Rubbish and Ammo

I remember one day in my youth I wandered into the kitchen of my home. My older brother, Del, was there, getting some snacks from a cabinet.
“It’s dark out,” I said, glancing out the window. Indeed, it was well past sundown.
“Yeah,” he answered. Del looked in the rubbish bin, which was full to the brim. “Can you take out the rubbish?” he asked me. I had a little bit of an attitude that night. Additionally I did not relish stumbling in the dark with a bag full of refuse. So, I retorted with a short question.
“Why can’t you do it?”                          
This displeased him deeply, as seen by the scowl on his face. He moved to the countertop and grasped a knife from it, and gestured it to me. “Take out the damned trash,” he uttered with a voice almost shaking with intense contempt. I stood there, not knowing what to say, for my brother, my own kin, my very flesh and blood, my elder, was threatening me with a blade.
“Del, I-“
“Take out the fucking trash.” Del stressed the expletive as he pointed the tip of the blade to me. Then, he grabbed a duller knife, for cutting bread, and put it in my hand. “Come on, you want to go outside and fight? Let’s fight.”
“No…” I pathetically replied in a low voice.
“Let’s go outside, let’s fight,” he insisted.
My throat closed up and I shrunk before him. I barely managed to utter the words, “I’ll take out the trash.”
“No, let’s go outside,” he continued.
“I’ll take out the trash,” I said in a louder voice.
Several tense moments of seemingly infinite duration passed, where he and I stood deathly still in the middle of the kitchen, steel in our hands, although my brother held it firmly, decisively, and I had a weak grip.
“Okay, then take out the trash,” said my brother. I let out a quivering breath as I non-threateningly handed him the bread knife. I took out the rubbish that evening.
I mention this event because I found striking similarities between it and another event on discipline and following orders I had between myself and my subordinate and longtime childing friend, Mik, on the planet of Gamma Eridon Prime. I had recently been promoted to major, and led my lance through combat on that Human world. One day during a lull in combat our whole battalion paused to refuel, resupply, and regroup in a little Human settlement, we had just cleared it of resistance. I rallied my own warriors around me at a crossroads, there were several other lances as well.
“Holding position,” said Mik. “Say, wherever are those damn supplies?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“Those idiots at Logistics better hurry, I can just feel these batteries are on their last few drops.”
“Patience, Mik, patience,” I advised.
“I’m down to my last few needles, sir,” said Basab, our resilient Unggoy. I had noticed his needler running dangerously low on ammunition.
“I’m fine on batteries, sir,” said Tes, our Kig-Yar markswoman, who wielded a beam rifle.
“My batteries are low as well, sir,” said Thrak ‘Asharee, one of the minors in our lance, aside from Mik himself, and another, Dustum ‘Yandelee, who was a rather quiet individual.
“Noted,” I replied. “We have been fighting for three days with almost no rest, I understand our situation. I myself am on my last cylinder of carbine ammunition.”
“So we’re fucked,” said Mik. I heard a few chuckles ring out from the minors in other lances within earshot.
“Oh, ye of little faith, Mik,” I humorously replied.
“Lo!” uttered another major of a different lance, Quso ‘Thurikee. He and I already campaigned on a few worlds before this one, so we knew of one another. He gestured with his free hand. “Three Phantoms!”
“Reinforcements?” asked Thrak.
“Unknown,” I said.
However, that answer would be questioned shortly. The Phantoms had supply containers as well as a fresh assortment of troops.
“Praise the gods!” yelled Quso, who laughed heartily.
“Supplies! Nice!” commented Mik.
The supplies were dropped onto the street, and multiple lances, fully complemented, disembarked and took up positions throughout the small settlement. I recognized one particular major, for he looked not too dissimilar to Del. As I examined the warrior more closely while he directed his lance, I came to the realization: it was indeed my elder brother. A rush of emotions flowed through me. Relief, joy, shock, and… admittedly… resentment. Memories sprang forth from the depths of my mind. Memories of him and I laughing as we, along with our middle brother, Raf, ventured forth from our keep to hunt, jesting with one another. Memories of us three constructing furniture for our home. Memories of Del and me in the kitchen with blades in our hands. Memories of other… tense moments.
“We thank the Prophets for these supplies!” excitedly said Mik as he approached to stand beside me, whose comment snapped me back to the now. I took a gander of my surroundings. Some warriors approached the supply crates, who were being opened by one of the Logistics officers. These warriors, under orders from their superiors, gathered munitions for their respective lances. The rest of these formations held position in at the crossroads.
“Mik, get enough ammo for the lance,” I ordered. I was still dwelling upon my brother’s arrival, and stared at the asphalt road of the settlement.
“Can’t one of the blues fetch it?” Mik asked wearily. Now, “blue” is a slang term for a minor, used mostly by those who spoke Common Sangheili, what could be considered a “lower” form of our standardized language.
I... I cannot explain it even now. It was as if I was suddenly overcome with… great anger. As if I was, without warning, possessed by a spirit of utter malice. I made a terrible scowl as I took my energy sword and unleashed it, the blade almost astride at Mik’s throat. I glared at my childhood friend with an almost unquenchable rage.
“Get the damn ammo,” I said with a contemptable voice.
“Kai, woah, woah!” said Mik, his hands raised and his plasma rifles holstered. “Calm!”
“Get the fucking ammo.” He looked at me, partly in fear and partly in confusion. “Are you going to stand against me? Against my orders? You would fight your superior over such a simple command?”
“Kai, I’ll get the ammo.”
“No, come, fight me.”
“I understand, sir, I’ll get the ammo.” Mik spoke with a shaken voice, devoid of confrontation.
“’Kalaree,” said Quso from a short distance away. “Be still. We have ammunition and reinforcements. There is no need for such a display.”
Quso’s words, accompanied by the sight of my blade against my dear friend’s throat, was enough to bring me from the edge. I blinked and let out a deep sigh, putting away my energy sword.
“Just… get the ammo, please, Mik,” I said in a low voice.
“Yes, of course, major,” he replied.
“Are you fine?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he answered. “I’m good, I’m good.” He gestured to himself, then raised his hands up in order to assuage any concerns. “Are you good?”
“I am.” I nodded in tandem with the assurance.
“Okay… I’ll get the ammo.” He quickly set off to accomplish the task.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“No, no,” Mik quickly replied. “I can do it on my own, you don’t need to bother yourself with it, I can get it done, no problem.”
I stared as Mik hurriedly went and obtained a crate of munitions from Logistics. Meanwhile, Del looked at me, and I at him. He approached me, while I stood still.
“I am glad to see you, Kai,” Del said. I nodded wordlessly to him, making a false smile on my face. He made a smile of his own as he placed his hand on my right shoulder, then patted it once before setting off with his lance to the edge of the settlement.
I leaned against a Human vehicle parked on the side of the street, processing what had just occurred. I thought I would be rid of my brother, whom I hold in low regard, upon my enlistment into the Covenant military. I was proven wrong, and like a specter, here he was haunting me. His very presence threw me into a rage, and I unleashed my spite upon my friend, whom I feel a closer bond to than my own kin. I saw Mik move towards me as our lance replenished their ammo from the crate he brought them. Ashamed at my unbecoming conduct towards him, even though he was my subordinate, I looked away from Mik. Nevertheless, he spoke to me.
“Going mental is my thing, get your own gimmick,” he said, using humor in an attempt to ease tensions. It worked to a slight extent, where I looked at him.
“I apologize,” I said.
“No worries,” he replied. “Shit happens.”
“Hmm.”
I turned my gaze to the setting sun, which began its slow descent beneath the horizon.
“It’s getting dark,” I commented.
Category:The Weekly