Big Red: Part Four

“Every act of creation is first an act of destruction” -Pablo Picasso

Big Red Part Four

The end of the November Series, and the start of something else.

Years passed within a blink of the eye. Fires burned out and leave nothing more than blackened ash to mix in with the red storms. Fifty years after Earth would be upon them soon and yet they were no closer to rebuilding than they had after the disaster.

Octavia stalked around a dark corner, motioning for those following her to halt their approach. Her Peacekeepers had gone through drastic changes over the years. Conflict prevention had gone out the window when fire rained down upon Mars. All because of a former military ship called The Cathedral, once from a place called Canada. It for so many years had hung like a ghost above them, shock white save for the dust and the scorch marks. Now it was a fierce beast that rained fire and armed men upon Mars. Destroying settlements, shooting ships down and at a steady pace, picking away at Avalon’s defenses.

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Big Red: Part Three

“Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.” -John F. Kennedy

Big Red Part Three

Part three of the final November story.

Three weeks ago, Octavia’s report had ended the raiding party before it even began. Then about a week after that, she had to attend and speak at the funeral of her now dead Peacekeeper agent. Despite the mission success, the foiled attempt had tensions across Avalon running high.

Octavia sat high above the surface of Mars, gazing out across the Northern plains once again. Sitting like a statue in the small outcropping built upon the outer structure of Avalon. A crow’s nest once meant for scenic viewing now reserved for sniper’s and the like. Miles to the North were visible, including the shadow of Northside in the distance.

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Big Red: Part Two

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” -Norman Cousins
Big Red Part TwoPart two of the final November series story.

Laying in the sand wasn’t Octavia’s preferred evening. Good company aside.
Her report had been the nail in the coffin for Northside, that being the name they gave the shanty town. Heavy patrols sprawled across the Northern plains all daring the soldiers to make a move. Time ticked down to the tentative date she’d eavesdropped, only rising the tensions amongst the sand-laden soldiers.

Near the weeks end her own unit deployed out to the red. When patrols gave the word of a Southward advance, they laid their trap. Which left her half buried in the sand watching the Northern plain through a scope and waiting for something to happen. The only sound was that of her own breath against the environment suits heavy oxygen mask. Particles of red sand building up on her mask. She wanted to shake her head like a wet dog to clear her vision but didn’t dare risk disturbing the delicate cover she had.

Herself and five other soldiers all buried a few inches in the sand. It was a little ridiculous in theory, but the open plains were the best place to catch raiders off guard. They never expected a battalion to shoot up from the ground.

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Big Red: Part One

They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.” – Andy Warhol
Big Red Part One

Part one of the final November series story.

Storms of red sand ripped across her vision. Blistering gales pushing and pulling the sands and garbage trapped in them like the tides of a planet that no longer exists. Her body kept low to the surface of the swirling world as she moved. Eyes scanning the landscape for anything out of the ordinary. Ducking into the crashed scrap heap of what once was a large plane of some kind she checked her radar. Aside from the usual interference caused by the storm the area seemed desolate.

Despite the knowledge, her hands kept a tight grip on her rifle. Octavia remembered the day she first carried the rifle, how it had felt wrong and overly-heavy in her grip. Like the cold metal had been biting into her hands to force her to either act or let go. Shaking the thought away she moved to the opposite side of the scorched plane, seats long since burned away or scavenged by others. Scrap heaps like this were common sights upon the Martian landscape. Remnants of a world long since gone having rained down upon them for months after the fact.

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November: Fly Me To ???

“Civilization is like a thin layer of ice upon a deep ocean of chaos and darkness.” -Werner Herzog


The fourth story in the November series.

A champagne cork popped, cheering laughter following as the one holding the bottle attempted to stop the frothing liquid from staining his clothing. Various members of the crew threw towels at the floor, while Dayo took the first long gulp from the bottle. Another member of the crew grasped for the slick glass, deciding it was, in fact, their turn for a drink of the sweet sparkling wine.

One by one each of the crew had their turn. Some to busy laughing with joy to drink with grace, slobber, and alcohol dribbling down their chin as they pulled the glass mouth away. Finally, it made a full-circle around the gathering and the near-empty bottle found itself in the hands of the final crew member. A young of spirit man, though well into his life if the soft creases around his eyes were to give anything away. Charlie tilted his head back to drink, short brown coils bouncing around his face when another hand rocketed out and flipped the bottle completely upright.

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