Location: Industrial Zone, Virek
Date and Time: December 17, 2552 – 1100 Hours
The world erupts into chaos around me. Bullets crack through the air, bouncing off the rusted metal walls, and the sound of gunfire drowns out everything else. I'm crouched behind an old stack of machinery, my back pressed against cold steel as I try to steady my breathing.
We're pinned down. Hard.
I risk a glance over the top of my cover, just long enough to see the movement of shadows darting between the buildings up ahead. The URF rebels are dug in, using the old industrial structures like they were built for this. They've got the high ground, the numbers, and the advantage. We've got grit—and not much else.
"Keep low!" Grayson barks, his voice sharp. He's crouched beside Santiago, directing fire toward a group of rebels entrenched in one of the buildings to our right.
I nod, my heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline flooding my system as I lean out and fire a few rounds toward the same building. I don't have a clean shot. Just the quick flashes of movement as the rebels shift positions, their rifles cutting through the dust-filled air.
Beside me, O'Neill is breathing hard, his face tight with focus. He reloads, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle before glancing my way. "You good, Kowalski?"
I nod again, though I'm not sure if I mean it. "Yeah. Just trying to stay alive."
"Aren't we all," he mutters, popping up to take a few shots before ducking back down. The ping of bullets ricocheting off the metal makes my skin crawl. We're close. Too close.
Santiago swings around from his position, his M247H chattering loudly as he lays down suppressive fire. "We've got to move!" he yells, his voice straining to cut through the noise. "They're closing in!"
Grayson gives the signal, and we move in unison, pushing left toward a stack of crates that might give us a better angle on the enemy. The ground is uneven beneath my boots, every step a reminder of how fast things went to hell.
We reach the crates, diving for cover just as another burst of gunfire rips through the air. I can feel the dust settling on my skin, mixing with the sweat running down my neck. My grip on my rifle is slick, but I keep it tight, eyes locked on the next piece of cover ahead.
Grayson turns to me, his voice low but urgent. "We need to take that building. It's the only way to flank them."
I glance toward the structure. It's old, decaying, but it offers the best position for cutting through the enemy's line. I know what he's asking. Someone has to make the run. Someone has to be the first.
"I'll go," I say, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach.
Grayson nods. "Santiago, lay down cover fire. Kowalski, move on my mark."
The world narrows to a single point—the building ahead. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, but I push everything else down. The fear, the doubt. There's no time for it now.
"Mark!" Grayson's voice cuts through the noise, and I'm on my feet before I can second-guess the decision.
The ground blurs beneath me as I sprint toward the building, my rifle clutched tight against my chest. The air is filled with the sound of gunfire, Santiago's heavy weapon thundering behind me, but all I can hear is the rush of my own blood in my ears.
I don't look back. I don't stop. I just run.
The door to the building is half open, hanging crooked on its hinges. I throw myself inside, hitting the ground hard as I roll into cover. My breath comes in sharp gasps, and my hands are shaking, but I'm alive. For now.
I can hear movement above me—the sound of footsteps on the second floor. They don't know I'm here yet. That's my advantage. I shift my weight, my body tense as I move deeper into the building, my rifle raised and ready.
The interior is dark, the windows broken, letting in slivers of light. Dust hangs in the air, catching the sunlight as it drifts down like ash. Every step I take is slow, deliberate. I keep my breathing shallow, trying not to make a sound.
I reach the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath my boots as I move upward, one step at a time. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure they'll hear it. But they don't.
I reach the top of the stairs, and I can hear them now. Voices. They're talking, but I can't make out the words. It doesn't matter. I know what's coming.
I edge around the corner, my rifle raised, my finger hovering over the trigger. The first rebel comes into view—a man crouched behind an old desk, his rifle propped up on the windowsill as he takes aim at my squad below.
I don't hesitate. I can't.
CRACK.
The shot rings out, and the man drops, his rifle clattering to the ground as he slumps forward. I barely register the sound before I'm moving again, shifting to the side as the second rebel spins around, eyes wide with surprise.
He raises his weapon, but I'm faster.
CRACK.
He drops, the force of the shot knocking him off his feet.
I take a breath, my chest heaving, the adrenaline still pumping through me like fire. But it's over. At least for now.
I move to the window, glancing down at the street below. Grayson and the rest of Bravo Fireteam are still pinned, but they're holding their ground. I give the signal—a quick flash of my hand—and Grayson nods. It's time to move.
The squad pushes forward, advancing on the remaining rebels now that we've got the flank. Santiago's heavy weapon cuts through the air, forcing the rebels to scatter as they retreat deeper into the industrial zone.
We regroup a few minutes later, breathing hard, but alive. O'Neill wipes the sweat from his brow, his face flushed from the exertion. "Damn," he mutters, glancing at me. "Nice work, Kowalski."
I nod, trying to catch my breath. My hands are still shaking, but the rush of adrenaline is fading, leaving behind a dull ache in my muscles. I look around at the rest of the squad. We made it through another one, but it doesn't feel like a victory. Not yet.
Grayson steps forward, his face grim but approving. "Good work, everyone. We pushed them back, but this isn't over. The URF is still out there, and they're going to come at us harder next time. We need to be ready."
I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. This was just the beginning. And next time? It's going to be worse.