Waters, You Good?

I…was dead…

No doubt about it…

You might wonder how I could have possibly known that...Well, you've probably never stared down the barrel of an antique, general purpose machine gun chambered in 7.62x54R and held by someone who hates your guts…

I wish I could say, in the heat of the moment, that I yelled defiantly and raised my rifle on raw killer's instinct but, to be perfectly honest, it didn't go that way at all. I froze up entirely and stared as death came for me.

I was sure I was dead…and then, I was somewhere else entirely. - - -

The world violently tumbles as my body is thrown to the ground. I feel as though I've just been hit by a truck but, other than getting completely rocked, I think I might be alright. I am, however, pulled back into the reality of my circumstances as the thundering tone of ball ammunition rapidly slapping metal sings in the air and I retrieve my rifle, awkwardly snapping it into the general direction of the fighter in the heat of the moment, and squeeze off more rounds than I could count.

The figure stops shooting and seems to flinch his entire body long enough for whatever threw me out of the way to engage him. With three, well-placed shots the fighter drops to the ground and, to my relief, stops moving entirely.

I drop my rubberized arms into my lap, expending the shock of adrenaline with every exhale of breath as it dawns upon me just how close to death I'd come.

I was just shy of one second away from becoming the protagonist of one of those colorful, Japanese cartoons the air wingers watch in the barracks common area.

‘I Got Shot In The Head And Now I'm A Fantasy Hero With A Hot Girlfriend’-or something stupid like that.

Cue the high-speed, jazz-rock opener.

I'm entirely lost in thought when I finally see movement out of the corner of my eye from where I had originally been. Heavy footfalls of a figure clad head-to-toe in some kind of suit of metal and composite plate approaches, its body somehow both slender and bigger than mine and casting a deep shadow over me with its terrifyingly imposing presence, its soulless, visored helmet staring down at me.

“I–...Uh-I-I–”

I'M SHITTING MY PANTS.

The figure lowers itself into a crouch beside me as it leans in uncomfortably close.

I have to say something! What in the sweet lord almighty is this thing!??

“Th-...th-th-thank–!...?”

…A slightly feminine voice comes from a speaker in the helmet.

“...Subject vitals are stable…heartrate remaining elevated; within nominal combative limits.”

“...Huh?...!”

The figure continues staring at me.

“...Heartrate in continuous acceleration. Showing signs of psychological trauma response. Conclusion: assessment required!”

The figure yanks the emergency release on my chest harness, rips the front rig of my armor off, and places a large hand against the breast pockets over my sternum, forcefully rubbing them up and down while violently shaking me.

“BUDDY-BUDDY, ARE YOU OKAY??”

“-AAH!!” –I shout.

“I'm–!...Fine!-I'm fine!” I finally manage to coherently respond, trying to push myself away to no avail. The figure returns to simply staring at me. At least it seems like I've had some kind of effect, even if it isn't letting me move.

Then, with the soft hiss of depressurization, it lifts the helmet from its head to reveal what is certainly a woman, dark hair wrapped high on her head and bangs fallen loose, but her expression is deadpan and sickly-pale, other than the wide, curious eyes that peer back at me. The hint of red around them seemingly matches her lips as the only color on her face to confirm her certain humanity even as she talks without a speaker to filter her voice.

“...Are you certain? Where is your fireteam?”

“I–...Well, to be honest, I got separated a few minutes ago. I was just trying to find them…”

I ignore the other question. I'm still kind of terrified of this woman, to be frank…

The large woman goes back to just staring at me…but then there almost seems to be a hint of recognition within her eyes as she returns her helmet onto her head, places my removed chest plate back on top of me–

“Uh, w-...wh-what are you doing???”

–…and scoops me up, equipment-and-all, into a bridal carry before sprinting away with me like a bat out of Hell.

“-AAAAAAAAAAH!!” –I scream for dear life, my voice catching with every thud of her foot.

This is it! Now I REALLY AM going to die this time!

I grit my teeth as the sprinting mass of amazonian and tank armor carries us over a waist-high barrier of rubbled concrete, entirely disregarding the potential presence of enemy fighters as she shoots straight through the open street and, sure enough, I notice a skinny local with an automatic rifle and an expression of confused horror that may or may not even rival mine as I point my rifle at him–I think I do at least–and squeeze off more rounds to suppress him as we lightning past. The massive woman doesn't even stop as the fighter apparently regains his senses and opens fire behind us, but the woman slides across the last bit of dusty street, dodging the militant's rounds snapping supersonic in the air around us as she regains her footing and ducks around the corner.

My heart feels like it wants to punch directly out of my chest as I desperately fumble to cling to her while conducting a reload using one of the magazines in the loose chest rig over my stomach.

Somehow, she manages her way through safely getting me back to the guys, thankfully without running us into anymore combatants…

As if that last little emergency didn't just happen, she unceremoniously deposits me back on my feet in front of the boys, my chest rig and the rest of my vest falling at my feet, and she rights herself, stepping one pace back from me–she's almost a full two heads taller than I am–and simply seems to patiently wait for something.

…I pause for a moment before realizing that I haven't moved or responded even a little bit…but even after, I struggle to form some kind of words.

“Waters, you good?” Asks a voice behind me but I hardly even notice as I stare dumbstruck at this massive woman before me.

She reaches down, retrieving my chest plate and inspects the front of it with my name tape, rank, and blood type…and then hands it back to me.

The helmet speaker crackles.

“...Stay safe…Waters,” and then she turns, hurrying off back into the area of operations…

…What the hell just happened…?

“Waters–” repeats the voice of my friend. “You good…?”