Author's Note

I guess a word of warning is in order. There's some pretty gross stuff in this chapter, some pretty violent things, even for me. So if that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to hold off on reading this one for awhile.

Anyway, sorry for the huge delay. Classes have started and I just needed the extra time to settle in.

We should be entering our final few chapters soon, so get yourselves ready for the end! Please leave a comment if you liked or disliked this chapter. Trust me, I read all of them.

All right, Ch.21: You're Done

Ch.21: You're Done

Drip... drip... drip...

The soft, predictable pattern of water hitting the cold cavern floor greeted Rising Dawn as she shuffled her way into the cavern chamber. It was cold, not the biting, frigid cold of the overworld, but brisk nonetheless. This cavern didn't exactly come stocked with pony internal heating, so what can you do? She wrapped her cloak a little tighter around herself, her small breath clouds dissipating as soon as they left. The chamber was barely lit, the little visible light illuminating the two changeling guards to her left and right. They stood resolutely, not acknowledging her presence in the slightest, clutching their spears.

Queen Chrysalis was barely discernible through the thin shadows. Her muzzle stuck out in a solemn frown, not in anger or wrath, but quiet resentment. The fearsome emerald eyes judging Rising Dawn as she came to a stop unnerved her, causing her to put a little extra into her bow to calm whatever demon peered through those porcelain whites.

"Your Majesty, reporting," Rising Dawn respectfully spoke, the silent fear for the changeling in front of her growing inside her.

Chrysalis didn't respond for a moment, studying the poor mare with a scrutinizing gaze, before she scowled with a mighty frown, "Take that disguise off. I can't take any of you seriously when you come in looking like... them."

"Apologies, your Grace."

Tarsa's green magic burned around her, revealing the charcoal chitin and skin beneath. Rising from her bow, she stood up submissively, hands folded in front of her.

"Now, report. How goes your infiltration of the University?" Chrysalis demanded.

"Your Majesty, I've successfully replaced one of the Thaumatological Mathematics professors and disposed of her. No one suspects me or any knowledge of our coming invasion. Their young minds are weak and fragile. I doubt that they will pose any threat during the day of glory. Furthermore, I have successfully placed the shield-spell buster hexes around the campus and adjoining region, as per your request."

"Most excellent, Tarsa. Is that all?" her queen shot a wicked smile towards her.

"Well, there is one bit of information I think you should know," Tarsa tittered out, her nervousness starting to subside, "It's about that human."

"The alien that showed up a few months ago? What of him?" she barely discerned her queen raising her brow at her through the dim light.

"I am afraid he might be on to me. He seemed very suspicious the last time I talked with him and I'm worried he might pose a problem when we take the city."

"One creature will not be able to stop all of us. He will be easily dispatched by a few drones," Chrysalis waved her hand dismissively.

"Perhaps, my Queen. But he has weapons that I've seen, weapons that could kill faster than the eye can see. I watched him and the Moon Princess use them. I know he may be killed quick, but the loss of life on our part, I believe, may be too great. But I know where he keeps them. Perhaps, if we took them for ourselves, it may help," Tarsa illustrated.

Her queen said nothing, sitting back in the darkness, chin resting in her hand. A thought came to her, leaning back into the light, "You said that he was with Princess Luna at the time. How close are the two of them?"

"He told me that they were dating one another," Tarsa smiled sinisterly.

An evil chuckle gently defused out of the queen, "Tarsa, I think you just solved our little Princess Luna problem. If what you say is true, we might be able to keep that Lunar pest out of the fight entirely."

Chrysalis turned to the guard on her right, "Assemble a strike team. Shadow the man, figure out his routines, who he is, everything. When the time is right and I give the order, well, I'm sure Cadence would just love a cellmate to keep her company..."

"And you, Tarsa," her queen turned back to her with her characteristic wicked grin, "Get those weapons you speak of, if they truly pose that much of a threat to our invasion. Get them out of his hands, and I will take care of the rest."

She laid back in her throne with an approving motherly look, "You have done well, my child. A double ration from our supply for you tonight. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, my liege!" Tarsa performed an abrupt about-face and left, leaving only Chrysalis and her guards in the stingy, cool cave.

Sitting back in her chair, Chrysalis smiled to herself, "All according to plan. Come, little human. Let us see what you are made of."

SCHLOP SCHLOP SCHLOP

It was May now and with May came the wet season, or so Luna was told. What was once a dry, tropical paradise had quickly become eerily similar to Cape Gloucester, just without the lush jungles and nonstop rain. The boondocker boots, which she hardly could see through the dark of night, of each Marine was caked with wet, paste-like mud, hugging the hard fabric like a leech. Each man in their foxholes was dirty with the brown paste, some spread all over their sunburnt arms, some others having small globs of it in their stubble beards that had grown with the passage of time.

James was no different, his poncho caked with wet mud as he slept next to Howard in their foxhole.

It was a rare moment in the night where the rains ceased for a moment, giving the land, and more importantly the men, a much needed reprieve. The full moon peaked calmly over a cloud being blown away, bathing the muddy, ridged battlefield with a cold glow. Aside from the occasional rifle shot or machine gun burst in the distance, the night was surprisingly peaceful.

The position that they'd set up on was excellent. The Marines had shacked up on a steep ridge overlooking a mini valley of muddy ground separating them from the enemy, who had similarly dug defensive positions on their own ridge. Hastily dug entrenchments and machine gun pits protected their front, though their occupants looked less than enthused by the constant drainage of water into their position. In said valley was a kind of no-mans-land, containing destroyed buildings and abandoned equipment. Tiny streams of rainwater ran through the abandoned land, eroding the sediment and draining into a river that she could hear flowing heavily nearby.

A soft breeze interrupted the sereneness with a God-awful stench. Immediately, she knew it was the pungent odor of a decaying body, whether Marine or Japanese, she couldn't tell. Her eyes started to water and a mild nausea set in. She had smelled the decaying flesh of men before. Why was it so much more agonizing this time around? She reasoned it had to be the near constant saturation of water the corpses received.

Over a few seconds, she acclimated enough to the stench, but only barely. To her right, James seemed hardly bothered by it, instead looking on with a sad, demoralized grimace towards no-mans-land.

"I don't know if I can watch this. Not again," James turned away, opting to look at the muddy ground behind them.

Luna reached out to console him when she heard a faint sound of running off in the distance.

FWOOOOSH!

A blinding yellow flare shot up into the air on the Japanese side of the battlefield. A millisecond later, a Jap heavy mortar shell exploded in the back line and soon, a whole barrage of mortar shells screamed down at the entrenched Marines.

Marines caught outside their foxholes scrambled back to their positions, some of them screaming in terror as the artillery fell around them. James, having been abruptly awoken, sank as far into the mud as he possibly could, clutching his Tommy gun in his right while holding his helmet on his head with his left. Howard hugged his friend for dear life, gnashing his teeth and whimpering as the artillery blasted their position. The concussive blasts were absolutely deafening, close to bursting every man's eardrums as well as Luna's.

But, as quickly as the shelling started, it ended. Cautiously, James peaked out of his foxhole, head on a swivel looking out for injured Marines.

Luna's ears flicked towards the ridgeline. That running she heard was getting louder.

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS! THE JAPS ARE COMING!" the sentry, surprisingly unscathed by the bombardment, fired his rifle wildly at a target unseen by Luna, obscured underneath the ridgeline. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear the distant, excited chitter and babbling of the Japanese in their native tongue.

PING!

The sentry's rifle was out and he frantically scrambled to both reload and fix his bayonet to the business end of his rifle. A Japanese soldier popped his head above the ridge and, before the Marine could respond, stabbed the sentry through the belly with his bayonet.

More Japanese soldiers flooded over the crest of the hill like fire ants after being disturbed. Many were swiftly cut down by aimed rifle and SMG fire, falling off the steep ridge and hitting the ground with a disturbing crunch. Some enemies got through, diving into Marine's foxholes and tussling ferociously with its occupants. Her heart twisted as her ears heard the leathery smooth sound of KABAR knives and bayonets being unsheathed, followed by the sickly squelch of the knife finding its mark. It was enough to nauseate her.

"God damnit. For once, I was having a restful sleep!" James yelled over the commotion to Howard.

"Quit yer whinin' and keep shooting!" the Texan shouted back.

To Luna's left, she heard the most gut-wrenching, horrific scream of pain she'd possibly heard in these memories. Both her, James, and Howard made the mistake of looking, immediately wishing that they'd hadn't. In one of the foxholes, she spied a Marine who laid dead on the crest of the entrenchment. In front of him stood his buddy and a Jap, caught without their weapons or knives and were locked in hand-to-hand combat. The Marine, probably desperate to save himself, had taken his two thumbs and was digging them into the Japanese man's eye sockets. The Nip clawed at the Marine, grabbing his mouth, nose, throat, scratching him, anything he could do to dislodge his assaulter off of him. It was to no avail, as the Jap fell over unconscious from the extreme pain and was quickly shot.

"God damn...," Howard mumbled under his breath, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"I might not ever forget that horrid scream," Luna thought to herself. She couldn't bare to look at the corpse, feeling some modicum of compassion for the soldier who was subjected to such a painful end.

James' and Howard's pause was brief. More Jap infiltrators were pouring into their position and time was short.

"CORPSMAN!"

"Duty calls, Howard. Cover me!" James gave a tap to the shoulder as a goodbye to his friend and jumped out of his foxhole, steaming towards the call.

Reaching the foxhole near the front of their position, he all but dove in headfirst, hitting the mud with a meaty THUK!

"Hey, how's it go--- ohhhhhh! Okay, you're getting morphine," James was met with a thankful nod, the patient barely holding his composure from the incredible pain. In the cool moonlight, Luna could only just make out what was happening, the occasional flashes of light from gunfire illuminating the three men.

For a man with a huge vertical cut that looked dangerously close to his femoral artery, his patient seemed to really be holding it together. His stress visibly oozed away as the syrette pierced his skin, a distant, but relieved smile spreading softly across his face.

"Give me that Sulfa, Corporal. Pressure! Pressure, private! Don't let up on it for a second. And you, get that stretcher team over here! The man's about to be whiter than my mother's china set!" he ordered, spreading Sulfa powder all over the long wound. The efficiency at which James worked was admirable. No longer was he the meek, worried corpsman she had watched earlier in the year. What knelt before her was the glare of a decisive, battle-hardened man who was determined and adept as his work. He was 'an Old Salt' now, as she had heard so many times from the replacements in these memories.

It wasn't long before the stretcher team had the patient loaded up and they were hauling him away. Watching as they left briefly, James grabbed his Tommy, lying softly in the mud and waiting for him dutifully, and started to climb out of the foxhole, leaving the remaining occupant to hold the line.

Luna noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a small ball shaped mass fly over the ridge, tumbling through the air and coming to a stop only three feet away from James. Her heart hitched in her throat, eyes widening at what just landed in front of him.

"GRENA-" BAAM!

James' warning and subsequent dive for cover was too late. The shrapnel cut into him with a sickly SLICE, ripping into his arm in an instant, turning what was once muddied, pale skin into a festering mess of blood, skin, and mangled flesh. Pieces of shrapnel penetrated his uniform all over his body, tearing up his torso and blowing a hole through his boondocker shoe. Smoke trickled softly out of the hole in the shoe, the frayed edges of the fabric singed a charcoal black.

Dazed and eyes glazed over, as if his brain was five seconds behind reality, James' training kicked in, his scratched, cut-up hands feeling around for his Thompson desperately in the dirt.

God, everything hurt. His head throbbed. His wounds stung and screamed at him as he slowly moved around in the mud. A morose odor of burning flesh trickled into his nose. He hoped that it wasn't his own flesh that was burnt, but he knew it was.

"Can't fucking see...," that snapped James out of his confusion real quick. With no regard for his own health, he quickly sat up, wincing in pain and clutching his chest. Turning to his right, the lone private left in the foxhole was lying on the ground and grasping at his face, his hands protecting his eyes from the outside world. Slowly and painfully, James crawled his way over to him.

"Everythings... ufff-, Okay. You're fine," he tried to reassure the boy.

Through the thin layer of gunfire smoke, a small Japanese soldier emerged over the crest of the ridge, his outline giving him away in the moonlight. He walked awkwardly, wearing oversized clothes that hung off him and carrying weight that he clearly was having trouble with. His hands held his bayoneted rifle clumsily, the muzzle only just being kept out of the mud. His legs were stubby, skinny, and not fully grown. His arms were much the same, too small and scrawny to carry the big rifle in his hands.

The realization hit Luna like a train. It wasn't aa soldier at all, but a boy, wearing a Jap uniform.

The little boy noticed James, still sitting in the foxhole, and charged at him, his bayonet barely level with the corpsman's torso. His arms shook from the strain of carrying a rifle much too big for himself.

James scrambled for his Thompson, finding it in a hurry, "Drop your weapon!" he yelled the command to the little Okinawan child.

Luna could see no hatred in the little boy's eyes, that characteristic animosity that marked a Japanese soldier. No enmity, no hostility, no bitterness, or disgust. The crystal blue eyes that stared back at her were that of an innocent child, caught up in over his head in a horrible situation, desperately trying to survive. Only desperation and intense fear were seen in those cerulean pools.

How horribly she wanted to jump in front of him, take him into her arms, and soothe his worries. To take him away from this horrid place and give him a happy life.

"DROP YOUR WEAPON! DO IT NOW!" James pleaded with the boy hopelessly, giving him much more time in his sights than he did any Japanese soldier.

The little boy didn't stop, his rifle shaking with strain, and continued his charge. What would be waiting for him back in the Japanese lines if he should turn back?

RATATATA

James' Thompson let out a short burst, the few rounds hitting the boy square in the face and chest. The boy fell gracelessly into the mud flat on his face, a giant splotch of mud flying a few feet forward as his head made contact. His oversized army cap flew off his head, carried by the wind a few inches before falling on a patch of grass. His rifle tumbled out of his hands, rolling inelegantly into the mud and coming to a rest.

Time seemed to stand still to James, his own wounds forgotten, as he sat fixated on the little boy's corpse.

A million thoughts raced through his mind, each one vying for his attention as he tried to process what he'd just done. The thought of the little boy's mother, no doubt in some Japanese work camp or a hostage, haunted him. His stomach sank as he realized the gravity of what had just happened in the three seconds before.

What was this intense guilt? He'd never felt this way about any Jap he shot, but then again, this was completely different. He had no doubt that this boy was pressed into service, if his oversized uniform and heavy rifle were anything to go by.

"It was him or me. It's just the nature of war," he rationalized to himself.

"You shot a child. You took a little boy away from his mother and you don't even feel sorry about it," another voice, much like his own, yet distorted and more sinister, shot back.

"He would've stabbed us. Killed our patient. We gave him a chance and he didn't take it."

"Do you honestly think that will change how you feel about what you've done?"

"... ... No."

Rapid footsteps splashed through the mud, Luna's ears flicking behind her. She turned to see Howard speedily approaching, the fighting having died down and leaving a mostly quiet night once more.

"Jim! Jim! You okay?" he yelled.

He came to a stop by the hole, close to Luna. He was confused, wondering what his friend was staring at, and followed his gaze. Seeing the boy's lifeless body, he glanced at the corpse for a few seconds and then turned back to James.

"You want to talk about it?" his voice was more caring than usual.

"No."

Howard crouched, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and checking over James and the private, "C'mon old friend. Let's get you two to the aid station. We're gonna get you fixed up."

He called a few unwounded men over, rushing over in an instant when they heard Doc was hit, and with their help, they lifted him out of the hole with Howard supporting James as they walked.

The memory finished and the scenery faded away, leaving Luna and James the only two occupants left in the void.

"James, I... I'm so sorry you had to do that."

The man spoke nothing, only idly looking at a point in the non-existent ground, and swallowed strenuously, "I know. I am too. But it doesn't change what I did, even if I had no choice."

He turned to properly look at Luna, a wetness and pain in his eyes, "I see the boy's face in my dreams all the time. I think of what kind of life he could have had if I had just, if I had just..., I don't know. Done something. Anything else. What a waste of a precious life. A waste of potential," he sighed, frowning and clenching his eyes for a second, and spoke once more, "There's one more thing to see and then, I hope at least, the war may finally be put to rest."

A tent sprang up around them, engulfing them in its canopy and blocking out the sunlight outside. A warm sea breeze rolled in through the flap, tossing it idly around random intervals. Cots with various wounded soldiers, some minor and others extreme, sat flanking the side portions of the tent, creating a small dirt path connecting the two entrances. James had obviously taken them to some hospital tent, most likely far behind the lines. The man gestured to Luna, nodding to a certain bed in the row, and motioned for her to walk over with him.

Coming to the bedside, she saw James laying there, staring up at the ceiling vacantly. His arm was in a sling, wrapped in a white, clean splint, and hugged his abdomen comfortably. There was a rather large bandage circled around his chest, covering the shrapnel wounds he received from the grenade. His foot was in a similar situation, but a small, golf ball sized patch of dried, maroon blood had bled through the white fabric of the dressing.

Her heart ached at his condition, even though she knew he would recover. The sound of footsteps behind her caused her ears to flick to its source. Before she could turn around, a mature looking doctor, perhaps in the age of 35-40, she couldn't tell, stepped up to James' bedside.

"Hey Jim. How are you feeling?" the warm doctor smiled down at him.

"Like I took a grenade to the face," the man sarcastically snapped, causing the doctor to frown. James face softened, seeing the doctor's disapproving look, "Sorry, Hallsey. I'm... fine, I guess."

He nestled a little further into his makeshift dungaree jacket pillow, "Any news from the front?"

"Word from Mad Dog is they're assaulting the Shuri Line and I'm about to get a ton more patients and death certificates to sign. But, it looks like we should hopefully be finishing up here soon."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy James, who seemed to expect more detail from the good doctor. He chose not to pry any further, "Well, once I get healed up, I guess I'll try to keep those certificates to a minimum for you, how about that?"

Hallsey sat down on the empty cot next to him and set his clipboard aside, "Well, yes. About that," he leaned forward, taking off his reading glasses and resting his arms on his legs, "I'm not sending you back to the front at all."

Confusion glazed over James' face, sitting up in his bed and causing him to wince a little bit, "What do you mean 'not sending me back to the front?' The boys need me."

"We've got a replacement coming in and with the injuries you've got, and considering how long they'll take to heal, I can't in good conscience send you back out there at all."

"Well, what does this mean then?"

"I'm sending you home, Jim," Doc Hallsey frowned, "You're done."

Hallsey stood up, putting his glasses back on and holding the clipboard behind his back, "Next ship out of here should be steaming towards Pearl for refueling and then back to San Diego. It's been wonderful serving with you, Jim, but I'm afraid our time has come to an end. Good luck back in the States."

With his announcement given, Hallsey took his leave to check on other patients.

The face she saw James make was perplexing. It looked as though both relief and uncertainty were trying to peak through, but he couldn't really decide what to feel. Eventually, he settled on satisfaction, a small, pleasant smile adorning his features.

"It's finally over," he muttered to himself, "I'm going home."

Luna's eyes opened softly, the dim mana light illuminating the room just enough to see around her. Her joints cracked as she stood up from her chair, twisting her back in an effort to crack her spine. James similarly stood up, his knees giving off tiny cracks as well.

"Boy, we gotta stop making these sessions run so long. I'm not sure my joints like it," he stretched his arms out behind him, letting out a big grunt.

"You said it," she replied.

Once the two had finished stretching for a moment, they turned to look at each other, James holding his hands behind him and Luna resting her arms gently underneath her chest.

"Well, you wanted to know about the war. And, well I'd reckon that was everything," James said.

"Thank you for sharing it with me. I know how hard it must have been to relive those memories again," Luna frowned.

"It was. But, I guess, in some way, I feel a little better. Like some tension was released in me," he took a deep breath, letting it slow, "So, thank you. You were right."

"Always happy to help, sweetpea," she warmly spoke his pet name for her.

James chuckled, laughing with that melodious baritone voice she loved, and smiled, "Will you help me with my nightmares, Luna?"

"You really mean it?" she looked at him hopefully

"Yes," he nodded, "The more and more we did this, the more I realized that I can't deal with this on my own. And seeing that boy again only solidified those feelings. For once, I am being honest with myself and with you."

He sighed, "I'm not okay. I don't feel okay at all. But with your help, maybe... maybe this can be the first step towards being okay again. Will you help me?"

"Oh James. That's all I've ever wanted to do from the beginning," she pulled him in for a hug, the tall man returning it eagerly.

"I don't deserve you," James mumbled into her ethereal mane.

"You're right," she laughed, "But I don't deserve you either. Isn't it nice that sometimes we get things that we don't deserve?"

"Yes," he pulled her in tighter, "Yes it is."