//------------------------------// // Chapter Twenty-Five // Story: Salvation // by Sandstorm Inkwell //------------------------------// Brief staccato of gunfire. Screaming. Crackling of a fire. All these sounds seem distant as I stare at the hilt poking out from my vest. That's all I could see: the hilt. The actual blade had been driven through my vest and into my skin. How deep is it? I mentally asked myself. Shakily, I grab the hilt. Clenching my teeth, I pull and feel pain flare from my gut. I don't stop though, until the blade is free from my vest. I look at it, shocked. Only the tip (an inch, maybe?) of the surprisingly short blade was covered in my blood. The rest of it was blood-free. I looked at the insurgent to see that he was now riddled with holes, a nice red pool forming underneath him. Looking to where Jones was standing I see that he's still there, looking at me with wide eyes. “It barely went in,” I say with a laugh as I show him the blade, “It barely went in.” I see him look toward the truck. The truck! my mind yelled as I turned and saw the flaming wreckage. “Shit!” I shout as I scramble to my feet, ignoring the pain. With me up, Jones starts dashing to the truck and I follow. A Marine is writhing nearby. Jones practically throws himself at the man to try to help stabilize him. As he does that, I move around the truck to driver's side, where the other two were. When I fully come around the wreckage, I feel my feet freeze in shock. One of the two Marines is slowly crawling away from the husk, his leg gone from mid-thigh down. The other, what is left of him, is riddled with shrapnel and burnt to a near crisp. Pushing the image of the burnt Marine from my mind, I turn to the crawling one and rush to him. Kneeling at his side, I force him over onto his back. “Hey, hey,” I say loudly as I notice that he's bleeding from his front. I take off his helmet and toss it aside before gripping both sides of his head and leaning forward to look down at him. His eyes are darting around and beginning to glaze over. “Hey!” I say again, louder. His eyes focus on me, “Calm down. You need to calm down. You're going to be alright. Just hang on. Can you do that for me?” He hesitates before nodding his head. This action seems to cause him to cough, blood coming out when he does. Pushing that issue aside until later, I grab the bottom of his blouse and rip off a long strip of it. With the strip, I then tie it around his upper thigh, above the stump. Tying the knot tight, I hear him hiss in pain. “Just hold on,” I repeat as I finish tying the knot. When I do, I move to his chest, slowly opening his vest. He hisses in pain again before coughing but I continue to open it. Finally, the vest is open and I see that he's actually bleeding from multiple wounds in his chest. “Holy fuck...” I whisper, flinching as I do. Looking back, I see more men coming down from the berm and moving towards us. “Medic!” I scream at the top of my lungs, waving them to me, “Medic over here!” Turning back to the Marine, I watch as he coughs up more blood. He's wheezing now, every time he breaths. “Just hang on man. You're gonna be fine,” It's a lie. I know it and I'm sure he knows it but it was all I could say. No matter how much you see it, you never grow used to death. “Thigh...p-pocket,” I hear him croak. I look at his legs and prey to whatever deity listens that he doesn't mean his left thigh pocket. Reaching over, I dig into his right thigh pocket and find a carton of smokes. Digging more, I find his lighter, a USMC Zippo. Knowing what he wants, I shakily take out one of the cigarettes and put it to his bloody mouth. Flicking the lighter open, I look at the flame for a millisecond before lighting the man's last smoke. “T-thanks,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as he inhales the nicotine before blowing out smoke. I nod as I flick the lighter closed. Then I just sit there... and watch as he fades away to whatever afterlife, or lack thereof, he believes in. When I don't hear him wheeze again for a few seconds, I reach over and put two fingers to his throat. Feeling no pulse, I then close his still open eyes before taking the cigarette from his mouth and extinguishing it against the dirt. By the time I had finished doing that, someone slides to a stop next to me. I don't look at them but I know their looking at the Marine. “Damn it,” I hear him mutter. I take this as my time to stand up. When I'm on my two feet again, I look around to see that a mixed squad of Marines and Army personnel were in covering positions. Walking to the front of the truck, I look to where I saw the Marine writhing on the ground. Around him were two people who I could only assume were Corpsman. Both Corpsman were talking and trying their hardest to stabilize the Marine. Standing behind the scene is Jones, looking for all the world like a lost child. When he sees me, he walks over and stops in front of me. He looks from me to where I was as if to ask: “How are they?” I slowly shake my head and see a piece of himself crumble down. I nod to the Corpsmen, “How is he?” Jones shrugs as he looks back, “The Docs say he'll be alright but I don't know. He had a big piece of shrapnel sticking from his gut and... and he just kept moving. I-I tried to calm him down but he just kept screaming and-d wiggling.” “Jones,” he looks back to me and I see that a couple tears leaked from his eyes. I could see it in his eyes. The doubt. The guilt. “You did everything you could man.” He shakes his head before looking back at me, “No. We knew something was off. If we told them, then... then maybe they wouldn't have been injured.” “They would've still had to check the truck at some point. Even if we all discovered that sleeper and taken him down, we would've still had to check the truck. Then we would all be laying there in the dirt,” I explain. He just shakes his head, “We would've seen it then, we-” I grab both sides of his head and make him face me, “Jones, look at me. Look at me.” He looks at me and I talk in as soft a voice as I could muster, “There was nothing we could do. No matter what, one or all of us would've still gotten injured. Maybe there was a better way but it's too late to take that road now. Understand? We have to keep focusing on the next second and the second after that.” He nods and I moved my hands to his shoulders and gently push down, “Just sit here and try to calm yourself. We'll head back to the camp when they move, alright?” He sits down in the dirt, just giving me another nod. I looked around at the security team and see some of them looking at me and Jones. Some give me a nod before looking back while others look at Jones with either sympathy or anger before looking back. As I did, I feel something against my leg and look down to see that Jones had leaned himself against me. “I want to go home,” I hear him mutter through his tears. I chuckle a mostly dry chuckle, “I do too, Jones.” Believe me. I do too... /--\ Twilight and me had separated about a minute ago. She had walked into the kitchen saying that she would make lunch. This left me in the main room with absolutely nothing to do. “Oh, hey Scootaloo! Why are you here?” I turn to see Spike standing on the stairs, looking down at me. “I got in trouble at school so they sent me... home,” I reply, stumbling on the word 'home'. Twilight's library was nice and so was she but this place wasn't my home. The large hall was my home but Tyler told me to stay with Twilight until his return so that is what I'll do. “Bummer,” Spike replied as he started hopping down the stairs. He suddenly stopped and looked at me in excitement, “Hey! Think you could help with something?” I raise an eyebrow at him, “What do you need help with?” “I need to get something from one of the upper shelves. Usually I get the ladder or stack books but since Tyler has been helping you with flying, I though that maybe you could get it,” he explains in that fast voice of his. “Okay,” I place Tyler's hat on my head and stand up, “I'll try. What do you need me to get?” Spike walked over to one of the sections of shelf and looked up, “That quill up there.” I look up the shelf and see, near the top, a quill sitting by itself. “How did it get way up there?” I ask, looking back at Spike. “I don't know,” he answers with a shrug, “but I'm trying to organize everything for Twilight and I need that quill to finish.” “Spike? Doing something?” I ask jokingly as I trot over to him. “Haha,” he mocks laugh, “you gonna help or not?” I stick my tongue out at him before answering, “Sure, I'll try to help.” I stop at the bottom of the shelf and look up. By Celestia, that's high. I think to myself as I see the top of the quill sticking over the edge of the shelf. I look at the ground, Alright. You can do this. Open your wings. With a 'whish' my wings open. I look at them and feel embarrassed by their size. Resisting the urge to clench them to my side, I look up at the quill. Upward, wings folded. Downward, wings out. Fast though. Like a bee. I monologue inwardly, remembering what Tyler told me. I start to flap my wings. Slowly at first: fold...out...fold...out...fold...out. I then flap them a little faster: fold, out, fold, out, fold, out. I begin to gain altitude but I stop when I'm barely off the ground. Faster! I yell inwardly. I pump as much strength into my wings as I can: foldoutfoldoutfoldoutfoldoutfoldout. I can hear the buzzing effect that the speed of my wings are creating as I begin to go higher into the air. A large smile comes to my face as I pass by the shelves, ascending farther. I'm doing it! All on my own! It takes a while but soon I'm level with the shelf that holds the quill. I grab it with my hooves and let out a small cheer. “You got it!” I hear Spike yell, “Come on down!” The happiness flees my body as I look down. Down? Slowly, I begin to descend but I can already feel the tiredness in my wings. Just a little more, I demand of myself. There is no more though and soon I find myself plummeting back to the floor, screaming. I close my eyes as I near the floor but I never do. Opening my eyes, I see the purple glow of Twilight's magic keeping me aloft. I look down expecting the floor, but instead I see a brown mane, white coat with a grayish brown spot, and a scrunched up face. “Pipsqueak?”