What If Tales: Darkness Falls
Posted By: Jin1<firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: 12 October 2007, 2:06 am
Robertson remembered when they were only fighting the Germans; it was easy to kill a man when he thought of the conflict he was facing now. Remembering that they didn't have the ability to burn you, fire shards of pink mist that exploded on contact nor had grenades that stuck to your clothing.
They had nothing. Yet these bastards had it all, all the weaponry, all the soldiers, and all the horrors that you could demoralize an enemy army.
Robertson shook his head sadly. The way he viewed it, they didn't stand a chance in hell, they had better luck with the four horsemen of the apocalypse.
"Robertson, fire your weapon." The voice sounded familiar, he opened his eyes slowly, coming back to the world before him. A M1 cradled in his arms, a bandolier of grenades strapped around his waste. He wished he had never come back, wished that his memories would sustain him instead of this war he now faced.
He hoisted himself up from the foxhole, saw the hundreds, the thousands, and his eyes widened, lit by the glow of millions blue pulses lancing from the slopes of the gentle hill on the countryside of Caen. The city was behind them and it was in flames, light licking the sky above, burning harshly.
A few hours ago they had heard that the 761st Tank Battalion had relieved some unit further to the South; maybe they would get some relief themselves?
Not a chance in hell.
Robertson knew, the whole unit knew that the brass wouldn't commit a military unit this Caen unless they were under serious threat of being overrun. A situation that was of course element right now as they huddled in their four foot deep foxholes waiting for their deaths.
He had watched this war from a front row seat and everything seemed to be getting better. Until now. Until that moment when he saw that there were more creatures coming up than that were falling down.
He pulled the trigger, the rifle bucked and it impacted a small bipedal creature in the center of what could've been its chest and it tumbled backward. A voice next to him yelled at him. "That's the way, Private. Take these bastards down-"He saw the green flash, the almost muted yelp and the collapse of a body on the ground.
His eyes gazed down at the smoldering body that was void of a face and new that was his friend, but he could pay no mind now. The enemy was so close, yet so far. He kneeled down and grabbed the Thompson that was by his down comrade's side. It felt like pure lead in his hands but he was able to check it, and make sure it was loaded.
It didn't have the range of the Garand but it had the rounds necessary to tear through their ranks with-
It towered above him, gray furred skin, eyes that burned crimson with anger. A fierce look that reminded him of a demonic version of King Kong. It was ironic since it was his favorite film. And heard men in the foxholes next to him shout, yell. "Baby Kong! Move."
It held in his hands was a large staff on the end a hard knob with the other end sharp.
He turned as it raised the "hammer" above its head, the ground shook as it hit where he last stood. He was flung through the air, sound hollowed and his breathing slowed. Roberson rolled quietly to the rest in the cold dew grass. His eyes gazing east as the sun rose above hills, the whines of the enemy weapons seemed to fade, and his pain along with it. His eyes began to close, the world around him became a blur, but he still reached out, reached for that Thompson in the grass next to him.
Pulling it in. His strength. Without it, his weakness.
The feet approached him, each step an eternity, each rising and falling of his chest the pain. Pressing it against his shoulder he fired, the recoil made ever bone in his body ache, feel like they were on fire but he continued to fire until not one round remained in the gun.
The creature kept coming; he saw the crimson blood flow freely from its fur. The hammer in one hand and something almost like an arrogant grin.
It stopped before Robertson, looked down in almost a taunting manner. It took no pity; it didn't hesitate as it hoisted its hammer above its head, and began to bring it down onto his defenseless foe.
Robertson felt nothing.
He didn't even know if he was dead or alive as his blue eyes began to close.