Postal Marine 1: Bellicose Read Online Free

only enhanced the panic.
Aren't we allowed so many unexamined fatalities?
Hundreds of thoughts flooded his brain, each signaling that he would not outlive the encounter. He tried to fight the thoughts off, hoping that he could not be murdered in front of the other recruits. His survival instincts beat down his rational thoughts. While his mind raced, only a couple seconds had elapsed since Chrachen aimed at him.
    Bophendze threw his hands up to shield him. He yelled, “No!”
    Chrachen fired a long burst, each bullet striking Bophendze in the chest.
    Bophendze watched the HUD's “99” decrease. Instinct took over and his bowels released. He fell to the floor and curled into a ball to shield himself. When the display got down to 24, Chrachen stopped.
    The rifle's report reverberated off the hangar walls. Bophendze realized Chrachen had stopped. He started uncurling himself, feeling that he was unscathed. He did not even experience the pain of being hit. He looked at Chrachen in horror.
    Chrachen dropped the magazine from the rifle and loaded a second magazine. He then recharged the rifle, the bullet in the chamber ejecting out. He slung the rifle on his shoulder. He then lifted his visor.
    “Men, if you pull your visors down you'll see that Marine Bophendze here has suffered no breach in his armor. Armor integrity is at 24 percent, down to eight percent in the chest. I hit him 29 times, almost fully expending my magazine. They helmet is actually harder than the suit itself. I've never seen a helmet breach in all my years of service. Had he been wearing the PAC, Bophendze here would be dead.”
    Chrachen walked over to him and put his hand on Bophendze's shoulder. He then curled his nose. “What the PAM does not do is shield odors. Bophendze here managed to crap his pants.”
    Someone in the hangar crew let out a whoop. Most of them looked upset, but a few started pushing through to a crewman who had all the money.
They bet on whether I would crap myself?
    “Go get yourself cleaned up. Take the rest of the day off. And don't you ever doubt me again. I tell you the PAM is good armor, you storm into the breach to prove it. You got it?”
    Bophendze nodded. Inside, he despised Chrachen .
----

    Bophendze walked out of the hangar and down the passage. He was slightly lost, but he did not care. “What have I gotten myself into?” he muttered.
I'm barely 18, orphaned and got myself recruited into the marines. Just because the Navy wouldn't take me because I was too young. I could have found something on the planet. Instead, I chose to try to get as far away as I could. Only one system away and I'm already a failure. How am I going to recover from this?
    As Bophendze wandered aimlessly through the ship, he kept his eyes on the deck. Eventually, he arrived at his berthing area. He ran his fingers through his hair, which had grown slightly from the bald head he had in boot. He started to cry.
    “I'm pretty sure Marines aren't authorized to cry.”
    Bophendze jerked his head up. Angel was sitting in the berthing area.
    “Don't let that little scene get the better of you. There's always somebody that gets singled out. Short of combat, It's the only way we have of demonstrating confidence in the armor,” Angel said. “It's nothing personal. I didn't expect my little trouble maker to be the one that got lit up, though.”
    Angel's apology did little to soothe Bophendze's wounded ego. “Why single anybody out? It's not fair. Why not shoot an empty uniform?”
    Angel chuckled. “Bophendze, empty uniforms don't feel. Marines feel, though act like we're ordered not to. What you might not realize is subjecting you to a little ridicule confirmed to the other eleven that that armor will extend their combat survival rate. It's low enough with the armor. Without it we wouldn't even survive the first hatch breach. Besides, combat is just like life—not fair. The sooner you accept that the longer you'll live.”
    “You're telling me