Wednesday prompt: Sent Home Early From War.

Wednesday Prompt Smash: Sent Home Early.

Authors Note: Here we go again, another late one for the Wednesday Prompt Smash. Sasha's blog can be found over on The Short Story Press. Where you will find her entries for the Smash.

Prompt: Sent home early from war.
Word Limit: 700

I'm awake, I'm laying down, my eyes are heavy. No I’m not laying down, I’m floating in something. Floating in something very viscous. I try to open my eyes, but it's no use. I feels like something is holding them closed. I try to fight the wave of sleepiness that suddenly envelops me. It is no use however and I drop back into a deep slumber.

I am awake again, however my mind is clearer this time. Whatever I am floating in is warm, almost exactly body temperature. I try to open my eyes, but they are still so heavy, feels like they are being held down by lead weights. I feel the tendrils of sleep edging closer, I have to fight them, I have to find out where I am.

I'm awake again, damnit I couldn't hold out and lost conciousness again. I'm feeling much more alert this time however. I try to take a mental inventory of my body parts, I can feel my legs and arms, however I can't feel my feet or hands, they are more an extension of my arms and legs. I concentrate as hard as I can on where my hand should be. Was that? Yes it was, I’m almost certain I just moved my fingers. Alarms, across the great haze I can hear alarms going off.

It's been much longer this time, I can tell that I have not regained conciousness in a very long time. Much longer than the previous times I'd been unconscious, I couldn't quantify it, but I knew I had been 'asleep' longer this time. Something had happened last time that made it harder to wake up this time. My fingers, I have managed to move them and then I was gone instantly. I'm slipping again, next time will be better.

I slowly feel myself regain conciousness, I feel more clear headed than ever before. The weight on my eyes seems diminished. It's now or never, the muscles around my eyelids start to flutter, there is nothing. Until there is, my eyes crack open. There is instant pain as liquid makes contact with them. I squint and I can just make out stars before losing conciousness again.

Once again I am awake, it is different this time though. I don’t feel as hazy, I can connect thoughts together. I can feel my fingers and my extremities merely feel like they are made of stone and not lead.

I open my eyes, I am no longer floating suspended, I am on a bed. Metals walls surround me, before I have the opportunity to survey my surrounds a door opens and a man stands silhouetted in the doorway.

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, I swallow heavily down my dry throat. “Who are you?” I manage to get out.

“Captain Marshall of the Interstellar Federation vessel Scarborough”

“Ok, and who am I?”

“You are no-one, formerly you were Lieutenant Robson.”

“Formerly?” I ask. He doesn't answer

After a few minutes I can stand the silence no longer. “Where are we?” I ask.

“In orbit around the penal colony of Sigma Eight. We have just woken you from hypersleep”

And with that it all came back to me, the front lines. A dead officer, blood on my hands. A court martial, no appeal, 30 years hard labour. They had sent me home.



Day 172, Rimworld A-337, Local name: Glapus. Six months previous.

“Sir?” I hear myself yell over the sounds of mortars going off around us. “That's crazy sir, we can't go on the offensive. We are out numbered and out gunned. That will kill us all.”

“You heard my order Lieutenant!” He screams in my face.

“Sir, what does the Administratum have to say about this order?”

“All comms are down Lieutenant, I haven't had orders from the Administratum for over a week.”

He is mad, I can see it in his eyes. He has no orders, and no idea what to do. He will lead us in circles until ever last one of us is dead. I find my sidearm in my hand. Aimed at the back of his neck. A single shot, blood splatters across the ground. He is dead before he hits the ground.

I leave the Cos tent, “What are our orders sir?” one of the junior lieutenants asks me.

“Retreat, We are to make our way to the LZ and get an extraction.”

They know, every man in the platoon knows what happened. They know it wasn't shrapnel like I said. None of them question my orders. But the Administratum would find out.

Word Count: 770 words.