Last Chance

The soldier sighed, pulling a straw from the hand of his friend. The friend looked at him pitifully as it hit him that he was the one who would be going out. He was the one who was going to die. The room looked at him, already regretting that he had to go, but glad it wasn’t them.

“I’d better tell them who’s going.” His voice cracked, tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. He swallowed, standing up straight and saying goodbye to his unit, his second family, for the last time.

He left the room, knocking on the door of the corporal, who would tell him what he needed to do. Not that he needed briefing. He knew where they were, the dangers surrounding it. He had to get past the wounded soldiers, the first variety, before he could deliver himself to the claws.

A muffled voice signalled him to enter the room. He closed the door behind him, turning and saluting the corporal.

“Nickoli Demitri Chernocov,” stated the corporal, scribbling something on a piece of paper.

“Sir,” replied Nickoli, trembling slightly as the corporal circled him, analysing him.

“I’ll be straight with you, we need to talk to the UN. We lost another bunker today.” Nickoli looked down, he’d almost certainly lost friends in that bunker, people he considered family.

“It was a small loss compared to how bad it usually is. Soon enough we won’t have any soldiers left to lose,” Nickoli knew that too well, his friends had died for the cause, a cause they didn’t even want to be a part of.

“So you want me to send a message.” He gulped, a message to the Americans almost certainly meant death. No runner had ever returned.

“You want me to make the ultimate sacrifice. You’re asking me to give my life!”

“I’m not asking Chernocov, I’m telling.” Nickoli trembled as the corporal glared

“You will not talk back to me boy!” he clenched his fists and grated his teeth in an attempt to stay silent. But why should he? He was going to die anyway.

“Why? Why not? I’m going to die anyway.” He shuddered, “I’ll never marry, or have children, I’ll never be able to celebrate mother’s day, father’s day, birthdays.” He thought of his family, how he’d been taken away from them. “I never even volunteered for this mission. Hell, I didn’t volunteer to join this bloodbath; I never wanted to leave the planet and come back to the wasteland that is earth. You dragged me here and expect me to show you respect? Go to hell!” He slammed the door behind him and stormed towards his bed. He collected the few belongings he was allowed to keep. He held a picture of his family and stared into the faces of his parents and sister. A single tear fell, followed by countless others as he realised he’d never see them again. He sunk onto his bed and curled into a ball as he cried. How would they cope? His mother and sister had cried when he was taken. Would they even be told? He thought of his sister. She had been so excited that he’d be home for her tenth birthday. He’d promised to bring some presents back with him. What would she think now? Would she know? Would there be a funeral? There wouldn’t be a body for them to bury.

He was jolted out of his downwards spiral by a hand touching his shoulder. He sat up and wiped his eyes, still clutching the picture of his family. He looked up into the face of the corporal.

“I’m so sorry son,” the man said, looking down at the mess of a boy. “You really need to get going though,” the man took the picture and tucked it inside Nickoli’s jacket. “You’ll be saving them.”

Nickoli stepped out onto the ash, his gun raised. It had taken him most of the day to get outside and now it was late. He started towards the American’s base, constantly looking for shelter; he wouldn’t arrive until early the next morning. He found a bare tree a little way out from the American base and climbed it, settling high up in the branches for the night.

He descended the tree while it was still dark, a sense of dread washed over him. Today he would die. He wouldn’t allow himself to die in vain; if he could get close enough to the American base they might see him and save him from the claws. If he did the war stop and his family would be saved. He pressed one hand to his chest, where the picture of his family was, and gripped his gun. He climbed the side of the rugged hill, a bead of sweat rolled down his face. He licked his lips and pulled down the collar of his coat.

He turned and saw the American base and started towards it, almost running. He slid down the hill and ran as the threat of death filled him with adrenalin. Three small spheres of metal rose from the ash and chased him. He turned and fired twice, taking out two of the claws. The third climbed his leg and hopped onto his shoulder.

This couldn’t happen!

Not now!

He was too young to die. Too close to reaching them. He cried out as the blades entered his throat. Everything went cold and began to fade. He tried to look at his family one last time, but everything had turned black. His last thought was that he’d see them again one day.