03-14-2019, 06:03 PM
A small, pale man with too much respect for rifles, Lih cowered in the shelled-out corner of the premises. Here in this patch of hell, the light was harsh and painful to him, and the open air brought sounds of the calamitous battle to him with greater clarity: the overlapping, meaty thump of explosions, the shrill peals of rifle shells, the unexpected sucker-punch of shockwaves, and to top it off, the slithering collapses of masonry.
Holy crap. I am dead. Lih looked around. A rifle shell struck nearby and he winced as a huge hole exploded in the wood beside him.
Quiet night, quiet house was suddenly disrupted by bright, angry flares of enemy activity. He did not see anything especially sinister in the fact that Boda’s attackers had orchestrated a shatteringly well-timed firefight. In many ways, he’d been waiting for it to happen ever since jumping in...
It was just—he’d never heard anything like it. They were like murderous playthings, rolled out of hell’s toy-box, blitzing out devastation wherever the shells bounced. That was it. Boda’s house, and everything and everyone in it, didn’t stand a chance.
His breathing short and panicky, Lih pressed his face into the painted wall. And, while face planted, he realized he had made a bad call. A very bad call. Maybe his thinking was wrong. Maybe he was acting rashly. He should have ran. Just run. Forgotten the attackers. Just bloody run for his life.
He drew his weapon and checked the safety was off—matte-black, heavy, ugly, it was unmistakably an officer's gun. But utterly useless against these attacks. There was precious little a cop like Lih could do that would even annoy attackers like that. He might as well be unarmed for the simple reason a primitive pistol like this wouldn’t even make the attackers sit up and take notice. Outclassed didn’t even begin to cover it.
Bad call. Bad, bad call.
Lih listened for a moment and his face went dark. There was no telling the enemy strength. It took his breath away to feel this attack, near to him, so completely unchecked by fear. When the fighting began, Lih faltered completely and backed away. He hated not being on form, but his own courage and intent seemed to leak away when he became aware of the sheer fury he was witnessing.
Was Boda alive, he wondered? … Boda, fleeing from his devastated home; or, Boda grabbed and dragged up by his captors from his hiding place with bundles of possessions—and the gunmen making ready to leave. If there was a chance of saving Boda, he’d do so in the slim hope of protecting Boda. But if he’s been taken by the attackers, he’s already dead. The sort of monsters who were looking for Boda won’t be interested in doing deals.
It pained Lih to think of Boda right in the thick of it, lost in the whirling, deafening violence of the fight… Alone; in trouble; how desperately scared the old man was… how little combat experience a civilian had— how little Lih himself had. Captain was sending a novice, frightened boy up country to assist a novice, frightened old man.
On top of that, Boda was most likely still very rattled by events of the previous night. That was something at least, Lih mused. It would be the confidence and steadiness of the officers like Lih that would keep Boda safe, together. He knew he was young and all this was new to him, but his department was counting on him, and his loved ones had faith. He'd faced down a rougarou last month and lived to tell the tale. That actually got a flush of pride into Lih’s face.
Just for a moment, Lih reminded himself who and what Boda thought he was: Officer Lih. Viktor Lih. Was he afraid? You bet he was. Was he inexperienced? Absolutely! Did he break and run? Yes! But only in his mind. He ran to friendly places and loved ones, where he could be safe… and then, by the light, he saw what those friendly places and loved ones would become if he did not stand fast, and so he stayed and faced the music—slim, corded with muscle,with a "face like a corpse". That’s how Boda had described him. Corpse-faced.
Another descriptor to note—"scared".
Damn right. He was scared; furthermore he should be scared. Right then, Viktor Lih had gone in alone, but it was worth remembering that peace was forged by men who were afraid, yet who faced down the monsters anyway.
Inspired by his heroes, Lih took off in the direction of the attack. If this day were to be won—and Lih doubted there was a gambler in the whole world who'd predict that outcome in his favor—it had to come another way. Even if that meant acknowledging his fears and facing the most dangerous f'ing bastards in all of Moscow.
Chasing up, with a handkerchief buckled over his face to shut out the searing smoke, he ran faster, as fast as he could… expecting at every step to be incinerated. Now and then, scorched chunks of plaster fell close, so close as to block his route. He felt half cooked, wilted, choked. He couldn’t draw breath properly. The heat from the walls all around was like an oven.
The rolling thunder of the barrage was coming closer. There was no time for further doubt. Lih figured if he moved against the tide, ran toward the attack, he could get around the side of the attackers and perhaps stay alive.
Lih sprinted through the inner door on the far side of the hall, swept down through a whirling haze of black and gray smoke. He kept hopping as shards of debris dug into the leather sole of his boot. Pain flared through his feet, but he bit his lip.
He half-hopped through a tiled gallery where the force of the blast had brought the window and metal blinds in, then on into a larger area before emerging through a set of double doors into…
A secure premise, for now: a metal sink guttered by shells, just an empty water-drenched ruin. There was no sign of Boda.
Between the beat of rifle rounds, close and distant, he heard voices. He came to a halt “f—!” he cursed, and turned back to chase after the voices.
With a terrible shriek of wrenching timber, the entire door frame buckled and collapsed. Lih flew into the air, falling with it into a creeping dark black curtain of smoke approaching like doomsday.
Screaming, Lih gray’d out.
Lih, down
Holy crap. I am dead. Lih looked around. A rifle shell struck nearby and he winced as a huge hole exploded in the wood beside him.
Quiet night, quiet house was suddenly disrupted by bright, angry flares of enemy activity. He did not see anything especially sinister in the fact that Boda’s attackers had orchestrated a shatteringly well-timed firefight. In many ways, he’d been waiting for it to happen ever since jumping in...
It was just—he’d never heard anything like it. They were like murderous playthings, rolled out of hell’s toy-box, blitzing out devastation wherever the shells bounced. That was it. Boda’s house, and everything and everyone in it, didn’t stand a chance.
His breathing short and panicky, Lih pressed his face into the painted wall. And, while face planted, he realized he had made a bad call. A very bad call. Maybe his thinking was wrong. Maybe he was acting rashly. He should have ran. Just run. Forgotten the attackers. Just bloody run for his life.
He drew his weapon and checked the safety was off—matte-black, heavy, ugly, it was unmistakably an officer's gun. But utterly useless against these attacks. There was precious little a cop like Lih could do that would even annoy attackers like that. He might as well be unarmed for the simple reason a primitive pistol like this wouldn’t even make the attackers sit up and take notice. Outclassed didn’t even begin to cover it.
Bad call. Bad, bad call.
Lih listened for a moment and his face went dark. There was no telling the enemy strength. It took his breath away to feel this attack, near to him, so completely unchecked by fear. When the fighting began, Lih faltered completely and backed away. He hated not being on form, but his own courage and intent seemed to leak away when he became aware of the sheer fury he was witnessing.
Was Boda alive, he wondered? … Boda, fleeing from his devastated home; or, Boda grabbed and dragged up by his captors from his hiding place with bundles of possessions—and the gunmen making ready to leave. If there was a chance of saving Boda, he’d do so in the slim hope of protecting Boda. But if he’s been taken by the attackers, he’s already dead. The sort of monsters who were looking for Boda won’t be interested in doing deals.
It pained Lih to think of Boda right in the thick of it, lost in the whirling, deafening violence of the fight… Alone; in trouble; how desperately scared the old man was… how little combat experience a civilian had— how little Lih himself had. Captain was sending a novice, frightened boy up country to assist a novice, frightened old man.
On top of that, Boda was most likely still very rattled by events of the previous night. That was something at least, Lih mused. It would be the confidence and steadiness of the officers like Lih that would keep Boda safe, together. He knew he was young and all this was new to him, but his department was counting on him, and his loved ones had faith. He'd faced down a rougarou last month and lived to tell the tale. That actually got a flush of pride into Lih’s face.
Just for a moment, Lih reminded himself who and what Boda thought he was: Officer Lih. Viktor Lih. Was he afraid? You bet he was. Was he inexperienced? Absolutely! Did he break and run? Yes! But only in his mind. He ran to friendly places and loved ones, where he could be safe… and then, by the light, he saw what those friendly places and loved ones would become if he did not stand fast, and so he stayed and faced the music—slim, corded with muscle,with a "face like a corpse". That’s how Boda had described him. Corpse-faced.
Another descriptor to note—"scared".
Damn right. He was scared; furthermore he should be scared. Right then, Viktor Lih had gone in alone, but it was worth remembering that peace was forged by men who were afraid, yet who faced down the monsters anyway.
Inspired by his heroes, Lih took off in the direction of the attack. If this day were to be won—and Lih doubted there was a gambler in the whole world who'd predict that outcome in his favor—it had to come another way. Even if that meant acknowledging his fears and facing the most dangerous f'ing bastards in all of Moscow.
Chasing up, with a handkerchief buckled over his face to shut out the searing smoke, he ran faster, as fast as he could… expecting at every step to be incinerated. Now and then, scorched chunks of plaster fell close, so close as to block his route. He felt half cooked, wilted, choked. He couldn’t draw breath properly. The heat from the walls all around was like an oven.
The rolling thunder of the barrage was coming closer. There was no time for further doubt. Lih figured if he moved against the tide, ran toward the attack, he could get around the side of the attackers and perhaps stay alive.
Lih sprinted through the inner door on the far side of the hall, swept down through a whirling haze of black and gray smoke. He kept hopping as shards of debris dug into the leather sole of his boot. Pain flared through his feet, but he bit his lip.
He half-hopped through a tiled gallery where the force of the blast had brought the window and metal blinds in, then on into a larger area before emerging through a set of double doors into…
A secure premise, for now: a metal sink guttered by shells, just an empty water-drenched ruin. There was no sign of Boda.
Between the beat of rifle rounds, close and distant, he heard voices. He came to a halt “f—!” he cursed, and turned back to chase after the voices.
With a terrible shriek of wrenching timber, the entire door frame buckled and collapsed. Lih flew into the air, falling with it into a creeping dark black curtain of smoke approaching like doomsday.
Screaming, Lih gray’d out.
Lih, down