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Private Charlie McBain, US Marine Corps, sighed as he looked out across the endless expanse of snow and forest for the thousandth time that morning. It didn't matter where you were in this damned wasteland, it always looked the same. Patrol duty here was almost a form of torture, especially picket duty where there was nothing warm anywhere near the patrol route.
He shivered slightly. There was nowhere in the United States that could even vaguely be described as 'warm', but here, in the northern extremes of the country the cold was mind-numbing. He slung his Aztec-made assault rifle over his shoulder and slipped his hands into his armpits for warmth.
He trudged on down the path through the snow for a few more minutes before he saw another uniformed figure walking quickly in the opposite direction. As they got closer he could see it was his friend Corporal Anthony.
"Hey Corporal," he said through chattering teeth, "cold innit?"
"Cold? Cold??" Antony replied with a grin, "Charlie, this is just a nice bracing breeze."
"Damned Eskimos." Charlie muttered loudly.
"I heard that." Anthony said mock-reprovingly, "Inuit, Private, Inuit. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Corporal Anthony, quite clearly, was an Inuit, who were the only ethnic group that really lived up in the northern states. They'd been defeated by the Americans thousands of years before, but as the only thing the U.S. government cared about up here was oil, neither the Americans nor the Inuit had much reason for enmity.
"Seen anything?" Anthony asked, more seriously.
"Not a blessed thing. I don't think anything in it's right mind except a polar bear or a reindeer would want to come up here."
Anthony shrugged.
"See you at the mess room after we finish patrol duty." he said.
"Right."
The two of them carried on their seperate patrol paths and Charlie's thoughts slipped back to the all-pervading cold. It had been no end of trouble when they were setting up the facility, causing fuel to freze in vehicle engines, steel rods to shatter like glass, and causing incredible discomfort to everyone who worked there. Many of those assigned from the southern states had grumbled about having to set this place up in what was best described by the common joke up here:
"What's the difference between here and a freezer?"
"A freezer's a lot smaller."
Still, the order for this base had come from President Lincoln himself in Washington, and you didn't question orders from Washington. Doing so tended to cause bullets to appear in one's head.
He was jolted out of such thoughts when his radio began beeping with the 'Report In' signal, broadcast every ten minutes. He tapped three buttons on his helmet in the correct order and the bleeping ceased. He then glanced around agin at the landscape. He shook his head again, seeing nothing, but just as he did so he spotted movement in the trees. Immediately after that he heard the slight crunching of snow.
Forgetting the cold, he brought his assault rifle up and squinted between the trees, trying to see what was there. He saw another flicker of movement on the other side of the path, and spinning to face it, he caught the slight, unmistakeable glint of the weak sunlight on a gunbarrel.
He knew full well that no-one would be stupid enough to try and pull this kind of thing as a practical joke on him, and guards at this facility were ordered to shoot intruders on sight - assuming they couldn't be captured. He raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened. Charlie swore - the cold must have jammed the gun, yet again. He frantically worked the system fitted to the guns of everyone assigned here for just this purpose - but just as his finger went for the trigger once again, he heard the muffled sound of a silenced gunshot, and suddenly felt a bullet strike him in the back of the head. It was the last thing he ever felt.
* * *
I'm working on the next bit right now. Any comments would be appreciated
.
He shivered slightly. There was nowhere in the United States that could even vaguely be described as 'warm', but here, in the northern extremes of the country the cold was mind-numbing. He slung his Aztec-made assault rifle over his shoulder and slipped his hands into his armpits for warmth.
He trudged on down the path through the snow for a few more minutes before he saw another uniformed figure walking quickly in the opposite direction. As they got closer he could see it was his friend Corporal Anthony.
"Hey Corporal," he said through chattering teeth, "cold innit?"
"Cold? Cold??" Antony replied with a grin, "Charlie, this is just a nice bracing breeze."
"Damned Eskimos." Charlie muttered loudly.
"I heard that." Anthony said mock-reprovingly, "Inuit, Private, Inuit. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Yeah, yeah."
Corporal Anthony, quite clearly, was an Inuit, who were the only ethnic group that really lived up in the northern states. They'd been defeated by the Americans thousands of years before, but as the only thing the U.S. government cared about up here was oil, neither the Americans nor the Inuit had much reason for enmity.
"Seen anything?" Anthony asked, more seriously.
"Not a blessed thing. I don't think anything in it's right mind except a polar bear or a reindeer would want to come up here."
Anthony shrugged.
"See you at the mess room after we finish patrol duty." he said.
"Right."
The two of them carried on their seperate patrol paths and Charlie's thoughts slipped back to the all-pervading cold. It had been no end of trouble when they were setting up the facility, causing fuel to freze in vehicle engines, steel rods to shatter like glass, and causing incredible discomfort to everyone who worked there. Many of those assigned from the southern states had grumbled about having to set this place up in what was best described by the common joke up here:
"What's the difference between here and a freezer?"
"A freezer's a lot smaller."
Still, the order for this base had come from President Lincoln himself in Washington, and you didn't question orders from Washington. Doing so tended to cause bullets to appear in one's head.
He was jolted out of such thoughts when his radio began beeping with the 'Report In' signal, broadcast every ten minutes. He tapped three buttons on his helmet in the correct order and the bleeping ceased. He then glanced around agin at the landscape. He shook his head again, seeing nothing, but just as he did so he spotted movement in the trees. Immediately after that he heard the slight crunching of snow.
Forgetting the cold, he brought his assault rifle up and squinted between the trees, trying to see what was there. He saw another flicker of movement on the other side of the path, and spinning to face it, he caught the slight, unmistakeable glint of the weak sunlight on a gunbarrel.
He knew full well that no-one would be stupid enough to try and pull this kind of thing as a practical joke on him, and guards at this facility were ordered to shoot intruders on sight - assuming they couldn't be captured. He raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened. Charlie swore - the cold must have jammed the gun, yet again. He frantically worked the system fitted to the guns of everyone assigned here for just this purpose - but just as his finger went for the trigger once again, he heard the muffled sound of a silenced gunshot, and suddenly felt a bullet strike him in the back of the head. It was the last thing he ever felt.
* * *
I'm working on the next bit right now. Any comments would be appreciated
.
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