Hello, Tiger here!
There is a story that I have been working on and posting on the SAMB, and I have decided to post it on here also:
July 4th, 2019
The snow was everywhere. It blanketed almost everything he could see, as if dust in an old, unused basement. Soon, the ground will be stained, no not stained, painted with red. And when a sad, lonely rain comes crashing down into the everlasting whiteness, light, turquoise blue reflecting the color of the sky, the colors of the American flag will be painted. But it wouldn’t be celebrated, it would be despised, separated from, like the Declaration of Independence, but more sudden, impulsive, strategic.
From this day, July 4th will mean more than independence from Britain, it will be;
“The day of the mutiny of the Antarctic 10th Defense Battalion,” said Captain Johny Rark.
Captain Johny Rark, of the 10th Defense Battalion, whose battalion was categorized for mastery of arms and fighting, looked out into the whiteness.
“Sir, Commander Herek would like to see you,” said a lower class soldier.
“Tell him I am training my private soldiers,” Johny turned. “But sir, you aren’t doing that, you will be accused of lying,” nervously said the short soldier.
“I demand silence!” Shouted Johny, “Today, the US Antarctic Base will perish, and all of the bases in the Frozen Continent will be united under my control!” The other man scampered away, terrified and sneaking glances at Johny.
“Start the broadcast,” whispered the Captain into his com link. There was a barely audible mumble, understood as yes sir.
Everywhere, on all of the radios and TVs in the US Antarctic base, only Captain Rark could be heard.
“Hello, my dear battallion. Today, you have a simple choice, either join me in my conquest to be ruler of the frozen continent, or oppose me and be eliminated. Simple enough.” The Captain rubbed his hands in anticipation.
He listened to cries of “Traitor!” and other forms of slander.
“My soldiers, oppose them it is, get to the armory!” he said through the com link.
Captain Rark, who barely participated in the fighting worked on finding Commander Braker. He heard soldiers running and throwing grenades, shooting and cries of pain. He smirked, “Today I will show them who is the boss, am I right?”
He was almost to Commander Braker’s private quarters when the last defenders blocked him. He fired a couple of quick shots and the soldiers fell to the floor. One of the soldiers, the strongest rose up from the floor. “I finally have more supporters,” thought Rark.
The man crossed his arms over his chest and said solemnly, “For justice.”
The burly man charged at Rark, only to die from a fatal bullet. “That wasn’t a fitting death for a soldier like you,” said Rark quietly. The Captain charged and rammed the Commander’s door. The solid, metal door wouldn’t budge. He rammed it again, and it still wouldn’t budge, even an inch. He finally threw a melter, a type of grenade that can melt almost any type of metal.
He watched the door glow orange-red and it suddenly started melting away, he watched molten metal drip from the edges of the door frame and onto the cold, emotionless metal floor.
Captain Rark walked into the Commander’s quarters. It was empty, except for a few unfinished maps on his desk. Johny suddenly turned around to a sound of loud footsteps.
Commander Braker stood there, his private soldiers holding Rark’s at bay.
“Broadcast this to the whole US,” said Rark over the com link, “Let the whole US see one of their greatest commanders defeated.”
“You,” said Commander Braker, pointing his finger, “Are accused of treason.” “You can be sentenced to prison, or die fighting for the wrong purpose, Johny Rark.
“Excuse me sir,” said Rark with a smirk, “But I think you, Jack Tom Braker, is the one not willing to accept the revolution! Attack!”
A skirmish broke out in the hallway, and while Rark’s forces were being pushed to the freezing whiteness outside, he gave a mischievous smile as it was all under his plan. When the door was opened and they stepped outside into the whiteness, the rebellion opened fire on their captain’s command.
Commander Braker, not expecting this stood there, trying to save everything he had worked for and the justice he had preserved, leaped forward into the gunfire, grappling with Rark, in the marsh-like, melting whiteness, accidently dropping his trusty pistol. Suddenly, there was an extemely loud shot, and Braker, rolled away, painting the snow with blood, and the sad rain painted it blue, turquoise blue like the color the droplets reflected.
While this all happened:
A couple, Fred Braker, Commander Braker’s son and Samantha Braker, his wife, watched TV, never expecting what would happen next.
Everyone’s TV set in the US, whose channel’s were hacked and turned, almost as if turning and viewing something new, viewed the same thing. Commander Braker’s defeat and death, fighting against the mutiny.
Fred, who previously had his hand over his pregnant wife’s belly, sat there in shock, his eyeballs begging to turn away but his mind, not wanting to believe, made them stay.
He watched his father roll over, painting the snow with blood, and Rark’s manic-like laughter, and…and the whiteness, melting away slowly after the cold rain, like how his father’s life was drained away by the mutiny Rark led, and the single, fatal bullet that delivered his murder.
Samantha, who was defined by her actions as a weird, but beautiful woman, wanting to take Fred’s eyes away from the horror, slowly said;
“What are we going to name our son?”
“Tom,” the father’s head turned, “Tom Braker.”
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