omega /əʊmɪɡə/
noun. the last letter of the Greek alphabet
meaning: great
...
A world war is a global conflict which involves most, if not all, of the world's most powerful and developed countries and is widespread in its battlefields, consequences and casualties. In human history, there have been a total of three of these wars. The first of 1914 to 1918, World War I, otherwise known as 'the war to end all wars'. The second, currently the deadliest in history, existing between 1939 to 1945. Finally, the Third World War or 'The Nuclear War', of 2016 to the present. Although all these have many similarities, each one has a distinguishing trait unlike the other. The most devastating, the deadliest and the most catastrophic/apocalyptic, respectively. The impact and effect of the world wars on society and Australian culture is of indisputable importance in considering...
Ellena Samson groaned as her brain suffered a temporary mental blank, and the words she had literally just been about to write, disappeared into thin air. Impatiently, she tapped her pen against the desk in the hopes that maybe it would return to her, before she quickly became fed up and threw it to the other side of the room. Maybe it was the fact that it was currently midnight, or that she had been working on writing the same 132 words over the past two hours, but she found that she just couldn't take it anymore. As most teenagers her age were so want to do, she had managed to procrastinate writing her 1000 word Modern History essay until the night before it was actually going to be due. While she hadn't felt any form of stress over the past two weeks, it was all beginning to pile up, wearing at her nerves and shortening her attention span. Stupid essay, she thought to herself bitterly, repressing the urge to ball it up and throw it away as well, I need a break.
There was a soft knock on the door, breaking Ellena's thoughts again and she growled softly, whirling around in her chair to see who had dared interrupt her writing. "What do you want?" She asked, tone lifting when she saw her younger brother open the door a smidgen and poke his head through. Luke's answering shrug was accompanied by a half-arsed 'I don't know' sound. "It's the middle of the night. Go back to sleep." Ellena continued.
"Why are you awake then?" Luke replied, obviously stalling as he nudged the door further open and proceeded to lean his weight against the frame. His hands fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt and Ellena's brow furrowed as she wondered what the real reason was for why he was interrupting his sleep time.
"Mum said I could. I have to finish my assignment that's due for tomorrow. You, however, still shouldn't be awake." Ellena pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "Either go back to bed, or tell me why you're really here."
Luke paused for a moment before glancing up at her. "Maybe you'll get lucky and the school will be bombed out tonight. You won't have anything to hand into then." Ellena sighed, realizing that although he hadn't directly answered her question, he had still managed to tell her.
"Right, come on in and shut the door behind you. I don't want Mum coming in and finding you're awake and I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing." Ellena replied, standing up from her chair and moving over to perch on the edge of her bed. Luke followed her orders and then did exactly the same. "Are you scared?"
"No." He replied, as though she had just suggested that maybe his head was actually a fishbowl.
"Are you nervous, then?" She continued, tilting her head slightly to get a better look at him. "Nervous about going to school? Nervous about the war? Nervous about Dad?"
There was a long pause before he made the same 'I don't know' noise as before. "Maybe." He finally whispered, never looking over at her or meeting her gaze. Ellena reached up a hand and smoothed away some hair that was hanging in front of the eight year old's eyes. He batted her hand away, but there was no dedication in the action and it only proved to her that something was definitely troubling the young boy.
"You know, you probably need to get a good hair cut soon." Ellena remarked, changing the subject for the moment to make him feel more comfortable. "I know the barber has lifted the prices a bit, but maybe we could work something out. You don't want to start getting confused as a girl now, would you?"
"I don't like the barber's. He smells funny." Luke replied, grimacing at a memory.
"You want me to do it then?" Ellena grinned. "I might not be a hairdresser, but I reckon I could hold a bowl on top of your head and wield a pair of scissors alright. Do you want a bowl cut?"
Luke laughed, a cheeky, mischievous sound, before he pounced on top of her, throwing his entire weight on her to push her back down onto the bed. "No!" He squealed, his voice getting a little too loud. "I don't want a bowl cut and you're not giving one to me!" He scratched at her arms, trying to tickle her in his childish ignorance. Ellena grabbed his arms and swung him down to rest beside her before planting a finger over his lips. She shushed him and watched with adoration as the young boy's eyes danced with excitement. "You're not cutting my hair."
"Alright, alright. Fine. We'll wait for Dad to do it when he gets home. Deal?" Ellena asked, and Luke stilled his actions but pursed his lips.
"When is he coming home?" He asked, wriggling around slightly to get in a more comfortable position.
"I don't know." She answered truthfully. "But he is doing everything he possibly can to get back to us quickly. You know that right?"
"Yeah, I guess." Luke replied, resignation clear in his voice. "I miss him, is all. And Muhammad from school, his Dad isn't ever coming home again. He hasn't been at school for the past two weeks, and last I saw of him, he was crying. I was just worried that Dad wouldn't come back either."
"Hey, don't think like that. Luke? Don't think like that. I promise you, Dad is doing his utmost best to come back to us. He is being safe. He wants to see us again. Don't you ever think that again. If you think of Dad coming home every day, I bet he'll here you and try to come home that much sooner. What do you think about that?"
"It won't work, Ellie. That's silly." Luke said, but he had calmed down a little more.
Ellena scrunched up her nose before looking over at him and planting a kiss on his forehead. "Fine, don't believe in me. I'll just sit here and cry all night because you don't like me." She pretended to sob softly, pulling a terrible facial expression. Luke giggled and slapped her playfully.
"Fine, fine I'll do it. Only if you stop that though." He told her, acting as though he wasn't the little bit reassured by the faith and hope which his oldest sister had given him. He scrambled up, off her bed and made his way to the door to her bedroom. Just before he left though, he turned back around to face her. "I'll think about Dad coming home. You better be right though, Missy."
...
Colonel Jonathan Samson let out a deep breath of thick, white smoke and then lifted the burning cigarette back up to touch his lips. Technically, he had given up smoking ten years ago, at his oldest daughter's constant persistance. She was just barely older than her brother at the moment, but school and the internet had convinced her about the dangers of the drug. She had been absolutely adamant about not wanting him to die of cancer and he had finally been given a good enough reason to stop. He was at home, safe and in the comfort of his own home, with his family constantly around him and supporting him. Life was normal and pleasant, and weekends were used to sleep in. He didn't need to smoke, just using it because it felt good for a couple of minutes and there was no way he was going to let anything have the slightest chance at keeping him from seeing his family. But sometimes, things were required to change.
Out there, on the battlefield, everything was different. Everything was running off adrenaline, and if you weren't, you were dead. Sleep was light and full of nightmares, packed into tight confinements with ten other men. Bombs and gunfire never seemed to cease firing so silence was a forgotten memory. The food was average on the best of days, even for a highly appointed colonel such as himself. There were to be no special privileges on the front lines. It was where all the action took place, and if solely one man wasn't as strong as his fellow soldiers, then the entire army had one less man in defense and another one dead on the ground. Sometimes, the deep blue of the night sky could be slightly reassuring. In that darkness, it was more difficult to see the stain of red, because it was everywhere. Serenity was almost unheard of, unless it was a few stolen moments of smoking to calm the nerves or a quick tussle under the sheets with a willing nurse. She didn't have to be pretty out here, and the smokes didn't have to be good. It was a relief though, and Samson would be damned if anyone tried to take his little pleasure away from him. He was certain his wife and children would understand. At least, they had to try.
Every day, he reminded himself to be eternally grateful that they weren't out there with them, witnessing the horrors he saw so often. One of the greatest aspects about Australia, was that it was an island and even with technology and communications at the prestigious high it currently was at, it was still just as difficult to get there. Although modern society had made transport infinitely easier, Australia still hadn't changed it's land distance from the rest of the world. It required fuel to fly a plane all the way across the ocean to bomb out a couple of cities. A pointless waste when fuel was quickly becoming in short supply and that was needed for the front lines and enemy strikes far closer to home.
The nuclear war was changing everything. Of course, machine guns and trenches were being used to fight most of the war, but now, almost every fighting government had something up their sleeve which could almost entirely decimate the enemy. The big bombs hadn't come into effect yet. That remained for the worst times of war when things started to shape towards one particular side. Those came out when civilian casualties didn't matter anymore. So far, governments had resorted to simply using nuclear gases out on the field, or small bombs to get rid of a whole base of soldiers. The first use of nuclear weaponry had sparked a great outcry from the general public all around the world, but once they figured out that it was really helping defeat the enemy, everyone was suddenly all for it. It had become unmitigated disaster out in the war zones, and it didn't look to be getting any better any time soon. All Colonel Samson wanted was to get home to his family, not act as a pawn in the power struggle of kings. Or at least, powerful men who thought they were.
"Colonel Samson!" A young man shouted as he sprinted towards the greying fourty-year old, carrying an envelope in his hands. Obviously, it was something important otherwise his commanding officers would have simply called him. Someone didn't want this message to be intercepted. Samson rose to his feet, spat out a bit of his cigarette and then dropped it to the ground and squished it. The messenger saluted him. "Colonel Samson, I have an urgent message from the General. He demanded that you read it at once, sir."
"Thank you, Private." Samson replied, saluting back. He held out his hand expectantly and the young man handed it over before sprinting away, running back to discover which job he would be assigned to next. Samson watched him until he disappeared before turning his attention to the scrawling writing of the General, opening up the envelope to read the letter contained inside.
Colonel Johnathan Samson,
Your presence is required immediately. Arrive at the General's barracks at 0020 hours.
General Haernsmith
The man glanced down at his watch, saw the time was 0010 hours and cursed the messenger for his late timing. The barracks were at least fifteen minutes away, and he didn't have any possibility of getting there on time. He guessed that all he could do was try at least to run or something. It would appear undignified, but absolutely no one was allowed to disobey a direct command from the General. Although being five minutes late was awful, if he didn't even try, it would be even worse. Samson drew in a deep breath and then choked when an all too familiar sound erupted into the night sky. Gunfire and screaming.
He had no weapons on him apart from a small Swiss army knife he kept in his pocket, but his duty to his fellow soldiers and to the country that he served sent him running straight towards the danger. Unfortunately, his senses had been trained over the last four years to recognize an estimate of how bad the fighting was by the sound of the gunfire. To the average civilian, it was appear to be one, terrifying ruckus. Yet on that fateful night, Colonel Samson was experienced enough to know that something was going horribly wrong and he was almost on top of it.
The first soldier he came across was lying on the side of a hill, his hands pressed against a heavily bleeding bullet wound in his stomach. He was barely conscious but Samson knelt down beside him anyway. "Soldier. Soldier!" He shouted to be heard over all of the noise. "What's going on? What's happened?"
The young man opened his eyes and blinked wearily at him, before he seemed to focus somewhat on Samson and his surroundings again. "They came out of nowhere, Sir. Just straight out of the woods. We never heard them or saw them..." There was a groan of pain. "The sentries must have been killed. Not a sound. They just came out of the night... Hundreds of them, carrying machine guns and wearing the red uniform of the enemy, Sir... We tried to stop them. But they were so fast, so accurate and they just wouldn't die. Almost as though they weren't even human... I'm sorry Sir, I tried... I tried." The man was growing more and more unresponsive by the second, but before he fell unconscious again, he uttered one last thing. "Their eyes. They weren't normal. Just golden. Pure, bright gold."
The fighting was getting louder now as it spread throughout the entire camp, just like wildfire. Samson growled as the soldier closed his eyes for the final time, and without much else choice, the colonel picked up the stranger's gun and sprinted the rest of the way up to the top of the hill. What he witnessed must have been something straight out of hell.
Hundreds of men and women wielding enemy colours had stormed the camp and completely decimated everyone who had been in their way. Although it appeared as though most of them were almost riddled with bullet holes, they had not yet died. Not one of their perfect, beautiful bodies was lying on the ground, joining Samson's colleagues. It was a massacre.
In that moment, something inside of him snapped. Some hidden, animalistic urge to avenge the murders of his soldiers, of the people of his country. A hatred which surged through him and an intense desire to kill the unnatural beings before him. They should not be possible, yet the murdering of his entire squadron, could not go unanswered. For surely, their forces had already swarmed over the rest of the encampment by now. Samson screamed and fired a hail of bullets down on the enemy below him, but it only drew their unfazed attention up to him.
The last thing Samson remembered seeing was indeed the colour of their unnatural eyes. A piercing, molten gold for each and every one of those damned soldiers. A rich promise of death.