The Grey Chronicles Part One: New Declaration of An Old War

Chapter 15: Rematch.

The Anarchist, en route to Onyx Seven, April of 8096 AL.

Williams caught up to Salem right as he walked into the briefing room. He rushed through the door and found the older man chanting with the rest of Grizzly platoon; he realized they were counting push-ups when he saw Gunny shirtless on the ground, soaked in sweat. He looked to the sergeant who had stayed behind to make sure Gunny did as Salem had commanded. The man crossed the room to him and yelled above the chanting.

"He refused to take a break, we heard the starting horn and I told him he could stop, but he told me 'piss off, I'm gonna show that little shit a thing or two about my condition." He laughed as he finished the statement and continued counting, "Seventeen-hundred twenty-three, seventeen-hundred twenty-four, seventeen-hundred twenty-five."

Williams smiled and joined in, and it wasn't until they had counted well beyond two-thousand that Gunny finally took a knee and sat up, panting like a dog.

"I could do more," Hoster said with a smile, "But I'm gonna need my energy to kick all your asses later."

Salem marched over, pulled him to his feet and smacked him on the shoulder, "Well, I'd say you're still in damn good condition. How about I sit this one out and we let Williams over there play general?"

The room went quiet momentarily, and there was a murmur of confusion.

"Alright," said Gunny, obviously very confused, "But why?"

Salem looked at him and smiled as he wiped Gunny's sweat off his hand onto his sweats, "I'm considering him for promotion. You said earlier that you're twenty-nine-hundred, so why are you with this group of shinies?"

"I reenlisted. I'd asked for three extra tours when I turned two millennia, but I was honorably discharged with a wounded warrior's medal near the end of the Trench Wars." His eyes flitted to the floor. He was embarrassed to be discussing his disfigurement. "A psycho-site took my leg off just above the knee. I snapped out of the daze long enough to rip the thing's head off before I blacked out."

The older of the soldiers in the room all winced at the mention of a psycho-site; they were one of the Stonehaaryn parasites. They were far smaller than the titans, only four feet tall, but they gave off a pungent odor that disoriented anyone in their immediate vicinity and a gaze that paralyzed their victims, leaving them helpless for hours. The fact that he could break the monster's trance was admirable indeed.

The corporal lifted his pant leg to reveal a robotic prosthetic in place of his left leg. He sighed and looked away from his mechanical leg.

"I asked to be sent back to Hermes Six; it's my home world and has one of the largest medical centers in six star systems. I spent just about all of my GI Bill on synthetics research. About a century ago I got the first prototype of the hekatonkhares model prosthetic, it was originally designed to be the leg on a combat android. The damn thing will outlast me by ten thousand years," he chuckled weakly and dropped his pant leg, scratching the back of his neck. "It had better, cost close to sixty thousand orbs. I reenlisted two years later after my rehabilitation was finished and asked to be stationed on the ship closest to the front lines. Figures, three years after I reenlist we have a big peace treaty."

Williams looked at Salem to find he held a blank, almost tired expression, as if he were staring off into the distance. He looked almost broken; it was what veterans called the "thousand-yard-stare," it was common among soldiers who'd seen too much, served too long. It was first recorded in the human World Wars as shell shock, a symptom of severe PTSD.

"In what battle did you lose your leg?" asked Salem, solemnly.

"What?" Williams asked, looking at Salem's eyes.