Policing a Warzone
Posted By: Wolverfrog<email@example.com>
Date: 25 October 2009, 1:51 am
A small short that I may work into a series, in the future.
Policing a War Zone.
Sergeant Peter Colley had never been one to wallow in self pity. He was one of those men who had a get-up-and-go attitude to life; until today that is. Since the age of six, he'd had the goal of becoming a police officer. Unlike most of his classmates however, who quickly abandoned such childish fantasies and instead entertained greater aspirations, Peter had gone through with his dream.
His parents hadn't been pleased at all with his decision. Typical hippy rednecks, practically Insurrectionists in all but paperwork, George and Maria Colley had opposed every move he made to follow through with his goal. Peter had ignored them. And for good reasons too. At the tender age of 12, Peter's parents were arrested for aiding an Insurrection bombing attack. They'd been given life in State prison. Peter hadn't cared one bit.
He'd gone to live with his estranged Uncle Tom, Peter's father's elder brother by four years. He'd never met him before, and so didn't know what to expect. All Peter knew about him was that he was single, and that his parent's hadn't gotten along with him. As it turned out, Thomas Colley was an ex-marine, and for the first time in his life, Peter had someone who supported his dreams of joining the force.
Uncle Tom had been there when Peter graduated the Academy and got his uniform. He'd been there with a great smile on his face, a burly arm wrapped around his only nephew. Peter had been devastated when his Uncle had died of Lung Cancer less than a year after graduation. A lifelong habit of smoking cigar's did that to a man.
Peter had taken up heavy drinking. Even on duty. His friends in the force feigned a blind eye, even though they knew that according to Coral law, they should have arrested their friend, and thrown him into rehab. One day, they'd decided enough was enough, and ambushed Peter as he stumbled out of a sleazy bar two hours past midnight, the stench of sex still heavy around his person. They'd dragged him to one of their apartments, and had set him down. An intervention.
Peter had heard the tales; friends who set a wayward soul down before drilling into him and telling him what a piece of god damn shit he was. The young officer had never thought it would happen to him. Peter had cried, cursed, screamed. He smashed his one of his friend's chair against the wall in anger. The group hadn't minded, they'd read that an alcoholic had to hit rock bottom before being able to climb back up to the top.
After a miserable two hours, Peter had been placed in the back seat of a Sedan, barely concious, and he'd been driven to one of the finest rehab clinics on Coral. Peter later discovered that the Government was charged the bill, Commissionaire Sanders had pulled some strings. Sanders knew Peter could be a good officer, he just needed to get over his addiction.
Three months later, Peter had walked out of the rehab clinic, sober, tanned, and fit. He'd sworn never to drink again. The force welcomed him back with open arms, and many tears of joy were shed. After a few years, Peter had even made Sergeant.
And now, Peter had gone back on his promise, a grimy bottle of vodka in his hand as he strode under a crumbling, tall bridge. He wanted to block out the world. Wanted to forget it. Heck, ten minutes before hand, Peter had given serious consideration to jumping off the bridge, ending it all.
The Covenant had arrived on Coral. And they were determined to kill everyone. Sergeant Peter wasn't ashamed to admit he'd ran. There were no marines in the city, and whilst Peter might have had some basic training, he was by no means prepared to face an Elite, one of those eight feet tall monsters from whatever circle of hell Dante had cared to visit.
Peter knew a few miles off, Covenant were ravaging the main city. And they wouldn't stop there. They'd proceed to destroy the lower districts, the outskirts. Eventually, they'd find Peter too. No one was safe.
The Police Sergeant knew this, didn't bother to fight back, to try and survive. He'd just reminisce in his last few moments. And so Peter took a seat by the roaring river, unscrewed the lid on the Vodka bottle, and began to drink much more than was healthy for him. Soon enough, he was pretty much pissed. Still, Peter had always had a strong metabolism; it would take a bit more to make him dead to the world.
Before he had the chance to do just this though, a shrill voice from the far end of the bridge jolted him back into the harsh realm of reality. A women's voice.
"Oh thank God, Officer!" the women cried. Peter, through bleary, blood shot eyes, turned to regard her. She was quite attractive he thought. Late twenties, perhaps early thirties, about 5"8, slim. A set of absolute gorgeous legs. Blond, short hair. Not too much of a chest, but then you couldn't have everything. Wearing the most impractical heels ever, considering the situation. On any other occasion, Peter would have been hitting on this women, flirting outrageously. Right now, he just wanted her to leave him alone so he could drink himself into oblivion.
"The world is ending Ma'am. What do you want?" Peter asked, saying "Ma'am" without even realising it. Years of working as a copper did that to you. The women seemed to dim a bit.
"Well, you're a police officer. Can't you help somehow?" the women questioned, her voice wavering. Peter took a quick look behind her. No one. No kids, no husband. Just her.
"If I could do anything right now, don't you think I'd be somewhere other than lying underneath this bridge? Face it lady, we're all doomed, and no amount of police jurisdiction can change that." Peter informed the women. Perhaps a little too harshly, for glistening tears began to well up in her eyes. Peter grimaced, shook his filth addled head, and stood up, propping his back against the wall. He stared into the river ahead.
"Listen, you can run. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and run into the UNSC. Maybe the Covenant will find you first and do whatever they do to captives. Or you can stay here, and drink away your final moments with me." the disgraced police Sergeant suggested, waving the bottle temptingly before her. She huffed, and turned away. This brought out a small smile from Peter; she looked quite cute when she was angry.
"I don't drink." she stated, crossing her arms over her brown leather coat indignantly. Peter broke out into an empty chuckle, devoid of emotion.
"Neither did I, before today. Come on lady, just a few quick swigs." the Sergeant insisted, and she shook her head, crying out in exasperation.
"Look at you! You're a police officer! You're supposed to protect people like me, and what are you doing? Drinking like some depressed hobo! You're a fucking disgrace to that uniform you wear, you know that?" the women cried out, smacking him half heartedly on his shoulder in an effort to drive her words home.
Peter looked up, and down again at the bottle. His lip curled in disgust. She was right; he was a disgrace. Uncle Tom would have been ashamed. Biting down hard enough on his lip to draw out blood, Peter tossed the bottle of half finished alcohol into the running river, where it bobbed above the surface twice, before tipping over, and sinking deep below. The Sergeant took a deep breath.
"You're right, of course. Come on Ma'am, let's get moving. We'll find a way out of here." Peter said in his most assuring voice, which he used often on the force. The women took a look at him nervously, before breaking out in a smile and hugging him. Peter grinned rather foolishly despite the situation.
"Thank you! What's your name, by the way?" the women asked, almost shyly. The Police Sergeant, whilst checking the magnum at his belt, replied.
"Peter. Sergeant Peter Colley, CCPD."
CCPD - Central Coral Police Department. The women seemed satisfied with this, drawing back from the embrace. Peter felt almost disappointed.
"I'm Diana. Diana Reid, Central Coral Waitress." she told him in turn. They both shared a laugh.
"Pleased to meet you Diana. Now come on, we should get moving. There's a whole lot of wasteland between here and the nearest UNSC base, if that's where we're headed. The Covenant made sure of that." Peter instructed Diana, walking forward. Dainty footsteps behind him informed him that she was close on his heels. "And we'll see if we can find a town which isn't too ravaged, get you some proper shoes. You won't last a day in those."
"I didn't have time to change them as I was running for my life, Sergeant." she replied acidly. Peter laughed once again.
"You did the right thing." the Sergeant assured the pretty young women. He then turned serious. "And Diana, we're going to have to survive this together. You'll need to learn how to handle a weapon, how to stay quiet in a stressful situation. All the standard stuff."
In other words, all the 'stuff' Peter himself was unsure even he could do. The most stressful situation he'd encountered on the force had been a small time shoot-out, which had quickly and efficiently been handled. Peter hadn't even had to let off a shot. Still, he'd done the training; hopefully he could apply this training to real life.