The sharp crack of a bullet whizzed past Nikolaj’s head, the sound echoing in the chaos as he sprinted through the street. The air around him seemed to crackle with danger as he dashed past a row of abandoned cars, their metal bodies dented and scarred by previous skirmishes. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the adrenaline pounding in his veins.
Just as panic began to claw at him, Nikolaj spotted Afrin laying down next to a battered car. Afrin’s machine gun was started barking a steady rhythm, the bursts slicing through the evening air towards the square. The sight of his comrade fighting back with fierce determination gave Nikolaj a surge of hope.
Nikolaj threw himself behind the car next to Afrin before he shouted over the cacophony, his voice strained but commanding. “Sven, fire a grenade at that stand next to the food truck!”
Sven across the street snapped his head towards him, his eyes narrowing in focused determination. He didn’t hesitate. Grabbing a grenade from his belt, he pushed the 40mm grenade down the launcher under his ak5c rifle. He took aim as a few tracer rounds missed him by a few meters. He pulled the trigger of the underbarrel mounted grenade launcher. The grenade arced through the night air, landing with a dull thud next to the stand.
The explosion that followed was deafening. Flames and debris erupted with a violent force, sending a thick cloud of smoke billowing through the street. Shrapnel whizzed through the air, its high-pitched shrieks adding to the cacophony of chaos.
Nikolaj seized the moment and pressed his push-to-talk button, sending a frantic message over the radio. “We’ve lost the square! We can’t hold it!” His voice crackled with urgency, waiting for any response amidst the turmoil.
Afrin’s machine gun fell silent as he yanked the trigger back, a clear sign he was reloading. “Reloading!” Afrin called out, his voice edged with strain.
Without hesitation, Nikolaj swung from cover, his rifle blazing as he fired at the silhouettes on the square.
Between shots he started to hear the cracking on the radio.
Afrin, having reloaded laid down again next to the car and started firing.
“How many of those lunatics do you have on the square?” His sergeant yelled at the radio.
“20, maybe 30, they keep popping in and out of cover to shoot or throw anything they have towards us. Atleast two of them have firearms they’re firing pot shots! We need people here!” Nikolaj answered.
“Pull back to the ministry! I have no one to spare, just get here ASAP” the voice on the radio yelled out.
Nikolaj's mind raced as he surveyed the crumbling defenses. Their barricades at the square and the avenue to the left had been sliced through effortlessly. The enemy surged forward like a relentless tide, their ferocity leaving no room for resistance. Each movement was a brutal testament to their intent—to tear through and eliminate anyone in their path.
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He knew retreating to the ministry would only trap them. It would transform their fighting positions into a death trap, cornering them with no viable escape route. The whole reason they were wasting their breath and ammunition to hold the square was to prevent that. The idea of being boxed in, with nowhere to go but into the fray, was a grim reality he couldn’t afford to ignore.
Realizing there was no point in arguing further, Nikolaj made the call. He turned to Afrin and Sven, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Fall back!” he ordered.
As if right on queue, Nikolaj heard a scream from across the street. He turned to see Sven lying on his back, clutching his shoulder, an arrow protruding from it.
"Sven's down!" Nikolaj shouted into his radio and at Afrin. Afrin glanced at him for half a second before cursing under his breath.
"Keep firing!" Nikolaj ordered Afrin as he dashed across the street, firing blindly towards the square while sprinting. Glass bottles and bricks missed him as they shattered on the pavement around him.
Reaching Sven, who was half-conscious from the pain, Nikolaj grabbed his plate carrier and dragged him behind a car.
The unending tide of projectiles, gunshots, and arrows from the square seemed to subside for a moment. Taking advantage of the brief lull, Nikolaj quickly inspected Sven’s wound. The arrow had struck him right between the chest and the shoulder.
“Can you walk?” Nikolaj asked urgently, but Sven only groaned in response, unable to speak.
Nikolaj turned to Afrin. “Afrin, I’ll have to drag him. Cover me!”
Afrin gave Nikolaj a thumbs-up before standing and aiming his machine gun at the street. Nikolaj gripped the shoulder straps of Sven's plate carrier and began dragging him back. It was going to be a gruelling 100 meters to the ministry. He wasn’t in the best of terms with Sven, but there was no way he would leave him behind.
Afrin started firing a few bursts toward the street as the madmen seemed to muster for another attack. He and Nikolaj could see them peeking out of buildings and doorways like raptors tracking their prey.
Nikolaj gripped the shoulder straps of Sven's plate carrier tightly, his knuckles white with strain. With a deep breath, he started dragging Sven down the war-torn street. The ground was uneven, littered with debris and rubble, making each step a battle. Sweat poured down Nikolaj's face as he heaved Sven's limp body, his muscles burning from the effort.
Sven's boots scraped against the pavement, leaving faint trails in the dust. Occasionally, his body would jolt when it hit a larger piece of debris, eliciting groans of pain from his half-conscious state. Nikolaj's breath came in heavy gasps, the weight of his comrade testing his endurance.
Nikolaj's focus wavered for a moment, his vision blurring from the sweat and strain. He shook his head, gritting his teeth and pressing on. "Just a bit further, Sven. Stay with me," he muttered, his voice a mix of determination and desperation.
As he finished his sentence, Nikolaj's eyes caught sight of a lunatic emerging from a building. The figure moved swiftly, and in an instant, Nikolaj realized what the lunatic had lobbed towards them. He barely had time to drop Sven and lift his rifle before the Molotov cocktail shattered on the ground next to his feet, flames erupting on impact.
The flames engulfed Sven. He could make out a muffled cry coming from him through the flames. A few meters away, Nikolaj found himself powerless at the sight of Sven in the middle of the flame, he saw his body desperately trying to fight back against the inferno.
He raised his rifle, squinting to make out Sven’s head through the chaos. He fired a single shot. Sven’s struggling against the flames ceased as his body was consumed.
Nikolaj jolted awake, his chest heaving. The adrenaline from his nightmares still coursed through him, but it began to ebb as he felt Ming’s hand resting gently against his chest, as if to reassure herself he was still breathing. He drew in a few deep, deliberate breaths, steadying his nerves before letting his head sink back into the pillow.
Ming’s warmth pressed against him, her body radiating heat like an oven. He focused on the steady comfort of her presence, grounding himself. His fingers gently traced through her hair, the softness a balm to his frayed mind, as he willed himself to drift back to sleep.