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The Revolutionary - Part VI

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Gorden's squad didn't waste any time once they left for Sarkhozi, and they travelled through the night along the main road from St. Loren to the capital city.

They were hampered as they approached Sarkhozi by refugees fleeing the fighting. Like the others, Miles didn't pay much attention to the harried and bleak faces of the fleeing. Everyone had been witness to enough horror. Exhaustion helped him sleep.

The Revolutionary headquarters for Sarkhozi were based in a huge warehouse on the north side of the Rozina river. The place was heaving with Revolutionaries on errands or just milling about. Someone had painted 'Headquarters for the liberation of Sarkhozi and Arydania' in green above the wide doors. The paint had run.

A makeshift mess had been set up to the side of the warehouse, using furniture looted from nearby houses. Revolutionaries lazing on armchairs and sofas sat next to comrades eating at dining tables complete with matching upholstered mahogany chairs. The squad took the opportunity to rest and eat there as Gorden attempted to find someone to report to.

Whilst they were eating, a man with a Dictaphone appeared. He had short blonde hair and a square face. He wore a chunky blue bullet vest, with word PRESS in white letters emblazoned on his chest.

"Hi, my name's Frank," he said, sitting down next to Petar, who grudgingly shook his hand. His accent was American. "When did you guys get here?" he asked.

"Just now," Petar responded. Only Miles seemed interested by the reporter. Kristian appeared to read a book he'd picked up, though his eyes didn't follow the words. The others concentrated on their food as if the reporter wasn't there at all.

"Where did you come from?"

"North of here."

"Whereabouts? Are you from St. Loren? Or Bittja?"

"Neither, just the north."

"Do you know when you'll be crossing the river?"

"No. We only just got here."

"You probably know more than us," added Kristian, putting down the book and concentrating on the conversation properly, "when did you get here?"

"I flew in yesterday evening. Apparently your boys took the airport during the night before. I've been trying to get stories since dawn."

"That's news to us, what else can you tell us?"

"Well St. Loren fell yesterday. And Dralin's a shit-hole; they say they've been fighting from house to house."

"Dralin's always been a shit-hole," Petar muttered.

"What's been going on here?" Miles asked.

"Nobody has told me much, but from what I've picked up, the RAA has been pushed back between the two rivers, where they're completely surrounded. They've blown the Old Rozina Road Bridge, and the New Road Bridge is a stalemate, so you're stuck with slogging it from the bridge on the St. Loren rail line. I'm trying to fall in with some of your boys who are moving to the front line-"

"Good luck with that," said Gorden, cutting in. "We've got our orders, we're moving out. Now."

*  *  *

Gorden explained that they were to spearhead an attack on Georgi Tower, an apartment block built shortly after Arydania gained independence. It overlooked the New Rozina Road Bridge, and formed the staying point of Royal Arydanian Army's defence in that area of the city. The Revolutionaries had gained a bridgehead, but that achieved little more than stopping the Royalists from blowing that bridge as well.

The Royalists were on the back foot - it no longer had air support from St. Loren or Sarkhozi's airport, and had limited room for manoeuvre. However, those still fighting were the most the loyal to the king, those less sympathetic having deserted the king to fight for the Revolutionaries, or deserting the fighting altogether. The Royalists were beginning to form its last stand in the central part of Sarkhozi, defending the palaces and its king.

The sniper's bullet hit Gorden on the shoulder, throwing him to the ground. Someone yelled "Cover!", but Miles didn't register who had yelled as he threw himself into a doorway. Petar ignored the order, and dragged Gorden into a small alleyway.

They were spread out on either side of a street; Miles, Kristian and Rebekah on one side. Miles could see Georgi Tower over the rooftops. This was the first contact with the Royalists in Sarkhozi.

Miles struggled to see what was going on from the shelter of the doorway, but he could just make out Petar frantically trying to treat Gorden. He couldn’t see Rebekah, who had been in front of him. Kristian sat behind a parked car.
Miles heard the second shot. It hit Roscoe in the foot. He cursed unintelligibly as he simultaneously tried to huddle tighter against the wall and cradle his foot.

“Anyone see him?” Kristian shouted.

“No,” Rebekah and Sokostki shouted back. Miles shook his head.

Kristian told Miles to try and open the door. He reached up and tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He couldn't get enough leverage to batter it down with the butt of his rifle. Inside, a dog began to yap.

Kristian leapt from behind the car and charged the door. Miles put as much weight against the door as he could.

They collapsed into a narrow hallway. The yappy dog barked inches from his face, throwing spittle at him with each high pitched bark.

To their right was a room where a family of four huddled with fearful eyes. Kristian picked up the yappy dog, threw it in the room and slammed the door. Miles got up and wiped his face.

They sought a path parallel to the houses, sneaking through windows and doors.
The farther they moved, the more careful they became. In the front room of the fifth house they broke into, Kristian peered out of the window. Miles followed and could see the stretch of street where the rest of the squad were pinned down. Kristian made a signal to go up stairs.

Miles covered their backs as they made their up, very aware that a single creaking floorboard could give them away.

The sniper sat by a window overlooking the street. They could see him through a bead curtain, sitting in a chair. Miles smelt the sharp tang of tobacco smoke.
Kristian killed the sniper with a short burst from his assault rifle.

Another soldier appeared from a second room. He had his trousers round his legs, and was struggling with his rifle. Shock was evident on his face.

Miles acted on instinct, and leapt the short distant to the man, ramming the muzzle of his rifle into his belly. The man buckled, and Miles' grip on the rifle squeezed the trigger.

The shot was muffled by the man's flesh. Blood sprayed across the wall.

The soldier keeled over, and lay on the floor, leaking blood into the carpet. They watched the light go out of his eyes, which were still wide with the expression of shock.

"Wrong time to take a piss," sniffed Kristian.

Miles wasn't disturbed by the act he had just committed. He used a clean part of the man's clothes to wipe the blood off his rifle, before searching the body - as Kristian did with the other body.

He left the rifle, but removed a pistol with a leather holster and fastened it round his waist.

"You might like this," said Kristian, passing Miles the sniper's rifle, "have a look at it later, we need to get back."

"Thanks," Miles replied, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. They left the scene without any further ceremony.

*  *  *

They heard the tank before they saw it. As they approached, Miles felt the rumbling of the engine through the walls. A huge green flag hung from the communications aerial; the symbol of the revolution. The squad were waiting beside the metal flanks of the huge fighting machine. Gorden and Roscoe had been taken back to a field hospital, and Kristian assumed command of the squad.

Kristian jumped up on the tank to speak with the tank commander. They shook hands, but only exchanged a few words before Kristian dropped back to the ground.

The squad moved onward down the street as they had before, clearing the way for the tank and scouting for possible ambushes. Miles was aware that the tank - one of precious few in the Revolutionaries' possession - was regarded as being worth more than the entire squad. Miles felt little emotion with this realisation. He wasn't becoming inured to the suffering, but he began to act with a calm detachment from the war.

They stopped beside a gap between two buildings which presented a clear view of the apartment block. The Tower was situated an open area of tarmac and grass, with scattered vehicles, washing lines and children’s swings. To a Revolutionary’s eye it displayed a Royalist stronghold, surrounded by open ground with sparse cover.

The tank turret tracked across to take aim, and the squad took positions around the tank; they would act like a bodyguard in case any Royalists got close enough to attack the tank. Miles lay down beside the tank, and rested the sniper’s rifle on his rucksack.

Despite the rumbling of the tank’s engine, a degree of quiet fell over that area of the city. Miles didn’t feel any tranquillity. It had started to rain, but it did nothing to relieve the tension. The smell of warm wet tarmac filled his nostrils.

"Here we go!" the tank commander shouted, and the gun fired with a crump.
Miles watched as Revolutionaries leapt from their positions surrounding the tower. Whistles blew. Half a dozen cars and pickups tore across the open space. Portions of the tower exploded, throwing chunks of concrete into the air.

The Royalists fired back. One of the cars was riddled with machine gun fire. It slowed to a halt, and caught fire. Revolutionaries leapt from the burning vehicle.
Carefully, Miles took aim with the sniper rifle, staring one-eyed through the telescopic sight. He had used a scoped hunting rifle in the past, and thought he knew what he was doing. This rifle was heavier, and semi-automatic. He aimed at a machine gunner firing from a window, and gently squeezed the trigger

The gunner kept firing. Miles fired again.

His shot was echoed by the tank gun, and the gunner’s position disappeared in dust and flame.

Miles kept firing, concentrating on trying to hit his targets. Aided by the telescopic sight, he watched the assault progress. The tower was being gradually demolished by the incoming fire; windows became gaping holes, and in some places floors had collapsed.

The Revolutionaries eventually captured the ground floor. There was a lull in the fighting within the tower, but the tanks and guns positioned further away did not relent.

Then the Revolutionaries evacuated the building.

The Revolutionary commanders had decided that it would be too costly to capture the tower. Besides, the name ‘Georgi Tower’ was an affront to the Revolution. Instead, they decided to barricade the Royalists into the upper floors, and blow it up from the foundations.

“Cover your ears, and open your mouth,” Kristian ordered.

The ground on which Miles lay shook, and the entirety of the ground floor of the tower expanded in a huge cloud of dust as the sound wave hit them. The dust cloud continued to grow as the building descended into the ground.

The squad stood staring at the space which the tower had been standing less than a minute before.

Miles heard someone yell "That's what you get for fucking with the Revolution!"

Miles didn't share the same jubilation as the invisible Revolutionary. They had a job to do, and step-by-step they were completing their task.

*  *  *

The city's major hospital was still in Royalist hands, and the small hospital that the Revolutionaries had seized was not adequate for the weight of casualties. As a result, it was cramped in the ward in which Miles had found Gorden. On Kristian’s orders, he had been sent to find the old squad leader. He hadn't said why, but Miles suspected that wanted Gorden to know about the passage of events.
“Was anyone injured in the assault?” Gorden asked.

Miles thought of all the bodies he had seen through the telescopic sight, but he knew that Gorden was only referring to the squad.

“No, we weren’t really in the Royalists’ sights.”

Gorden nodded.

“Look, if what you say is true, and the Royalists have retreated to the Palace, it’s likely that tomorrow will be the final push.” Gorden lowered his voice, “There’s more to this war than meets the eye - things that the world will never know about, if all goes to plan. I’m not going to explain anything, but when it looks like the Royalists are all but finished, wear this.”

He handed Miles an acorn suspended on a string.

“You can trust anyone wearing one of these.”

Miles didn’t say anything; he didn’t completely understand what Gorden was saying.

“Kristian will look after you. You can trust him, and Petar and Rebekah," He didn't mention Roscoe or Sokotski. "We've all seen our fair share. Hopefully the end is in sight."

Still slightly confused by the meeting, Miles left Gorden in his bed, and made his way out of the hospital.

"Hey, Miles!" Miles turned to face the voice.

He didn't recognise him at first, underneath the cuts that covered his face.

"Lucas! What happened?" asked Miles, rushing to Lucas' bedside. He still wore his glasses, though one of the lenses was missing, and the remaining one was divided by a crack. He lay stiff under the dirty white sheets; stiff like an old man.

"A Royalist grenade. Helan took most of the blast. She saved my life," Lucas face bore none of its old joviality. His eyes glistened.

"Shit, where is Helan?"

"She's dead mate. She's gone. The grenade took her face off."

Miles tried to say something reassuring, but no words came.

"Miles... we didn't tell you she was pregnant, did we?"

Miles shook his head.

"No, she said that you'd be pissed and worry too much," a half hearted chuckle rose in Lucas' voice, offering a ghost of his former self. The ghost was fleeting.

"Dead. Both fucking dead."

Lucas stared at his hands. Miles stood by his side for a while. He was lost; he didn't know how to deal with this kind of situation. He could kill a man, but he couldn't console a friend. What fucking use was that?

Miles turned to go, but Lucas spoke again, still staring at his hands.

"Miles. Your sister is still alive."

"Natalie?"

"Yeah, we fought alongside her, Helan thought she looked just like you. She's part of that Comrade-Colonel Josif's personal squad. Fucking demons - even your sister. She thinks you're dead."

Miles didn't respond, made dumbstruck again by this news.

"I'm done with this fucking war mate. Good luck, maybe you can save your sister."

"Yeah…"

Miles left the hospital in a daze.
Hmm. I wonder how well this flows. Perhaps some of it does? And others bits don't? I've played around with it so much I'm not sure anymore.

Sometimes I wonder whether I'm verging on writing complete bollocks. Okay, I know it's a story, but there's a line where things do reach a bit of a farce. I don't want to cross it.

One of the issues I had when writing this part was the fact that I was kind of finding the 'voice' that I think would be perfect for this story. I've read a couple of books by war reporters, and I'm trying to follow that lead to an extent, as if writing a war story from that sort of point of view - I hope adding little details here and there make it more life-like.

I know I should make the characters more life-like, and their interaction with each other. I think that the rest of the squad (supposed to be hard-biten veterans) are trusting Miles a little too early. But I'm going to finish the story first, before I start buggering about with it majorly again.

Heh, ramble over. Thanks for reading so far :P
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