WRITING PROMPTS! Bit of a broad one here. Prominent memories or experiences from your characters pasts that have helped to shape who they are.
Ralakan Remembers....
Four Years after the Treaty of CoruscantBalmorra, Core SystemsBalmark Mountain region, Southern Balmorra((Mood music:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5RBlKOU3d8))
H Hour, 0800. Thick white trails of smoke followed in the wake of deadly rockets, screaming toward the towering hills of the Balmark Mountains like locomotives. The sound of cannon fire was deafening to the 30-odd Imperial Marines inside the Armoured Personnel Carrier, crammed in like sardines, the men rocking as the vehicles traversed
the rough terrain. Someone threw up, much to the ire of his comrades. A few nervous jokes were tossed around, the men having to yell to be heard by their buddies, often falling on deaf ears, their comrades grasping their weapons tightly or quietly mouthing prayers. Smoke rose from the heights of the hills like an omen of what was to come, the gruelling fight the men would have ahead of them.
Freshly minted Lieutenant Ralakan Walker stood in the middle of the pack, fresh faced and clad in a set of red and black body armour that was a size too big. His teeth chattered as the APC bounced over the rocky terrain, the suspense becoming almost too much for the young officer to bear. A thousand thoughts swirled through his young mind as he tried to undo the knots in his stomach. Dread seized him like a blanket, fear and excitement overwhelming his senses.
Will I survive? Will I be wounded? Oh gods, I'm only 18, what the hell am I doing here? How can I lead men into this? The Miraluka gulped with great effort, trying to get his throat moist past the lump that had formed and dried it up. His men were counting on him. He glanced around, as sure as the rain that his bladder would empty itself imminently and expose him for the coward he was. His men looked about as he felt.
Remember your training. The marines surrounding him were some of the best, and were veterans of various ground campaigns against the Balmorran forces. They looked so old, but many of them weren't much older than Ralakan himself. The stresses of combat did a lot to age a person, it would seem.
The rumbling of explosions could be felt more than heard now, and each man seemed to take a gulp as the realisation that they were about to go out into the abyss now grabbed hold. There was no-one else taking their place. They could die. Many of them would die. Everything they had been, were and would be could be snuffed out in a moment, everything that made them a person gone in an instant. The APC rumbled alongside the other 30 in the column, the explosions and gunfire getting more intense by the moment. Ralakan fought back the urge to hide, to run, to save himself from the madness that could consume them at any moment. A terrific boom nearly perforated the eardrums of the marines, and the sound of screeching metal could be heard. The APC to their left had sustained a direct hit, it's twisted metal hull burning. Ralakan felt the 30-something occupants die, and clenched his rifle harder, turning his shock and fear into anger and drive. "Okay...okay...okay..."
The Lieutenant stood straight, trying to project his voice as loudly and confidently as he could. "This is it, marines!" A few men turned around, eyes wide, and nodded nervously. The senior NCOs, looking more calm, offered Ralakan approving nods or pats on the shoulder, before themselves calling out all of the usual pre-deployment jargon. "Heads down! Unless you want to come home in a box, keep your heads
down!" One man quietly sobbed, his buddies comforting him, not looking much better themselves. A red light flicked at the back of the APC, beside the ramp. "Stand by!" Someone yelled. Ralakan's heart pumped, and his knees wobbled. He reached out to grab the wall of the APC, steadying himself.
Have I lead a good life? Fear grasped him, and his breathing came in nervous bouts, his teeth grinding. Small arms fire peppered the outside of the APC, and Ralakan heard a scream from the front cabin as the navigator was killed, the reinforced viewport shattering under the weight of the fire. The APC halted, and the light turned green.
The ramp slammed to the rocky ground with a seemingly soundless
bang, the all consuming and overpowering sound of the shelling and gunfire droning it out. "GO, GO, GO! HEADS DOWN, FIND COVER!" Ralakan dashed out the door, trailing behind a dozen enlisted men, a similar stream of black and red armoured figures appearing from the backs of the other 30-something APCs. The acrid smell of smoke, chemicals, plasma and burning flesh was overpowering, and Ralakan almost recoiled, before realising where he was and continuing to sprint for a nearby outcrop of rocks. Mortar and artillery fire blanketed the open ground, and autocannon blasters poured rounds down at the marines from emplacements high in the rocky slope. Lieutenant Walker's hands trembled and he almost dropped his rifle as he ducked behind the outcrop, every muscle in his body as tight as piano wire. The constant rumbling booms of the explosions and sound of shrapnel whizzing low was broken only by the punctuation of the sickly wet sound of the metal finding it's mark. Men screamed and crumpled as they were maimed and killed by the oncoming barrage. Ralakan cursed and clenched his teeth, feeling sweat flow profusely under his armour as the inferno raged above the shallow crater he took refuge in. He keyed his comm, roaring over the din just to make himself heard, trying to sound confident, his adrenaline running high.
"C Company, follow Captain Richus along the right flank! Get out of the open ground and keep moving!"
The Miraluka went to push himself up and sprint, only for a young marine to collapse into the crater, a smoking wound through his helmet. Ralakan pushed him off in his shock, stumbled up and sprinted across the open ground, legs pumping like pistons. Rounds spattered into the dirt all around him, and the Lieutenant was forced to do an odd weaving movement as he ran, dirt covering his face and armour as it was kicked up by artillery. The outgoing rounds from Imperial Artillery and rocket aircraft slammed into the cliff face and surrounding emplacements on the hills, the smoke rising from the area looking like the result of a wildfire. Ralakan's heart was on overtime, and his legs felt like jelly. He dove into a shallow trench-line with the rest of his platoon, two of his senior NCOs pulling him down into the pit. "Adams, Hesker, get ready to mo-" The words choked in his throat as he looked up and out of the trench to see the inhabitants of an APC disembark, only to be moments later cut down en masse as they waded into the path of an autocannon, their bodies ripped to shreds. Ralakan's heart broke as their pitiful cries rose over the din, their surviving buddies desperately trying to save their friends. A wild feeling of desperation, frustration and anger rose over the young man. The feeling of being helpless when seeing comrades die, knowing there was nothing to be done. He shuddered and choked, feeling sick and tortured as he watched the trapped men go down, not being able to intervene. Ralakan looked away, hoping against hope he was imagining this insanity, feeling disgusted and sickened, and above all, angry.
A firm hand shook his shoulder and spun him around. Sergeant Hesker. His strong features and compassionate eyes were right in the forefront of Ralakan's vision. "Lieutenant? You didn't finish your orders." His voice was reassuring, if not strained. Ralakan nodded, shaking. "Ri-right. Let's move, we can't get left behind in the advance. Get the men up and going on the right side, out of the MG's line of sight." The big man smiled, turned and relayed Ralakan's orders. The men got up without hesitation, storming across and up the shattered rock and sand, moving from crater to crater, catching up with the rest of the Battalion. Ralakan tried to ignore the feeling of loss he received every time a man was killed as they advanced, each death feeling like a part of him was being ripped out. After what seemed like an eternity, the firing on the line ceased in their sector, and the area proclaimed secure. The looming spires of the mountains leered down at the Lieutenant, promising him more of what he had seen, so much more. This was only the beginning. Intelligence suggested there was anywhere from 20,000 to 50,000 Balmorran forces holed up in this mountains, deeply entrenched and ready to fight to the death for their homeworld, to stave off the Imperial invaders. The rest of the 1st Marine Division would be arriving later in the day, as well as the 332nd Army Division, to push up through the beachhead the 2nd battalion had taken today.
Several hours later, Ralakan sat in a fox-hole, sipping on his canteen, staring up at the mountain spires as they were illuminated by the setting sun. The statico of weapons fire and the rumbling of artillery could be heard coming from the immense mountain range as the 1st Marines and 332nd Army did their grim duty.
First day of combat. You survived. His hands were still shaking in the darkness of dusk, but he was thankful for the cool, refreshing water that met his parched lips and throat. The scenes of horror played through his head on a loop. So many dead. He felt afraid, anxious, excited and suddenly older than his 18 years. That young marine made a solemn vow that night, that once all of this was over, and he had served the Empire, he would find himself somewhere peaceful, to try and forget, and spend the rest of his life in peace.
He fell into an uneasy sleep in the foxhole, the darkness consuming him, the memories still as fresh some 8 years later, still on the frontline.
