The Worst Day of Our Lives

This is a Sci-Fi Version of D-Day. Enjoy.

The Worst Day of our Lives.

It was the worst, bloodiest, and most horrible damn day of our lives. I had just come out of proving my worth as a scout; I was part of recon squad Epsilon. I was a Lance Corporal.

I was attached to tactical advance squad Alpha, and it was an honor. It meant that I had done so well as a scout, they didn't hesitate to throw me into the front lines.
My little brother was there, right there with me, in squad Alpha. We fought back to back so many times as scouts. He too, was a Lance Corporal.

We were stationed to platoon number 13, the Jokers. Our platoon-mates lived up to their name.

My platoon and I were sent on out with but a single thought, a single phrase uttered from our Lieutenant: "Don't die," he had said.

Our transport to base HQ on the planet of Gherrmaniee was easy. Drop-pod in and use the hatches and infrastructure as shelter until we were called out for the assault.
Three synchronous-days later, we were called onto the attack ships that would skim across the large, single ocean on the planet's surface to establish a beachhead at a strategic point. Its name was Nohrmandiee.

The wait for the assault ramps to lower was almost unbearable. When they finally did, half of our god-damned platoon, and hell, half of every other platoon's men were gunned down in the split second enemy turrets could draw a bead on 'em.

We were bloodied before any of us could look through our sights.

Establishing the beachhead was harder than getting the hell off those god-forsaken skimmers. We had to get out, take cover behind the tank traps the enemy had set up previously, and try to target enemy turret gunners with our AR's.

The enemy's guns were tearing us to shreds. So were the "Hopping Harries." Terrible little suckers that would bounce up to midriff height when they sensed movement, then would explode and sever a body in two. We lost many men that day.

Once we got to the bunkers that were a good three stories tall, we had pipe-bombs placed under the foundations to weaken them. We were able to finish blowing off their fronts with rockets rather easily after that.

Then we finished them off with our guns, moving on to clear the trenches, flamers at the fore.

Those trenches were almost empty, save for a few stragglers. We killed all we saw.

Our lieutenant said that there was probably an enemy encampment a little further to the north, and that we had just been designated recon/shock-and-assault troops assigned to destroy it.
A few clicks into our surveillance, and just a few feet to my right flank, the point-man's head exploded, half of it had simply vaporized and I, along with my platoon-mates, were covered in gore and brain matter. We instantly knew that there was an enemy sniper and/or assassin team just a little ways to our east, and that we would need to take them out. We silently dug trenches with our combat shovels.

We hunkered down until night fell, taking turns at standing watch in pairs. I grabbed some shut-eye.

All of a sudden I was awakened by the sound of rustling cloth and a muffled cry. I slowly reached for my gun and peered up at the sentry pair. They were dead. I looked around, and saw nothing. I figured that since the sentries were dead, an assassin was nearby, so I stood, spun in a circle, firing straight ahead of me as I spun, so as to cover every possible angle. I heard a cry of pain, and then looked down to see a grenade at my feet. I turned and ran.
I got just far enough away to avoid the primary concussive blast, but the shrapnel got to my platoon mates. I was spared by my flak jacket. I heard our tactical apothecary swearing as he pulled himself up out of sandbags and dirt.

I heard, too, a scream, though more of a wail for help; "Help! Big brother! Can you hear me!? Help!" It was my little brother, my god-damned little brother! I ran to his side and helped him out of the rubble from the grenade.
He was holding his intestines in with his one remaining arm, the other arm and his legs sheared off by the shrapnel.

"Help!" I yelled. "Apothecary!"

"Here!" I heard the old man say.

"Help me! My brother?!"

"I am afraid I cannot help him, my friend." He said. "If I were to allow him to live, he would spend every day in constant, agonizing pain.I cannot allow him to live like that."

"May I give him the 'Eternal Peace'?"

"You may."

I held my little brother close, in a comforting embrace, and took the needle from the doctor. I pierced his remaining upper arm with the hypodermic needle, exactly where it would hurt least.
"He will not feel a thing. He will just slip away," said the doctor.
I slowly injected the 'Peace' into his bloodstream, and watched as the light faded from his eyes as I said my final goodbyes to him: "I love you little brother. Always have and always will. You'll be all right. You're going to be with Ma now."

His last words were, "Thank you, big brother. I have always loved you too, and always will."

I laid his body down and closed his eyelids.

I vowed I would avenge him.