Project Ajax
by Lesleytonyb     More by this Writer
The country of Vegeta is a desolate, war torn mess, the battle against the Freiza forces is taking a heavy toll on the Saiyan army, a toll that warrant officer Trunks takes very personally. It seems more and more apparent that the Saiyan’s are fighting a losing battle and Trunks feels each death as if it were his own. He feels desperate, as if there is no way to fix the sorry state of affairs, that is until his father, king Vegeta, throws him an unexpected, and quite honestly unwanted lifeline, a lifeline by the name of Project Ajax. Trunks had no idea the huge impact Project Ajax would have, not only on this war, but also on his heart. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Author's Notes : This story was plotted with the help of Lord Truhan.
Graphic Violence Deathfic



Chapter 01
Warrant officer Trunks held the cold, metal whistle to his trembling lips. Rain pelted down on him, plastering his lavender hair to his face, blurring his vision, soaking through his uniform, and making his impossible task even harder. All he had to do was blow the whistle, why did it seem so difficult? He looked down the line at the faces of the thousand men he was about to condemn to death, how many would make it back this time, 50? 100 if they were lucky. They stare back at him, awaiting his command, not afraid, determination on their hardened faces, all traces of fear hidden deep down inside them. But they had not yet been on this battlefield, they had no idea the horrors that awaited them once they went over the top, when they left the safety of this trench, they were in hell.

This was to be Trunks third time, each time more horrific than the last, he would never get the smell of the rotting corpses from his nose, it was lodged there in the back of his throat festering forever. This time would only be worse. More death, more mud, more madness.

“Good luck men may god be with you,” he shouted his pale blue eyes squinting shut as he blew a sharp toot on the whistle. The bullets started almost instantaneously, shooting down those same men who looked so brave just moments before, leaving them dying in the mud, all that determination lasted them for mere seconds, another life gone, another, another. Trunks knew he had no time to dwell on it, he had to keep moving, shooting, hiding, that is what had kept him alive so far.

He ignored the agonised screams from his men, the grown adults crying in fear, the body parts strewn about like gruesome Halloween decorations. The floor was thick with red stained mud, each step had his black regulation boots sinking deeper and deeper into the sludge, making it almost impossible to move, his only option was to step onto bits of wood or dead soldiers to get better footing. There were no distinguishing marks left in this landscape, the once thick forest had been reduced to a cess pit of death, the odd tree trunk poking sadly out of the maroon slime the only indication that there had ever been life here, the once lush green had long been replaced by brown. The ambiance removed and instead there was a hollow, hate filled place, the only sound being bullets and screams, Trunks hated it.

Again, the smell assaulted his nostrils, the stench of a million dead men, mud, shit, and vomit, it was a concoction that could turn the strongest of stomachs. Bullets hit the floor around him, sending more mud and flesh erupting into the air, spattering his face, he kept moving, kept going forward, that is all he could do. This battle had been taking place for two months now, the same two army’s fighting it out for the same piece of land. The men on the fields were here as nothing more than a distraction now, and a way to keep enemy numbers down. the officers had long ago realised that the Freiza force had the advantage in this area, high up on a ridge there was no way of Saiyan soldiers reaching them, they had the vantage point and the ammo to shoot them down like dogs before they could even get close. So, the Saiyan’s started digging, long underground tunnels that would eventually let their soldiers get behind enemy lines and take them by surprise. But someone still needed to attack from the front, to avoid suspicion, and that was where Trunks and his battalion came in.

He spotted a shell hole just ahead and dived into it, the bottom filled with muddy red water up to his knees, he did not care, at least he was out of the line of fire. He leant against the wall to catch his breath. There was a dead Saiyan in the hole with him, it was sad that this sight didn’t really phase him, he had grown so desensitised to death and gore that it hardly concerned him anymore. he didn’t even see that half the man’s head was missing, and his brains were spilling out onto his shoulder. He didn’t notice the bullet hole through his heart, but he did reach out and take his dog tag and his rank insignia, at least he would have something to give to his poor family.

Trunks looked up to the sky, bullets whizzed across his vision, like tiny birds of death, leaving their victims almost hopeless. He took a few deep breaths, letting the rancid air fill his lungs in an effort to stop his shaking, if anyone asked he could pass the trembling off as cold, his uniform was soaked through and the rain didn’t relent even for a second, a few good men had lost their toes to the cold and had to be sent home, lucky bastards. He tried to gather his thoughts, but it was barely possible to think in this noise. The constant ratta tatta of machine gun fire, the screams and moans, the occasional earth-shaking boom as a bomb shell hit, it was mind numbing.

A young boy, maybe 19, flopped into the hole beside him, he curled into a ball in the blood-filled water and held his hands either side of his face, taking in deep breathes and wailing in terror as he exhaled. He was loud.

“Pull yourself together private, making a noise like that will get you shot,” Trunks told him in his sternest voice. He did feel for the kid he really did but there was little point in having a breakdown on the battlefield, that just meant condemning yourself to death, this kid needed to snap out of it if we wanted to make it out of this alive.

Trunks squatted down next to him,

“What’s your name soldier,” He asked a little softer. The boy looked up into his face, his large almond shaped eyes wide with terror, tears leaving tracks down his face which was smeared with dirt and blood, as was everything in this whole god forsaken place. He glanced at the insignia of Trunks shoulder and seemed to straighten up a little.

“Private Cabba, sir, third battalion,” He said with a shaky salute.

“Ok listen Cabba, I’m gonna get you out of here, but you need to promise me you’ll stay calm and do as I say, ok?”

“Sir, yes sir” Cabba replied feeling a little safer now he was not completely alone in this hell hole, but still full of jitters knowing these were more than likely his last moments on earth.

Trunks raised his eyes over the ridge of the crater he was hiding in, the noise had quietened down a little, the screaming had mostly stopped, the poor men either had been taken by a medic or died, probably the latter. The bullets were mostly quiet, every now and then a bout of fire ringing out across the sodden landscape.

The scene was just as dismal as ever, inches from where Trunks face emerged there lied a young man, little more than a boy, his eyes were open, blinking, but he didn’t move, one of his legs had been blown off, leaving a mangled stump where it used to be. With an injury like that there was little chance of him surviving, if the blood loss didn’t kill him the filth would infect the wound and he would die of septicaemia, but Trunks couldn’t just leave him there.

Against his better judgement he grabbed his arm and pulled. Dragging him into the hole just in time before one of the Freiza force spotted the movement and bullets rained down around them, leaving wormholes in the mud inches from the guy’s head.

They both plopped back into the shell hole. Trunks examined the wound

“What’s your name soldier,” He asked and wasn’t surprised when he got no answer, this guy had lost a lot of blood, and was quickly losing more. Trunks reached into his trouser pocket; he knew he had a ball of string in there.

“Cabba, check his tag,” He ordered as he started wrapping the string tightly round the guys thigh, if he could stop the bleeding and get him back to a medic there was a slight chance he would survive, and with only one leg he would be sent home, right now, this guy had a way of escaping this torture and if Trunks could help him do that he would. He bound the leg tight, ignoring the blood spilling onto his hands and soaking into his sleeves.

“His name is Nion sir,” Cabba muttered reading the dog tags, his face white as a sheet as the blood from the wound pumped out mixing with the water and blood already in the hole, the smell intensifying with each fresh gush.

“Nion, can you hear me?” Trunks called, Nion didn’t answer but his eyes moved slowly to meet the other mans, he was at least half conscious of his surroundings, the pain and adrenalin may have rendered him speechless, but he still knew where he was, poor guy.

“Nion, I’m officer Trunks, me and Cabba here are gonna get you back to safety,” Trunks told him in his most confident tone, letting not even the slightest quiver tarr his voice, he needed to be confident, he needed to be a rock for these men, god knows they needed some hope to cling to.

He covered the worst of the wound with a handkerchief that he kept in his pocket, it was far from ideal, but better than leaving it open to the elements, he dreaded to think what kind of bacteria is living in this slop.

“Cabba, we’re gonna get either side of him and help him back to the trench, it’s the only way, you have to move fast, you ready?” Trunks looked at the smaller man, he trembled but still nodded, the bravery and courage of these soldiers was astonishing.

“Good man, come on Nion lets get you home,” He said grabbing the injured man’s arm and hoisting him up, his one remaining leg struggling for purchase on the slippery ground before Cabba grabbed the other arm to steady him.

“Straight to the trench men, don’t stop for a second or we will all be goners,” Was Trunks last instruction before they threw themselves from the hole and ran as fast as was possible in their current state towards the safety of the trench. Other soldiers had noticed them running and were shooting cover fire to try and make their way a little easier.

Bullets hit the ground around them as they made their way painstakingly towards safety.

“Keep going Cabba, we’re nearly there,” Trunks yelled almost in triumph as they neared the edge of the trench, he could hear other people cheering as he got close. A shell hit a few feet away from them, it wasn’t enough to kill any of them, but it shook the ground enough that they all fell, their hands sinking into the thick mud, dragging them down into the ground. Cabba fought to stand up his face thick with brown sludge as he reached for Nion, he stopped sharp, Nion was no longer saveable, a piece of shrapnel from the blast had embedded itself into the back of his neck, very nearly beheading the poor guy, blood oozed from the throat in bubbles, Trunks watched as the life drained from his eyes until there was nothing left but a dead body, that small glimmer of chance wiped out in a second. For a moment Trunks just stared, deeply saddened by this loss, it wasn’t just another dead man, it was another piece of his hope gone, every time he saws any spark of hope in this place it is stolen from him.

He felt anger burning from within him, he wanted nothing more than to kill every one of the Freiza force and stop the unnecessary life loss, all this death, all this torture and for what? a distraction, just to keep the enemies’ eyes away from their true intentions. Was it worth it? was anything worth this kind of senseless bloodshed?

“Officer Trunks, what now?” Cabba yelled looking panicked at his side.

“Go, to the trench, GO NOW,” Trunks yelled to Cabba, he grabbed Nion’s dog tag, yanking it straight through his severed neck and shoving the blood dripping ID into his pocket. He and Cabba then moved fast together into safety. They were met there by soldiers who offered them water and blankets, words of condolences for the man they tried to save.

Cabba was taken away by medics to check him over, they think he is suffering from some kind of shock, and Trunks is left alone with his thoughts. He sat on the frozen floor and lit a cigarette. How many men had died under his command? Not just today but for the last two months. How many terrified soldiers were still alive out there, cold, and alone on the battlefield, scared to move? How many soldiers had followed his orders and ran to their death because he had told them to? Hundreds? Thousands? He took a deep pull on his cigarette, he didn’t smoke before he came here, disgusting habit, but nowadays he didn’t care about that, anything to settle his shot nerves, to calm his shakes.

This needed to stop, he couldn’t bare it any longer, something had to be done, he didn’t want to be the reason another person went over the top.

Just then a soldier jumped into the trench next to him, a woman, there were very few women in the Saiyan army, it was still a little frowned upon, but women demanded equality so here they are. She leant against the wall and tried to wipe some of the blood from her body, she didn’t appear to be injured.

“You ok soldier?” he asked. She turned and glanced at his insignia, seeing he was an officer she gave a salute and stood up straight.

“Captain Callifla sir, I’m ok, glad to see you made it back,” She said with a smile. It seemed she was not as fazed by the horrors as some of the men.

“Here, you deserve this,” Trunks said passing her a cigarette and a sip of whiskey.

“Thank you, Officer,” She said accepting both “hey it’ll get better, well win this soon,” She assured him with certainty before turning to leave. He sure hoped she was right; in the meantime, he needed to speak to his dad.



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