There is no rest for the weary. I came to Fort Dew after doing a mission in the Bane Base in the Pallisades. It was supposed to be a quick trip. Instead, four thousand standard rounds, almost thousand charges of energy, and hundreds of weapon grade micromechs later, and I’m still here, manning the walls, calling in air strikes, and sniping the constant enemy attacks. I only come down from the walls anymore to restock on ammo choosing instead to slide behind the wall during a pause, prop my back against it, and take off my helmet.
“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?—“
The quote comes unbidden. The Bane has come time and time again. They don’t use slings and arrows but laser rifles and pulse cannons and they have come upon us like a sea. A sea of troubles indeed. Wave after wave of them have crashed against our walls. We oppose them, granting them no quarter, and expecting none, and so far we’ve held.
"To die,—to sleep,—
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,—'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd."
The blast scarred walls bare testament to their ferocity, as do the number of wounded in the medic tent, and the rows of the dead waiting for transport back to Foreas Base. The dead lie so peacefully in their “sleep” under their ponchos. In a way I envy them. I’m cold, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m dirty and I’m tired. I haven’t had a hot meal, the heat from the battlefield sears my throat, as the smoke and grease and sweat mix on my skin.
"To die,—to sleep;—
To sleep! perchance to dream:"
I haven’t slept. Just then the base alarms start to sound, startling me from the half-doze that I had been in. The dream slips from my fatigue filled mind as the incessant alarm blares its constant warning across the area. My helmet slips back on my head as I peek over the battlements.
"aye, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:"
My rifle is raised back to my shoulder; my eyes stare down upon the field as the drop ships begin to transport down their cargo. Let us see if we can not give a few more Banes’ dreams pause.
Author: Rosayln