~Chapter 3.~
Corpses filled the street. Thousands of corpses. The street was filled
with a swarm of fly's buzzing around the dead. buildings where burning all
around him. He took in all the corpses. To the east of him there were
hundreds of dead. Most from what appeared to be gun shots. To the west of
him. There were corpses, but they looked different from those to his east.
They seemed smaller. They were all black. Less fly's swarmed around them
then the gunshot wounds. What could have done this to them? He asked
himself. Then it all hit him. The flaming buildings, The charred corpses,
The sudden rush of the crowd back towards the soviet soldiers and there
machine guns. They where running from soviet flame throwers. The sudden
realization of it all caused him to kneel over and vomit the last of the
food in his system.
He pulled himself up and looked around him once more. He had no idea where he was. He had been pulled along with the crowd for a so long. He set off towards the east looking for food, shelter, and any American forces he could find. The crackle of small arms fire could be heard in the distance. A occasional explosion flared up in the distance. The crackling of flames was the only sound beside his own footsteps. He glanced at the store's as we went along. Everyone of them had been looted to the bare shelves. 'I love my city.' He joked to himself. He had to do something to keep his mind off the pain. His arm was hurting, Badly. Each step increased the pain. He stopped trying to support it with his right arm and just let it hang by his side. He was still stepping over bodies of fallen civilians. Mostly those who had been swept along with him. He had only gone a block or two.
He turned done a right corner. Hoping to find a street sigh he recognized. He found something worse than a bad street sighn, a group of around 10 Soviet were sitting behind a row of sandbags playing a game of poker. Steven froze in his tracks his mind not knowing what to do.
There was a loud screech from down the street. The soviet soldiers dove behind the sandbags raising there assault rifles and firing at something down the street. 3 black Catalac cars raced by the Soviet soldiers. Opening fire from there rear windows with automatic weapons. The Soviet soldiers were cut to pieces. Only two of the soldiers dove for the safety of the sandbags. The cars were continuing down the street. One of the soldiers rose from the sandbags with some kind of bazooka. A triangle shaped rocket shot forth from it, knocking the Soviet soldiers cap off in the process.
Steven couldn't see from his perspective but it sounded like he hit something. The screech of tires and the sound of steel smashing into steal suggested the solider had hit one of the black cars.
The Soviet soldier dropped the bazooka like gun and grabbed his assault rifle from the ground. He begin running off towards the direction of the cars, he stopped after a few feet and called for his comrade. They shouted something in Russian and both of them set of towards the cars.
Steven knew what they were going to do. Finish off those left in the cars. He had to stop them from doing it. He turned the corner and slowly began walking towards them. The cars seemed to have just impacted each other. There was a fire burning in front of the first car. It looked like it had stopped before the other two cars could avoid them. The last car tried to swerve away but ended up broad siding the second car. There were four people in the third car. All of them seemed to be knocked out cold.
The soviets were now at the rear windows of the the third car. Steven was 10 yards behind them. Still silent. If they knew he was there they didn't seem to care. The one who fired the Bazooka raised his rifle towards the two in the backseat. Exposing there backs to Steven
Steven reached down and pulled the gun from his belt. His hand shaking terribly as he aimed it towards the one holding the rifle
The soviet said something that ended, "Russia." And clicked the safety on his rifle smiling.
Steven clicked the safety on his gun. The soviets turned and looked at each at each other for a moment.
Steven pulled the trigger. His hand shot back from the recoil. The Soviet holding the weapon fell back pulling the trigger as he did so bullets shot out from his weapon and impacted his comrade in the torso. They both fell to the ground.
Steven stood there for a moment the smoking gun in his hand. 'You just killed someone.' His brain shouted out at him. It felt wrong. Against everything he had been taught. Killing is a sin! his parents would tell him when he was young. It felt wrong.
He heard movement in the front seat of the car. He had forgotten about the people in the car! He dashed forwards making sure to keep his eyes off the two Soviet soldiers. A elderly man seemed to be driving the car "Sir. Sir are you all right? "Steven asked bending down to look into the car. The elderly mans head turned and he looked at Steven. He raised a hand and rested it on Stevens cheek "You Italian?" The man asked with a heavy Italian accent "No." "You are now." The man said smiling.
He pulled himself up and looked around him once more. He had no idea where he was. He had been pulled along with the crowd for a so long. He set off towards the east looking for food, shelter, and any American forces he could find. The crackle of small arms fire could be heard in the distance. A occasional explosion flared up in the distance. The crackling of flames was the only sound beside his own footsteps. He glanced at the store's as we went along. Everyone of them had been looted to the bare shelves. 'I love my city.' He joked to himself. He had to do something to keep his mind off the pain. His arm was hurting, Badly. Each step increased the pain. He stopped trying to support it with his right arm and just let it hang by his side. He was still stepping over bodies of fallen civilians. Mostly those who had been swept along with him. He had only gone a block or two.
He turned done a right corner. Hoping to find a street sigh he recognized. He found something worse than a bad street sighn, a group of around 10 Soviet were sitting behind a row of sandbags playing a game of poker. Steven froze in his tracks his mind not knowing what to do.
There was a loud screech from down the street. The soviet soldiers dove behind the sandbags raising there assault rifles and firing at something down the street. 3 black Catalac cars raced by the Soviet soldiers. Opening fire from there rear windows with automatic weapons. The Soviet soldiers were cut to pieces. Only two of the soldiers dove for the safety of the sandbags. The cars were continuing down the street. One of the soldiers rose from the sandbags with some kind of bazooka. A triangle shaped rocket shot forth from it, knocking the Soviet soldiers cap off in the process.
Steven couldn't see from his perspective but it sounded like he hit something. The screech of tires and the sound of steel smashing into steal suggested the solider had hit one of the black cars.
The Soviet soldier dropped the bazooka like gun and grabbed his assault rifle from the ground. He begin running off towards the direction of the cars, he stopped after a few feet and called for his comrade. They shouted something in Russian and both of them set of towards the cars.
Steven knew what they were going to do. Finish off those left in the cars. He had to stop them from doing it. He turned the corner and slowly began walking towards them. The cars seemed to have just impacted each other. There was a fire burning in front of the first car. It looked like it had stopped before the other two cars could avoid them. The last car tried to swerve away but ended up broad siding the second car. There were four people in the third car. All of them seemed to be knocked out cold.
The soviets were now at the rear windows of the the third car. Steven was 10 yards behind them. Still silent. If they knew he was there they didn't seem to care. The one who fired the Bazooka raised his rifle towards the two in the backseat. Exposing there backs to Steven
Steven reached down and pulled the gun from his belt. His hand shaking terribly as he aimed it towards the one holding the rifle
The soviet said something that ended, "Russia." And clicked the safety on his rifle smiling.
Steven clicked the safety on his gun. The soviets turned and looked at each at each other for a moment.
Steven pulled the trigger. His hand shot back from the recoil. The Soviet holding the weapon fell back pulling the trigger as he did so bullets shot out from his weapon and impacted his comrade in the torso. They both fell to the ground.
Steven stood there for a moment the smoking gun in his hand. 'You just killed someone.' His brain shouted out at him. It felt wrong. Against everything he had been taught. Killing is a sin! his parents would tell him when he was young. It felt wrong.
He heard movement in the front seat of the car. He had forgotten about the people in the car! He dashed forwards making sure to keep his eyes off the two Soviet soldiers. A elderly man seemed to be driving the car "Sir. Sir are you all right? "Steven asked bending down to look into the car. The elderly mans head turned and he looked at Steven. He raised a hand and rested it on Stevens cheek "You Italian?" The man asked with a heavy Italian accent "No." "You are now." The man said smiling.
