The Great War: Rescue

Who will rescue you when you become the victim?

"Incoming!" Portus watched as three of his comrades disintegrated into a wet cloud of red. A fraction of a second later the shock wave from the explosion hit him, throwing Portus from his feet and slamming him into the repeater cannon behind him. The cannon turned, forced by the impact to turn almost sixty degrees away from its original angle. The soldier behind the cannon was thrown to the side as well, causing his finger to slip on the trigger and fire an explosive round into the trench in front of him. The soldier never heard the screams from his comrades. Shrapnel from the explosion had almost completely severed his skull.

Portus was spared the fate of the dead soldiers. The shrapnel destined to rip through his body embedded in a berm of dirt and rocks behind which he had fallen. Powder from the dual explosions burned his skin and blood ran from his nose and ears.

Vibrations from successive explosions shook his body and forced him awake. Portus' eyes scanned the sky above him in a panic. He bolted up and began turning in circles looking for an attack from any directions. Slowly he began to realize that he could see the explosions around him, but could not hear them.

Arms wrapped around Portus from behind and began dragging him backwards. He tried to fight his way free but was forced to the ground. A heavy body fell on top of him and his arms were pinned to the ground. Portus' eyes focused on the face above him and he recognized his squad medic. The medic was yelling at Portus, but he could not hear what the medic was saying.

The medic grabbed Portus' face and forcefully turned his head to one side, then the other. When Portus' face was released he looked back at the medic and watched him gesture and shout at someone out of sight.

The medic rolled off Portus and a second pair of hands grabbed him under his arms. Portus did not fight the second man, but instead allowed himself to be dragged away from the direction of the fighting. Some distance away Portus was helped to his feet and ushered to a waiting vehicle.

The driver frantically waived at Portus' guide, pushing at Portus and obviously yelling. A quick look around the vehicle showed bodies stacked one on top of the other. The driver must have felt he had no more room for the living or the dead.

Portus was shoved from behind and landed hard on the seat next to the driver. The vehicle door slammed shut and Portus fought to right himself in the seat. The driver stomped on the gas forcing Portus back into the seat. He briefly caught a glimpse of his rescuer grinning from ear-to-ear and flipping off the driver.

The vehicle rocked violently. Portus did not know whether the vehicle had been hit by an explosion or the driver had driven into a hole. Since they were still moving and he was still alive, he assumed the latter. The vehicle sped forward, bouncing from hole to hole and threatening numerous times to roll over.

An eternity later the base camp tents came into view. Portus had always hated base camp and viewed the planners and resupply teams as soft, unable to handle the rigors of the front line. Now the camp looked like a resort. There were no bullets flying by and the explosions had been left far behind. Relief washed over Portus and he began to find it hard to keep himself from falling asleep.

Squads of fresh soldiers marched by the vehicle heading for the front. Many of the soldiers looked at Portus as they passed and he could see the fear of the unknown wash over their faces. Their dreams of "fighting-the-good-fight" were quickly being replaced by sheer terror. The recruiting videos did not show this, they never showed the filth and endless streams of blood coming from the medical tent.

Portus nearly slammed into the windshield as the driver stepped on the brakes and came to a stop in front of the medical tents. Portus watched as the driver almost leapt out of the vehicle and began flailing his arms wildly and gesturing towards Portus and the other soldiers he had delivered. During the long ride to the base camp Portus had forgotten about the other bodies behind him. Only now did he become aware of the stench coming from the rear of the vehicle. The smell of death and fresh blood mixed with burned clothes and hair suddenly became unbearable.

Portus was just able to open the door before he vomited loudly and violently on the ground beside the vehicle. Once he stopped retching Portus became unable to hold himself up any longer. He began falling out of the door, too exhausted to even push away from the filth he had just vomited.

Inches before hitting the ground Portus was caught in a pair of strong arms. This rescuer, his third in less than an hour, pulled him free of the vehicle and moved him away from the expelled contents of his stomach before laying him on an only slightly less filthy patch of ground. This newest person began moving his hands quickly over Portus, checking vitals and taking in the amount of damage his body had sustained. Portus closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The fast motions of the medic were making him sick and Portus concentrated on keeping whatever was left in his stomach actually in his stomach. He knew now that he was going to live, but he was unsure if that was a good thing.

Portus felt a sharp sting in his right arm. He opened his eyes and watched as the medic removed an empty syringe from his vein. The medic began mouthing something to Portus, but he was having trouble focusing on the medic. The world around him was beginning to turn fuzzy and Portus had to fight to keep his eyes open. The medic reached up and placed a hand on Portus' forehead. He smiled and Portus, unable to fight the sedative any longer, succumbed to sleep.

Author's Note

First part of a short story I've been working on. Enjoy and please leave a review.

Reviews

[Staci Brown]

another fine start to a story... again, some typo's that a simple proofreading will cure :D

with this story you've once again written it too stiff, where it feels more like a police report rather than an engaging story. i really think if you just throw in some extra info about the character's surroundings and his or her emotional reflections and reactions to the scenes that you'll create and awesome engaging story. yep, this means a lot more writing! :D Be wordy in creative fiction...

also, i'd suggest that you expand on the descriptions you do offer in your stories. for example you used this description near the opening of the story: "into a wet cloud of red"

it's great that you're using descriptions like this, but they're too bland. you want to give your reader a surreal vision while they're reading. reach thru the pages of your words and grab the reader, pulling them into your stories so they're there with the characters, not just reading words on a page. you have the talent, just a matter of learning the mechanics of creative fiction and then practicing the skills needed to be an outstanding story-teller :D

so, how else could you write "into a wet cloud of red?"

the blank pages we grace with our words are like a blank canvas upon which we paint a picture..., same as any of the other arts... we create a vision for our readers then we provoke emotional responses bi the words we choose to convey our stories. :D the english language provides us with an entire universe of palette choices. try mixing your paints to create new colors... :D Yes, this means a lot more writing lol but well worth it in the long run in creative fiction :D

Faerie Blessings!

--faerie whisper (breaking the silence...)