I raised the handset. "Begin Operation Red Cross."
Minutes later, the crack of gunfire and the screams of civilians tore through the air. We had positioned ourselves well; from our vantage point we could see the enemy scrambling, frantically preparing to defend.
I gave the signal. "Open fire!"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The soldiers behind me unleashed their rifles. Those enemies caught in the open dropped like flies. I glanced at Colonel Stan and gave a nod. She returned it without hesitation.
I lifted the handset again and barked, "Snipers, do you copy?"
"Copy, sir."
"I need you to shoot anyone who is not a friend. Cover us when we charge the gate. Once inside, we'll execute the rest of the plan. Do you copy?"
"Copy, sir!"
I slammed the handset back into place and shouted, "Majors, Colonel Stan — get ready! We'll be running into death itself. Check your weapons before leaving cover."
Bullets screamed overhead from both sides. The men and women in the assault force checked their weapons with frantic urgency. Colonel Stan handed me mine. I pulled the magazine free, slammed it back in, and cocked the gun. My eyes swept over the others as they finished their final checks.
At last, I nodded. "May God be with us. Aman! Follow me — to victory!"
I leapt from cover, the soldiers behind me following in stride. We sprinted toward the small gate.
"Don't let the rebels near the gate! Where is the backup?" voices shouted from the enemy's side.
Bang! Screams erupted to my right and left. Two men dropped on my right, one on my left. I pressed forward, refusing to stop.
Through the hail of fire, we finally reached the gate. Smaller than the others, but wide enough for five men to enter at once. Three of our soldiers had already fallen — whether dead or clinging to life, none of us could tell. Survival was the only thought driving us forward as the battle raged and the sun sank lower.
I looked at my comrades, adrenaline surging through us all. It burned in our veins as we prepared to breach.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Gunfire intensified with every heartbeat. Then came a deafening roar — Brrrrr! The machine gun. My headset filled with frantic voices.
"Commander, come in! Commander!"
I snatched it up. "What is it?"
"Six of our snipers are dead, eight badly wounded by the machine gun. Do something!" "Affirmative."
I dropped the headset, grabbed a major by the shoulder. "We need to blow that gun up. Hand grenades — now!"
He shoved a grenade belt into my hands. I turned to Colonel Stan. "Get ready to breach!"
Then I ran beneath the machine gun's nest. Its fire was deafening, shaking the air. I yanked a grenade from the belt, pulled the pin, and hurled it into the gunner's hole.
Boom! The nest erupted, dust and debris swallowing the position. My ears rang sharp and merciless.
Stumbling, half‑deaf, I returned to the troops waiting for orders.
"Commander!" voices pierced through the ringing.
"Wh‑what is it?" I stammered, still dazed.
"What are the orders?"
Colonel Stan's face was fierce. "Commander! What the hell should we do? We're sitting ducks! We'll be slaughtered in moments!"
I steadied myself, voice raw. "Breach the damn door! Don't wait for me. You should already be in position. Is the bomb set?"
"Yes, sir. Ready to detonate," a major confirmed. "Take position. Blow it."
We took position, and within moments the bomb detonated — the door was breached. Colonel Stan and I stormed inside, guns blazing.
Bullets poured from our rifles like a storm. Blood splattered as enemy soldiers fell. Every man of the royal guard was cut down. We had entered their small holdout — poorly defended by men, but shielded by the terrain itself.
"Sir, we've secured the entrance! But we need to take the enemy outpost before it's too late. What are your orders?"
Three majors stood with me and Colonel Stan.
"Colonel Stan, continue with the plan. Move through the tunnels quietly and secure the bridge. One major will take the western side of the building, another the eastern. And you—" I pointed to the third, "—remain here to hold position. I apologize for not asking your name. If we survive this, let's share a dinner together."
I gestured to each major in turn, making sure none were confused. Names would have made it easier, but in the march toward death, clarity mattered more than courtesy.
They nodded and moved to their assigned tasks. Only my squad and the third major remained. I turned to him. "What's your name, Major?" I asked without hesitation.
"Maj. R. D. Robinson."
"Good, Major Robinson."
He saluted, and I turned to the four men waiting for my orders.
I checked the ammo in my weapon, then shouted, "Ready, men!" "Sir!" the four soldiers answered in unison.
We moved away from the entrance and stopped at the door leading to the yard. I unfolded the map, scanning for our position. We stood on lush green grounds — once picture‑perfect for couples to stroll and spend their days. Now, it would become a graveyard. Blood already stained the grass, enough to turn beauty into a bad omen.
Our target was General Yakazaki, of the Rice family — once the most trusted in the Majesty's court. His exact location was vague, but agents reported he operated from the K.L. building.
The K.L. building had once been housing for the poor. Now, it was a makeshift military base.
"We need to move to the K.L. building. It should take eighteen to twenty minutes — if we don't encounter obstacles."
We nodded, understanding the risk.
Carefully, we crossed the yard. The sun's light was already fading, proof of the brutal battles raging in the south and west. Those fronts might halt for the night, but the fighting in the north and east would continue. My mission remained clear: kill the General personally.
We slipped into the quiet roads of the slums. Too quiet. Far too quiet.
Then, out of nowhere, five royal guards appeared. We locked eyes — a stare that felt like eternity. Heartbeats quickened.
Suddenly, shouting and gunfire erupted. I lunged at one of the guards as my men clashed with the others. Both sides fought with the desperation of survival.
I punched the man in the face. He staggered, then lunged and pinned me down. His fists rained blows, but I kicked him off and scrambled to my feet. He already had his pistol drawn, aimed straight at me. I dove to the side to protect myself — but misfortune struck. The bullet tore into my arm.
The pain was unbearable, yet I forced myself up, attacking with every ounce of strength left. My body screamed, my mind overloaded, but I fought on. I grabbed for the pistol, only for him to kick me in the chest, knocking it from my hand.
He rushed toward the weapon, but I seized his leg and dragged him down. Snatching a stone, I smashed it against him violently. He clutched my wounded arm, agony ripping a scream from my throat. I hammered the stone into his chest, desperate.
He broke free, scrambling again for the pistol. I hurled the rock — it struck his forehead, blood spilling down his face. I grabbed the gun, but he charged. We crashed through a door, the pistol skidding under a table.
He leapt at me, reaching for it. I rose and kicked him in the stomach; blood sprayed from his mouth. A gunshot echoed somewhere nearby, distracting me for an instant. He slammed into me, fists cracking against my face and gut. I coughed, reeling.
He clawed at my holster, trying to rip the pistol free. I smashed his hands away and drove him into the narrow hallway. I lunged, but he kicked me over his body. I staggered upright, bracing against a shabby old door. Both of us were panting, hearts pounding like war drums in our ears.
He hurled himself at me. The door splintered, and we crashed into the room beyond. A woman screamed, clutching two children who cried uncontrollably.
"I'll kill you and present the head of General Yakazaki!" he roared.
I smirked. "Try your best."
We both drew our daggers. The air was thick with the same thought: It's him or me
We clashed again, dodging and striking, blades cutting shallow wounds into flesh. The cries of the mother and children grew louder, echoing through the room.
Locked together, our knives hovered near each other's throats. I stumbled, crashing to the floor. He lunged, driving his blade down. I caught it with my arms, straining, knowing I was losing. No escape. Only one option left — a gamble.
Summoning the last of my strength, I forced his knife back. He faltered, staggered slightly. There! A chance!
I swung my blade and slashed his throat. Blood gushed, spraying across my face. The hiss of it rushing from his neck filled the air. His body collapsed, lifeless.
I drew a long, ragged breath. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I turned to the mother and her children, still crying, their terror unbroken.
I rose unsteadily. "Get to a safe area. This place will become a warzone."
Her voice was hoarse, trembling. "Draven‑Cross is already a warzone. No matter where we go."
"Then hide," I said grimly, "and pray we win. Otherwise, fate will be worse than death."
Weak but determined, I staggered into the small living area. I bent down, retrieved the pistol from beneath the table, then returned. The mother and her children clung to each other like prisoners awaiting the executioner's step, trembling against the thunder of war outside.
I crouched beside the dead man, searching his body. I found a few pistol rounds, rifle ammunition, and some crackers. I pocketed the ammo and handed the food to the mother.
Slowly, I stepped out. My men were huddled around a fourth soldier, wounded in the leg.
I approached. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, sir… I'm alright. What about—"
"Quiet," I cut him off. "We need to move. The emergency bell has already rung. More soldiers will be here soon."
I helped him to his feet, giving him my shoulder to lean on.
"You two, protect the front," I ordered, pointing at them. "And you, guard the rear. Got it?"
They nodded, and we moved away from the scene. We slipped into an abandoned house. I told everyone, "We'll rest here. Once we recover, we move again." They nodded in agreement.
Two soldiers immediately began tending to the wounded man. One approached me. "Let me treat your wounds, Commander." I nodded.
After a while, the bandages were done, and the bleeding slowed. I spoke quietly. "Thank you."
The men looked puzzled. "What, Commander? What are you thanking us for?"
"First," I said, "I need to know your names."
They exchanged glances, then nodded.
The soldier beside me spoke first. "My name is James. The one near the door is Kane. Python is keeping watch by the window. And the one with the leg wound is Colt."
"Wait — Python?" I asked, chuckling despite myself. "Why is your name Python? Forgive me for laughing."
Everyone smirked, the tension easing. Python turned from the window, embarrassed. "It's… a nickname. I once crawled through the mud during training so fast they said I moved like a snake. It stuck."
James laughed. "More like you got stuck in the mud and hissed at the sergeant."
The room erupted in quiet laughter. Even Colt, grimacing through the pain in his leg, managed a grin.
Python shook his head, muttering, "One day, I'll prove it's a name worth keeping."
I smiled faintly. "Well, tonight you're the one watching the window. If you see anything slithering our way, you'd better hiss first."
The laughter grew louder, echoing against the ruined walls. For a brief moment, the war outside felt distant. Inside that abandoned house, we weren't just soldiers — we were men clinging to humour, to humanity, before the next storm.