The Young and Stupid

AN: The material of Grand Theft Auto, including the characters of this story, is not mine, I didn't create it, I don't own Rockstar property, etc.

Chapter 3 – First Blood

After being taken from Rabas, Niko was entered in a hasty and clumsy training program. It lasted only two weeks, and consisted largely of learning how to use a gun, and how to use a grenade. No specialization was taught, nor were basic techniques in teamwork, or simple battlefield survival. There was, however, a heavy emphasis on propaganda, promoting Serbian nationalism, speaking down on Bosnians, Croats, and other ethnicities, particularly muslims.

They were more or less being trained to die, to be thrown into a grinder, and to do so with enthusiasm.

Niko had been quiet since his forced inauguration into the army. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to keep his mind from what had happened with his departure. His brother was dead, killed in front of his eyes. His mother was now completely alone, faced with burying her own son, an unimaginable nightmare for any mother. Niko partly wondered if she had been overtaken by grief and loneliness, and simply put herself out of her misery. He doubted it, as she was a deeply religious woman, but the fact remained that she had little left in life: no husband, one son in his grave, and the other likely heading towards his own.

Now, the ten men of his squad were piled in an army transport truck, being transported to a Bosnian city directly across the Drina River. Establishing a foothold within Bosnian territory was vital to the Serbian campaign. Bosnian and Herzegovinian radicals had been killing ethnic Serbs in Bosnian cities, killing innocents in high number, a fact which the Serbian military drove into each soldier's head endlessly. They were, as they were told, liberating their own people.

It was nighttime, with a waning crescent moon overhead. They were moving under cover of night, as guerilla attacks were less likely in the dark hours of the morning. They were clothed in bluish-gray Russian-issue camouflage, and an aged but effective helmet dating back to the height of the Cold War. Each was equipped with an AK-47, a sidearm, and two frag grenades. To hear it said, they were much better equipped than the rebels.

Niko was half dozing, his head kinked over onto his shoulder, when the man to his left nudged him awake. It was Vladislas Dragan, a young man his age, who had been "conscripted" from a nearby community. Of those of his new squad, Dragan, and another named Florian Cravic, who also came from Rabas, had become his friends.

"Niko," Dragan said over the rumbling of the engine. "We will be deploying soon. Here, take a drink, get woken up. Pass to Florian." Dragan passed Niko a flask, and he took a deep, throaty gulp. The burn of quality vodka brought him to his senses. He stretched his limbs as much as the confined space 

would allow, and he was back to a mostly alerted status. He nudged Florian awake beside him. Florian groaned.

"Florian," Niko said. "We're going in, take this and wake up, pass it back after you get a swallow." Florian took a smaller drink of the flask and coughed, pounding his chest with a clenched fist. He passed the flask back. Niko took another quick swallow and passed it back to Dragan, who also took a drink, before tightening the lid and placing it in his breast pocket

"That's genuine Russian water friend," Dragan commented. "My old father sent it with me when the soldiers came. The old man said it cost about as much as his wife!" Niko chuckled a bit with Dragan. He was surprised to hear his own laugh, as he'd not heard it in the past two weeks. He found it odd that he chose now to laugh, when he was possibly about to die. They rode for awhile yet, the only sound being the continuous rumble of the engine. After a time, a captain in the front seat opened a glass window panel between the cab and bed.

"Make sure your guns are loaded boys, you will need it. We are dropping you off in a few minutes," the captain said. He closed the panel again, and proceeded to light a cigar with a match. Another minute of uneventful riding passed as the teenage soldiers in the bed of the truck checked each of their weapons. One boy, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man named Sergei Goran, reached inside his combat jacket and pinched a cross attached to his neck. He brought it to his lips and kissed it before dropping it into his shirt again.

A dull thud, faint, but clearly audible was heard. Each soldier looked up, trying to read the expressions of his squad mates, looking for signs of fear, to know that they were not the only frightened ones. None of them had seen combat before, save their captain, and he saw no cause to try and encourage them just yet.

Another minute passed accompanied by another thud, deeper this time. Within the next minute, three similar thuds were heard, as well as the faint but unmistakable chatter of gunfire. They were close. The captain opened the glass panel again, tossing his half-smoked cigar out the passenger-side window.

"Keep your damn head down!" he said, elevating his voice. "Heroics won't be getting you any medals, so don't bother. We're getting out in about 30 seconds. Remember you're fighting for Serbia." He closed the panel again. The boys said nothing, only checked their rifles a last time. Soon, the thuds became roars, the sounds of explosions, and the volume of the gunfire rose sharply. In the cab, Niko noticed the captain loading a clip into a pistol and saying something to the driver.

The truck slowed and stopped abruptly. The captain hurriedly exited.

"Out, out out!" he yelled. Two-by-two, they jumped from the truck, collecting at the base of a nearby hill. The truck immediately reversed, turned, and began driving away, red brake lights marking its progress against the black of night.



Their captain organized them, and ordered them up the hill, over which tracers streamed every few seconds.

"Go!" Their captain yelled. "Go!" They yelled in unison, and broke into a run up the hill. Cold adrenaline shot through his system, his hearing deafened for an instant before becoming much sharper, his legs worked automatically. He was on the front line of the ten-man block. As they reached the crest, a mortar shell exploded ten meters in front of them. Niko instinctively ducked while still running. He looked up.

In front of them, a street, bordered by two-story buildings and storefronts, was blocked with cement road barriers. The Rebels had barricaded themselves behind these barriers, shooting from behind them. Two men had a machine-gun turret mounted on one of the barriers, and were feeding a continuous stream of bullets their way. Ahead, crouched behind more barriers, there were several soldiers in Serbian uniform, a dead soldier lay near them, an exit wound the size of a small plate was clearly visible on his back.

The unit continued to run headlong into the gunfire. The man to Niko's right was cut down with a bullet to his thigh. When they had reached their comrades, they took cover behind the road barriers. A man in a sky-blue beret flagged their captain, who scurried over to him, pistol out and pointed at the sky. They were shouting to each other, yet Niko could still not hear what was being said. A grenade dropped over the barrier, too far to catch them in its blast radius. It exploded with a deafening boom, showering Niko and his squad mates with gravel and dirt. The captain, still hunkered down, came back to them and motioned them in, like some sort of sports huddle.

Niko could barely hear his captain's instructions, as his hearing was dominated by a loud, high-pitched ringing. Their captain seemed aware of this however, and shouted while making motions.

"We are to sweep around, and take the adjacent street!" he shouted, making a cutting motion with his hand to the North. "From there, we are to come behind the rebels, and neutralize them!" He turned to one of the squad.

"Mogadanastavic!" the captain called. "Take point!" This one, Josef Mogadanastavic, seemed to be a year Niko's senior. He was from the same town that Goran and Darko Brevic were from. There seemed to be a certain amount of contention between Darko Brevic and the other two, who were apparently close friends. However, Darko seemed not to let this distract him at the moment, he was loading his weapon. Mogadanastavic gave a salute to the captain and moved along the ground, still behind cover. They followed him through a bombed-out building, climbing over rubble and squeezing through a punctured wall. On the other side, it was quiet in comparison. There was no access to this street from where Niko's team had deployed. It was still under rebel control.

Josef paused at the edge of a shattered doorway, and quickly poked his head out, scanning. He made a gesture with his head, and ventured out into the street, crouching behind several cars sitting end to end. This street, with a few exceptions, seemed relatively untouched by artillery or explosives. They all managed to move to cover without being seen.



As their captain followed, hurried shouting was heard from down the street, followed closely by gunfire. The captain cried out and fell. A boy a full year younger than Niko, a Russian-looking boy named Andrej Svijo reached out with surprising reaction speed, and struggled to pull the captain in, who was disoriented but using his legs to push. Dragan helped Svijo drag the captain to safety, who struggled to push himself up against the tire of the car, which was now under a hail of fire. He put his finger to the wound in his side and held them up, seeing blood. He cursed.

"Mogadanastavic, Bellic!" the captain called. "I will need to stay, I will slow you down! I trust you two to make sure you succeed!" The captain cocked his pistol and twisted, steadying himself on one knee. He quickly put his head above the car, using the trunk door as a rest. He fired twice with steady timing. He looked to the squad hurriedly.

"Hurry! Go! I only have so many bullets!" the captain yelled.

"Cover me, Niko," Josef said. Niko raised his rifle and pointed it down the street. He could faintly see Bosnian soldiers, uniformed. He fired at one who stood fully upright, and had noticed Josef begin to move from cover. Niko pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The man went down, but Niko was unable to determine if he had taken cover or if he had been hit by Niko's fire. A steady stream of bullets suddenly began hitting the car, shattering the windshield near Niko's face. He ducked. The captain's pistol sounded again, and the fire ceased.

Niko checked Josef's progress. He had made it to the side of a building some fifty yards from the Bosnian's emplacement. He motioned Niko over.

"Covering fire!" Niko yelled, and burst from cover at a full run. A fresh supply of adrenaline hit him, and his legs pumped effortlessly, even as he heard the whiz of bullets narrowly missing him. Before he understood his progress, his back slammed into the wall where Josef stood. Two rifles now fired a hail of bullets from the car on the Bosnians as another soldier rushed over, Florian this time. One of the firing rifles dropped, and the soldier carrying it ran from cover.

A loud clang resounded as sparks leapt from the soldier's helmet. He dropped, falling backwards. He writhed on the ground, still alive. Niko recognized the bright red hair, even in the dim moonlight.

"Mijo!" he called. Stanko Mijo was one of the oldest soldiers of the group. He was nineteen, and while irritable and solitary, many of the unit saw him as something of a big brother figure. In accordance with this, Niko was painfully reminded of Aleksandar by Mijo.

"Niko!" Josef called. "Get Mijo up here! I will cover you! Wait!" Josef grabbed a grenade from his combat jacket, unpinned it, and tossed it blindly around the corner. A short moment later, it exploded. Niko ran towards Mijo, still wriggling helplessly. He heard gunfire, but knew nothing of where it was coming from. He slid along loose dirt to Mijo, kicking up a small cloud. He grabbed Mijo's left arm and hefted the man's larger body onto his own.



He heard panicked shouts coming from his comrades behind him, unsure if he had the physical strength to carry Mijo. However, Niko's strength was still bolstered by a continuous feed of adrenaline. With only some difficulty, he stood and began to run back towards the wall, amid blinding flashes from guns down the street.

Another soldier, Viktor Solovic, ran with him, passing him up. Niko made it to safety and eased Mijo to the ground before examining him. A bullet had hit his helmet, tearing a hole through it. Niko took off the helmet and checked his scalp. The flesh was seared where the bullet had entered his helmet, but he was not hit by the bullet itself. He was in shock at the moment, but he would live. Niko put Mijo's helmet back on. Now, only two soldiers remained behind the car with the captain, who was still firing periodically.

"Alright!" Josef yelled to the squad while motioning to Dragan and Svijo to remain stationary. "In through there!" He pointed to a narrow alley between a concrete wall and the red-brick building they were using as cover. A grenade landed nearby with a distinctive clank.

"Down!" Josef screamed. He kicked the grenade, a second later, it exploded at the top of its arc. "Now get in!" They streamed into the alley, Petar Goran first. They hurried through single file, seemingly all the way down the street. However, when they came out and surveyed their position on the street, they discovered they were behind the Bosnians, and only some twenty yards away. They quietly accumulated, and Josef gave them their orders: to break from cover as soon as they heard the frags explode.

Niko and Josef marked their targets. The Bosnians were clustered in four main areas, there were about fifteen of them. Josef held up three fingers, and counted down. As soon as Josef's last finger closed into his fist, Niko unpinned and threw, quickly ducking back behind cover. There were panicked shouts, cut off by two near-simultaneous booms. They ran out into the street, some firing recklessly. Between them, the survivors of the grenades were killed quickly.

Down the street, Dragan and Svijo stood up and waved. Dragan motioned towards the captain and grabbed the man, who was likely very weak by now, he began to help him away, taking him through the bombed-out building they had first come through. Svijo quickly ran up the street, rifle tucked under his arm. He vaulted over the barriers which the Bosnians had hid behind, and joined them, panting.

"Mogadanastavic!" Niko called. Josef turned and Niko walked up to him. "If the men on the other side hear that there is no more firing on this side, they will know we took this position. We need to move now, yes?"

"Yes, you're right Bellic," He motioned the team together and they rallied around him as they entered a hotel on the south side of the street. On the ground floor, there was an empty bar. Some of the bottles were broken, but many remained intact. As they came through to the other side of the hotel, which was on the north side of the street they had first entered, Niko looked back. He saw Darko Brevic, easily recognizable by his gangly stature, open a bottle of whiskey and take a deep swig. Niko crept back past the others and cuffed him on the jaw as he finished his drink.



"You fucking idiot!" Niko hissed. "Where the FUCK do you think we are?!" Darko stared back hatefully but said nothing. Niko gave him a clap on the helmet, something of an apology, and rejoined Josef at the front. They were nearly level with the Bosnians on this side. It would be harder to frag without being spotted. They would need to simply try and clear as fast as they could.

The unit collected, keeping under view of the windows. One group, Niko's group, would stay and fire as Josef's group moved into the street to quickly kill any who might take cover. They acted quickly.

Josef's group, led by Solovic, ran out. Niko and the three left to him stood and began firing, tearing away what remained of the window. Solovic took a bullet through the face. The back of his head exploded, spraying Niko and Svijo with a heavy arterial spray. Solovic dropped instantly, and Niko continued firing, despite his shock.

It was over in seconds. Another had taken a bullet just above the naval. It was Florian. The Serbian soldiers down the street, beleaguered, cheered meekly but enthusiastically. A medic ran up the street with a first aid kit. He examined Florian, who was conscious but beginning to become hysterical. The medic was calm.

"God is merciful today," the medic said after a moment. "The bullet missed all his organs and exited out the back, missing his spine also. He will live. Niko was relieved to know that Florian was not in dire danger. Florian also calmed considerably, and the medic began to care for him. They were all shaken, some obviously more than others. Niko was coming down from his adrenaline rush now, and so felt unnaturally steady. Ignoring his comrades congratulating each other and admiring Josef, Niko looked back to Solovic, his face torn away by the bullet, bleeding into the gutter. No man had yet gone to collect him, his "sacrifice to Serbia" seemingly already forgotten.

A single thought came to Niko's mind. God is merciful today, huh?