Last Hope

 

The barrage of blue light was unceasing. Plasma fire rocketing from the barrels of alien weaponry lit the darkness with a flare of harsh actinic light, that made the air reek with the smell of ozone and burnt flesh. Sighting down the barrel of his anti-material rifle, Saul Redgrave took aim, the sight jumped erratically left and right as he struggled to keep a steady arm. Taking in a deep breathe he peered down the scope. What met his gaze was truly a terror to behold. Fully 9 feet tall, the bipedal humanoid was grotesque, its blue mottled flesh covered head to toe in a strange carapace armour, 4 huge bulging arms wielding a baroque weapon that spat blue death at the soldiers outside the wall. Releasing his breath, Saul squeezed the trigger. A muffled “wump” sound joined by a solid kick back, spat the depleted uranium slug at hyper velocity towards the abomination, smashing straight through the eye socket, the round continued for quiet some distance before disintegrating against a broken metal pylon. The creature stumbled on a few steps in stubborn confusion, its head half missing as it slumped heavily to the rubble strewn ground. Similar events were taking place up and down the wall. The horrible sounds of human screams and alien howls eased. The plasma barrage slowly followed and yet another wave was repelled.

 

Sighing deeply, Saul reach into his breast pocket, his hands finding a small copper tin with the insignia of the 57th Terran Commandos. Opening the rusted tin with a small metallic click, Saul took out that which his shattered nerves craved. Putting the tobacco stick in his chapped lips, he reached into his webbing for the small box of matches. With shaky hands, he strikes the match and smiles weakly as small flame ignites into life. Lighting the tobacco stick he takes a deep drag. Breathing out the acrid smoke, he chokes back a sob that threatens to overcome him. The adrenaline dump that comes after a battle is always the hardest. How many friends had he lost? How many more would fall in defence of Bastion 16?

 

 

Shifting masonry to his right causes him to jump, trembling hands reaching for his rifle. Heart thumping almost audibly in his chest, he held his breathe as a loose section of wall the size of a golf ball crumbles to the muddy ground, then there was silence as the weakened wall ceased moving. Letting out a choked sigh of relief mixed with smoke he relaxed. A white knuckled hand reached for a small locket on an iron chain around his neck. Flicking the spent tobacco to the ground he reaches down and pries open the locket. A single tear fell down his weathered, grime covered face. His wife and son. Choking back a sob, he felt a stab of ice to his heart. He must survive. He must keep fighting. For them and the others on the wall.

 

They are the Last Hope.

 

The Final Hope.