War is a uniquely human endeavor, you dont see bears and lions igniteing the flames of war, except maybe on Monday Night's.
They are fought all over the world, for endless reasons and pointless ones. Land, respect, genocide, revenge are just a few of the pretext to War. Once a War was fought over a game of football, honest truth.
Humans have no end to WHY they will engage in warfare. Surprisingly War is a driving force in the ever pursuit of technology.
Some of the greatest contributions to human advancements in many of todays scientific disciplines that run parallel to war have been through the bloody act of war itself.
Also some of the most destructive, depraved and demented weapons of war give there creation out of necessity or desperation in war. War is American as Apple pie, War is a bottomless pit of wealth, the other side of the coin is its cost. Humans since the dawn of time have sought-after better , faster , more efficient ways of killing one another, through War. Sometimes a new technology is applied to War, that far exceeds the understanding and implementation of the technology. Giving rise to where we are now in this story.
The Great War, the war to end all wars was a war on Industrial scales, the wholesale slaughter of men was unimaginable and staggering to fathom to this day. A world at war. World War I in the forge of gunfire and high explosives the gods searched for a soul to embody the act of war itself. The second horsemen of the Apocalypse WAR HIMSELF.
Like anything, when anyone goes looking for something, they will find it , this was no exception, there was no end to the candidates to ride the Red horse that is the personification of war.
One by one by one they all fell in battle , to wake up to find themselves yet in another battle , not for land or ideas, but for the highest order of God's grace, A horsemen a unhinged herald of doom. The first horsemen, CONQUEST riding a White horse had been filled almost two thousand years prior. By a carpenter whom fancied himself a profit. Now the open saddle of the red horse beckons a master. In the millions upon millions of candidates only one can clame the title of WAR THE SECOND HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE! This is the tale of his journey from a man to a horsemen. Let the blood flow , wade through chest deep slaughter to spill some more, and arise a servant of GOD.
The starry gaze of creation glare down on the field of battle. The battle of Passchendaele November 1917. At a candidate for War. His name is of no consequences, only his destiny matters. A British man , of low birth , a criminal sentenced to war or the gallows. He has the credentials, he kills without remorse, he has no pride of country. He only fights for himself , for survival and for the blood lust that pumps through his heart, filling his veins with richious wrath. Private nobody has been a front runner in this contest to claim the prize, to saddle the Red horse and weild the two handed Sword, Eliminator and serve God as his word of War.
The cool November air lay thick over the battlefield in Flanders. The sky's were clear , just after a November rain. The sun burned through the morning fog on a landscape of hell on earth. Artillery creators filled with blood and newly fallen rain lay strunned across the battlefield. Crows caws echoed through the dence morning air. They pecked and clawed at rotten corpse of the fallen soldiers, who died storming no man's land to their deaths. A pointless charge at taking some pointless hills that the Germans were heavily entrenched in. Machine gun bunkers set with overlapping fields of fire sit as a stark reminder of failed military strategies of pig headed generals who have no idea how to fight in this modern war of attrition. Stuck in an old ways of thinking , unable to adapt. They meaninglessly send men to their demise without concern or regard for their lives. Covered in mud , blood and shame the British line sits in trenches waiting the blow of a whistle singling their march to the grave. A soldier in his early twenties holds his Enfield rifle tightly against his chest. His uniform covered in mud , soaked to the bone. The name tag only says Private, then nothing , another nameless soul awaiting his turn at death.
His eyes wide with dispar gazed out at the crows eating his fellow enlisted men. He looks to the sky, a smile graced his lips. The battlefield was a horror beyond imagination, but with the right light it could be beautiful. Cruel, unforgiving, yet beautiful. Steam rose frome the bomb shell creators as the suns light gave warmth to a land full of cold death. Inturn this warm air created a light fog that refracted the Suns rays into miniature rainbows. All across no man's land lay disfigured body's and barbed wire gleaming in the suns rays. He thougjt to himself who could think that dead men , horses and mangled earth could look so beautiful, in the right light.
Other soldiers passed him by , heads hung low , draging their weapons beside them in the bloody rat filled trenches they occupied. Moral was very low , especially for the enlisted men, they got less then half the rations as the officers. They also had to sleep in the rain filled mud holes they called trenches, where the officers had dry warm accommodations. With cooking stoves , electricity and warmth. Where the enlisted men had cold rations, no lights for fear of snipers and the cold earth to beckon them to the grave. The Private didn't really care about the horrible condition or the vastly difference between him and the silver spoon fed fools whom they called Nobility. There wasn't anything Noble in this war. His lips dry and cracked, that had just a minute ago was smiling now was somber and blood leaked out a dry Crack on his bottom lip. He ran his tongue over it , he had just enough moisture in his mouth to wet them , but they dried quickly and cracked even more. This was Hell on earth, it had to be. Because he couldn't imagine Hell anywhere else that could be worse. Entitled officers laughed and clanked glasses together, oblivious to the suffering of their own men amongst them, or just turned a blind d eye. This was the Nobility at its finest. The Private hung his head down and closed his blood shot eyes to catch a minute of rest. He could hear his heartbeat and the crows out in no man's land, the buzzing of electricity and the laughter of those fools. He could hear the sobbing of scared boys , lying in the mud and their own filth, cries to heaven for salvation. The rats that scurry about the trenches he could hear their teeth nawing and tearing at something, he forced himself not to imagine what it was. The cranking and banging of metal and boots splashing in mud puddles. Way way far away he could hear something, different. Something he couldn't put his finger on . A prayer maybe? A hymn, music maybe it was just to faint. Then he heard a voice so far away it was more like he was reading lips not hearing it, the words said , take your place on the Red horse and clame the prize. Suddenly he was kicked awake by a captain. Right to his ribs, the captains boot dug deep into his side , the Private cried out in pain. Griping his weapon tightly, he swong it back and caught the captains leg buried in his ribcage. The stock of his rifle smashed into the Captains knee, buckling his leg and he fell to the muddy wet floor of the trench. They both instinctively went to draw their weapon and fire it at one another. The Captain was faster with his revolver he pulled the trigger twice, both bullets missed , lodging in the mud beside the Privates head. He was in a frenzy and didnt shoot true, anger and fury made his hands shake . But not the Private his motions were like silk, smooth and unwavering. Preformed a million times and then a million more. He took careful aim at the captain, with no emotion on his face, just dried blood on his bottom lip and grimace from the kick to his ribs. His eyes remained open as the sights of the Enfield rifle took aim at the Captains chest. The Captains arms were out in front of him as if to try to stop a bullet, he desperately pulled the trigger again on his revolver, again his shot was wide and slammed into the mud wall behind the Private, a muddy splash splattered the Privates left side and he pulled his trigger. The bullet exploded into the captains chest, a puff a smoke shot across his face . He slumped Into the mud, and refuses that was his last resort. The Private shot true , dead center mass. The Captain was dead before he could close his eyes or speak his last words. Blood and mud drained into the trench and filled his still open eyes until they were submerged. It was all over in a few seconds and for a few minutes nobody did or said anything. The Private looked about him , expecting soldiers to attack him. But that didnt happen. A tence look of desperation painted his face. Then he relaxed , rechambered a round Into his weapon . Checking it to be sure it wasn't jammed. He then tried to get up, but a sharp pain in his right ribcage prevent him to stand. Holding his right ribcage he slowly pulls himself up to his feet. Slinging his rifle over his back , he slowly knelt down , removing the revolver and gun belt from the dead Captain. Stuffing it in a canvas bag he slings that too over his back. Then painfully rises to his feet. Looking down at the dead man he spits on his head then slowly starts to move along . Other soldiers watching didn't want anything to do with that shit. Not making eye contact with anyone. He limps away down the trenches twords the medic station, wooden arrows pointing down the trench has a red cross on it. Gun fire can be heard in the distance. But for the time being it was calm, a very rare lull in the fighting. Slowly, he limps down the trench coming to a crossing, one trench spurred off to the left , the medic arrows pointed that way. In the distance back from the way he has hobbled a commotion could be heared. People screaming and one individual was very distraught. The Private payed no attention, limping slowly along for about half a mile. Reaching the medic station, he could see the chaos of the medic station. Nurses cleaned bloody operation beds. Some giving water and medicine to soldiers that had been seen by a doctor. As he stood slumped over on his right side, a doctor carrying a medical bag was in a frenzy, yelling at two nurses to follow him ,a officer had been wounded, he needed their help. They shook their heads no , stating that as red cross non combatants they could not leave the medic area and go in to active combat zone, of the trenches. Frustrated and in a rush the doctor headed out by himself. Muttering under his breath that they were useless as a dick flavored lollipops. He shoved the Private out of his way ,then disappeared down the long narrow trench . The nurses seeing the Injured Private rushed to his side and helped him to a reclined seat. They asked him his name, he gave none , they asked him his ranke, he gave none, they asked for his tags he reached down his shirt and pulled them off bis neck , reluctantly dropping into the hands of a nurse. A homly robust woman, who at one time in the past could have been a real looker. Her auburn hair in a tight bun at the back of her head. Was covered in a a white cover that reminded him of a chefs hat. The other younger nurse was blond and had two ponytails , she looked very young. The name tag on the robust nurse read Judy . She passed the tags to the slimer younger nurse. She looked over the tags and tossed them into a pan along side the chair. She looked at the Private with increased seriousness. The Private raised his right arm , explaining his discomfort. Judy pressed her callous hands over his ribcage and chest. As she put pressure agents his ribcage he grimaced and pulled away, making his rifle get caught around the recliner. Judy motioned the blond nurse to remove the weapons and slung bag. Which the Private reluctantly gave into, the pain was horrible, he growned and winced. Placing the bag and Enfield rifle to the side. The blond nurse helped Judy to rest the Private on his back , legs up and reclined the chair so he was in a inverted, immediately he felt the pressure off his lungs and less pain. He could breath better and begin to comply with the nurses . Looking up at the younger blond nurse he read her name tag , it said Dawn. He thanked both of them making sure to use their names doing so. He felt safe , the first time In a very long time. Breathing slowly and deeply he could feel his eyes getting heavy, the last words he heard was , two true ribs broken,the costal cartilage as well as his sternum bruised. How did this happen Private, Judy asked as he drift into darkness for the first time in a year it felt like. Pure silent darkness. Nothing no dreams no nightmares, just the comforting darkness. The echoes of their voices and their questions went silent. He felt no pain, no fear, just silent darkness. It was very comforting, he had a thought. We came from darkness, then we were born into the light. When we die we will return to the darkness never the wiser he assumed. He wondered if the darkness was home, and the light that had giving him such pain and suffering wasn't his natural environment. The darkness that was so beautiful and comfortable was his true home. A feeling of pleasure overwhelmed him, waves of love , dark love washed over him, he was home, he didnt want to leave. Drifting off to nothingness was sidelined by a bright light shined into his eyes. Dawn was checking his pupils. No reaction she called out , moving a torch in and out of his eyes. Then his eyes reacted to the light and he shaped out of his slumber. Scaring Dawn . Judy rushed to her side , helping her to secure him down and speaking softly to him , reassuring him he was safe calming him down. Hearing their voices and recognizing them he began to relax , slowly his eyes came into focus . He soon discovered that he wasn't wearing any clothes anymore, a white sheet covered his lower body , looking down his chest he could see his feet. Wiggling his toes he smiled, thinking that he hadn't seen them in a year. He's smiling Dawn said , excitedly. Judy replied, thats good. Keep him calm I need to finish his feet. Dawn began to hum. A soft hum that made the Private relax completely, his legs flopped over and his shoulders and arms slumped. Good , good said Judy as she carved away at his feet. His boots had grown onto them . So long and wet he had never taken his boots off that they had become one. Judy carved away at his withered, wrinkled skeleton feet. A blue handkerchief cover her face and huffed and puffed in , out from her breathing. Its was a gastly sight , thick hard callous had built up, always being wet they began to grow into the soles of his boots. Judy carved the boot away with a experienced hand. Her forehead full of wrinkles and eyes wide with amazement. The smell of it wasn't appealing. Wet soggy feet in wool socks for who knew how long. Weeks , months, years! Judy couldn't say, she never seen anything like it. Dawn looked on with a distance worried face. Who was this boy, no man. She thought, this young man with no name , no rank except Private. But thats what his uniform said ,his tags were so damaged nothing could be used to identifying him. A IV bag of liquids hung next to the chair , it was filled with a muscle relaxer, pain killers and fluids to help replenish his dehydrated body. He was pale as the white sheet that covered his lower body. His body had suffered such horrific trauma. The repeated bardnarment of Artillery, the Shockwave that came after hammered his body so many times he had bruises, dark bruises along his sides from covering his head and laying on his side cowering away from the endless rain of shrapnel. His ears had grown crusted with filth ,dirt , gunpowder and earwax mixed with blood dripped out his ears, down his neck. Malnutrition, dehydration, and combat shell shock had beat this man into a walking skeleton. Tears ran down Dawn's face as she still hummed. How could a human endure such horrific conditions and still survive. His suken sullen eyes said it all, he almost didn't, only by chance did he make it to the medic station, or was it fate?
Destiny, fate these are concepts the Private didn't believe in . His only thoughts were of survival, nothing else. Hours passed as they cut a man out of a uniform and boots, back to the world. The Private begain snoring , asleep again. Dawn holding his withered hand gently as Judy finished his feet. Wiping her brow with her arm she stood up and exhaled deeply . A gratifying breath of air not filled with he smell of rotten leather and moldy socks. Now his ears Judy said as they both lookd down at this broken man.
The Private could hear voices arguing, he couldn't make out the words , just the tone of the words being spoken. Other was a muffled noise, he tried to move but couldn't. He opened his eyes they were blurry, and stung as he tried to see. He could also hear whispers, frantic whispers and muffled voices arguing. He shook , trying to get up but was strapped to the recliner. He heard the sweet humming again and it soothed him to relax. He could feel a soft hand in his left hand. A slight smile graced his dry lips. He fell back into the warm darkness, back home. Time had no meaning to him anymore, hours , days who could tell. All he knew was he wasn't wet and cold , that was good enough for him. Infact it had been three days sense he been in the medic station. He had gained weight and his skin had colour to it now. He didnt look like a ghost. His hair had been cut and his ears were still covered in bandages. His feet felt cool as a breeze passed over them. A tingling sensation was the only thing he could complain about , but didn't. He just lay there , listening gathering information on his situation. His eyes still were blurry and crusted eye burgers had built up near his eye. Dawn swept them away with her gentle hand. He could hear a soothing humming. The pain in his right ribcage wasn't so strong anymore. His hands felt weak when he tried to make a fist. He had an awful thirst, he smacked his lips with his dry tongue. A gentle hand wet his mouth with a cold rag , squeezing some water in his mouth. A sore throat made it difficult to swallow it. A soft gentle voice said I can't give you too much yet, you are still very dehydrated. We need to slowly hydrate your body so your organs dont shut down. Im sorry I cant give you more water. He nodded yes and tried to to say thank you but nothing came out of his mouth just a gasp of air. He couldn't speak . The humming began again and the soft strokes on his hand gave him comfort as he fell back asleep. For how many more days he slept. He couldn't say. Ten days had passed since he had entered the medic station. He could sit up and see clearly, but his ears were still bandaged. His feet were in braces, open to the air that felt good on them. He noticed though he was cuffed on his left wrist and chained to the chair he was sitting in. It crossed his mind what the reason was for but he didn't care or worry about it. He was happy , his belly was full he wasn't wet , cold and dodging bullets. He was dry , warm and well fed. To him he could just die right now and he wouldn't have an regrets. The War didnt stop because he wasn't up to the task of killing Germans, the war machine kept turning. Wholesale slaughter of men and machinery was gobbled up but the war effort. Untold amount of suffering was just outside the medic station tents walls. As he thought about it an alarm went off and every one panicked. They all grabbed gas masks, Judy put hers on first then helped the Private put his on . The tens lights went out and red emergency lights filled the station with an ominous feeling. A loud siren screamed over and over and everyone braced for the worst thing imaginable. A gas attack. Mustard or chlorine gas attack. The truth was pointless, it didnt matter if they had gas masks on or not, both mustard and chlorine gas could enter the body through the skin. The masks gave a sense of hope and a belief that they could survive an attack. There was no hope , no survival from a gas attack the only thing that could save them was which way the wind was blowing . Lucky for them it was blowing in the opposite direction. The ground wind had blown the attack back at the ones who had used this horrible weapon of death. The siren finally quit and the red light , turned white again . Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Dawn and Judy opened the tent doors , the sun shined in and a feeling of relief was in the air. Then they heard it , the crying and howling. The German gas attack backfired on them . The ground wind had changed at the last minute and blown the deadly gas back at the ones who used it. Now they could hear their howling of agony and death all the way across the battlefield and back to the medic station. It was a low rumbling of the most unsettling sound. Once in awhile a word could be heared, help , mommy . Dear God. Please. Were all jumbled in a harmony of misery. A course of single words mixed in the howling and cries. It shook every to their core. Some people covered their ears and hid under desks or cupboards. Dawn, Judy and the Private listen with different feelings . The Private just grinned a sly grin and continued to eat his lunch , Salisbury stake and mashed potatoes, with a side of corn. He actually started waving his hands like he was orchestrating the horrible masterpiece that was War. Dawn and Judy looked on with a disbelief. As they could see how much he enjoyed it , and his hand motions matched the howling and cries. The Private begain to laugh and chew his lunch in a obscene way .