The armoured convoy march fowards towards Richmont. The mourning son burns the back of the necks of Cris and Owen. Although the bumpy roads were not confortable the ride was unervenly calm.
*adjust binocles*
“See anything, Owen.”
“No……just buildings.”
“Exelent then, ready the air burst.”
*blup*
*boom*
*sizzle sizzle*
*blup*
*boom*
The explosives caspusles explodes in the distant of the overgrown surroundings. As they came into distance of the ground they explode covering the green plains with a thin and hazy red powder. Soon all of the other vehicle copy the move of their leader.
“How many times we have to do this,Cris?”
“Every 10 miles or so.”
“What does the goowy stuff does, Cris?”
“Well, If what the resheach team says is true this stuff is a repelent so we won’t see then any time soon.”
“Should’nt we just face then direct?”
“That’s not advised they have hostages. here look”
*rustling paper*
Cris showed the boy a black and white and badly printed fotograph. With the black background the siluattes of people making a line toward a vehicle being guarded by wolf like figures.
“What they are going to do with then?”
“…….Something horrible…….that’s why we need to save then.”
*knoc knoc*
“(faint) Owen can you come down here for second.”
“Sorry Cris-”
“Don’t worry I can take It from here.”
*steps down*
“Coming Uncle Mike!!!!”
The boy descends into the compact and cram compartment of the APC. But with his small size he easily squishes through It and reaches his beloved uncle. His parents alongside his other uncle did’nt even said a word in the whole trip, periodically they extend their necks to looks through the window. In contrast Phyro was peacefully sleeping on Carol’s lap.
*tap on shoulder*
“Here boy…”
“Why did you call me Uncle Mike?”
“Well just want see If you were cleaning your gun regurlary.”
A drop of cold sweat runs down Owen’s face.
“Huh, by your face I know you were’nt doing your homework.”
“…….welll you see….Uncle Mike…..I was……”
“Don’t worry….Saw on TV……you were pretty occupied this week.”
Shamefully the boy hands him the pistol that was hostered on his chest.
*turns on flashlight*
*racks gun*
“Well this is a mess.”
Just through a quick glance Mike could see residue powder on the extractor and on the barrel, dust inside the internal magazine and an sticky slide.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
*shuffle shuffle*
Mike picks up from a pocket on his gear a small blue plastic box. He takes a rimming rod, a brush and a small plastic flask out It. With that he starts to get into work.
*squish*
*brush brush*
The boy figdet his fingers.
“Nervous?”
“A little uncle Mike.”
*tap tap tap*
"Don’t worry Owen we all are.”
*brush brush*
“But the camo man and the soldiers, even Cris they all look-”
“I know, we adults know very well how to hide our emotions……In reality we all are just as worried as you.”
Mike’s words don’t seem to relaxed Owen. The boy looks down with a worried expression as If he was in a transe. His hands started to shake and he figdet her even more.
“Owen…..”
*snap snap*
“Take this.”
Mike hands him a vecro patch. The insigna was the american revolutionary flag with a bright yellow trin. Perplexed by the gesture the young boy just admire the gift
“A present from our sargent……He said you’re one then too.”
“Muller…..That means-”
Mike softly places his hands over the child's hand.
“That means you have something to protect now…..And allways remember-”
“Minimize the causuties.”
*pat on the shoulder*
“That’s my boy."
While Owen was talking inside armourer vehicle Cris stayed in watchman duty. He kept a sharp eye in the almost infinite green sea of foliage only broke up by the grey decrepted building of the old countryside. Holding his trusty rifle with a granade lauch attach he counts the miles in his head.
*radio static*
“(radio) Cris are you there?”
“(radio) Yes, need something Ben?”
“(radio) Just a head ups, Ok. Me and the boys are discussing for a while…….But have you heard anything?”
“(radio) What do you mean?”
“(radio) Birds chearping, rustle of the threes…….You know normal nature stuff.”
Cris pauses for a while. He tries focus his hearing filtering the sound of the engines of his vehicle and the convoy. As he pays even more attention in his surroundings he starts seeing more and more abandoned cars on the side of the highway.
*cold sweat*
“(radio) Should we stop?”
“(radio) No……They are probaly afraid because of the sound……If we stop they might-”
“(radio) Sorry, But I think we will have no choice.”
“(radio) Fuck….I’ll tell the boys to get ready then.”
*radio static*
A small conglomerate of abandon car appear on the horizon. the fist APC stops on his tracks and awaits futher orders.
“(faint) Sir, how we proceed?”
“Get me in line with the troopers.”
“(faint) Right away sir.”
*radio static*
“(radio) Tenent. We have a blockade up ahead. Should we cleared?”
“(radio) How so?”
“(radio) We will use the ACP as a bulldozer and push the cars to the side. Should we comence?”
“(radio)…………..Yes.”
*radio static*
Cris watched from afar as the armoured vehicle shoved the cars as If they were toys. Slowly the Blockade was being cleared. He checks his watch.
“(thought) Almost noon…..At least half a hour till the troopers finish……We will probally reach Richmont by 13pm.”
*teeck*
*boom*
As a reflex Cris ducked into the protection of the armoured plates covering the gunner sit. He peaks through the reinforced glass. A wall of flames engulfed the fist APC.
*shuffle shuffle*
*radio static*
“(radio) Are you guys ok?”
“(radio) ………Yeah, some of us got knocked out but none fatal damage……..Maybe we hit a fuel tank.”
“(radio) Can you back away or should I call a recovery vehicle.”
“(radio) No need just let the flames die down and…….Fuck…..oh fuck….”
*pow pow pow pow pow*
“(radio) Trooper!!!! Trooper!!!!! What happened!?!?!?"
*radio static*
“(muffled) Cris!!!! what happened?!?!?”
“(muffled) Are being hit?!!”
“(muffled) Talk to me goddamit!?!?”
“(muffled) Fuaaaaah”
*chambering guns*
Cris peeked ahis head a little futher to see what happened to the first vehicle.
*pop pop pop pop*
*glass