Sea of Sand by, Andrew M.

After years of fighting in the wasteland of a planet that was Uld’gar, Colonel Ash Ryder gazed out across the helicopter pad. Striding purposefully, he envisioned each battle fought on the soil where he now stood. The people at the military base congratulated him, placed him atop a mountain of respect for his heroics, and heralded him as one of the greatest tacticians of their time for fighting a small rebellion. They knew nothing of what war truly entailed. It was scarring, seeing all of those he had known die before his very eyes. Now, he strode towards a beige helicopter, wind whipping his shortly cropped hair. The rapid spinning of the blades kicked up sand and dust all around the desert, and Ryder detected the weasel of a man behind him.

“Hey, I heard you really took it to those fiends. Guess there really is a reason you’re a Colonel,” sharply stated Baron Wolf, a remarkably tall yet wiry man standing next to him. His suit was pressed neatly, and the sand being whipped into the sides of his coat clearly bothered the man, as evidence by the furrowed brow upon his face. Ryder didn’t respond with any more than a small grunt, not wanting to further instigate his adversary. Wolf seemed to take this as enough of an answer, and stepped into the helicopter, then motioned Ryder to follow him. While entering the helicopter, he realized the flaring pain his joints felt, as the act of stepping into the machine sent flares through his veins. Though Wolf motioned for him to take a seat, he refused, and stood at the edge of the door to the outside. The Colonel now realized Wolf had adorned himself in attire of all charcoal-black. In the sweltering heat, amidst all of his layerings, the man couldn’t seem to sweat, to feel hot, to show pain. The blades spun quicker by the second, and before they knew it, their transport vehicle had taken off. Flying high above the ground, Ash noted that the otherwise featureless surface of Uld’gar was dotted by small cave formations. As he put this information away into the back of his mind, he felt a hand be placed on his back, and turning to see who had spoken, he heard Baron Wolf’s voice. He said, “You’ve been more useful to our cause than you could have known.” Dropping his voice to a whisper that Ryder’s aging ears could only barely detect, he continued. “You’ve been so useful, you’re just too dangerous.” With that closing statement, Wolf, the man that had never worked a day in his life, the man that bribed his way into importance, pushed Colonel Ryder, the hero, the savior of the people, down to the hard, unforgiving ground below.

In the blink of an eye, countless hours passed for Colonel Ash Ryder, until he woke, feeling the Sun whip him with its fiery lash. As he sat up, he felt pains flare through his chest with enough force to indicate broken ribs. Then, from the corner of his eye, emerged a tall, broad shouldered male, barely aged enough to be considered a man. Ryder recognized the man’s uniform as that of a member of a nearby platoon of their army, one that had recently disappeared, and upon seeing the soldier’s extended hand, he took it, grateful he had someone to help him to his feet. Upon completing this gesture, the young warrior stood, back straightened, and saluted, introducing himself as Sergeant Jack Rush. Speaking earnestly, with an innocence that only a youth could bring, he claimed, “I was a part of platoon Sierra, but we ran into trouble…” The Colonel detected the uneasiness in the younger man’s voice. Continuing, Rush stated, “I’ve been wandering alone for the last day, we need to find some form of aid. I can help, you look battered.” As much as he wanted to deny it, Ash Ryder’s body was feeling more than just the effects of age, he had broken ribs in his crash down from the skies. Despite wanting to remain out in the unforgiving desert and perish painlessly, the Colonel agreed, wanting to assist the young wanderer. Upon Ryder muttering his affirmation of the plan, the face of Rush lit up, understanding that he may survive this tribulation.

Over the course of several hours, the duo trudged and trotted through the blazing sands of Uld’gar. There would be no communication, idle or integral. Dozens of times, Rush would attempt to converse with the Colonel. Whether Rush inquired how Ryder achieved such fame, or his most incredible mission, conversation with the war hero remained elusive. All that was muttered by Ash was a defeated, “Why should I not perish…” The sergeant responded with, “You can’t die, sir. Whoever sent you here needs to pay for what they did,” Ryder shook his head in disgust. Vengeance never aided anyone. After Rush had given up on learning about his mysterious childhood hero, the pair crested another dune, and as they took step after painful step, they saw a figure walking in tandem to them. He wore clothing not unlike theirs, leading the two to believe he was a member of the military. A fellow soldier, a moment of respite. Making their way toward the mysterious man, Ryder noticed Jack’s throat tighten, his muscles clench. The younger man was on edge. Whirling around as he said it, the stranger exclaimed, “Please, don’t do it, it was for my safety! Here, take some of my water, just leave me alone!” The Colonel, confused as he was, accepted the bizarre and detrimental offer of the man. Cautiously reaching out to the man’s canteen, Rush grabbed his arm, pulled it away from the lifesaver. As the two locked eyes, Rush shook his head, muttering. “We shall not take the aid of a traitor. If you want to stay out of the wrong as you seek vengeance on those who sent you here, I forbid you from taking this offer.” Not wanting to harm the younger man’s mind, Ryder refused what may have been a critical and lifesaving opportunity. They walked off from the encounter. No better than where they started, the two felt the unending reminder of the Sun’s heat.📷

Amidst the boredom and monotony that was trekking through an infinite sea of sand, Rush explained his puzzling actions. “When the Fiends of the Lost Age attacked our squadron, Private Wesley refused to fight, saying their numbers were too strong. He left us to die. All of us. Not accepting his offer is an act of retribution, no matter how petty.” A tear rolled down the man’s cheekbone, a drop of moisture caught up in the sand-filled breeze. “Okay.” was the only response the sargent would ever receive, along with countless coughs and wheezes, caused by a mix of the battered ribs and sand-filled air. The sand- it was everywhere. It swept up the world. It blocked out the Sun. Taking in a sharp breath, Jack Rush realized what they were stuck in. “Sandstorm.” he uttered.

Rush grabbed Ryder’s arm, who, with an eerie calm, claimed, “Leave me here. Only then may I rest. I’m tired of war. I’m tired of fighting” Through the sand, preventing him from seeing in front of him, Rush shouted, “A hero of mine will not leave this world so noiselessly. You will survive, and you will \punish those who stranded you here.” Dragging the gaunt by the arm, Jack Rush stumbled through a whirlwind of pain, a cyclone of misery. “How could anyone wish this upon someone?” he thought. “We must strike back with equal force, show the men that did this that it shall not continue.”

Lost in the storm, Ash would wander for a time he would never know. Minutes? Hours? No matter how long the torture may have lasted, Colonel Ash Ryder stumbled upon an outcropping of a rock, a small enclave of safety, which blocked out many of the horrid particles that were smashing against his face. The survivors crawled into the crevasse that now harbored them. Laying defeated, struggling for every breath, and wondering how naive Sargeant Rush must be to think that, not only were they to escape the clutches of this monstrous desert, but they would deliver the “mighty hammer of justice” upon Baron Wolf. The Colonel let out a small chuckle, wincing from his freshly broken ribs and sand-filled lungs. The pain was beyond imagination, and the miserable man knew what he had to do; lay there, under the rock, until his life trickled to an end.

Under the constant battery of the heat, the despondent man awoke to the discordant sound that was the Sargeant’s coughing. He motioned for water, which he knew to be a true rarity in the arid wasteland of Uld’gar, but the Colonel had none about him. Minutes of laying, motionless, grew to hours. It was evident to Ryder that Rush had inhaled a considerable amount of sand in the devilish disaster that was the sandstorm. Breathing heavily, Rush moaned one word, repeating it as if the thought would bring his mind to ease. “Water…” he cried. Rush’s body was aching, craving for it. After a long while of disconnected and muddled thoughts, Ryder stood up, declaring, “You said we need to get out of here, so we will. I’m not doing this to get reprisal on Baron Wolf. I’m doing this to keep you alive, We need water, I’ll get it.” As he said this, Rush attempted to get to his feet, seemingly trying to signal that he would get water for Ryder, but as he did so, he collapsed upon the ground, not unlike how a dead body crashes to the bottom of a grave. Understanding that Rush was in no condition to save him, Ash Ryder wandered back out into the desert, alone with his thoughts.

Facing the burden that was the sirocco, Ryder took step after sluggish step, pushing himself further into the wasteland. The wind roared in his ears, and he felt the seemingly unending barrage that was the Sun. The mere act of breathing took considerable effort, and each footfall he made towards potential survival was awkward, as his legs began to feel cumbersome. The trail of imprints his feet made were swept up in the wind, just as everything he did. Death. It would truly be welcomed with a warm embrace by him, but he had to fight on for the boy to instill the confidence Rush had that he could unleash his animus upon Baron Wolf, even if that was not what he wanted. On the verge of unconsciousness, Ryder saw, upon the horizon, a cactus, healthy and robust, it’s fresh chartreuse leaves distinctly contrasting with the bister hue that was the endless sea of sand. As his eyes met with this salvation, he regained not only his sense of self preservation, but his energy. His perilous excursion was not insignificant, he had a renewed sense of purpose. As he made his way to the cactus, he exhaled, forgetting how the Sun’s rays seemed to lash out at him, if only for a moment.

His dagger plunged into the base of the cactus, and water spilled out into the small, metallic can he held below. The successful tapping of the plant allowed Ryder to exhale, a sigh of relief. Turning, the man realized something; his footprints had been erased by the wind. He was lost. The Sun beat down on him, drained the life from his powerless body. Unable to walk, Ryder crawled his way across the sand, endlessly discouraged. Heading in what he believed was the way back to the younger man, Ash felt a burden atop his shoulders. A man that had a purpose, a will to live, was depending on him to save his life. Though death would have been welcomed by the gruff wanderer, he understood that Jack Rush was destined for greatness, and that he was the only one that could save him. Getting up from the scorched face of the planet, Ryder made his way across the sand dunes, gaining purpose with each stride. He would conquer this sea of sand, and he would beat the Sun.

After several hours passed, Ryder’s strength had diminished greatly, and he felt his body fold into itself. The water was slowly evaporating, and sweat poured off of his brow. Step after step he pushed on, yet made no visible progress. Only half of the cup’s contents remained, and he was tempted to give in and drink from the cup that held the precious liquid, but he knew that flooding his mouth with the water would flood his body with guilt, so he carried the cup, and moved with a fraction of the strength his body was normally infused with. He collapsed, crawling his way over the top of another hump of sand, one of thousands on this forsaken planet. Mentally crushed, he lay, sand flying about the air, piling on his near lifeless body. Then, breaking the silence, was a chopping, the sound of metal cutting violently through the air. Slowly, painfully, he reared his head, pointing his face closer to the blinding blaze of the Sun. As he did so, the familiar silhouette of a modern, beige military helicopter passed across his vision, descending as it did so. Even in a dehydrated state, the Colonel knew what this meant. It was as if the man rose from the dead, converting the powerful beam of heat pounding down upon him into energy and confidence. Topping dune after dune, he eventually saw where the helicopter had landed, and made his way to the bustling military base, prominent amidst the lifelessness of Uld’gar.

Despite all of his struggles, the countless battles fought against nature, and hours of mindless, yet painful walking, Colonel Ash Ryder emerged from the desert, to the shock of the inhabitants of the humble military base. Hearing of the news that the man had gone missing, everyone marveled at the heroic figure that was presumed dead. Entering the first tent he saw, the half-dead Colonel saw a man, tall and skinny, wearing a perfectly neat suit and tie. Baron Wolf. A man he despised. A man Jack Rush sacrificed so much to let him get revenge on. When Ryder saw him across the tent, conversing with another official, he clenched his fists, and turned away. Jack Rush wanted revenge on the behalf of Ash Ryder, but Ryder felt no need. He tuned, and stepped out into the arid land of the Uld’gar base. Although Rush felt vengeance was what should be wrought upon Baron Wolf, Ash Ryder had seen enough bloodshed to last multiple lifetimes. Revenge was not what he desired.