Authors: Michael Rusch
It took more than six hours for
Kirken to travel the two miles into town unnoticed. Like his daughter, he hid
behind a sun-battered jeep and observed the J.G.U. guard stations and patrols.
More than twenty trucks and
jeeps as well as almost thirty men surrounded the entrance to the armory.
Barbed wire stretched from long poles around its entire perimeter and well into
the street.
The armory, which was the
central bank of Beuford up until the beginning of the war, stood alone at the
center of the block. Rubble from the buildings on both its sides laid in ugly
destroyed heaps in the nearby lots, structures recently obliterated to prevent
access from someone jumping from a nearby rooftop.
Sentries holding strained
leashes of large attack dogs walked menacingly about the block.
Kirken sat for hours behind the
jeep and observed the building. The soldiers traveled its perimeter and manned
the stilted overhead lookout towers in pairs. As they did, supply trucks drove
continuous routes to the front of the building where they parked briefly while
other soldiers stepped from the shadows and quickly hauled in their loads.
Kirken strained his neck further
around the end of the jeep to see that the ancient window wells to the basement
were recently filled with cement. The front central entrance was the only way
into the building.
He leaned back against the jeep
and waited for the sun's burning glow to leave the sky and darkness to again
cover the besieged land.
Three hours later, Kirken
crammed his large frame into the stinging dirt beneath the jeep and crawled
carefully to its other side. Blinking away the heated dust that tried to settle
in his eyes, he stared across the street to the armory. The troop patrols had
become less frequent as well as the truck routes to the front entrance.
He dropped across the hot sand
and dragged himself on his stomach to the other side of the jeep. Crawling out
and leaning up against it, he dropped his pack from his shoulders and dug
hurriedly through its contents.
Methodically, he set out his
remaining supplies on the ground in front of him. After running through the
only plan he had in his head and matching it with the explosives lying before
him, he carefully repacked everything back inside. Everything except for the
five grenades he left in the sand next to him.
With a soft click, he stuffed
the last ammunition clip into his Sunszk and balanced his weight across his
knees. He picked the grenades up one by one and slowly lowered them into the
passenger seat. When he had set the last one down, he hauled himself quickly
into the jeep's frame being careful to keep his head and shoulders down and out
of sight.
Moving awkwardly about the
jeep's small interior, he pulled wires from the dashboard and used stuffing
from the seat to hold the grenades along the door. He leaned over and pressed
thick tape across two of them securing them along the outside frame across the
fuel tank. Satisfied they were all in place, he dropped back over the side and
slid away along the ground.
Kirken crawled through the
darkness and heated dirt more than four hundred feet to a nearby storefront and
threw his pack inside an open doorway. He slung his rifle across his shoulder
and pulled his Sunszk hand weapon from its strap. Crouching low, he ran back
quickly to the grenade-wired jeep.
By now there were even fewer
soldiers guarding the entrance. Keeping his eyes centered alertly on the front
of the armory and the traffic along the road, Kirken cautiously reached inside
and pulled the transmission out of gear.
With a deep nervous breath, he
pushed the vehicle gently across the ground until it was less than a hundred
feet from the building’s entrance. Now only two soldiers stood near its front.
The bell tower at the top of the
ancient bank moved closer to striking the hour.
Kirken held his breath and
waited.
When the clock finally began its
long gong-like cry, he inhaled again deeply and fumbled his hands inside the
jeep. He jerked away the pins of the two grenades taped to the dashboard and
scurried to yank the ones set in the rear.
One came loose from the wires
holding it in place and fell with a loud rattling “thunk” across the metallic
floor. But Kirken was too far away to hear. He sprinted back towards the
storefront window where he threw his pack.
Before he was completely there,
two soldiers appeared from around the corner of a building across the street on
the other side of the jeep. Seeing Kirken, one swung his weapon from his hip
and ran after him yelling excitedly for the other to follow.
The second soldier raised his
hand to his face and spoke hurriedly into a transmitter while also giving
pursuit.
Kirken sprinted towards the
storefronts away from the soldiers and jeep and hurled his body through the air
towards the nearest window. His shoulder jammed hard into its thick glass
obliterating it from its frame as he crashed inside. A barrage of weapons fire
chased after him nipping at his feet.
The first soldier chasing him
made it to the passenger side of the jeep when the grenades transformed it into
a ferocious blaze of fire. Flying debris and a sudden roaring spit of flame
swallowed him in an instant making him one with the sandy terrain.
Shrapnel ripped into the second
soldier's face and chest and drenched his clothes in raging fire. Its massive
force knocked him grotesquely sprawled face down across the ground. Smoking
pieces of metal and wreckage protruded from beneath his shredded uniform and
every area of his exposed skin.
Kirken picked himself from the
shattered glass, grabbed his pack and darted away from the storefront towards
two supply trucks that had come up the street heading for the armory. Both
swerved to the side of the road to avoid the flaming wreckage.
The trucks stopped in front of
the large metal gates that separated the building from the street. Their
drivers glanced nervously about the flaming world around them while waiting for
the soldier to open the gates ahead.
Additional men poured from the
compound towards the explosion. A squad of troops broke out through the gates
past the supply trucks in an extended search formation. They yelled excitedly
into transmitters in their hands and chest gear. Large searchlights were aimed
out into the streets from the decks of the flatbed trucks.
A rescue truck pulled quickly
up. Two men inside doused the jeep with thick white foam. Three others jumped
out and ran to what was left of the soldiers caught in the blast.
Kirken found himself able to
slip through the confusion and flames all the way to the rear of the second
supply truck. Darting hands had just begun to pull open the gates, and the lead
truck jerked slightly as the driver dropped it into gear.
By now the flames had spilled
further out and covered an extended area of the street. Storefronts near the
blast had also caught fire.
Kirken ran past the rear of the
second truck and slid along its passenger side away from the glaring flames and
out of the driver’s sight.
Black smoke choking the air
further helped him keep from being seen.
He was almost to the passenger
door when a second explosion rocked the compound from another vehicle that had
caught fire from the initial blast.
Kirken used the cover of its
loud force to leap unnoticed onto the truck's sideboards while the driver
stared across the chaotic street covered with flames, foam and the remains of
men. The driver raised his hands across his eyes to shield them from the heat
and glare of the blast.
Kirken ripped his weapon from
the holster at his waist and leveled it just outside the passenger window.
Sensing the sudden shift of weight when Kirken leapt onto the truck, the driver
dropped his hands and started to turn to his side.
But it was already two late.
Kirken fired twice into the cab. The first shot shattered the window. Flying
glass ripped a bloody wound near Kirken's eye.
The second buried itself in the
driver's skull just in front of his right ear. Blood and pieces of bone
splattered across the steering wheel and out through the driver's open window
staining a small area of the ground outside. The driver's body slumped limply
against the bloody wheel.
Kirken jabbed his hand through
the window of the cab and opened the door from the inside. Reaching through the
cabin, he seized the driver with both hands and hauled him out the passenger
door. His lifeless body landed with a dull thud at his feet.
Kirken ripped his pack from his
shoulders and began to snatch at the driver’s uniform jacket and shirt. The
truck ahead was still in gear, but a soldier on the other side of the partially
opened gate held up his hand and continued to make him wait.
Kirken pressed his hand to his
chest trying to keep his heart from beating through his skin. He pulled
carefully at the driver's bloody clothes trying to keep them from becoming even
more noticeably stained.
He yanked off his own dark shirt
and hurriedly stretched it over what was left of the driver's head. When he was
through, he dragged the body to the rear of the first truck. The smell of blood
was so thick he could taste it in his throat.
He didn't stop to bend over when
the stench finally made him vomit.
Coughing and choking, he spit
away the taste of bile and stomach rot and forced his body to continue to move.
He hauled the soldier's body upright and leaned it against the back of the
first truck.
He pulled his supply belt from his
waist and wrapped it around the soldier's sagging torso. He then fastened it
securely to the metal rails of the truck's cargo bay. When the body was
standing securely upright, Kirken cupped the dead man's hands together at his
chest.
The flames were beginning to die
down from the exploded jeeps, but the night was still bright beneath the
scorching white searchlights thrown about by the soldiers searching the
compound.
Kirken pulled the last grenade
from his pack and ripped out the pin. He placed it carefully inside the dead
man’s cupped hands and leaned him face first into the truck. He pressed his
hands firmly against the soldier’s back and wedged his body tightly against the
firing device.
For the moment, the dead
soldier’s weight was just enough to keep it in place.
By now, the gate ahead had
nearly opened completely. Soldiers motioned the driver of the other truck to
pass through. The vehicle vibrated slightly as it began to slowly pull forward.
Kirken sprinted to the passenger
side of the bloodied second truck, grabbed his gear off the ground and leapt
inside.
He stuffed his weapon hurriedly
into its holster and scurried across the blood-soaked seat. Sitting behind the
soiled wheel, he watched the gate open. Sentries from the front of the compound
signaled to proceed inside.
Kirken pulled the hat he had
taken from the soldier down over his eyes and leaned hard against the center of
the wheel. The truck’s horn wailed thunderously through the night. Soldiers
guarding the building’s entrance walked cautiously towards the truck while
Kirken leaned in and gave it two more prolonged blasts.
Watching them closely beneath
his hat brim, Kirken flashed his headlights and pointed his arm through the
window to the rear of the first truck. A soldier from the compound raised his
hand and signaled the truck ahead to stop.
Kirken flashed the lights again
until the soldiers saw the dark figure hanging eerily beneath the shadows of
the flickering flames. They brought their weapons quickly around and opened
fire.
A handful of the first shots
snapped the body’s leg back. Many that followed tore into its chest. Their
force ripped the body loose from the supply belt Kirken had used to hold it up
against the truck and toppled it to the ground.
Kirken dropped his head beneath
the dash when he saw the tiny shape of the grenade fall from the dead soldier’s
hands. He pressed his face down hard into the bloody seat and slammed his eyes
shut. He held his breath trying to keep out the sickening stink that flooded
his brain.
When the body fell across the
ground, more than twenty soldiers flooded from every direction towards the two
trucks. Most met instant fiery deaths when the grenade blast finally came. A
shower of ripped limbs and other remains fell across both trucks.
More shouting men continued to
approach from behind. These soldiers dropped across their chests and rolled
around with their weapons raised trying to find the cause of the blast.
Kirken revved the truck's engine
back to life and slipped it into gear. A soldier ran to his door and slapped
his shoulder through the open window motioning him to pull the truck inside.
The truck ahead pulled through
the open gates. With a shaking foot, Kirken pressed down on the clutch and put
his truck in reverse. He pulled away from the small flames that covered the
ripped bodies and maneuvered the vehicle around.
When he was through the gates,
another soldier slapped his hand across his truck’s hood and pointed Kirken to
the armory's entrance at the front of the old bank.
Covered with sweat and sitting
in a pool of blood, Kirken gave the truck a little more gas. He inhaled deeply
trying to control his runaway breaths and slow the furious beat of his heart.
While the flames and voices raged behind him, he slowly followed the truck ahead
toward the J.G.U. building.
With the back of his sleeve, he
tried to wipe away the drops of blood that stained the skin around his face.
* * *
Brandon turned around at the
explosions echoing throughout the neighboring street. Voices shrieked from the shadows
of the roaring flames a few blocks away.