Part Three: Out of the Frying Pan, Into the fire.
I woke up to the sound of incoming mortar rounds. I kept my eyes closed, and just listened to them remould the ancient city. Opening my eyes and realizing that I was incapacitated was a greater fear than catching shrapnel from the incoming rounds. First, I wiggled my toes, no spinal damage. The mortars still crashed around me. I wiggled my fingers, and realized that I still had them. I assumed that my head was attached, so my eyelids slowly peeled back, but I soon realized that it made no difference at all. I was either blind, or in complete darkness. The concrete foundation I was lying on did my aching muscles no mercy. I slowly slipped back into the dream world, the sound of the mortars lulling me to sleep.
Something soft brushed up against my arm, and instantly I was awake and alert. I opened my eyes, but they were still useless. The mortars had stopped; probably just long enough for the crews to cool the tubes off. I rolled over onto my stomach, worried that I might suffocate on my own vomit should I lose consciousness again. The soft organism brushed against the side of my head, and to make my life more enjoyable, it reeked of urine. Or maybe that was me. I tugged my sidearm out of its holster, with my right hand, and pushed it across the floor, pointing the barrel in the general direction of the creature. Keeping the pistol braced against the ground, I squeezed the trigger. Three very eventful things happened at this point. Firstly, the soft organism exploded all over me. Secondly, the shock from the pistol going off blew my right eardrum, I felt ear fluid leak down the side of my face. Finally, the stray bullet ricochets off the concrete foundation, and through the 'ceiling', which brought in a little light. For the first time, I knew I wasn't blind. My body was in so much pain, and I felt so weak, my ear seemed as if it didn't really hurt at all. So I went back to sleep.
I woke up coughing and hacking, every contraction and expansion of my chest felt as if I was being stabbed in the spine. My fit lasted a few minutes and more than once I considered turning my pistol on myself. When it finally stopped, I decided I had suffered enough, and it was high time to try to find out where I was, and how I could escape. The mortars had started again, crashing all around me. I assumed it sounded worse than it actually was, because my ear was pressed against the concrete floor, which I now realized was not concrete at all, but stone. Not that it really mattered. I rolled over onto my side; with my left shoulder now pointed at the 'ceiling' and I outstretched my left arm in an attempt to see how high exactly the 'ceiling' was. When my fingers met it, about a foot and a half from my shoulder, a fine dust fell from it, and onto my face. I rolled, or rather fell back onto my stomach, and crawled towards the pinnacle of light I had created with my sidearm. When I reached it, once more I rolled over, this time onto my back, and let the light shine onto my face. It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the strong natural light. I could see the bright blue sky over my head, and it took me a while to realize how exactly that was possible. A large portion of the building had obviously fallen sideways when the rockets hit it. The mortars would have done some more cleaning, which meant I was only under one layer of rubble, something manageable. All I needed now was the energy to begin my dig to safety, and the mind frame to face the battlefield again.
I woke up once more to the sound of thunder. My mind assumed it was mortars, but I quickly realized it was thunder when I noticed water running down my face. My legs propelled me another few inches, so water draining through the hole in the ceiling ran into my mouth. I drank, realizing it might be the last chance for water I would have down here. Rain was rare in Ishbal; their God must be smiling on me for some reason to bring it now, when I most needed it. I felt very calm; in fact, I realized that ever since I found myself down here, I had been calmer than when I was on the surface. Maybe it had to do with the fact, that I had seen what I believed were the worst actions the human race was capable of. I had nothing but surreal memories, and emotions I could not put into words. Nothing, not even my own death could trouble my mind after what I had seen on Bismallah Street.
Leoni's death was a blur. As far as my conscience mind was concerned, it never really happened. I kept expecting him to crawl out of the darkness, with some satirical remark on the situation I was in. I did my best to concentrate on getting to the surface. I thought it was well past time to begin digging. I reached for my grenade belt, and then realized that it probably was not the best idea to open the floor that way. Then a brilliant idea struck me. I directed my sidearm again towards the ceiling, and squeezed the trigger about a foot to the left of the hole that already existed. I fired a second shot between the two previous holes. I rolled my feet up, so my knees lay flat against my chest, and forced my feet against the weakened area. The boards cracked along with most of my bones. I let my feet fall back down and just lie there in the most extreme pain I had felt since the ordeal started. Five minutes later, I did it again, only this time, the boards separated. After I overcame my brief incapacitation once more, I gave the ceiling a final kick. I thought it split enough this time to admit my hand to slip between the boards. I decided to take one more long rest, to compose my mind before I ventured into the rubble that once made a happy home for countless locals.
When I opened my eyes again, the rain had stopped, and faint light now filtered through the split boards. I slipped my hand through the opening, and then my forearm up until my elbow. I felt a cool breeze on it, a moist breeze. Similar to those I felt as a child across my face, after a great storm. I tore the boards apart utilizing both hands, and my utility knife. After ten minutes of work, I was able to force my head out of the hole and look around. The well-established street that once existed was now nothing more than heaps of charred wood on top of smashed foundations of twisted steel frame, and concrete. I slowly crawled out onto my belly, across the blackened wood floor. I was careful not to stand on my feet, afraid it would collapse below me. I did not feel as if my battered body could take the fall. There was no sign of life anywhere I looked. One could safely assume that heavy motor bombardments would drive people from their homes, especially ones built as cheaply as these. It was getting dark, and I was quite positive that friendly patrols would be doing a recce mission in attempt to capture surviving, but injured enemy civilians for questioning. It was standard procedure after a bombardment. I crawled to the edge of the building that just a moment before I was trapped under. I found the foundation, and stood up comfortably for the first time in... now that I thought about it, I had no sense of how long I had been trapped.
I sat on the concrete stoop, and once again found myself staring towards the place where the Ishbal headquarters once stood. It was the building with the strongest foundation on the street; however, I am sure the mortar teams zeroed right in on it. There was virtually nothing left. I picked myself off the ground, and walked over to headquarters foundation slowly. The sun was setting fast, and I had to find myself a decent weapon incase the people of Ishbal found be before my comrades did. The wooden structure of the building had completely burned off, leaving only the shattered concrete basement. I lowered myself down into a room full of steel crates, black from being exposed to smoke and flame. They were locked, but I picked up a steel rod and began to pry at a flimsy padlock. It broke without much effort, and I heaved at the lid, which crumbled and chipped in my hands. I discovered what I had been searching for. I picked up an enemy weapon, the butt had burned right off, and by the looks of the inside of the box, flame had mingled freely with the insides. I tossed the rifle aside, and discovered a steel submachine gun. Ishbal's weapons were originally produced for our militaries use. The only difference was, our military replaced these old models several decades ago. I reached under my once blue jacket into my bandoleer, and pulled out a single bullet for my sidearm. It fit snugly into the chamber of the ancient weapon. After filling the current magazine, and two others, I slung the submachine gun over my shoulder, and climbed back out of the foundation. At that point I decided to begin the long march back to friendly lines.