Like the charge of a thundercloud in the air, I felt it before the reality of our situation sank in completely. The rumble of armored vehicles approaching the string of community gardens was ominous and certain.

The sound of the prayer meeting behind me finished swiftly. People rose from the ground and scattered to doorways or hurried upstairs to find good vantage points. Others, the bravest of the brave, dug into their position behind the sturdiest barricades we could fashion: sandbags filled from the beach, stones dug up from the cobbled sections of city streets. There were no signs, no protest songs, no chants. The street was quiet as everyone readied themselves.

Meliton finished his spray-painting on the wall behind us. There, where the world would see it, was a large sapphire rectangle with the Lathraí word for solidarity written in neat white script. Several flags with the same design waved over each garden in the sea breeze, others hung from windows or fire escapes.

The broken shards of Agathe’s spectacles in my pocket felt comforting in that moment, as if her ghost was moving at my side, silent encouragement hidden in the wind.

I loped beside Sostrate towards the left, around the side of a building. There Linos knelt, beside a large cylinder supported by a tripod. Mortar shells stood in a small pile beside him. The sight chilled me to the bone, but I knew our options were to fight or be extinguished. I looked down at Linos as he meticulously checked everything. “Are you sure this will work?”

He looked up, flashing me a grim smile. “They will not be expecting it.” His expertise with fireworks had been given a new and deadly focus.

“If they are wise, they will withdraw,” Sostrate said, unslinging her battered old rifle.

Meliton rounded the corner. “Are we going to give them a chance to talk?”

I sighed as I stretched my legs. “I’m sure they have a loudspeaker they will make use of.”

Sostrate’s eyes seemed distant as the engines approached, as if she was looking through me. “I am not going to waste my breath.”

Meliton hesitated for a moment. “Are we really going to do this? Wars…many people will suffer and die.”

“How is that different from where we are now?” Sostrate shook her head. “This is the only way.”

“Karsa?” Our big, steady tree of a man looked to me. He seemed less rooted than usual, perhaps because of the fear of what was coming.

“Sostrate is right.” When he hesitated, I stirred carefully with my words. “Remember what we are fighting for: the end of injustice and oppression, the beginning of dignity and equality with equity.”

The words clicked inside of Meliton like a key in the lock of his resolve, closing his doubts. He straightened up slightly and gave us a sharp nod. “I’ll be in position if you need me.” He hustled off without another word.

Sostrate smiled. “You are becoming quite proficient at reminding people. Are you sure you are alright here with Linos? You both will be a priority target.”

“He’ll need an extra set of hands and someone to help carry it.” I adjusted the sling of my rifle over my shoulder. The weapon was old and battered, a remnant of the war that had conquered us, but it was more reliable and accurate than most weapons we had access to.

Sostrate gave me a nod. “God protect you.” Then she withdrew, to take up a position in the upstairs window of a dilapidated house.

Linos sketched a few lines in the dirt, mumbling to himself as he did his calculations. We couldn’t afford to walk in fire with how little ammunition we had. Every shot mattered.

I glanced around the corner, heart sinking at the sight of a bulldozer blade strapped to the lead vehicle. “They’re here. Are you sure this will work?”

“Their armor is weaker on top.” Linos pivoted the cylinder to face the street at an angle. We were somewhat protected by a stone wall, but even that could be demolished by a good rocket shot. Both of us put in our hearing protection and exchanged a look.

I saw his lips form Agathe’s name, and then the concussion of the mortar firing hit us with a solid thump. As soon as the first shell went up, we were already loading and firing the next, just as we’d practiced.

There was a boom from our target and shouting. I glanced around the corner. The lead vehicle had stopped dead in its tracks. It was just a personnel carrier with a bulldozer attachment, and its driver position wasn’t prepared for heavy ordinance. “Direct hit!”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Linos smiled grimly as the second shot streaked upwards. “Good.”

“We need to relocate,” I said, picking up the cylinder by its straps as he grabbed his bag of munitions. “Two streets down, there’s a ruined building. We can get a good position there.”

We ran as well as we could burdened down by the weight, praying to anything that would listen that we could force a retreat. Hell opened up behind us, a mixture of firefight and ordnance detonating. They had cannons, we had two other mortar teams.

It only took us a minute to set up again. Soon two more shells were on their way, arcing with deadly intent towards the middle of the group. Then we were moving again, sweat pouring down our bodies in the heat that baked the street around us like fire in an oven.

Two shots. Move. Two shots. Move.

You would think that I could describe the battle with clarity, as it was my first real taste of the war, but so many battles blend together like watercolors, leaving impressions rather than clear narrative. It was a storm of thunder on the ground, the crackle of fire like lightning. There were screams and shouts between the sudden explosions from the mortars, the smell of blood and fire in the air. Linos and I avoided the worst of it, but the glass blown out by one shot nearly shredded us to pieces. It lacerated his leg to the bone, but I bandaged it quickly with all the pressure I could muster. The dressing was sloppy, but the bleeding stopped.

I do not know how long it lasted. It seemed an eternity and an instant before Sostrate’s message flashed across the glass surface of my clairá. For a long moment, I stared at it, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, laughter started to bubble up from the depths of my chest. It was a blessed relief. “They’re falling back to their base of operations in the district. Sostrate wants to hound them all the way.”

Linos grimaced down at his leg. “I can’t.”

“I’ll let her know.” I threw my arms around Linos, squeezing as tightly as I could. “Good work.”

“Same to you, Karsa.” He sighed and picked up his empty bag. “They’ll be expecting us next time.”

I sat down hard on a weathered bench. He was right, but we had survived. “Let’s get you to the aid station.”

What waited for us I can only describe as a carnival of horrors. Shrapnel and concussion left people twisted wreckages, while others had been shot nearly to pieces. They screamed, they cried, they begged for God, for their mothers, for death itself. Young and old alike were here among the dead and dying, some unrecognizable except for by voice…and others did not have even that.

The reality of war hit me like a concussion wave at that moment. Suddenly, the knowledge that people would die—and die horribly—was even more visceral than it had been at the bombing or at the protests. There was no escaping the price we would pay for freedom.

The price I knew I would one day pay.

Linos collapsed as we reached them, from the heat and his wounds. Friendly hands carried him to a cot inside, but already their eyes were tired and aged.

I stashed the mortar inside and then stepped up to help. I knew nothing about medicine, but I could hand people things, sterilize implements, or collect blood-soaked linens.

Once, I glanced up and saw a familiar face coming in with bags of supplies. Thaïs was here, lips set into a grim line. Her beauty seemed severe now, like her face was a sculpture cast in bronze. The madame of The Silver Lining brothel seemed so different in this light. She was the angel bringing medicine, touching the shoulders of medics, whispering words of comfort to the nurse crying as he strapped down a patient needing an amputation.

Eventually, she made her way over to me as I made sure the walking wounded had water. Thaïs looked me over, eyes catching every scrape and bruise. “You never stop, do you?”

I turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

Thaïs shook her head, as if to say she wasn’t going to answer. “I could use some help with heavy lifting.”

“If it will help.” I followed her outside, looking at the open back of a moving van. “What is it?”

Thaïs pulled the first box to the edge. “Supplies, including opiates.” When I stared at her, she elaborated. “The opiates are from the Kavá. As drug smugglers, they want the authorities gone, and we’re the ones making it happen. Everything else was donated by Lathraí hospitals beyond Seisa.” She flashed me a quick smile to reassure me. “If I can sucker money out of skinflints, I can get medical help from compassionate souls.”

I remember her more clearly than the chaos of war, the sudden vibrant angel who emerged amongst the suffering of others. Thaïs was not the woman I had met in the brothel, not deep down in her soul. She was a heart who could not stand motionless as the world around her burned, no matter what that world might have done to her.

I stared at her for a long moment, trying to wrap my head around the difference and find my words around the welling of gratitude that constricted my throat. “Thank you,” I said finally.

Thaïs shrugged. “Anyone would do the same.”

I stepped forward to help her with the box. We only emptied part of the truck, as the rest of the supplies were bound for the impromptu hospital set up deeper in the district. Thaïs went back to her work and I stayed to help until the late hours, when all the dying had passed on and everyone else was set up to be moved. In the distance, the occasional cracks of gunfire split the night, but they were fewer, a sign Sostrate was finally easing the pressure on the soldiers.

I wondered how it looked on the news, but couldn’t bring myself to check. Instead, I drafted a response to the arguments I knew would come. A cheap black pen in hand, I scrawled my manifesto on every scrap of paper I could find. It would take a day to put it to print, longer to spread it, but it was a kind of fire that would have made Endeis and Agathe proud.

For the first time, I felt a clarity that put all my tumultuous thoughts into place, into perspective. That was the night I first realized I had fallen in love with the cause. Whatever evils the war would bring, I thought I could endure them so long as I had my reason in my heart.

They say that you can endure any how, so long as you have a why.

Maybe this is so, but few things are ever so straightforward, particularly in war.