The Crash (Short Story)

Here's a bit of a random one I thought of earlier on and I finally got some time to get it written down. It's pretty good I think, and has some humor sprinkled in.

Source

       "We're stuck here now," Krisot stated, as he held back a tidal wave of hate behind gritted teeth.
       All Amotio could do was nod in silent agreement.
       "Well?" Krisot asked.
       "Well what, sir?" Amotio asked, taken aback.
       "What do you have to say for yourself?!" Krisot exploded. "For running into that mound of dirt and grounding our transport ship!" He fired off another barrage.
       Amotio stared at the ship, lodged half-deep in a mountain of muck. Its body was bent and disfigured, the hull showed many pops and cracks. One of its engines lay on the ground beneath it, as well as other bits of debris. The engine that remained attached fizzed and sparking violently.
       "I'm sorry, Krisot," Amotio replied, filling the silent void with the only thing he felt might alleviate the tension. An apology.
       Krisot turned slowly to bore a hole in Amotio's head with a glare. "You're sorry?"
      Amotio nodded. "Yes, sir. Very sorry for the tragic accident our ship befell." He spoke briskly, glancing away from the dangerous stare of his superior. "It won't happen again." He continued as he stared at the carcass of the ship before them.

       Krisot slowly turned away, and with his eyes off him, Amotio felt comfortable. He couldn't be sure if his apology was accepted, but he felt much lighter for having said it. Maintaining his usual composure; proper composure. There was no need for begging, kneeling, or kissing the ground that Krisot stood upon. No. A formal apology as he maintained his dignity was exactly the right call. Men of The Confederation are above groveling after all.
       "What do you suppose we do now?" Krisot asked, in a flat and even temper.
       "Well, the engine doesn't seem to be in working order. But, perhaps we can repair it." Amotio replied.
       A shockwave blew him backward, and he tumbled and rolled through the air, landing on his stomach and left lying on the ground dizzy from the spinning. He settled his mind long enough to look up and saw that the ship was now in flames and muck from the explosion was landing in hot blobs throughout the area.
       "Sir?!" He shouted through windless lungs, coughing as he got to his feet. "Krisot! Are you out there?" He continued to shout. The more he did, however, the less he felt he could. Coughing once more, he tried to shout and felt as though all of the air was gone from him. Smoke from the fire impeded his vision and he staggered blindly attempting to find Krisot.
       "Amotio!" He heard the familiar voice call out through the black and white plumes. Walking in the direction of the voice, he finally found the man.
       "Good, I found you," Amotio said. "I feel that we may not be able to repair the ship."
       "I think you're correct, it seems to be truly lost. But, we can contact support. There'll be some sort of transport passing through this region of space in the coming days." Krisot replied.
       "Could be a merchant ship, transporting the finest elixirs known to space," Amotio replied, in a jovial manner.
       "Could well be, Amotio, and were that the case they'd surely allow us to have our fill." A brief laugh followed Krisot's words, and it seemed the wind changed direction blowing the smoke away. Krisot's eyes widened slightly. "Amotio," he mumbled.

       Tracking his eyeline he looked down at his chest and saw a bloodied steel rod sticking out. "That's not good," he whispered as he raised a hand to touch the tip of it.
       As he made contact with the rod he lost all feeling in his legs and collapsed to the ground. All the light faded around him, and he stared up in disbelief.
       "Don't worry, we can fix this," Krisot said, but his words fell on the wind and were carried away to a distant land beyond all understanding.

       Amotio watched a comforting hand fall to his shoulder, but the touch melted away on impact.