They had been driving for ten minutes now, passing guard posts without question. To the rebels James and company looked like a bunch of looters helping out the cause. Brandon was in the back with josh still trying to keep him alive with only basic tools. They veered off the main road and took refuge in a parking garage. James jumped out of the driver's seat to help out with josh.
"Hey Brandon" he said "got one more bio foam syringe if you need it". James had never gotten a good look at the wound, it was a brutal hole in his shoulder, crusted maroon blood covered most of joshes arm, and Brandon's hand. Brandon injected another dose of bio foam into josh's arm. The foam sizzled and formed a new patch of bone and muscle. It worked like an instant injection of fast acting stem cells. Or at least that's what James had heard, for all he knew it worked on magic.
"Ok" Brandon had gotten up and was wiping his hands on his shirt "The pain will still be there but physically your fine" josh was starting to get up.
"Thanks for that, but what'd we do now? I mean, they're bound to find the fire fight and then we're screwed." Josh slumped on the side of the truck. The team stood solemnly for a few moments to let the reality sink in. a few ideas were said but overall, they knew the mission had failed, they would be found and killed, or they escaped and the city fortified itself and American soldiers died attacking it. Josh looked up at the group
"Would it be possible to get in touch with command?" he asked
James cut in "Impossible, we lost all the hard ware in the shop"
Brandon bit his lip. "Actually, I must admit I sent you down there to get rid of you, though the laser designator is still fried."
"Thanks a lot" replied James.
Brandon began fiddling with his wrist computer, a standard issue tactical field command system or TFCS for short; though no matter which way you say it it still doesn't roll off the tongue.
"I did it!" cried Brandon "quick bring your HUD's down (a HUD is a Heads up Display) bringing down their helmet visors they were able to contact command.
"Militia one do you read me." Said the commander, he was about forty seven
"Command this is militia one, do you copy" replied Alex
"Perfect, we've been trying to contact you for a few hours now, your mission is as follows, at the southern end of the city is a weapons cache, it contains most of the weapons for this area, with it destroyed, most of the rebels will disperse from the area."
"Roger command" continued Alex "Anything else?"
"Yes, your laser designator has been assigned tier one priority to Cross Bow long range artillery. Expect a thirty second delay so don't use it in a fire fight. It is a demolition shot." And with that they were gone.
"Brandon" said Alex "do you have the coordinates?" Alex was already climbing into the trucks gunner position.
"Yes, it's about a five mile drive from here" replied Brandon.
"Hey josh, you Ok to fight?" asked James, still concerned about josh's arm
"I'll be fine" said josh
About three miles into the drive they heard the news on the radio, the rebels had found their dead comrades and had the entire city in lock down, just as things couldn't get worse though, they were discovered by a checkpoint group. They waved them closer, James obliged.
James whispered into his headset "when we get close, shoot them with the machine gun". Apparently to Alex close meant right now, the machine gun above roared into life, the thunderous rounds were deafening. Immediately the checkpoint nest began to crumble. James slammed on the gas sending a storm of loose gravel behind him. Alarms began to ring. James could hear engines closing in on them. The race was on.
The truck's fuel gauge was nearing empty. About a hundred meters behind them was a convoy of trucks, more and more pouring out of side streets that riddled the side of the road, their crews ready to open fire on James and company. James popped open the back window.
"Brandon" he shouted, "take my rifle, you'll need it!" he threw the gun into the back. Alex had taken the massive gun from the top of the truck and positioned it on the tail gate of the truck. He started firing off massive bursts at the chasing trucks. Brandon and josh took turns shooting and reloading, keeping a constant stream of gunfire. A moment later the rebels started shooting, hundreds of bullets were littering the ground around them. The boys in the back dropped to the floor. The back of the truck was being ripped to shreds, the back window shattered as bullets poured in, covered in broken glass James cringed as they went out of control. He felt the smooth pavement disappear; they went over the ditch at the side of the road.
James wasn't ever conscious for the impact; they had hit an old oak at the side of the road. He tried to move but was stuck. He looked down only to find the top of the truck, the roof bent and buckled. The seat belt had left him dangling from the seat, with blood rushing to his head James was already becoming light headed, with whatever coordination he had left, he cut the belt, having only now realised that the seat belt was the only thing holding him up, he managed to get an "oh" followed by a half finished "shi-"before crunching on the ground. With a grunt he struggled to his feet. It was only now that he could smell the diesel fumes, so thick and noxious was it that he could hardly breathe. Now staggering and coughing he crawled out of the wreckage. Once out he rested, doubling over in exhaustion. To his front was the city, behind him there was the forest. He ran to the back of the truck, trying to find Alex and the rest. Once at the back he knew right away that they were dead, twenty feet away lay his friends, catapulted out of the truck when they crashed, he'd killed them, and if he'd kept his eyes on the road they would have survived. But like always he had been a coward, a tear welled up. He fought the urge to give up, punching the wreck with his rage, he roared with all the hate he could muster, not for the rebels but for himself. The rebels had done nothing, if James had been the man he should have been, this wouldn't have happened. He heard a gurgling sound, looking back he could see one of them was getting up, rushing over he realised it was Brandon, though his white hair was matted with blood.
"Brandon" yelled James; he helped his friend in arms to his knees. "Are you ok?"
Brandon said nothing for a moment, before hacking up blood from his throat "James, I can't feel...I...I'm, sorry. James, leave me to patch myself up, you need to finish the mission" Brandon sounded different; there was no panic or anything.
"How are we not panicking, how can we be like soldiers when we have no training?" James had been wondering this since he made the shot with the rifle. Brandon was looking into space now
"It's part of the training, they put it in your mind when you need it, James, remember-" Brandon was out of breath, he had another coughing fit before slumping over.
James cut in "save it, you need keep yourself alive, just stay put" he took the laser from Brandon, leaving him to die, he knew Brandon was dead. He felt something on his chest; he looked down at his ruined kit to discover a blooming rose of blood on his side. It was only now that he felt the agony of the wound; he tore off his body armour so he could better see the wound. It was a ghastly scar, digging in two inches and six inches across. He dropped to his knees at the sight. He couldn't remember getting cut, though he was unconscious for who knows how long. Blood was pouring out at this point, the numb feeling was coming across his body, and finally he passed out. Embracing the cold, the darkness slowly forming, in the distance he could hear engines and shouts in French.