Winston blinked the smoke out of his eyes and ducked down to reload. Julia, ever at his side, stood to provide covering fire. She was completely fearless, even in the face of the multiple bullets flying towards her, missing her by centimeters. The Ministry of Love had pushed her past such fears.
Julia couldn't afford luxuries like missing. Her shots were cool and precise, meticulously aimed, and always lethal. Winston felt himself falling in love all over again as he watched her fight.
She lashed out with a fearsome high kick that caught the throat of one of the policemen, sending him staggering back into another. Goldstein shot them both before they hit the ground. A soldier fired at her, but she ducked under the bullet and turned it into a roll that took her behind a chair. She kicked at the chair and it shot across the room into an enemy, causing him to tumble.
She always was good with her legs, Winston remembered.
He straightened up, fully reloaded, and unleashed a hail of bullets towards the window where the majority of the Party force was entering. They seemed to be ducking back now, scattering-
"Winston!" shouted Goldstein as a massive explosion blew a hole in the wall behind them. More uniformed figures were pouring through, and there was no way the three resistance members could stay behind cover from both sides at once. Still, they turned as if they were one mind, to face this new threat.
A detached part of Winston's mind registered the dubstep that the bar had been playing before the firefight began. It was still playing, but was hardly noticeable over the brutal sounds of combat. At least, until a stray bit of shrapnel hit the volume control, boosting the noise to acceptable levels. A strong beat began to pulse through the room, filling Winston's bones with resolve and a steady wub wub wub vibration.
Many of the Proles were still hiding behind whatever solid objects they could find and Winston couldn't help but feel let down by their implicit refusal to stand up and fight. They stayed put as the Party soldiers filled the area in front of them with gunfire.
Winston, Julia, and Goldstein were already gone from that place, ducking to the sides of the room. Bullets slammed into the table they had abandoned, sending off splinters. There were cries of pain and protest from the other side of the room. Apparently, the zeal of the new arrivals had led to some friendly fire.
Winston looked down at his arm and was surprised to find that he was bleeding. He wasn't sure when that had happened. Julia followed his gaze, saw the injury, and looked at him with concern.
"I'm fine," Winston said. "Doesn't even hurt." It actually stung like a motherfucker, but Julia didn't have to know that.
Soldiers were pouring into the room, filling the empty space with bodies and bullets. Goldstein was keeping them back as best he could, but there were too many targets for even his two pistols to cover. One of his pistols clicked, and he threw it at a soldier's head in disgust, reaching into his pocket to replace the gun with yet another pistol.
"I thought you said you brought two pistols, not three!" yelled Winston over the din.
"I lied!" Goldstein yelled back.
Julia stood, firing her own weapon at any bullets that threatened to hit Goldstein. The shots impacted in the air and went off at angles, keeping Goldstein mostly safe as he fired, seemingly waiting for something… and suddenly, he dove for cover, pulling Julia with him.
The bass dropped.
There was another explosion, and screams as smoke filled the air. There were many fewer bullets hitting the bar that Winston was crouched behind now.
"A grenade, I presume?" asked Julia, straightening herself. "But all you threw was your pistol-"
"My pistols," replied Goldstein patiently, "are also grenades."
Winston stood up from behind the bar and fired blindly into the smoke. He was rewarded for his efforts by a sharp cry and a volley of return fire. Winston ducked and a bottle of '49 exploded, covering Winston in booze. His jaw twitched in what would have been a wince if he were less badass. Oh well. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened to me.
It was time to end this.
"Alright, you bastards," muttered Winston, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Time for you all to meet where there is only darkness."
His trusty machine gun didn't know Newspeak, but that only made it more eloquent as it sounded its objections to the lives of those remaining in the room. Together, he, Julia, and Goldstein swept the room of survivors.
And then there was silence, save for the dripping of blood and various alcoholic beverages.
"Well, damn," said Goldstein, looking around at the carnage, the shattered windows, the splintered furniture, and the cowering Proles. "You might have what it takes after all."
