Seargent Michaels and Benson gazed up in terror at the hulking behemoth that was the Martian tripod. It roared to life as its two bulbous green eyes lit up and it cried out directly onto the castle
OOLAA
They'd moved away from the exit door in favour of the window, stopping in their tracks at the terrifying sight before them.
The giant tripod war machine had scaled down the side of the mountain and come to a rest outside the gates of the castle.
From its height, it was as if the tripod were a child, peering down into their box of toys.
"It came because of that fucking thing didn't it" Benson spat, pointing to the glowing green beacon still resting next to the beaten corpse of General Braltr.
Seargent Michaels simply nodded.
"Then why the fuck don't we give it back!"
Benson was exasperated, he was now pacing back and forth staring at the thing.
"Well?!" Benson exclaimed "Say something Searg because you've brought doom to this fucking castle and I expect you have a backup plan"
Michaels shook his head meekly. The rage had well since subsided now, leaving him with a crushing sense of guilt. He'd activated the beacon in a blind anger. Using it simply as a way to get back at the dying General. Perhaps it was an attempt to undo the wrong he'd caused Abigail, or maybe it was due to the unrelenting weight of expectations put on his shoulders by his own father. Regardless, he had made another terrible mistake, one which he would now pay for in spades.
"It cant be stopped" Michaels muttered solemnly "Once it arrives It just decimates and moves on"
Benson let out another exasperated sigh.
"Fuck"
Michaels was frozen in place. In all his long hours of service, not once had he frozen up so monumentally. The sheer alien nature of not having a plan or confidence in himself terrified him.
His father's thoughts finally began echoing through him as he watched Benson head back from the door towards where Michaels stood by the entrance.
"We need to get a move on" Michaels finally said
Benson scowled at the Seargent, however his lips were sealed tight.
"If we leave now and use the snow as cover we should"-
Too late. A bright red beam of light erupted behind them, lighting up the room as flames shot forth from the tripod and into the main camp. Screams of pain and terror began as the flames continued, licking at the brick sides of the rooms as the inner courtyard housing the prisoner camp went up in flames.
Michaels placed a hand on Benson. This was good, the Seargent recognised himself to finally be back in the driver's seat.
"Fuck that. Let's get out of here"
Dragging Benson out of the room they once more returned to that long hallway. The open archway exit was still so close, Michaels was almost hopeful they could finish off where they left off.
No luck however. Screaming Nazi soldiers were bustling and pushing past the two trying to escape through the same holy grail exit the pair had their eyes on.
"Benson!" Michaels shouted, gaining his attention through the onslaught of bodies in their way.
"Follow me!!"
The Seargent made a dash through the flood of people towards the exit. He was aware of Benson behind him, and tried to stay close by as to not lose him in the stampede. The Seargent was aware now of the experimentations done to poor Benson, he didn't expect him to be able to survive a rush of people like this.
OOLAA
Another loud cry of war from the tripod as Michaels continued to hear the cacophony of roasting screams ascend up from the courtyard and through the open windows.
Men screamed and wailed. The flurry of desperate limbs clinging to one another in an attempt to gain momentum was hellish, and Michaels found himself struggling against the rising current. He poked his head round once again in an effort to locate Benson, though proving to be fruitless.
Suddenly, a great beam of light pierced the nearest wall, a raging burst of fire spewed inwards as a group of men not too far in front of Michaels evaporated into dust and ash.
"Christ!" he exclaimed, being thrown back by the powerful burst as the large mass of people retroactively decided to change course.
The beam continued steadily, burning the unlucky few unable to turn around in time. Their screams and wails joining the pain and sorrow being endured down below within the courtyard.
The heat was intense. The light, blinding. Michaels shielded his eyes as he attempted to stay afloat in the sea of bodies. Benson was now lost amongst the crowd, all the Seargent could really focus on now was staying alive.
The beam began to move once more. Slowly at first, the death ray continued to pick up speed until it was slicing through the castle wall like butter.
Michaels noticed at the last minute, diving into a nearby door as the beam soared overhead. He watched in terror from his position on the floor as men were cut clean in half, their upper torsos set alit whilst the lower half was left to flounder and fall. It was hideous. It was monstrous.
For a moment Michaels was back in Yöpil. Pained and near death he had hung on by the skin of his teeth.
For reasons unbeknownst to that of the Seargent, faces and images began to surface as he lay amidst the fire and brimstone.
The girl and her grandfather he'd murdered back in Yöpil. His men on the front line. Jones. Abigail.
All people he had failed to save, choosing instead to save his own life and satiate his own morals when life began challenging him. As the screams of burning men continued to echo out, Michaels could see now how wrong he had been. He'd been wrong about it all. No decisions he'd made had been good ones, no morals he had followed had been just. He was a man without a code. A soul without a conscience.
"Get up Seargent!"
A figure. It stood before him, hand outstretched and begging for him to join.
The voice sounded fair off at first, however clarity soon returned to the near breaking point Seargent and he soon realised the figure standing before him was none other than Benson himself.
He was bloodied. Already looking more worse than when the Seargent had initially found him, Michaels could see scorch marks on the soldier's shirt and large cute along his arms and legs. He dared not look down at his own body. He knew himself to be covered in scars, he needn't the confirmation.
Shaking his head in an attempt to physically rid himself of the negative thoughts, the Seargent clasped hold of the soldier's hand and pulled himself up off the ground.
The noise from the whirring tripod was deafening. Michaels could see Benson talking right in front of him and yet he struggled to hear. After a few attempts he finally understood.
"are you alright!" Benson shouted.
"let's just get the fuck out of here!" Michaels cried.
The beam was continuing its way across the castle, working its way around in a circular motion. Half of the inner wall had been caved in. This meant Michaels and Benson were awarded a full page spread at the terror of the tripod. It spun on its legs, graceful like a ballerina, slowly burning its way through the interior of the castle in a clockwise fashion. The beam had passed them obviously. However it now was clear that the war machine would not stop once it returned to its original position, and the pair would need to evacuate fast in order to not be caught in the second cycle.
The two ran outside the door they'd just gone through and out for the third time into the corridor. The archway they'd been idolising was now a giant gaping hole. Bricks sat half melted in the ground and burnt bodies littered the path.
Finding the strength and mental willpower the two hastily crossed the sea of charred limbs and blackened bones as they ran towards the exit. The snow could be seen once more, the air felt and the breeze touched.
A whirring noise suddenly picked up and Benson screamed for them both to get down. Michaels dived forwards, crashing into the snow outside just as the second cycle of the heat ray came crashing overhead.
This time he could feel the heat more clearly, and his back felt singed from coming so close to contact with such a terrifying ray of doom.
"You alright Michaels!?" Benson shouted from not too far ahead
"Think so!" The Seargent shouted in return.
The snow around the pair had melted due to the intensity of the ray, giving way to harsh rock underneath. The duo quickly got to their feet, standing back to gaze at the destruction done to the castle.
It was in utter ruins. Flames were bursting from every orifice as bricks continued to steadily fall and screams continued to cry out. The tripod was now in the centre of the castle, pronged directly above the courtyard and peering into the circular castle innards surrounding it. The beam had finished its path of destruction, though every so often one could see the eruption of brilliant light and the chorus of screams that followed. It seemed for now the tripod was content with playing with its prey.
Benson was in awe. Michaels less so. He'd seen the destruction up close, he knew what often followed.
The two began to stagger further back until their feet once more crunched down on the cool texture of snow. They both had been unprepared for such rapid temperature decrease, with their breath already clearly visible.
"my god" Benson muttered to himself, watching the chaos unfold
"These truly are the end times huh Sarg"
Michaels turned to the private and went to reply when a large explosion shook the side of the castle nearest to them. It blew the pair off their feet, sending them sailing backwards into the snowy landscape as great plumes of smoke and fire began to rise from the castle and into the air.
Shards of metal and shrapnel lay embedded in the environment around the Seargent. Whatever had exploded must've reacted to the intense heat spike and falling debris.
Michaels felt a sharp pain in his leg as he went to move. Peering down he noticed three small pieces of shrapnel lodged in his left leg. He could move it thankfully, and the blood flow was minor, however the pain of it was still well and truly there.
Fireballs and shrapnel continued in quick succession across the castle. First there'd be a tremor followed up by the brilliant amber and metallic rain.
From his position lying in the snow he watched as the great tripod lifted itself into the air. The behemoth continued its gracefulness as its three pronged legs and whirred and shimmied, allowing the hub of the tripod to gain enough height for it to tower over the castle.
The building was in utter ruins, the tripod standing amidst it, proud of the work it had done.
Michaels leg was still in pain and he knew he'd have difficulty moving. The tripod now made a grunting sound as it began to circle the castle, its legs coming down like wrecking balls, destroying bricks and mortar as it came crashing through.
He had one more shot at saving this. He had one more shot at making everything right. In his backpack, Michaels held the key to all of this.
The radio. The improvised radio he'd used on the Martians initially. It had been his last resort then, it seemed to be his last resort now.
With great pain he rolled over and pulled off his backpack. In the process his eyes lingered on his stumped arm, a reminder of the mistakes he'd made in the past. A warning not to repeat them.
His hand scrambled around in the bag. He was aware of the loud noises building up behind him. Any second now the tripod would notice him, and the great beam of fire would engulf him as it had done so many others before him.
Finally his hands found their grip on the familiar metallic object and he pulled it out with great speed.
The radio was ruined. Buttons had come loose and the outer shell of the radio had been crushed on impact from the blast. The force of such a crush seemed to have done major damage to the wires within, as some appeared to be snapped whilst others merely dangled in place.
Michaels heart sank.
It had been all for nothing, all of this.
He'd failed to save Benson. What sort of a Seargent was unable to keep even one of his men safe from harm.
In his rage he had made mistakes unbecoming of such a title, unbecoming of any man. He had doomed the entire town of Yöpil and lost the love of his life.
And now, life was seemingly throwing it all back in his face.
Michaels accepted this to a certain degree. He deserved it of course, he thought grimly to himself. On almost all levels of rational thinking he deserved such karma to finally come home to roost.
It was just a shame this was how he were destined to end things.
The tripod finally turned, halting in place as its large green bulbous eyes seemingly locked onto the Seargent. He assumed for any other soldier this'd have been the end, reduced to ash and memories. However, it seemed that the mere sight of such device in his hand, regardless of its condition sent alarm bells ringing for the large machine of death. With a speed unlike any he had seen before, the Martian pod straightened itself up before launching itself towards the Seargent.
The ground tremored as it went, the sound of large metal prongs digging into the ground becoming greater and greater in volume until the vehicle finally came to a stop above him.
The reaper was here, finally ready to collect.
He was out of options. The radio had been his last life line, the last option of self-defence. And yet, he had failed that too. Even the simplest of plans he had done poorly. He was a failure.
"Do it!" he shouted, staring upwards to the sky as the cylindrical shape of the tripod came into view. Its hulking mass blocked out the sun, casting Michaels into its shadow.
"Just fucking do it!" he cried once more.
"I tried, and I failed, so just fucking do it already"
Tears began to appear slowly against the Sergeants face as he continued to cry out in pain. He had no fear now, he was ready.
The tripod watched, with an odd sort of curiosity one would expect from a toddler inspecting a gecko.
"Please!" he wailed "just do it"
The familiar amber ring began to appear beneath the green eyes of the metal hull. A humming could be heard from way above now as the ring became more intense and heat could be felt from down below.
"I give up!" he pleaded "Im ready!"
Michaels kept his eyes open, staring directly into the orange ring. He figured that if he were to face his maker, he deserved ot see it coming.
But the fire never came. The pain and the screaming and the blackening skin never occurred. So too did the great beam of light or the sensation of melting, bubbling skin never began.
Michaels watched in a mixture of desperation and confusion as the ring suddenly ceased. The amber quickly faded, the green glow of the eyes flickering rapidly before a swaying of the legs began to take hold of the tripod.
It was as if the machine had suddenly lost all coordination. It swung back and forth in the wind as its legs stiffened and the deafening whirring of the cogs and steam gears ceased.
And then, much to the Seargents surprise, the tripod fell.
Its sway backwards snowballed into a lurching and subsequently a stumble, falling backwards away from the Seargent. One by one its legs lost stability on the ground and just as quickly as it had begun the Martian war machine came tumbling down on top of the remains of the castle. With a loud crash sending up plumes of smoke and dust the technological horror came to a rest, buried beneath the debris of the German base.
The screams finally came to a stop.
The fire continued to burn.
Michaels watched on in desperation.
"I...." he was perplexed. He couldn't find the right words. To be that certain of death, prepared to see to it the end of his life and then to have it all taken away from him in the blink of an eye. For the Seargant he felt perplexing angry.
"no" he muttered, first as a whimper before turning into a scream
"NO! You cant do that to me! Come back!"
he tried to stand, but the pain in his legs surged and he fell forwards back into the snow.
The tears were still rolling, his body still shaking.
"Kill me!" he cried out to no one in particular
"You should have killed me"
The whimpering continued for a time, mixed with the sound of crackling fire nearby.
Around the time his pleading had ceased to that of a bear whimper, the sound of crunching snow came into earshot. His ears picked up the new sensation and he rolled himself onto his back to see where the noise was coming from.
"Benson... You're alive"
Indeed, it was Benson. The soldier traipsing across the snowy landscape made his way towards the Seargent.
He was bloodied and beaten too. Benson limped forwards, cuts and burns causing his clothes to become little less than tattered rags. Similar pieces of shrapnel could be seen lodged into his arm.
Michaels staggered to his feet. The pain had ceased somewhat by now thanks to the cool temperature of the snow.
"Benson thank god. Let's get out of here before"- Michaels went to say but Benson held up a finger.
"No. No Seargant not a word"
Michaels had no time for this. His legs were beginning to ache and he still needed to catch his breath. Because of this he was left a panting, heaving and shaking mess constantly correcting his own balance as he waited for Benson to continue with whatever he had to say.
"Listen Seargant, listen to that" the soldier said, pausing for a brief moment to let the sound of burning momentarily be in the spotlight.
"That's the sound of people burning. Innocent people crushed or worse because of you" Benson emphasised the word innocent.
"Benson I"-
"You didn't think Seargant. You never do, you just react and expect everyone to follow" tears were beginning to well in the irishmans eyes.
"you let them all die just to get some petty revenge"
Michaels frowned "Petty revenge?! I singlehandedly destroyed a German plot to develop super weapons!"
"and in the process killed hundreds of innocent men and children!"
Michaels scoffed "hundreds?! There were barely over a hundred prisoners here Benson!"
"Yöpil... I was speaking about Yöpil"
This took Michaels back
"I heard about it through Guards gossiping. Apparently, a tripod came knocking on the manors door so to speak, not even a single body could be identified..."
Michaels didn't know what to say. Whatever battle this was between the two, he could feel he was on the losing side.
"You're an utter mess Seargent. A desperate man attempting to make the right choices and yet in the process making all the wrong ones... I saw you begging just before. Couldn't believe it. How desperate you were for death, to be released of the burden you call life... And yes for the record you did let all those men, women and children burn just now Sarg, and yet you didn't even hesitate. People I'd come to know and ware for reduced to cinders because one man couldn't fight the testosterone in his system"
Benson spat on the snow mere inches from Michaels feet
"You should've left me there Sarg. It'd've been better than this"
Benson turned around and was suddenly off, trudging away into the snowy mountainside.
"Benson wait!"
Michaels went to follow but the pain in his legs were too much to bare and he fell back down into the snow.
Benson turned back around, offering one last remark before disappearing into the snowy wilderness
"Good luck Michaels... you're sure gonna need it"
And with that Benson was gone.
The pain on his heart was immense. Michaels lay there, staring up at the cloudy sky as he began the cycle once more of picturing those he had wronged.
He lay there for a long while, wrestling with his inner demons. What he had done, he'd need to come to terms with. Who he had lost, he needed to accept.
And so he continued to lie drenched in blood and soot, listening to the almost rhythmic crackle of fire and the occasional crashing of rubble.
Alone once more.