Monster said.
“How many Angel missions have you been on?” Emile asked.
“Too many,” Monster said.
And too many friends had not come home
.
“What were they like?” Emile asked.
“Warm,” Monster said.
“No kidding,” Emile said. “You served with Ryan Chisnall, didn’t you?”
Monster waited a while before answering. “Ryan was my friend,” he said.
“The other Angels talk about him as if he was some kind of superhero,” Emile said.
“Not true,” Monster said. “He is just regular guy. If not for war, he wouldn’t even make captain of football team, or class president. War brings out best in some people.”
“You miss him, don’t you?” Emile asked.
Monster didn’t answer. All Angel missions were voluntary, and he had volunteered for this one. Part of it was Price, of course. But there was something more. On some deep level, he wanted revenge, for Chisnall and Hunter, and everyone else who had suffered at the hands of the aliens. Revenge, as someone once said, was like biting a dog because the dog bit you, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to hurt those that had caused such pain.
Emile stumbled and fell again, and was slow getting up. Monster grabbed him by an arm and helped him to his feet. “Sing,” Monster said.
“Nah,” Emile said. “It’s hard enough talking.”
“Sing, and that is order,” Monster said. “So I know you not hypothermic.”
“Yeah, and if I’m getting hypothermic, what are you going to do about it, Sergeant Monster?” Emile asked. “Give me a nice warm bath, or a hot cup of tea and put me to bed?”
“No, Emile,” Monster said. “We keep walking.”
“Pity. I like warm baths,” Emile said. “And hot tea.”
“So sing,” Monster said.
“Sing what?”
“You choose.”
It took a few moments, and his voice was quavering with the cold, but he did. He sang in Lebanese, in a soft, high melodic voice, a song with strange warbling notes. It reminded Monster of a young Bzadian they had once met in the sands of the Australian desert.
They came to a gap in the ice. A place where an undersea current bubbled up through the ice, creating a kind of blow hole and preventing the water from freezing. They stopped while they tried to work out how to get past it.
It wasn’t wide, but with stiff, frozen muscles, there was no way to leap across. They were already reduced to a hobbling shuffle.
In the end they managed to sidle past it, although the blasts of water soaked their boots and their armour up to their knees. The water quickly froze, creating a clear sheet of armour that weighed them down and made it even more difficult to walk.
“I can’t hear your voice,” Monster said, when Emile had been silent for a little too long.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Monster,” Emile said.
“That’s okay, but keep talking,” Monster said.
“I mean, I’m sorry for all this. This is my fault. I was stupid,” Emile said.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Monster said. “You got us out of there. You gave us chance. Chance to alert ACOG and chance to rescue the others.”
“I wanted to be a hero,” Emile said. “Like you and Price and Lieutenant Chisnall.”
Monster swallowed rapidly several times, choking down a spew of hurt, anger and grief. There were droplets of ice forming around his eyes, tears that froze as soon as they were formed.
“Emile, you are hero,” he said, when he could.
The ice beneath his feet was dark and uneven and Monster was surprised to find he was walking on rime-coated rocks.
A few paces further on Emile stumbled and fell. He got up slowly, and Monster realised that neither of them had been speaking. Somehow he had forgotten about that.
His mind seemed a little foggy and he knew it was very important to keep talking, but he was not sure why.
“Emile,” he said with a thick tongue.
There was no answer.
“Emile!” Monster said. When that got no response, he caught up with him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“How many Angel missions have you been on?” Emile asked.
“Too many,” Monster said.
And too many friends had not come home
.
“What were they like?” Emile asked.
“Warm,” Monster said.
“No kidding,” Emile said. “You served with Ryan Chisnall, didn’t you?”
Monster waited a while before answering. “Ryan was my friend,” he said.
“The other Angels talk about him as if he was some kind of superhero,” Emile said.
“Not true,” Monster said. “He is just regular guy. If not for war, he wouldn’t even make captain of football team, or class president. War brings out best in some people.”
“You miss him, don’t you?” Emile asked.
Monster didn’t answer. All Angel missions were voluntary, and he had volunteered for this one. Part of it was Price, of course. But there was something more. On some deep level, he wanted revenge, for Chisnall and Hunter, and everyone else who had suffered at the hands of the aliens. Revenge, as someone once said, was like biting a dog because the dog bit you, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to hurt those that had caused such pain.
Emile stumbled and fell again, and was slow getting up. Monster grabbed him by an arm and helped him to his feet. “Sing,” Monster said.
“Nah,” Emile said. “It’s hard enough talking.”
“Sing, and that is order,” Monster said. “So I know you not hypothermic.”
“Yeah, and if I’m getting hypothermic, what are you going to do about it, Sergeant Monster?” Emile asked. “Give me a nice warm bath, or a hot cup of tea and put me to bed?”
“No, Emile,” Monster said. “We keep walking.”
“Pity. I like warm baths,” Emile said. “And hot tea.”
“So sing,” Monster said.
“Sing what?”
“You choose.”
It took a few moments, and his voice was quavering with the cold, but he did. He sang in Lebanese, in a soft, high melodic voice, a song with strange warbling notes. It reminded Monster of a young Bzadian they had once met in the sands of the Australian desert.
They came to a gap in the ice. A place where an undersea current bubbled up through the ice, creating a kind of blow hole and preventing the water from freezing. They stopped while they tried to work out how to get past it.
It wasn’t wide, but with stiff, frozen muscles, there was no way to leap across. They were already reduced to a hobbling shuffle.
In the end they managed to sidle past it, although the blasts of water soaked their boots and their armour up to their knees. The water quickly froze, creating a clear sheet of armour that weighed them down and made it even more difficult to walk.
“I can’t hear your voice,” Monster said, when Emile had been silent for a little too long.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Monster,” Emile said.
“That’s okay, but keep talking,” Monster said.
“I mean, I’m sorry for all this. This is my fault. I was stupid,” Emile said.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Monster said. “You got us out of there. You gave us chance. Chance to alert ACOG and chance to rescue the others.”
“I wanted to be a hero,” Emile said. “Like you and Price and Lieutenant Chisnall.”
Monster swallowed rapidly several times, choking down a spew of hurt, anger and grief. There were droplets of ice forming around his eyes, tears that froze as soon as they were formed.
“Emile, you are hero,” he said, when he could.
The ice beneath his feet was dark and uneven and Monster was surprised to find he was walking on rime-coated rocks.
A few paces further on Emile stumbled and fell. He got up slowly, and Monster realised that neither of them had been speaking. Somehow he had forgotten about that.
His mind seemed a little foggy and he knew it was very important to keep talking, but he was not sure why.
“Emile,” he said with a thick tongue.
There was no answer.
“Emile!” Monster said. When that got no response, he caught up with him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
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