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| <poem> | | {{FanFicExists|AKK|{{AOOO|59481}}|https://annkniggendorf.de/page30.html|}} |
| Date: 2084-05-11
| | |
| Place: Wolf Den Military Base - Commander's office | | <!-- HEADER START --> |
| Person: Walsh, Joseph | | __NOTOC__ |
| Cry to Heaven | | {{HideTitle}} |
| (by Elton John, 1985) | | <center> |
| He threw his uniform jacket over the back of his chair. It was late... It always got late when one of them got wounded. | | <h1>{{PAGENAME}}</h1> |
| Durhardt, Quentin... one of the Hypnotic-Mind-Controllers. A datapad -- the physicians' assessment of Quentin's physical state -- lied on his desk. | | <h2></h2> |
| Not now... He activated the music player on the shelf behind him, inserted one of the old disks which he found stuffed into a paper box when he took over the office... | | <h3>by AKK</h3><br> |
| It doesn't matter. | | <h4>Rated: M</h4></center><br> |
| I found a black beret | | '''Summary:''' <nowiki>The duty on Wolf Den base weighs heavy even on the base commander.</nowiki> |
| On the street today | | |
| It was lying in the gutter all torn | | <hr><br><br> |
| There's a white flag flying | | <!-- HEADER END --> |
| On a tall building | | <!-- PERMISSION DERIVED FROM: GRCD |
| But the kids just watch the storm | | YES or PERM comes from messaging and\or email. RB has attempted to keep track of this. |
| The kids are the storm... | | GRCD1 or RANGER-L derives from posting or inclusion within the fan community. |
| He took the bottle out of his desk drawer and poured himself a glass of brandy. Regulations forbade drinking while on duty... | | Archive.org, OoOCities.org, etc derived from rescuing material that was publically available and has fallen to the archives as the original website has gone away. BetaMountain is attempting to provide a collective archive of material. |
| I've done things far more against the rules than this. | | *********** IF THERE ARE ANY DISPUTES ON THE ABOVE OR CHANGES REQUESTED PLEASE CONTACT RB DIRECTLY WITH DETAILS ******** |
| He took a deep sip and leaned back in his chair. | | --> |
| Their dirty faces | | <poem style="border: 2px solid #d6d2c5; background-color: #f9f4e6; padding: 1em; font-family:verdana;"><div role="complementary"> |
| Pressed on the windows | | <div> |
| Shattered glass before their eyes | | <div role="complementary"> |
| There's a mad dog barking | | <h3>Notes:</h3> |
| In a burned out subway | | <blockquote> |
| Where the sniper sleeps at night | | <p>Special thanks go to Elizabeth 'fatima' Bales for editing.</p> |
| He remembered the cry when Durhardt was hit. Killbane fired. Killbane always fired. Whether or not somebody was in the way. | | </blockquote> |
| He'd be a too expensive soldier... even in interstellar wars. But no one listened to me when I explained it. | | </div> |
| No birthday songs to sing again | | </div> |
| Just bricks and stones to give them | | <div role="article"> |
| Wrap them up in your father's flags | | <h3><strong style="font-size: 14px;">Place : Wolf Den Military Base - Commander's office</strong></h3> |
| And let them cry to heaven | | <div> |
| He took another deep sip of brandy as the pictures of Durhardt's wounds flashed through his mind... the burned flesh and the molten bone of his leg in the middle of it... The others jumped over the wincing body and ran on. Shane left his group and stayed. | | <p><strong>Time : 2084-05-11<br />Person : Walsh, Joseph</strong></p> |
| He was the only one who cared... | | <blockquote> |
| No birthday songs to sing again | | <p>Cry to Heaven<br />(by Elton John, 1985)</p> |
| Just bricks and stones to give them | | </blockquote> |
| Wrap them up in your father's flags | | <p>He threw his uniform jacket over the back of his chair. It was late... It always got late when one of them got wounded.</p> |
| And let them cry to heaven | | <p><em>Durhardt, Quentin... one of the Hypnotic-Mind-Controllers.</em></p> |
| No one will ever sing for them... but no one will ever dare to throw stones at them, either... | | <p>A datapad – the physicians' assessment of Quentin's physical state – lied on his desk.</p> |
| Another sip. He had to refill the glass. | | <p><em>Not now...</em></p> |
| There are many graves | | <p>He activated the music player on the shelf behind him, inserted one of the old disks which he found stuffed into a paper box when he took over the office...</p> |
| By a cold lake | | <p><em>It doesn't matter.</em></p> |
| As the beds were when your babies are born | | <blockquote> |
| And your rag doll sits | | <p>I found a black beret<br />On the street today<br />It was lying in the gutter all torn<br />There's a white flag flying<br />On a tall building<br />But the kids just watch the storm</p> |
| With a permanent grin | | </blockquote> |
| But the kids just watch the storm | | <p><em>The kids are the storm...</em></p> |
| There won't be any graves for those who lose in this. | | <p>He took the bottle out of his desk drawer and poured himself a glass of brandy. Regulations forbade drinking while on duty...</p> |
| He'd seen the wounds of the other losses, remembered what they looked alike. He didn't need to look into the physician's file. | | <p><em>I've done things far more against the rules than this.</em></p> |
| Quentin has no chance. | | <p>He took a deep sip and leaned back in his chair.</p> |
| He glanced at the filing cabinet where the hard copies of prime orders were kept... | | <blockquote> |
| I saw a black cat | | <p>Their dirty faces<br />Pressed on the windows<br />Shattered glass before their eyes<br />There's a mad dog barking<br />In a burned out subway<br />Where the sniper sleeps at night</p> |
| Tease a white mouse | | </blockquote> |
| Until he killed it with his claws | | <p>He remembered the cry when Durhardt was hit. Killbane fired. Killbane always fired. Whether or not somebody was in the way.</p> |
| Seems a lot of countries | | <p><em>He'd be a too expensive soldier... even in interstellar wars. But no one listened to me when I explained it.</em></p> |
| Do the same thing | | <blockquote> |
| Before they go to war | | <p>No birthday songs to sing again<br />Just bricks and stones to give them<br />Wrap them up in your father's flags<br />And let them cry to heaven</p> |
| ...he still knew the exact wording of the order, though it was more than 17 years old -- it dated from November 2066 -- "Abandoned and invalid objects must be transferred immediately to Project Genomtoxin. The development of a battle gas against genetically engineered soldiers is considered as important as the development of the soldiers themselves." | | </blockquote> |
| Black cat and white mouse... I don't want to know who's who. | | <p>He took another deep sip of brandy as the pictures of Durhardt's wounds flashed through his mind... the burned flesh and the molten bone of his leg in the middle of it... The others jumped over the wincing body and ran on. Shane left his group and stayed.</p> |
| No birthday songs to sing again | | <p><em>He was the only one who cared...</em></p> |
| Just bricks and stones to give them | | <blockquote> |
| Wrap them up in your father's flags | | <p>No birthday songs to sing again<br />Just bricks and stones to give them<br />Wrap them up in your father's flags<br />And let them cry to heaven</p> |
| And let them cry to heaven | | </blockquote> |
| He saw in his mind's eye a different trooper collapsing to the ground, dangerously wounded ... | | <p><em>No one will ever sing for them... but no one will ever dare to throw stones at them, either...</em></p> |
| I don't have a flag to wrap him in... | | <p>Another sip. He had to refill the glass.</p> |
| In a sudden attack of fury he threw the half emptied glass across the room. It crashed against the wall next to the door, left tan spots on the paint and sharp splinters on the carpet... | | <blockquote> |
| No birthday songs to sing again | | <p>There are many graves<br />By a cold lake<br />As the beds were when your babies are born<br />And your rag doll sits<br />With a permanent grin<br />But the kids just watch the storm</p> |
| Just bricks and stones to give them | | </blockquote> |
| Wrap them up in your father's flags | | <p><em>There won't be any graves for those who lose in this.</em></p> |
| And let them cry to heaven | | <p>He'd seen the wounds of the other losses, remembered what they looked alike. He didn't need to look into the physician's file.</p> |
| I've got to stop this! | | <p><em>Quentin has no chance.</em></p> |
| He opened the music player, fetched out the old disk and looked at the label. It was published in 1985... 99 years ago... They hadn't thought about genetic warfare in those times. They couldn't even imagine it... He dropped the disk onto his desk and started the terminal in front of him: "Object-ID: 1567236 - Durhardt, Quentin - Date of Incept: 2066-01-21 - Date of Decant: 2066-09-22 - was deemed viable at 2068-10-02." He added the "L" for loss behind the date in "Status" and wrote down the date of today under "comments". Then he turned to the "use" column and changed "STP" into "GTP". | | <p>He glanced at the filing cabinet where the hard copies of prime orders were kept...</p> |
| Let them cry to heaven | | <blockquote> |
| Let them cry to heaven | | <p>I saw a black cat<br />Tease a white mouse<br />Until he killed it with his claws<br />Seems a lot of countries<br />Do the same thing<br />Before they go to war</p> |
| There would be no heaven for Quentin to cry to. | | </blockquote> |
| </poem> | | <p>...he still knew the exact wording of the order, though it was more than 17 years old – it dated from November 2066 – "Abandoned and invalid objects must be transferred immediately to Project Genomtoxin. The development of a battle gas against genetically engineered soldiers is considered as important as the development of the soldiers themselves."</p> |
| [[Category:Cleanup-Format]] | | <p><em>Black cat and white mouse... I don't want to know who's who.</em></p> |
| | <blockquote> |
| | <p>No birthday songs to sing again<br />Just bricks and stones to give them<br />Wrap them up in your father's flags<br />And let them cry to heaven</p> |
| | </blockquote> |
| | <p>He saw in his mind's eye a different trooper collapsing to the ground, dangerously wounded ...</p> |
| | <p><em>I don't have a flag to wrap him in...</em></p> |
| | <p>In a sudden attack of fury he threw the half emptied glass across the room. It crashed against the wall next to the door, left tan spots on the paint and sharp splinters on the carpet...</p> |
| | <blockquote> |
| | <p>No birthday songs to sing again<br />Just bricks and stones to give them<br />Wrap them up in your father's flags<br />And let them cry to heaven</p> |
| | </blockquote> |
| | <p><em>I've got to stop this!</em></p> |
| | <p>He opened the music player, fetched out the old disk and looked at the label. It was published in 1985... 99 years ago... They hadn't thought about genetic warfare in those times. They couldn't even imagine it... He dropped the disk onto his desk and started the terminal in front of him: "Object-ID: 1567236 - Durhardt, Quentin - Date of Incept: 2066-01-21 - Date of Decant: 2066-09-22 - was deemed viable at 2068-10-02." He added the "L" for loss behind the date in "Status" and wrote down the date of today under "comments". Then he turned to the "use" column and changed "STP" into "GTP".</p> |
| | <blockquote> |
| | <p>Let them cry to heaven<br />Let them cry to heaven</p> |
| | </blockquote> |
| | <p>There would be no heaven for Quentin to cry to.</p> |
| | <p><strong>End</strong></p> |
| | </div> |
| | </div> |
| | </div> |
| | <p> </p></poem> |
| | |
| | <!-- FOOTER START --> |
| | [[Category:Fanfic]] |
| | [[Category:Fanfic-M]] |
| | [[Category:Fanfic-AKK]] |
| [[Category:GRCD1]] | | [[Category:GRCD1]] |
| [[Category:Fanfic-Unrated]] | | |
| [[Category:Fanfic-AKK]] | | |
| [[Category:Fanfic]] | | <!-- ********************************************************************************************************** --> |
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| | <!-- If fanfic exists elsewhere, is the new template in place? Did we include all the links? --> |
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| | [[Category:FanFic-Finished]] |
| | <!-- FOOTER END --> |
| | [[Category:Durhardt-OC]] |
| | [[Category:Quentin-OC]] |
| | [[Category:Commander Joseph Walsh-Fanfic]] |
| | [[Category:Ryker Killbane-Fanfic]] |
| | [[Category:Wolf Den-Location-Fanfic]] |
