The stench of blood, sweat, and bullet residue filled the air. Emotions were high. There was anger. There was rage. There was fury. Side by side with her best friend and her lover, Michael Hurntz, the two were a force to be reconed with. From the heavens, bullets rained down around them. Comrades in arms yelled out as they are struck, flailing and falling on the battlefield. Esther's face contorts with rage and the repeating firearm in her hands pulsed with repetitive fire. Her enemies before her fell. One by one. Their blood flowed, tainting the soil with the crimson flow. The brown-wearing enemy was a threat. To her. To her comrades. To her government. Terrorists. That is what they were labeled. Terrorists. That is how she viewed them.
The gun ran dry. The pulsing stopped, a series of clicks. "Gorram it.." She curses under her breath. Just then, the stinging pierce of a bullet is felt as it pierces through the shell of her armor. The sound is a sickening crunch and it throws her back. The moment was as a slow motion as arms flew into the air and she was sent spiraling backwards into the dugout behind her. she remembers the smell of her own blood now. She remembers the searing pain of the hot lead that flows through her body. Her face contorts and her lips part in a yell of pain. But she would not give up. Adrenaline continues to flow through her veins. The repeater is tossed to the side, the ammunition spent. From her hip, a pistol is drawn, her last resort in this loosing battle.
Sweat beads at her face. It trickles down her cheeks and down her nose. It blurrs her vision as the gun is lifted. She can see him. Michael. He is swarmed by a group of men in brown. The image is one of valor. The man fighting for his ideals. The man fighting for the protection of Esther. One browncoat is brought down when Michael draws his pistol, shooting him in the head. Another brings a large knife up into the air to thrust down into Michael. Esther takes aim and fires, the bullet hitting true into the man's center mass. There is a cloud of red as blood sprays out into the air and the man falls back into a heap. One more.. Michael and the browncoat are locked in mortal combat. The two wrestle for dominance in the moment. The two yelling feral yells of war. The two soldiers clashing over their opposing ideals. Sweat trickles into her eyes more. Loss of blood making the world hazy. Still, her fight lingers on. The gun is lifted and she aims..
In a moment of sheer horror, Esther realizes what she has just done. It was not the browncoat that had fallen. It was Michael. Her own bullet had tore his armor asunder, delving into his torso. He falls, blood spilling from the wound, leaking from the opened area of the armor.
She froze. The moment eternally locked in her mind. He fell, his face turned towards her. The look in his eyes as he looks to Esther. She remembers the moment his spirit left his body. She can still see the light leaving his eyes. Then.. her own lament.. a cry of sheer and utter pain of the heart fills her ears. Her own voice.. Her face twisted in disbelief and horror of the situation..
Then the flash.. the mortar.. then darkness...
Esther sits up in her bed, the memory.. still haunting her to the day. Sweat beads at her brows. Her face turns to grief. Will it ever end? The constant replays? Her eyes close and she falls back into her pillow. Her hands grip into the pillow as her heart aches and tears of remorse trail down her cheeks.