the beachhead. It couldn''t be too hard.
If this really is a test, he thought, they wouldn''t let me die before I had a chance to prove myself, right? Dying or not dying here is basically a lottery. That thought did not give him comfort, especially at the memory of what happened to Jamerson.
Lucian took a deep breath. He would be fine. He had nothing to worry about. All he needed to do was figure out how the Bangalore worked, and then—
The ramp dropped.
Most of the first two rows of men were turned to red mist as bullets rained into the metal coffin.
Lucian had just enough time to hurl himself over the edge of the boat, the feel of bullets streaking past him as he dove. The frigid water shocked his system; he instinctively tried to gasp for air, but salty water invaded his lungs. Lucian''s eyes opened wide, and he instantly felt a sharp burning sensation.
He kicked frantically toward the surface, but his equipment dragged him down. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision as he weakly clawed at the murky, red-streaked water. He choked on the foul-tasting water. He had no more strength left. He tried to haul himself towards land, but it was useless.
Suddenly, a strong hand plunged into the water and hauled him upward. It was the Captain.
Lucian gasped and sputtered, coughing violently as sweet, life-giving air finally reached his lungs.
"The beachhead! Move!"
The Captain hauled Lucian along as bullets pinged off the ship behind them and tore into the sand at their feet. Gasping for breath, Lucian ran with the Captain and a few other men from the ship, heading inland from the water.
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Almost everyone who had tried to run out the front of the ship was dead. Lucian had no idea how the Captain had survived.
Ahead, strange, large, steel, three-pronged structures dotted the sand—just big enough for two or three men to huddle behind for cover. Not daring to slow down in the open, Lucian braced himself for the sharp sting of his old burn as he slammed into one of the metal structures. To his surprise, the only pain he felt was from ramming into the solid steel. A second later, another man rammed into the metal structure, the man with the cross armband.
The Captain and another man clustered behind another metal structure, about five feet to Lucian''s right. Bullets zipped past as a few more men from their boat dropped, trying to reach other spiked barricades.
Of the roughly thirty men who had been alive and well on the boat just two minutes ago, only about ten were still moving.
Still sucking air, Lucian glanced back. Other landing crafts were making landfall behind them, while some had already delivered their payloads.
As the ramps of the landing crafts dropped, bullets screamed from small concrete boxes perched above the beachhead. The boxes had narrow slits, about chest high. Fire bloomed out from those slits. Bodies fell and blood pooled, mixing with the salty sea.
Most soldiers leapt over the sides of the crafts after witnessing the front rows being slaughtered. More didn''t. About half the landing force barely made it to the beach.
Lucian tried to crane his neck to get a better look at the concrete structures, but the moment he peeked out from behind one of the spikes, a bullet ricocheted off his helmet. The impact sending him reeling.
Lucian landed on his back in a daze, his helmet rolling. The man with the red cross grabbed him and pulled him back into the shadow of their salvation almost as soon as he hit the ground.
The medic—Lucian guessed that''s what he was—gripped Lucian''s head, scanning for blood.
"You''re alright. You''re alright," the man said, his tone steady, trying to calm Lucian''s panic.
Somehow, Lucian hadn''t let go of his rifle or the Bangalore.
"Th-thank you," Lucian managed, finally catching his breath.
The medic snatched up Lucian''s helmet and handed it back. As he put it on—now with a dent marring the front—Lucian glanced toward the Captain. He wasn''t there.
The Captain and two other men were about fifty feet up the beach, taking refuge in a small crater. The Captain glanced back and gestured hurriedly for Lucian to follow.
Lucian took a deep breath. It didn''t matter if this was really his subconscious or a strange test he was being subjected to. The unfairness of his situation bit deep as he exhaled and took another breath.
If this is a test, he thought, if I''m being watched, I should do my best to pass so I can get the hell out of here.
There was no reason to subject himself to this odd form of torture, bad scores be damned.
The medic dug around in his pack and pulled out four silver cylindrical canisters, each with a pin sticking out of the top.
"These are smoke grenades," the medic explained, handing two to Lucian. "I managed to swipe some from one of the other companies. On the count of three, throw both of them as fast as you can—the first in between us and the Captain, the second as far as you can. Then wait ten seconds for the smoke to cover us."
Lucian nodded and readied the grenades.
"One... Two... Three."
Lucian and the medic pulled the pins and tossed the first two grenades between them and the Captain, then threw the second volley about fifty feet in front of the hole where the Captain was taking refuge.
The smoke sprayed from the canisters, immediately enveloping its close surroundings.
"One... Two... Three..."
The Captain and the other man were obscured as the cloud grew.
"Four... Five... Six..."
The gray cloud spread, covering nearby troops.
"Seven... Eight... Nine..."
The gunners in the closest concrete kill box swiveled their guns and fired blindly into the fog.
"Ten."
Lucian and the medic sprang out from behind their cover and sprinted for all they were worth toward the Captain as bullets parted the smoke around them.
Lucian lost sight of the medic as he ran. He felt a tug on his left shoulder but didn''t pay it much mind. He ran until the ground beneath his foot disappeared. Weather it was a crator from one of those whistling projectiles Lucian didn''t know, but for that moment that hole was the only thing that prevented him from dying instantly.
Lucian let go of the bangalore to try and catch himself. Halfway into bringing his right hand around to cushion the fall, he heard a faint ting.
Heat exploded behind him, engulfing his right side and throwing him sideways.
Everything hurt. His whole right side felt like it was on fire, and for some reason, his right eye wouldn''t open. He opened his left eye without trouble and sat up, trying to get his bearings.
It was only then that he registered that he was no longer standing. The smoke was dissipating, more so around him, and the people who had used it for cover were being mowed down.
Lucian paid no mind to that. He looked toward the beachhead and spotted the Captain.
It wasn''t until he lifted his right hand to wave to him that he realized—his hand was missing. A mangled, fleshy stump was all that remained. Huh… That''s weird; I could''ve sworn... Lucian glanced around. Well, I don''t see it anywhere.
He touched what was left of his right eye and frowned. His one working hand came away bloody, small red clumps sticking to the tips of his fingers.
He looked around again, a deep sense of worry creeping in.
The Bangalore... Where is it? It was entrusted to him; he had to bring it to the Captain. He had said he would.
Hands were hauling him up and pulling him backward. Lucian tried to break free. They didn''t understand; the Bangalore was needed for... For... What did the metal pipe do, anyway? He smirked at the thought of the Captain battering away bullets with the metal sword, deflecting them back at the concrete structures.
Lucian winced as he was dragged into a hole in the ground. He turned to see three men with white armbands treating injured soldiers.
"Are they uhhh... uhhh... okay?" Lucian slurred. For some reason, Lucian was having trouble speaking.
One of the men looked up and rushed over to help the other man drag Lucian.
"Christ! How is he alive?!" The man who rushed over asked hurriedly. "Here, set him down."
"Hell if I know," a familiar voice said. Lucian looked up at the medic who had given him the smoke grenade.
"I... I lost the sword. Thank you for... for the..." Lucian couldn''t finish his sentence. He was having trouble doing much of anything right now.
"Relax, Relax. Just take deep breaths; you''ll be alright." Two strange-looking men were hovering over him, pressing white cloth on his right stump, the right side of his head, and his left shoulder.
"His side!" One of the men hurriedly pulled a knife and started to cut what was left of his coat off. A piece of Lucian fell away with the cloth. The man gagged, and Lucian''s vision faded.
Thats when the real pain set in. Only Lucian didn''t have the energy to scream like he so desperately wanted to.
The medics tried their best, but it was all in vain. The blood would not stop.
"Hes gone." A voice said. "Theirs no chance. Go help the others."
Lucian could feel life leave him. He tried to cling to consciousness, but it felt like trying to stop a river by grabbing it.
Another voice, Lucian didn''t recognise it, wispered into his ear, but at the same time came from all around. It echoed, as they were no longer on the beach.
"Thats not really how I expected that to go. You know I really thought you''d at least be able to make it to the beachhead."
Lucian wanted to talk; he did, but he still felt like he was in pieces. It was enough trouble trying to focus on the words of the strange man. He thought it was a man. Lucian could barely make out a heavily shadowed figure sitting on... something a little to his left.
A ruffle of cloth echoed from that direction as the figure shifted forward to peer down at Lucian, Two white orbs burning into his bleary eyes.
"Anyway, I''ll give you another shot, as a courtesy, you could say. Please try and actually shoot back at the people trying to kill you." Lucian thought he heard a tinge of amusement in the strange man''s voice.
Lucian jolted up in his blanket. Familiar far-off whistles pierced the air, growing louder as the projectiles descended, then an explosion, sounding and feeling diffrent then the ones from the beach but still recognisable, rocked the small wooden room he was in.
Cold sweat began to roll down Lucian''s cheek. He knew that sound. But he wasn''t on the beach, or—judging by the smell in the air—nowhere near it. Rot permeated the air like a cheap cologne. A thick fog lay just beyond the doorframe, a veil to the bloodshead taking place outside. Gunshots rang both close and far.
He Shivered.
He was on another battlefield. The test continued.