Post by Naga Warasaki on Jan 4, 2008 1:30:51 GMT
Naga was sure he could curse his ancestors for what happened in that small fraction of time. Wounded, not to mention bearing up an insurmountable amount of pain, the private found himself exposed after the horse ran off frightened probably from the likes of him.
Not only that, he had to care for two lives: his and the P.O.W. For whatever reason, the soldier could not bring himself to abandon this boy nor finish him (Stephen) off. He grabbed Stephen’s collar harshly taking cover behind him and shambled forward with no clue where he supposed to go. He heard the loud crack of the gunfire as they were about to move onward and though Naga would like to continue their run to lessen their chances of being hit, he quickly thought in their state and condition two wounded soldiers stood an unlikely fate of running the bullet, so instead he hauled his weight to the ground, tasted the bitter dirt beneath him, and heard the swift whisk of the shot and if he was not mistaken a loud thud of his companion Stephen. Naga was not certain whether the blast impaled through any of them because the panic drove an adrenaline rush to his veins.
Death only came to those who willed it, and the private, his eyes vacant, could be said no longer as a victim of death but as that of death itself. With his pale skin and blood shot eyes, Naga pulled Stephen to his feet and slammed him to the wall as they advanced closer to the side street. He could feel his vision drifting in and out, whoozy headed, when he placed the Kar in a safe lodge under his arm. The boy probably think I’m crazy. He laughed a silent laugh all to himself and dropped down to one knee facing eye to eye with the P.O.W. Although now probably was the best time to end the young boy’s life, what Naga did instead was to pull out Stephen’s hand and redid the bandage.
“Didn’t I tell you there are better reasons to go to war?” he murmured softly when a loud bellow shouted not to far from them, telling him a German probably was there, cornered. “Darn. Where are your friends when you needed, huh?” he said rather disgusted, “Where are they, huh? You hear me, boy. Go home. Get a nice bess as you Allies call it and marry her. Forget about this and just go home.”
Naga snatched Stephen’s Lee Enfield and slung the strap across his chest. He turned around angry to find the young man still there and with intention, he lashed out silently, his throat rasped from the strain, with a pointed finger mouthing the words “get.” Either Stephen ran off or not, Naga ignored him and shifted along the wall all set to save his comrade. He hoped it was not his captain, Captain Wolfram, since he did not wish to see his hero die in front of him if that ever occurred, but to his disappointment the private saw his captain fighting with an armed man while another Allied aiming at the two. He could not hope to get a steady shot at the enemy on the floor (McMillan) though Wolfram seemed to enjoy bashing this victim to his doom, but what he worried more was the Allied soldier across him with his gun ready, and so Naga shot him off, didn’t care whether his aim struck through or not, and reloaded prepared to shoot at this man again as he took special care concealing himself behind the wall’s corners.
Not only that, he had to care for two lives: his and the P.O.W. For whatever reason, the soldier could not bring himself to abandon this boy nor finish him (Stephen) off. He grabbed Stephen’s collar harshly taking cover behind him and shambled forward with no clue where he supposed to go. He heard the loud crack of the gunfire as they were about to move onward and though Naga would like to continue their run to lessen their chances of being hit, he quickly thought in their state and condition two wounded soldiers stood an unlikely fate of running the bullet, so instead he hauled his weight to the ground, tasted the bitter dirt beneath him, and heard the swift whisk of the shot and if he was not mistaken a loud thud of his companion Stephen. Naga was not certain whether the blast impaled through any of them because the panic drove an adrenaline rush to his veins.
Death only came to those who willed it, and the private, his eyes vacant, could be said no longer as a victim of death but as that of death itself. With his pale skin and blood shot eyes, Naga pulled Stephen to his feet and slammed him to the wall as they advanced closer to the side street. He could feel his vision drifting in and out, whoozy headed, when he placed the Kar in a safe lodge under his arm. The boy probably think I’m crazy. He laughed a silent laugh all to himself and dropped down to one knee facing eye to eye with the P.O.W. Although now probably was the best time to end the young boy’s life, what Naga did instead was to pull out Stephen’s hand and redid the bandage.
“Didn’t I tell you there are better reasons to go to war?” he murmured softly when a loud bellow shouted not to far from them, telling him a German probably was there, cornered. “Darn. Where are your friends when you needed, huh?” he said rather disgusted, “Where are they, huh? You hear me, boy. Go home. Get a nice bess as you Allies call it and marry her. Forget about this and just go home.”
Naga snatched Stephen’s Lee Enfield and slung the strap across his chest. He turned around angry to find the young man still there and with intention, he lashed out silently, his throat rasped from the strain, with a pointed finger mouthing the words “get.” Either Stephen ran off or not, Naga ignored him and shifted along the wall all set to save his comrade. He hoped it was not his captain, Captain Wolfram, since he did not wish to see his hero die in front of him if that ever occurred, but to his disappointment the private saw his captain fighting with an armed man while another Allied aiming at the two. He could not hope to get a steady shot at the enemy on the floor (McMillan) though Wolfram seemed to enjoy bashing this victim to his doom, but what he worried more was the Allied soldier across him with his gun ready, and so Naga shot him off, didn’t care whether his aim struck through or not, and reloaded prepared to shoot at this man again as he took special care concealing himself behind the wall’s corners.
