Ruination of the Sun

[Adwest]

Santa Teresita | 5 Marth 1600

The sight of a burning Sakak sent a shiver down the spine of Nur, a private in the Mayari Army in his mid-twenties. The Taosheg soldier whispered a short Akhadic prayer as his unit's caravan drove down one of the many heavy zones of fighting in the city of Santa Teresita, which had been the target of a concentrated assault by the MPRA since the crack of dawn the previous day.

Intelligence by the NSA proved faulty, and the predicted beginning of a general offensive in the country's north had come twenty fours earlier. As it came, the local defenses were only half-prepared, and were only spared from being overwhelmed by an injection of nearby reinforcements which came later on in the same day. Nur was part of those reinforcements, and as an apparent stalemate had latched over some parts of this population center hours before the proclamation of the election's winner, he and his unit had been assigned to extract civilians which remain unevacuated.

"ETA is in fifteen minutes, men. Remnants of the 17th and 13th Battalions are camped in the eastern outskirts by the Lake Olivares, but keep your eyes peeled. We are in hostile territory still."

The unit's commanding officer spoke through their handheld radio. Nur steeled himself, passing his Setgvek to one of his fellows. The two Taoshegs were uncommon, having joined up with the military and not the MPRA, as has the great majority of their able-bodied ethnic brothers had done. Perhaps it was the luck of his family on his father's side to practice law, and escape from the poverty and the low-key discrimination suffered by the rest of their people. Nur cast aside his thoughts, refocusing his attention on the streets to spot any one who might need help - or who would be out to kill them.

"When will this war end." came a loud sigh, and a bang on the passenger's side door of the truck. It was more of a general expression of frustration on the part of many in the armed forces, and not an attempt at conversation. By now, restiveness was slowly rising, although not yet to the point of laying down arms. Only few did so, and even fewer joined up with the MPRA where they had the opportunity, when they were captured in battle.

The silence of vigilance filled the air, as the caravan drove through streets of rundown houses and small stores, some still burning or reeking with the sight and stench of the fallen. Santa Teresita was a relatively developed municipality which served as a provincial capital, but just barely two days of intense fighting had turned many of its parts into hell. This was no surprise; the MPRA had brought its force to bear on the city, which, to army commanders, was perplexing, considering the "surround from the rural provinces" strategy favored by their MPRA counterparts. Even when it engaged openly, the MPRA was unlikely to concentrate so much of its men and material to take over an urban locality. One with questionable significance as well.

Many believed it was a piece of propaganda on the part of the MPRA's military planners, to show its capacity to successfully conduct a takeover of a large population center, a simulation of what would be done to Larrazabal if they went far enough in the direction of victory.

The caravan halted as it approached the blasted gates of what seemed to be a public elementary school. Trees, rows of tires, and an overturned bus blocked the path forward. Another order was heard, shouting.

"Lopez, Denilsson, take your squadron and clear the road! Be car-"

The voice was cut off, replaced by the sound of an exploding vehicle. A whir in the air, and two more explosions came in quick succession.

Nur sighted a rebel with an RPG slung on his back, aiming at him. He yelled for everyone to jump out of the truck instantaneously, escaping a blazing end by mere seconds. He landed on the ground roughly, but picked himself up quickly, reaching for his assault rifle. Joining the surviving members of his crew, he aimed at the top of the overturned bus where he spotted the rebel and blindly unleashed a salvo of bullets.

He took a second after this to glance behind him, thankful that many of the troops had survived the initial onslaught. What was not something to be thankful about was the fact that half of the caravan's vehicles had been routed, essentially paralyzing them in place. Nur assumed that their commanding officer was dead. As he looked forward again, the sight of a swarm of revolutionaries in their typical battle gear - covered faces and black khakis, and their armband of course - greeted him. The soldier crawled back, his left leg numb from his jump, rejoining others behind the truck preceding the one he was on earlier.

One of them whispered something equivalent to "what now?" in Mayar, amid the roar of gunfire which continued. The revolutionary forces halted their advance as they were met with resistance from the caravan's survivors.

"Get inside that school, we're too exposed here! I'll radio for backup inside, go! And you there, provide covering fire before you get inside, quickly!"

The terse command of an NCO was heard even further from behind, as a group of troops rushed to climb over part of the crumbled steel marking the former entrance to the school. Nur and his squad did as their told, pinning down the preliminary group of revolutionary forces, even as they turned to physically cut off the two groups.

The NCO shouting orders joined them, firing his rifle from behind a dilapidated wagon crashed at the side of the unpaved road. He clutched a handheld radio in one of his hands, trying to radio for assistance, at the same time. After a minute or so, the NCO adjusted his position and gestured for Nur and his group to slowly get inside the gates as well; the last of the first group were at the other side, now laying down gunfire for them. Two, then five of the rebels were taken out, but each one that did so seemed to be replaced by another one in the blink of an eye.

The young officer would not be long for the world. From the very back, the sound of heavy machine gun rounds reverberated across the battlefield, matched only by the sound of steel crashing against steel. A couple of semi-plated pickup trucks with a mounted gun slammed the caravan's vehicles to the roadside, trapping the second group in between it and the revolutionary forces which had been responsible for the blockade. The NCO, joined by two, fell dead instantly, as more hostile combatants disembarked.

Nur looked, estimating which direction would be best to run to at this point. At the broken gates, a soldier from the first group was waving his hand as if telling them to just take to their feet and make a run for it. But there were only five of them, and Nur doubted they could hold off their foes for any more than thirty seconds more. There was no choice; he would not run to the enemy.

With a great effort, he stood up, hunched, emptying his magazine at the blockade. The rest of the first group followed, but many were cut down quickly. The ammunition belt of the technical's machine gun was consumed faster than the soldiers' legs could carry them. The Taosheg private himself was hit by a couple of rounds from his good leg up to just below his back, felling him as he was halfway through the distance.

He was back on the ground, but this time, headfirst. He laid down on his stomach, ears buzzing, but tried to look up, reach for his gun, reach for any help. All that he could catch sight of was the broken gate's defenders retreating, as the technical crunched through the position, followed in tow by the revolutionary forces. The ground rumbled, and the blurry image of a decades-old tank also rolled past him. He was unsure about that last one.

Closing his eyes, Nur tryied to catch his breathe, and block out the pain of his wounds. Once he opened them again, the barrel of a rifle was the last thing he would see.

All across Santa Teresita, fighting had once again emerged. The city's delayed downfall would come full circle before the end of the week.