******
Lieutenant Bates, the fine soldier in the near-extinct Citizen reserve army, hadn't slept for what felt like days. He'd almost faded out before the psychotic Russians came roaring into Gamma base, slaughtering anyone that moved. He was able to hide out, evading detection and execution. His head hurt, and his vision was constantly blurry.
With extreme care and caution, he managed to locate via radio a few of the surviving soldiers. They were rattled, demoralized, and terrified. With a little time during the past day, he had managed to gather everyone together and get them calm.
Between the seven of them, including Bates himself, they had four weapons: three pistols with one full clip each and a submachine gun with only ten rounds. After taking a tally of their weapons, even he started to feel hopeless.
"There's something we gotta do. It's vital to our mission down here. Once we take care of that, we can get the hell out of here."
Bates had been lying, of course. He fully expected that he and his remaining comrades would never again see the light of day. However, he hoped that he could salvage something out of this doomed operation.
The pitiful band had soft-stepped around all day long, avoiding detection by being excruciatingly careful. In the late evening, they had arrived near the main square. Hiding several floors up, they watched out of the windows. It took little time for Bates to realize that the exit point in the Escape was hopeless. Men were milling around, coming and going. Anyone who went inside came out covered in blood. They kept bringing in buckets of water and various cloths, rags, and other cleaning implements.
It was now late in the evening, and many of the workers had retired for the night. The morale of the soldiers with Bates was so abysmal at this point that they had entirely stopped asking fearful questions and making insubordinate remarks. Silent and stoic, they seemed resigned to their fate.
Bates had watched for a very long time. Eventually he noticed, at the other end of the square, a couple of soldiers standing guard outside what looked like a little empty grocery store. At some point, he saw someone he recognized step out of the guarded building. It took him a while, but he realized it was one of the radio operators from Alpha. Prisoners. His cloudy thoughts swirled the idea around, and long consideration led to why Old Haven people had taken prisoners.
It dawned on him, and what he needed to do became clear. That's why there were no reinforcements. That's why the retreating soldiers were cut down. That's why there's only seven of us left, Bates thought, shaking his head in dismay. The Inquisitors don't even know what happened yet. We have to tell them.
Bates was tired and completely strung out. It was late. His own watch had been broken in the explosion which had knocked him from his feet and given him a head injury. Knowing the time of their impending deaths didn't matter anyway.
His tiny force moved into the alley. It appeared that most of the clean-up had ceased, everyone bunking down for the night. Their task would take speed and precision.
The lieutenant made a quick hand gesture and sprinted out of the alley, through the shadows on the sidewalk when the Old Havenite on the right of the door yawned and turned towards the inside. Bates drew his pistol.
Hearing the loud footfalls, the guard started to turn around. The other guard, on the left, peered into the darkness. He opened his mouth and shouted some kind of alert or halt: Bates couldn't tell which with the ringing in his head. The guard brought up his assault rifle.
Bates dropped to a knee and aimed his pistol. A resounding crack filled the air and the guard on the left's head snapped backwards. The guard crumpled to the ground with hardly a noise. A few more shots rang out, and bullets whizzed by Bates as his men opened fire. The other guard, still in the process of turning around and silhouetted by the lights inside the store, twitched and spasmed as several rounds penetrated his body. Before the man hit the ground, Bates was up and running again.
"C'mon, hurry!" he shouted, abandoning silence. He assumed, from the noise and commotion, hell would rain on them very shortly. Bates ran directly into the store with his pistol in both hands. He nearly collided with another man on his way out. They each skidded to a stop and swiveled weapons. Bates blinked as the combined crack of two pistols echoed in the small room. His round punched through the man's chest. His enemy fell backwards, crashing against shelving units and crumpling.
Excruciating pain shredded through Bates' midsection; he dropped to one knee, gasping. His opponent's bullet ripped into his stomach an inch to the left of his navel. A burning sensation filled his extremities as his ruptured organs leaked vital fluids, and a sticky warmth spread in his midsection.
His head felt stuffed with cotton. He heard weapons fire nearby, although it sounded indistinct. Fire filled his insides and reality pounded at him as he forced himself to rise to his feet. He staggered forward, around another shelf. A small table was set up with a radio on it. A man with his legs tied to a wooden chair sat in front of the equipment, looking intensely afraid.
When he saw Bates walking towards him, still in his Citizen's military uniform, his eyes widened in recognition mingled with relief. "Wha- sir?" The expression turned to frightened shock when he saw Bates clutching his stomach, blood pouring from the wound and dripping through his fingers.
Bates spoke; his voice came out weak and horse, "Con…contact the surface. Tell… tell them…" He slumped against the wall and looked back towards the entrance. Two of his men were on the ground, bleeding. The others were crouched down behind cover and firing scavenged weapons out into the street.
He looked over at the radio operator, who stared with his mouth hanging open. Bates found his voice again. "Hurry… it won't be long."
Searing pain ripped through his shoulder as a stray bullet flew past the soldiers and shattered his collarbone. The force of impact slammed him flat against the wall, and he slumped down to a seated position, his midsection screaming in agony at the bent posture. The radio operator frantically twisted dials and yelled into the receiver. The words were fuzzy, and Bates didn't know what was said. Blood spattered the ground several feet in front of him as another of his men fell, clutching a gaping wound in his neck.
Bates was vaguely aware that there was yelling and screaming, but everything swam into a gray haze. He saw another of his men stand up, firing a pistol with one arm extended and yelling. Stay in cover you moron, Bates tried to say, but speaking didn't seem to work.
His last soldier was quickly cut down as several other men rushed into the store. Bates tried to raise his weapon, but he discovered that his arm had no strength to it and barely any sensation. A man ran forward.
There was a loud bang and a flash in front of his eyes; a short, sharp cry resounded as the radio operator tumbled backward, still tied to the chair. Bates saw a bleeding hole in the operator's chest along with fading awareness in his eyes. A small brass shell casing, smoking from the heat of the gunpowder discharge tumbled to the ground. Bates stared at it, his awareness beginning to fade, as a shadow cast over him. He looked up, and a man was standing over him, holding a pistol. Bates mustered up a mocking smile. He coughed again, spitting up a bit of blood which landed on the man's shoes. The man raised the pistol, drew it back, and slammed the butt of it into the side of Bates' head. A brief red burst of static filled his vision, then blackness. Nothing.
Uprising Page 57