Chapter 19: Assaulted

Tybalt held his breathe. He could not believe his eyes. A member of his own company had not only survived the attack, but had joined forces with the attacker. No, that was not the truth. The truth had been that she had sided herself with Mercury Transport this whole time. Was it not her who received the orders for their stop? Was it not her who helped formulate the plan? She didn’t die in handing over her grenade launcher, she gave it to the men of Mercury. She was a double-agent.

Furious tears welled in Tybalt’s eyes. He had once dated this woman. It was with her that his heart softened to the feminine nature. He had never felt such love before. It was with her that he learned of a new world, a new dimension on this mortal plane. Sure, things didn’t work out. She thought that they were too different, that he was too cruel. He had too much of a vicious edge to him. Too much unpredictability. Tybalt could admit as much. He was far from perfect and their bickering often got to him.

But this!

This was a total betrayal. The actions of the present rework the history of his past. Were all those days and nights lies, falsehood upon falsehood? What was true? What was false? Did she slide her way into his life like a treacherous serpent to gain his trust, to gain a position in his crew only to sabotage him? Was this the price of his love? He had not felt feminine worth before her, but, now, could he open himself to it again?

His mind quickly flashed back to woman with the headscarf before The Clasping Hands. This woman’s tenderness, her openness, her willingness to accept him for what he was his.

Tybalt forced the memories from his head. He did not want to linger upon forgiveness. He wished for wrath. He wanted to drag Unity in the mire of his life. He wanted to drown her with his fury, make her suffocate upon the waters of his hate. For Vassilos, a simple execution would be enough. For Unity, such a punishment would be a mercy. He would not allow her mercy.

This revelation was almost too much. Waking from his shock, Tybalt found himself looking down his scope and down his rifle. His crosshairs firmly planted upon Unity’s heart. The temptation to pull the trigger was even more enticing.

“Ten.”

Tybalt turned and saw Stanimir’s eyes fixed upon the backdoors of the truck. It’s cargo hold had opened and people poured from it.

“Nine.”

Tybalt adjusted himself. He rolled back his shoulders and found some tough looking goon to set his aim on.

“Eight.”

The guard had heavy armour around his waist and lower body. A semi-damaged tactical helmet rested on his head, its visor tinted black, covered his face.

“Seven.”

Tybalt thought that a good shot to the neck would be the best way to kill the man. With a lucky shot, this man would be out of commission.

“Six.”

This heavy guard wield a small machine gun. Clearly, a man of superior strength, he made his weapon seem small in his massive hands.

“Five.”

If Tybalt didn’t get this guy in the first few seconds, it would probably make a difference. Zoltan’s forces could be easily fell by the vicious bullets that beast would unleash.

“Four.”

What if others shot at him as well? All the better, Tybalt guessed. As long as they took him down, it would be better. Even if everyone aimed for him, taking him down would lighten the battle.

“Three.”

Tybalt assented his prey. He followed him with his crosshairs.

“Two.”

His finger rested around the trigger.

Shots began to ring out.

“They’re too early!” Stanimir shouted as he started firing his rifle.

Tybalt, held back by tension, took a few sloppy shots. He missed his target and had to readjust his aim. Then, before he could, the big man fired his machine gun at their position. Tybalt and Stanimir threw themselves to the ground as round after round struck the burlap bags. Fragments of rough linen and sand flew into the air.

The whole of the night erupted in a cacophony of gunshots. Grown men shouted in battle-rage. As the seconds passed, more and more men died. Their gurgled voices cried out in pain. They sought the mercy of death. Some cried for their mothers, others for their wives. He heard a man whimper in the post beside him, praying as life left his body.

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When the hail of machine gun fire died down, Tybalt swung his gun over the burlap bags and sought a target. The big man with the machine gun had twisted in his spot looking for another position to attack. With his back turned, Tybalt shot at his neck and shoulders. The man yowled and turned back to where Tybalt had been firing. He hoisted his machine gun back into action, but before the first bullet left the muzzle of his large gun, Tybalt struck him clearly in the neck. Blood sprayed from the exposed flesh in a large stream. The man fell to the floor, grasping at his neck.

Tybalt looked for others. He took a few shots at a few city guards who had been pinned down by soldiers on the other side of the road. The shots were easy to make. He managed to kill two of the three of them. The third man scrambled back into the truck and took refuge within its walls.

Someone to Tybalt’s right took shots at the cargo space, puncturing several holes into the side of the truck. He thought he heard a scream echo from inside the cargo hold, but Tybalt couldn’t really care. He tried to find Unity. He wanted to be the one to gun her down.

He surveyed the battlefield, but couldn’t find her. Things had settled down. The city guards and militiamen had either fled or died. Aside from a few pot shots from one or two members that held out by Mercury Transport, the battle had been finished. The causalities for Zoltan’s forces, however, had been harder to estimate. It seemed that no one on his side of the barricade had been killed, although Njal gripped the side of his forehead. Something had hit him, but he would most likely survive. Sten attended to him and was making sure that he wouldn’t lose another one of his biker brothers.

At the barricade beside him, he saw the body of the man who had been praying as he died. In his deceased state, he seemed overwhelmingly calm. Tybalt, had seen the bodies of many dead men and women, but he had never seen a face at so much rest as this man here. He passed the corpse of the faithful man and noticed two others dead in their squad of five. The surviving attended to their own wounds, while giving glances to the bodies beside them. They had been thankful that they survived the battle with as little damage as they did. One of the men, however, had deep wound that cut through his upper arm.

“I’m going to check on the dead.” Tybalt rose from his cover, despite Stanimir’s warnings for him to stay back.

He climbed down from his gun nest and wandered among the dead forces of Mercury. He walked among the bodies, keeping his guard up in case any of these men tried shooting at him in their incapacitated state. He remembered the trick that the caravaneer had played on Arne.

He stepped over the body of one militiaman and walked over to one that still groaned. Tybalt put two more bullets in the man’s chest to hasten his death. He approached the back of the truck, peering into it. The cargo that lay in the back had been shredded with a number of bullets, but, still, with so many boxes and crates a lot of what remained stashed inside had remained unharmed.

Someone in Zoltan’s army stood beside Tybalt and clambered into the truck. He asked for back-up. Tybalt agreed, hopping onto the metal step and into the cargo hold of the truck. The soldier walked forward through the various boxes and crates, looking for any one who would have survived the gun fire. The man moved slowly in the darkness of its vast interior. One body lay dead at his feet. The man shot at the body once simply to make sure. As he wandered deeper into the truck, he saw a shadow stir. He unleashed an unaimed burst of gunfire only to be shot himself.

Tybalt threw himself behind a crate and peaked over it. The survivor from the set of three he had killed struggled on the floor with several wounds in his abdomen. He gripped a pistol tightly, lowering after having killed one more of Zoltan’s men. Tybalt made quick work of the man. With no one else in the vehicle, Tybalt jumped out and continued his amble around the battlefield. A few more of Zoltan’s man decided to do likewise. With the battle done, all that was left was a little curiosity and a lot of looting. Still, Tybalt had to remind himself that his orders had been to leave the sight of battle and grab a pint to stir the rabble with rumours.

He went to the front of truck and checked the driver’s cabin, knowing that Unity wouldn’t be there. He had seen her leave the cabin before the firefight started. Still, he scanned the interior for the off chance that some clue remained behind. Finding nothing, he jumped out and checked a few of the side roads.

As he walked through one darkened alley, he saw a pair of legs poke out from behind the debris of a few boxes. Tybalt approached carefully, with his pistol drawn. On the other side of the box debris, one of the city guards held onto his side. It was the young man with the moustache who had kicked him out of the charity kitchen. Tybalt lifted his revolver to end the man’s misery.

“Wait! Please!” the young man cried to him. “Please, please. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s over. Okay. It’s over. I won’t say anything. Please. Let me go. People will think I’m dead. Just let me go home to my mother and father. Please. They’re away from the city. I’ll leave the city. I won’t come back. Please, just let me go.” Tears flowed from the young man’s eyes, mixing with the blood and salvia that sprang from his mouth.

Tybalt’s revolver remained firmly outstretched. His hand barely quivered. In his mind, he had resolved to kill this man, but his pleas, his pathetic pleas, attacked his heart.

Tybalt sighed and holstered his gun. Instead, he pulled out a needle of painkiller from his medical kit. He tossed the syringe to the man.

“Use it. It’ll kill the pain. Then, get out of here.”

Tybalt turned his back on the man and exited the alley.

He half-hoped the man betrayed him, like everyone else. He rarely distributed mercy. It would be almost just that the one time that he gave someone mercy that he would be betrayed. Betrayed like he had been by Unity. Ungrateful like Erik had been. Unrewarding like Zoltan would most likely be. Tybalt walked slowly, almost tempting fate. His heart cried out for the man to turn on him, to fire in to his back, pierce his heart with cold iron.

Instead, nothing happened.

Tybalt looked behind him and saw that the man was gone. Nothing of the lad remained except the empty needle that laid lifelessly on the ground.

With that, Tybalt gave up his hope of finding Unity. If she had survived, she would be long gone. If she had died, her body would be collected in the morning. He would ask Zoltan the news about any women among the dead. There weren’t that many females on Mercury’s side and none among Zoltan’s forces.

Tybalt returned to Stanimir and the men of Corvus.

“Ready for some beer?” he said. He wanted nothing more tonight than lose himself in alcohol.