Into The Rift

Paid In Blood(49)

Turner gestures to the scene behind him, indicating the handful of troops currently setting a hard pace towards us, wounded in tow. An abrupt string of weapons fire radiates further back, stemming from two soldiers in bounding overwatch covering the entire entourage.

I nod, lips holding the ghost of a smile. There are others alongside me in this predicament, contending with the same crude reality. It is only us now, the last vestige of viable human resistance.

"We've still got fight left in us," the Sergeant taps me on the shoulder, getting back to his feet and joining the rest of second squad on their way to the armory.

"More than enough," I quietly affirm, tucking my lungs with air. Victory is well within our sights if we give it our all.

As the battered remnants of Visegrad's taskforce race past my prone form, I set my sights back onto the scope intending to pick up where I left off. Tartarus was firmly being contested, but the Euralians still held a firm grip on the base. They will not give it up without a fight, I expected nothing less than that.

I quickly formulate a mental layout of the habitation prefabs, eager to give those deceiving bastards an opportunity to head straight to their version of hell. After firing a loose set of rounds into a suspicious window, the helmet's onboard sensors registers the momentary pitch of a scream. The voice died quickly, now only a temporary footnote in the helmet's audio feed.

My fingers instinctively curl on the trigger again, spurred by an odd flicker of satisfaction. It feels natural, requiring little conscious thought to execute. With the knowledge that everyone was likely killed or captured, any semblance of movement within those walls is fair game.

"Possible kill over on the leftmost prefab adjacent the Operations' Wing. Eleven o'clock, second floor window with those curtains," I yell out, waiting on the aforementioned opening for another rush of movement.

The lull continues over the next couple of seconds as I feel the distinct pull of fatigue over my eyes. I was so tired, and angry at this world.

Each subsequent pull of the trigger carries a part of my soul. It was my only viable outlet, the only way I could scream back against this foreign world. For what it did to everyone here, for luring us in.

I keep the momentum going, stopping only after noting the arrival of footsteps to the side.

"Lieutenant, we're the last!" A voice initiates, accompanied by trotting footsteps.

I look right, stitching together a retort. "Don't stop, keep at it. I've got it covered!" I yell, acknowledging the two soldiers pacing towards me, instructing them against forming another bound.

"Understood," the other soldier forming the bounding overwatch replies, shoving his buddy ahead with a strong push.

Their rhythmic steps fade into the tentative ambience as I perch behind my weapon, sending yet another concentrated barrage of weapons fire across the bloodied expanse. This time the rounds are directed towards the side of a large excavator, sending a couple of figures skittering back into cover, their red outlines flashing violently behind the vehicle's tracked wheels.

Pushing myself off the ground, I did a quick check on my surroundings before breaking into a sprint. Sparing a glance behind I watch the Valors in the distance for any signs stragglers, helmet constantly assisting my endeavors in planting IFF reticules wherever appropriate. No friendlies appeared on screen.

I am the last. With that thought pacing through my head, I dart away from the scene and towards the armory. A firm hand lands on my left shoulder as I enter the threshold, spotting multiple figures basking in the dim lighting conditions. Familiar ones included.