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GWOT VI - Faith
GWOT VI - Faith
She screamed as he stomped on her leg. The broken one.
"Where is your base?!?"
"Scout Soldier Elizabeth Bo..."
He ground his heel into her flesh.
"..ifornia Republic," she screamed.
"Slow fucking learner. Get the blowtorch."
###
Weeping and crying had given way to sobbing and gasping. She knew she was going into shock. She welcomed it.
Uncorrected compensatory shock would eventually decompensate. Then she would die.
Not soon enough.
###
Around the corner of the back of the church, the militia Captain shook his head.
"What an infidel. She's still not talking."
"Take an eye?"
"Both."
###
Scout Soldier Elizabeth Booker. California Republic. Scout ... Beth. Cali.
The wet dripping down her face was no longer just tears.
She screamed and mumbled. Camp Roberts! San Luis Obispo! Third Scout Regiment! California Expeditionary Force.
She could not say what she did not know. Camp Snoopy, yes. But not the other camps.
Her answers were unacceptable.
They dribbled salt water into her eye sockets.
It wasn't water. She was far too gone to care.
###
"Goddamn it. She stopped breathing. Revive her!"
"I'm not giving that mouth to mouth. Maybe before the piss."
She heard them from a great distance.
She heard something else.
A falling whistle.
She could not move, despite the pointless instinct to take cover that did not exist.
###
She was breathing, in great ragged gasps.
She found that she could crawl.
She could not see and she could not hear.
But her fingers found uniform cloth, reached up to a belt, a vest, pouches on that vest.
Hard metal ovoid spheres.
###
"Shit! Shit!" he fumbled for his rifle, which he had dropped during the mortar attack. Then for his pistol. Fumbling, the holster quick-release which was neither.
She knelt, holding her arms out to both sides in a parody of the Passion.
With a grenade in each hand.
Fragmentation type.
He gave up on the pistol and turned to run.
###
"Seven dead! Seven!"
"Sir, I ..."
The swagger stick cut at him and he could not help put a hand up to cover his eyes.
"California prisoners are to be handled only by specialists! Is that clear, Captain?"
"Yes, Deacon."
"Very well." Grudgingly, "You will still receive the bounty for the ..."
And the Deacon pitched forward on his face.
Only then did he hear the shot.
"Sniper! Sniper!" the cry went up.
###
For heroic resistance to unlawful torture, and continuing the fight past any hope of personal escape or survival, in a manner reflecting great credit on the California Republic, Scout-Corporal Elizabeth Booker (post. pro.) is hereby awarded the Yosemite Medal. Her death sets the standard by which all those who are killed in the service of the Republic are judged. Signed, Pat, Governor.
She screamed as he stomped on her leg. The broken one.
"Where is your base?!?"
"Scout Soldier Elizabeth Bo..."
He ground his heel into her flesh.
"..ifornia Republic," she screamed.
"Slow fucking learner. Get the blowtorch."
###
Weeping and crying had given way to sobbing and gasping. She knew she was going into shock. She welcomed it.
Uncorrected compensatory shock would eventually decompensate. Then she would die.
Not soon enough.
###
Around the corner of the back of the church, the militia Captain shook his head.
"What an infidel. She's still not talking."
"Take an eye?"
"Both."
###
Scout Soldier Elizabeth Booker. California Republic. Scout ... Beth. Cali.
The wet dripping down her face was no longer just tears.
She screamed and mumbled. Camp Roberts! San Luis Obispo! Third Scout Regiment! California Expeditionary Force.
She could not say what she did not know. Camp Snoopy, yes. But not the other camps.
Her answers were unacceptable.
They dribbled salt water into her eye sockets.
It wasn't water. She was far too gone to care.
###
"Goddamn it. She stopped breathing. Revive her!"
"I'm not giving that mouth to mouth. Maybe before the piss."
She heard them from a great distance.
She heard something else.
A falling whistle.
She could not move, despite the pointless instinct to take cover that did not exist.
###
She was breathing, in great ragged gasps.
She found that she could crawl.
She could not see and she could not hear.
But her fingers found uniform cloth, reached up to a belt, a vest, pouches on that vest.
Hard metal ovoid spheres.
###
"Shit! Shit!" he fumbled for his rifle, which he had dropped during the mortar attack. Then for his pistol. Fumbling, the holster quick-release which was neither.
She knelt, holding her arms out to both sides in a parody of the Passion.
With a grenade in each hand.
Fragmentation type.
He gave up on the pistol and turned to run.
###
"Seven dead! Seven!"
"Sir, I ..."
The swagger stick cut at him and he could not help put a hand up to cover his eyes.
"California prisoners are to be handled only by specialists! Is that clear, Captain?"
"Yes, Deacon."
"Very well." Grudgingly, "You will still receive the bounty for the ..."
And the Deacon pitched forward on his face.
Only then did he hear the shot.
"Sniper! Sniper!" the cry went up.
###
For heroic resistance to unlawful torture, and continuing the fight past any hope of personal escape or survival, in a manner reflecting great credit on the California Republic, Scout-Corporal Elizabeth Booker (post. pro.) is hereby awarded the Yosemite Medal. Her death sets the standard by which all those who are killed in the service of the Republic are judged. Signed, Pat, Governor.
no subject
This time the wolf has lost
Beaten and broken and blind
Better beware my lord
Better prepare my lord
I was the least of my kind."
- "Least of My Kind", Song by Three Weird Sisters