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Manifest Destiny 32Dec 22 '09 Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line The rebels make one last attempt to take the barracks from the occupiers... 32 – The Barracks The firing started almost immediately. A few paces down the corridor from the main entranceway the American soldiers met head on with the incursion rebel force. The corridor was straight and narrow. The fighting began at a cross-section of the hallways; corridors met four ways. The rebels were headed forward, seeking out what resistance they could find, whilst the imperial troops began firing once they came into their vision from the Western corridor. A barrage of bullets pelted their ranks, bringing down a few at the front of the advancing line. Tecumseh, noting the danger, and barely dodging the line of fire with a quick step backward, managed to turn about and whilst running backward rallied his men to follow suit. Four bodies littered the floor of the space in front of them. They were pinned down with the advancing troops to the West, or left-hand corridor. Tecumseh looked amongst his panicked men, each clasping their weapon. They had various guns; assault rifles, handguns, sub-machine guns, grenade stashes… “We are the advancing force!” he quickly called out. “We make our way forward against them and keep our injured in the rear.” “Alright men!” ordered Commander Perigo, standing staunchly beside Tecumseh. “We move forth, first line strafe firing, then the next moving towards them with guns blazing! Go!” The soldiers in the left-hand corridor were apprehensive, unsure of how to approach. There was no leader among them. The base was being fought for in a panic. No one could have predicted the rebels would have made their way in. There were a mere two dozen of them, all lined up against the walls in this hallway, unsure of what to do. A few in the front started moving forward, motioning for the others to follow. Some did, others lingered back, not willing to risk themselves. “Christ is with us!” yelled one of the newly self-anointed leaders of the troupe. “We have the blessings of a chosen people!” “You are cursed with lies!” a rebel guerrilla yelled unseen from around the corner. Commander Perigo shot the man a displeased look. “No time for that,” he said to his men. “At the count of 3 we run. 1…2…” One of the American soldiers picked a grenade off his belt, pulled the detonation pin and prepared to throw it, visualizing it at an angle that would bounce off one of the north walls and land by the feet of the enemy. “Christ is with-“ the strafing bullets hit first. The soldiers had little time to react before they were being fired upon. A few shots came forth from their own guns, but nothing of any worth as they were quickly mowed down. The soldier that held the grenade was hit in this first wave; the man died before the grenade hit the floor. Within seconds the grenade exploded, scattering the men about it, killing instantly a half a dozen of them. Those left unscathed by that first assault were blasted by a hail of fire from the second line. The first line had run down the northward corridor and kept their ground as the remaining line funnelled into the westward corridor to finish the soldiers. Sudden fire started from the North end of the corridor, a line of troopers stood, slowly approaching the rebels. They fired blindly into the space before them, riddling the walls with bullets, sending up sparks and white dust. The rebels returned fire and a straight gunfight ensued, until one side stood, their losses heavy. Tecumseh stood his ground in the center of all this. The Northern line had been blasted apart and only a good half of his men were left standing. One row after another had fallen, the corridors being so thin that only three men could stand shoulder to shoulder. They would fire first, waiting until they were mowed down, only for the next line to emerge and fire the last of their rounds before falling themselves. Tecumseh had just watched the two men in front of him fall in a bloody pile before he had begun blasting the scene in front of him. Only a pile of bodies remained of the American soldiers. Dust, smoke and blood filled the hallways. One could not breathe in the air without choking on the stench of death. “Commander…Commander Perigo?” he called to the blank scene. “Dead!” came a reply from a fighter who stood over his body. “Ib…Ibrahim?” Tec proceeded to call out, shivering frantically. “Aye!” came the reply. Ibrahim had remained near the back with the already injured. He had dodged a few close calls though, as a pair of bullets had whizzed by his head, slamming harmlessly into the nearby wall. “Do you still have him…that one injured man?” “Yes,” he replied as calmly as he could, trying hard to maintain himself. “He is here, on the ground…” “Well,” said Tec. “We have to find the medical bay…we came here…we came here to heal him didn’t we?” He looked about his men. Nearly every one of them was shaking, having just survived a horrendous point-blank bloodbath. He had no time to count, it appeared about less than half were standing. Their weapons were smoking, ammunition littered the floor along with pools of blood. “Heal our people,” Tecumseh said. “Heal their surviving people after.” The men were suddenly comforted by his words. “Offer mercy for anyone who surrenders to us,” he continued, wiping a smear of blood off his right cheek and nose. “This base is OURS!” The young woman hid underneath the doctor’s desk. She grabbed hold of a chair and pressed it against the desk, so as to better conceal herself. The lone soldier she had just injured lay sprawled out on one of the medical beds, passed out from the pain. He was lucky she had missed in her lashing out…she had taken enough pain in the past few months. She shook in anticipation, unsure of what to do next. Her instincts told her to remain hidden. Somewhere in the complex something was happening, she could tell. She could feel deep vibrations in the floor and hear distant gunfire and what sounded like muffled shouts of men. Either the rebels were being massacred or committing massacre. She still clutched the piece of metallic shard that she had used to attack the soldier, her wrist shaking. She realized she may need a better weapon. The soldier had a gun; in her panic she didn’t think to take it. It lay on the floor, a good ten feet away, near the medical bed. Cautiously, she began to move the chair away and sprint for the firearm. The door to the infirmary swiftly flew open. “Sh*t!” she cursed in a whisper and pulled the chair back in place, backing up against the metal end of the thick desk. Two pairs of feet sped by. “What the hell is happening?” said one man’s voice. He sounded unsure and as fearful as she felt. She eased a bit at this realization. “We’re just getting the hell out of here!” came another man’s reply. “We’ve lost all communication with any superiors. We’ve been told that an air-strike has been arranged. It’s going to come in twenty minutes!” “Let’s just get our sh*t then,” said the other. “What the hell happened to this guy?” “Who gives a sh*t, get the supplies! We cant let them fall into rebel hands alright?” “Wait up, I know this guy,” said one of the voices. “I don’t know his name, but his face-“ “Fine, then, get the sh*t and we’ll take him.” The two pairs of feet thumped about as their unseen hands frantically seized all they could. Another pair entered, ordering the men to hurry. Within a minute the two original men had taken the injured soldier out of the room and left the infirmary in a messy state. The young woman had gone unnoticed, much to her own relief. McNally, the traitorous soldier she had just injured, was hauled away by his own men. The young woman remained unknowing of his true intentions and the men who hauled him away remained ignorant of his vital role in allowing their own barracks to be infiltrated. Minutes passed by before all became silent. Only the low hum of the lights could be heard. She wondered if she should venture out. As she had heard air strikes were ordered in, but where could she go? The silence started to fade as a new sound emerged, one of dozens of feet hitting the hard floor of the corridors outside. She remained hidden. The door swung open and a large group of men burst in with immense urgency. They filled the small room, instantly starting to place injured men on the beds. There were only ten beds in the room and once they were filled men started to be placed onto the floor. A bronze-skinned man with a thin black beard started to move from one patient to another, seeing what his injuries were and what could be done. He ordered the men to start tearing clothing, the room’s bed sheets, anything to be used as makeshift bandages. These must be the rebels, she thought to herself. She noticed they all had guns, some held more than one. It looked that the base was indeed theirs. With some caution, she removed the chair that concealed her and stood up into plain sight. No seemed to notice immediately, as they were too busy tending to their wounded comrades. She had heard of their resistance before, but this was the closest she had ever come to seeing them. One of the men, a young man, seemed to notice her. He just glanced for a moment, then picked up one of the bed sheets off a patient and started ripping it up with another fighter. They then placed it around an injured man’s torso, tightly squeezing it about him to stop massive bleeding. The scent of fresh blood filled the room. The man with the black beard who was acting as the main doctor then realized her presence. He simply nodded to her, seeing she was unarmed (as she had dropped the metallic shard), not giving her any more notice. He supposed she may have been one of them. The young man who had first noticed her was tending another patient. She ran up to him. “Air strike. They ordered an air strike here.” The man looked at her, confused. “Who?” “The Americans! They are on their way right now!” “Air strike is on its way!” the young man yelled to the room. Everything froze. The makeshift doctor with the thin beard stared at her, a look of utter dread on his face. “Did you hear that?” asked Isaac. He had thought he had heard a distant gunfire echo along the empty corridors. Dayne nodded. “My wounds acting up. Weird. I felt some vibrations…something like an explosion or something. Damn it.” Donald just shrugged. “They could be all dead, ambushed.” He crouched down. There was nowhere to hide. “We don’t know who got ambushed,” said Dayne, straining to keep calm. “It could be either way. We could be walking into a victory party or a massacre.” Isaac sighed, frustrated and stepped beside Donald. “Back to the control room then?” Donald shook his head and scoffed loudly: “And go wait to find out if we die or live? Go hide when our comrades may be getting killed? I didn’t endure this sh*t for the past decade just to go quietly!” “Chill Don,” lamented Dayne, stepping between the two. “Ice, what do you say? Do you want to go back or come with us?” Isaac looked at them both simultaneously. “If the choice is made to go I’m with you brothers ‘till the end.” Dayne placed a hand on his shoulder, his face unflinching in expression. Donald nodded. “For the Canada we knew.” With those words Donald Smith started walking forward at a face pace down the long corridor. “For our brothters and sisters,” said Dayne and took off after Don. “For everyone,” Isaac said with a sigh, readying himself for the worst. “And for our future. For any future.” He charged after them, ready to take whatever fate handed to the three of them. The three began running in unison. Once Isaac had caught up with the others they started to run along in a row, Isaac and Donald’s shoulders nearly pressed against the wall. There guns were aimed forward, ready to let loose what they had at the first sign of trouble. At every turn and four-way cross they expected to see an entire army, their weapons trained on them and yet they ran, their pace increasing at every step, ready to face whatever was thrown at them. A group of fighters emerged around a corner. It was unclear who they belonged to at first glance, but within seconds they were identifiably rebels. The nearest man in their group was recognizable a few seconds afterwards. “Tec!” yelled Dayne. Tec? Isaac instantly turned ecstatic, as if a shot of utter joy had been injected into his veins. Immediately Tecumseh’s face formed into a huge smile. “Tec! Brother!” Donald and Dayne slowed down to a lighter pace, while Isaac drove on ahead and rushed right up to Tecumseh, grabbing hold of him in a tight embrace. “Wow! Careful!” said Tec with a laugh, as he pulled his gun away from Isaac. “Don’t want to accidentally pull something brother!” “What’s going on Tec?” Donald asked, restraining himself from showing too much relief. Isaac let go of his leader, calming himself, knowing there was immediate pressing concerns that had to be dealt with. He placed an arm against Tecumseh’s shoulder, never happier to see a comrade. “This base is ours,” replied Tec evenly. “We finished off a few contingents of soldiers back in the hallway about ten minutes ago. We haven’t seen any Yanks in here since. What are you doing here?” Dayne laughed, seeming to enjoy this moment. “Well, y’see, certain tanks and guards were kind of taken out…” “You?” said a shocked Tecmseh. Dayne nodded, cherishing the credit. “That was us, brother!” “Well,” said Tecumseh with another laugh, his grin widening. “We have much to discuss. Let’s talk about it in an hour or so. In the meantime, it appears we have a new HQ. Not only that, but perhaps a new city. Riots have been breaking out all over the city. It won’t be long now until we can call ourselves liberated! I want everyone to start preparing our rebel stronghold here.” “Tecumseh!” came a man’s voice from behind one of the accompanying fighters “I just came from the medical bay-“ “How are the men doing?” Tecumseh asked. “We haven’t lost any of the injured yet,” replied the young man. “My friend we were with in the settlements is going to be ok…but that’s not it....we just received word: air-strikes have been ordered in! They’re going to blast this whole place within minutes!” “I want that whole blast destroyed!” yelled Sergeant Hawke. “Yes, yes sir,” answered Ares. The two men stood in the HQ control room, a dusty, seldom used command center for communications. “I just called in the order. They are coming from the island airport on the lake. They currently have two jets ready to go into flight, armed with a dozen missiles each. The whole complex will be destroyed in minutes.” Hawke smiled. He held a cold cloth against his face; his greatest injury was dealt to his mind though. “The barracks had been evacuated. Only the rebel infestation of unbelievers remains,” Ares explained. “Don’t worry. The threat will only be temporary.” “Good,” commented Hawke, quite pleased. “Did you message get through? I don’t know if I trust this primitive technology here. They are quite behind us. They don’t have the cutting edge equipment that our army is so blessed with.” Ares nodded. “The communication went through. It was the same frequency that I used to inform the barracks guard that an invasion was scheduled for today. They were ready.” “Then how did the rebels still manage to take the barracks?” Ares only shrugged. “I don’t know.” “They must have had help from some Satanic army. Surely they made a pact of some kind with demonic forces. Will you join me in prayer for the souls of the Christian men who died this day? We must be assured that God is on our side.” “Yes,” said Ares. “Of course.” Both men left their chairs and knelt down. Hawke began to lead them in prayer. A silent voice came over the intercom. The two men were too busy praying intensely to notice. “Our jets are to take off in two minutes. They will have that base destroyed within ten minutes of being airborne…I repeat, Jets are to take off in-“ The communication suddenly stopped and blank static followed. Hawke, unknowing the message, finished the prayer. “And deliver the Promised Land from evil oh Lord. Amen.”  |
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