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Crucible

A good man is hard to come by

By H. R. NelsonPublished 3 years ago 5 min read
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Crucible
Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash

"It looks like... what is it called, on the med bags?" Fennik asked.

Jorten narrowed his eyes at the man. It was a foolish question, but Fennik was a fool. It was both a foolish and typical question—a typical question for a fool to ask. Jorten's frustration ebbed into a sort of snide amusement, as he imagined how much of a fool Fennik was. He was much keener by comparison. It was a comforting thought, but also a fleeting one. Sharing a foxhole with a fool is the opposite of comforting. It was downright tragic, but also typical.

Jorten looked beyond the edge of the foxhole, clutching his R-109 tight. The quiet didn't infuriate him nearly as much as it did before, but amongst the foolish Fennik, Jorten began to seethe. All across the no-man's-land were enemies, and Jorten had the extreme pleasure of facing them with a fool.

It seemed that all GSEC-6 did nowadays was spit out fools; useless men who died too easy without much to show for it. The life of a man isn't cheap. The life of a man has near endless uses. He can screen the flanks of advancing armor. He can throw himself in a bunker with a primed box-buster strapped against his chest. He can lug mortars from the rear, or cans of Repurp, or mask filters, or tubes of RadGuard.

Indeed the life of a man is not cheap, not until he has done his duty. All good men do their duty, and it seems that, as usual, good men are in short supply. You can always tell when you're around men of poor quality. Men of poor quality hesitate, they ask questions, or they talk too much. They exist for nobody else but themselves. They assume that a moment without killing is a moment well spent. Jorten was different from this horrible lot. Jorten was a good man, and was expendible, at least now he was. He had helped repel the scum of GSEC-5 more than once, though much to his chagrin. The longer he lived, the more men in reserves there would be, and the more meaningless his life would become. At some point, Colonel Kellis would declare him within violation of Ordinance C-1001. That could go only one way. If Jorten was gene-viable it could go two ways, but unfortunately, the opposite was correct. The non-viables get turned into Repurp; food for the war effort. Jorten wouldn't have had it any other way. Why should he live longer than needed? Without food, GSEC-6 would never last against 5, or 4 for that matter. War with GSEC-4 is inevitable, as is all war.

Jorten sucked his teeth, and tossed Fennik the bit of flotsam.

"You aren't an Inquirer," he said. The yellow chain connected to the junk made a curious sharp sound as it flew at Fennik. It was almost curious, but Jorten was not a fool.

Fennik reached out both hands, fumbling at first but finally catching the thing, "And?"

"So shut up, fool."

And he did; Fennik crumpled away to his side of the foxhole like a starving trench rat. He was pathetic. Jorten began to ponder his options with the man; it would make the most sense to kill him. His index finger twitched out of instict, gently caressing the trigger of his E-109. He squeezed the mechanism, and gave a low chuckle. It wouldnt budge past less than half a centimeter; the safety would do that, of course. It was moreso out of some kind of gratification. One that was passible, as Jorten is a man amongst men. Colonel Kellis would understand if he killed Fennik. Fennik was asking ridiculous questions. He was twiddling his thumbs around wasteland trash, as if there wasn't a SEC-damned war going on. He would very much understand. Jorten was sure of it.

Jorten disengaged the safety of his R-109.

"Fennik," Jorten began. He made sure to sound stern, but warm. All men could understand that tone.

The fool snapped his neck quick to meet Fennik's eyes, "Yes?"

"We're you at Hadiram, two weeks back?"

"Yes, I was, with the 8—"

Within a fraction of a section, the coils on Jorten's R-109 spun up. The tungston alloy slug smashed through Fennik's chest with all the force of a microsopic fission reaction. It sent, oh so many pieces of the fool all across the foxhole. Jorten almost squeezed the trigger again, but best save the ammunition. There was a war going on after all, and thanks to him, there was one less fool to lessen the chances of victory. The feeling, was glorious, an act that vindicated all others in Jorten's mind. H sat in a pit of viscera, laughing as though he had won the entire war by himself.

Colonel Kellis would thank him; a foxhole is no place for a fool. If he were Fennik he would have surrendered himself for the Repurp refineries on the spot. Fennik deserves no such pleasantries. The meat of a fool can't be healthy. The Repurp refineries were thorough, but Jorten would not take the risk.

Jorten, for a moment pondered if Kellis, in fact, would not approve of his actions. It wouldn’t matter if he did or didn't. Jorten was expendible, the Repurp refineries would be his fate soon. It was a thing to invigorate the heart.

Jorten stood up from the foxhole, and undid the sling for his shovel. It was time for a new foxhole; and with any luck, this would be his last.

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About the Creator

H. R. Nelson

As someone who has always struggled with finding out who exactly he was, writing is so much more than just putting words on a page. It is allowing myself to truly feel like something worthwhile exists from my efforts. That I do belong.

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