Call of Duty:Monologue of a nearby observer
By Foxi Doll
ok, I'm just going to start talking about random things. Feel free to join in if you wish, but be warned I may get rather random with you. Please don't think ill of me though. I mean no harm and only want to talk.so right about now, I'm sitting talking to whoever is listening and I hear gunfire in the background.
and the only thing outside is the janitor that is trying to clean a sidewalk while the wind is blowing.
The boys out in the hallway are running up and down it with whistles, screaming thier war cries and wooping and hollaring about the killer win in wow.
I see change lying all over the desktop, a few maked bills strewn around as well from a day of wandering in downtown, buying whatever catches my fancy
The sun is shining, as I hear tanks groan across the gravel roads as they near the hidden covert team that is inching closer to take out the turrets and sneak past the iron giants.
someone cries, "Fire in the hull" accompanied by wizzing shots from their silenced weapons as I move my mouse across a spiral notebook becuase I don't have a pad for it.
Does anyone even hear this, I wonder? Does anyone even care? Are we so desensitized that we don't even care when we hear the cries of wounded souldiers or run when we see the lines of tanks nearing our destination?
Do we honestly believe that when the guns are raised, that we are still safe? That our precious and corrupt government will protect us any further? I don't. Because by then it's too late.
I feel the wind lift my hair as a bullet brushes passed.
The empty cup by the moniter looks deserted and unwanted as it looms behind cords and wires. They threaten to swallow what little purpose it has left.
Two souldiers sit in a trench, trading clips and comparing their precious guns while thery wait for the next assault. Will THEY ever make it home again? Will they see the other side of enemy lines, only to come back in black body bags?
"A simple shot," they say. That is all that is takes. Who would have thought that one small piece of iron could be the most efficient and most popular method of death. Isn't it enough that death comes at us on all sides with disease and famine? War is nothing but trouble.
Again with the assualt. They are relentless. and unforgiving. Will they never give in? Don't they know when there is no hope?
And then the unthinkable happens. They hear the fateful words all men fear,
"Man down. Retreat!"
One more for the pile. One more for the plane. One more to add to the tears.
The covert team, they fall back, having been seen by the turrets spotlight. Gunshots echo through the room, as they bombard the men, taking back the ground that they had worked so hard to gain in silence.
But they whisper and smile behind the hills where they retreat. They have rigged the tanks and the turrets along the way and they hold up the remote and press the button that will crush the enemy and criple it to complete the mission.
And somehow, even through the loss and through the pain of war, they manage to smile and laugh and hold one another as they make the call that they have succeeded. THey have won, at least for today. But there is always tomarrow.
that was ground one.
this concludes my monologue for the momment. I will create another one shortly, so stay tuned for further caos.And then there was a ten post interleude. Then it continued. . .
begin again.
we're closed in. Can't escape. No place to go but in and down. Into the silo.
we're given the orders, as always. It's gotta be clean and quick. No fancy stuff, just stick to the plan. But there's a problem, there always is.
Hidden places, hiding men, trying to stop you from completing your task. It's never as simple as in and out. There's always a side mission that appears, or a complication, like bad intel. Too many, just too many here.
We take out some quick and quiet. Training wasn't all useless. But now, they hear the sniper shot and winder what happened to their comrades. So it begins.
All is quiet. Then the thrum of gunfire.
Gunshells fall all around the team as they empty their rounds into the approaching enemy. They know that we're hear now. There's no hiding. But they still have to be careful as they make their way deeper into the open hatches.
There is no friendly fire button.
We open the hatch andf cover eachother as one after the other, we file in, darkness overtaking light as we close the hatch over us. It takes a while, but we hear the tanks above roam around, searching wildly for us. They will not find our party, but they will know that we are here soon enough.
Mission is pending.
"Cover me," is whispered to pairs as half the group moves into the open hanger where heavy armaments are brought in for repair and upgrading. Shreds of metal lay around forgotten as the scientists who created the aloy hide in their labs further in.
Mission haas fully commenced.
Silently, they make their way in. Some curse along the way for having used their ammo so amply instead of conserving it. No one is near, but they move without a sound anyway, not wanting to bring any unwanted or unneccesary attention upon them.
A blast and their cover is blown. The nemy has detsroyed their own tunnelway to block us from continuing our mission. They are intent on protecting their investments. But the team will press on. They WILL complete their mission.
But the enemy has more up their sleeve. They are just as intent to use what they have to kill their enemy. So they completly collapse their tunnels, even if that means abandoning their own objective. Better to restart the project than to have it found out.
The team is silenced. A tear is shed, but no one knows for who. Just another day in a world at war.
mission complete.
then the final interleude commenced for ten posts, which allowed me to get to about fifty posts for the day, which I was proud of, it is a feat after all.
anyway. . .we shoot. We don't know why. We are trained to fight, but we are not trained to ask why. Politics are the ruling body that presides over us and we must serve them like slaves that answer to their every war hungry desires. If they say, go kill, then we slaughter. If they say go blow up, we bomb them back to the ice age. We know only anger, tactics, and regret. Regret that we hadn't been the ones to decide whether to kill or give mercy. We don't have that right. The right to be merciful.
It's kill or be killed.
Even if being killed means being killed by the very peoplpe that trained you to kill. you cannot disobey, you cannot leave or be seen as a no honor deserter.
Lif is hung in the balance of whether you can let your humanity go. You cannot be human if you do what we have to. No human ever really could.
So we send them away. We kill in any manner that is possible. We fight for our right to keep going. We fight for our right of freedom. We donot answer to anyone other than ourselves, as it was intended. But they will not let us be. They call us, the enemy.
They call us the bad guys.
Only becuse we decided to put the gun down for the government and pick it up for our families and the mercy of life.
well, if a war is what they want, then a war is what they'll get. But we will not fight the same way they do. We will fight for their men, for their freedom, and so in that, we sill win. For if we die, we will have still kept our honor, because we fought for others who needed our help and guidance, even if they were our death dealers. THey still needed us and maybe they will see the light of their misdeeds.
Maybe.
And so we begin this dance in hopes that our lead will set example for the future and allow them to make the choice.
Mission complete.
alriht, fogive me, this one was the shortest, but I was cut on inspiration, sorry. Maybe next time it'll be better. I hope you all get the story though. If not, just ask.
And that's pretty much the whole of it, without the random few comments that peeked in every now and again, mostly bumpers and peeps hanging out long enough to say hi then leave. funness.
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