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Letters of a Corpsman: Voi
Posted By: (ENS) Rabid_Gallagher<rabid_masterchief@hotmail.com>
Date: 29 January 2009, 2:59 am

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Letter Posted in Veterans of Foreign Wars Magazine

      Editor’s Column:

Hey, all, and welcome to another edition of our monthly magazine. Unfortunately, the stories on intra Sanghelli and Human relations couldn’t be published yet because, quite frankly, the UNSC wanted to keep those dealings under top secret clearance. Instead, we decided to show you readers another letter from Gunnery Sergeant Michelle Farrior, a Marine serving for most of the war near or on the frontlines.

We received this letter from her faithful husband, Colonel Randall Farrior, a retired Marine who fought in the Great Conflict with Michelle. The last letter was popular, so we decided to make it a continued series until Randall refuses to give us more letters, or when he runs out.

This letter details her actions near Voi, when the Covenant forces attacked a second time. What happens in there is horror only a few could know of outside of war veterans.

I hope you enjoy it. I did.

John Mattison
UNSCMC, Retired

      My Love;

I’m in Voi now, serving with Lieutenant Viljálmar and the men here who were stationed here when the Covenant attacked again. I was part of a convoy that was taking people outside of the city to a refugee camp. My Warthog, with the Lieutenant on it, was hit by a Banshee.

I was afraid. My body flew into the air, slamming against the hard, desert ground with force, my body crumpling with the blow. I lost breathe, trying to regain it as my vision became blacker, and blacker. All I could hear was a loud ringing, with more Banshees flying around the convoy, with rockets flying into the air and slamming into them. They exploded, a sheer brilliance of blue and white and orange, a dead Elite or Brute pilot would tumble occasionally, smacking into the ground. It was horrifying to hear those things scream when they were falling, coupled with the sounds of death coming from everywhere.

I mean everywhere, Randy. All around me was screams for help, or screams of anger, or screams of confusion. I was trying to stand, with plasma and bullets flying around the convoy, trying to avoid the plasma fire as the Banshees followed them. The convoy moved on without us, and we were stuck by ourselves now. My uniform was dusty, covered with sand, as I tried to walk. My legs were in pain, obviously from the explosion, but I continued on; I had a duty for these men and women, and I could not shake that.

The actual combat was now moving away, so it gave me time to get to Gautier. He was on the ground, crying, holding his leg.

It reminded me of that depressive, grey world with the wounded soldier who shot himself. At first.

I saw how he would shun his head away from the dead boy next to him, his face gaped and terrified. My mind clicked as he moved over to him and took a look at his leg; He couldn’t be crying about that.

I knew Lieutenant Gautier Viljálmar well enough to pick up on his mannerisms. He was tough, but fair; he was stern, but never going beyond a point. He was one of the few men who knew very well how to lead men into combat, and how to get them out safely. He was the commanding officer of Alpha Company, the ones who were leading the convoy after Captain Coogan was vaporized.

And I never saw him cry over a little boy.

He looked about…Nine? Ten sounds better to me, or it did, at least. Fact of the matter was, he died. And it looked like the Icelandic Lieutenant thought it was his fault. I could see it in his eyes, especially when I was going to wrap his leg. The boy was lifeless, like a ragdoll; his face looked like he saw a terrible, horrifying thing, and his eyes were scared. There's nothing I could do for him (He looked like he departed from this galaxy when he was hit by the Banshee), so I moved to Gauntier.

He became Jacob for a second, and all I saw was black.

He grabbed me by the throat, scaring me. I was worried he was on the verge of Feral Combat Syndrome, but I saw the look in his eyes, his grip lessening.

“Save. My. Men.” He spoke, quietly; I had to strain my ears to hear his words.

He was wounded, yes, but I have never seen that much of a heart torn asunder before in my entire career of a Corpsman. He was full of emotion in this one move, his hand around my neck, my face in surprise by this.

I know now that it was a very good thing that I didn’t report him to Command about that.

All day, before Gardner and the rest of the 3rd Medical Wing could arrive, I was helping people and trying to save them. Gautier and two other men were responsible for our safety, but you could easily tell they took their job seriously. When I was working on a patient, he was standing by, his leg wrapped, his Battle Rifle in his hand and looking for any sort of enemy to pop up.

As if it was a silent apology.

But the matter of fact stood; I’d have to report that Lieutenant Viljálmar suffered some sort of mental depressive attack that’s unfit for combat duty. This wasn’t the first time he was suffering from this; He lost half of his platoon two days prior to this convoy attack.

But I’m getting there too, Randy. Especially after these kinds of attacks.

I’ve lost it, Randy. I’ve lost my soul. I’ve lost whatever I had left of my humanity after seeing Lieutenant Viljálmar’s breakdown on the battlefield. But, I think I truly lost whatever I had left trying to protect his mental health by separating himself from his men. I’m throwing him away from E2-BAG like a cosmic castaway.

Am I evil, Randy? Am I truly that evil to do that to a man like Gauiter? Do I honestly have no soul left? I must of left it on the battlefield with Sergeant Halloway, whispering away his soul in the only honest and careful way, thinking of his daughter. I must be evil, Randy.

I need to hear what’s going on, on your end. Please write back, Randy. I can’t take much more of this combat without you.

Also; Your package was received. You need to write more, love. You have such a beautiful way of conveying thoughts into real, corporal things that I could touch. I can almost smell your husky scent, see the beautiful glow in your eyes, and just imagine you're there with me, Randy. But I read your letter.

I'm happy to know to know that you love me still, as I do.

I love you, Randy.