The Industrialist

Even though Craig warned them not to come, Damian dashed towards the injured comrade. Jefferson called out two guards rushing outside the junction’s door to assist.

They had anticipated, their arrival. But the timing was off.

Way off.

How did they know their location?

Lance was maybe true about the traitor among their ranks, conspiring with the Government.

Who? What would he gain from it? Money? It’s always money for the likes of them.

They could have prepared earlier, days earlier, and managed to relocate at least two days ago. It was enough time to prepare for a week’s warning from Lance. Jefferson had been missing out on the matter of urgency.

His incompetence had grown so unsubtly that even the Council had complained about it. He heard rumors.

At the far end of the tunnel, on a sudden right corner echoed footfalls of boots snappily nearing towards them. Vague shadows moved on walls where his eyes could see.

He estimated, ten or fifteen. He was not sure. It’s just they move fast and light. They were highly trained.

Damian carried Craig with the latter’s arm over the former’s neck and a limp leg still dragging on the floor.

"Incoming!" Damian cried out as they retreated to the rebel camp. Two rebel members had their guns pointed at the far end. Damian did not dare to look back but he knew their enemy now emerging f, from that corner. Then, bullets flew from his comrades towards the far end of the tunnel. Jefferson too, had his rifle engaged.

It was so long ago that Jefferson used that rifle, a 57 mm caliber rifle, armor-piercing ammo, automatic rifle. He had cleaned it always, maybe a habit but never had the opportunity to use it before.

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He saw Jefferson waving at them with his left hand and screamed overpowering the guns, "Faster, Damian!"

The rescuer’s back was exposed to the enemy, and they were not far enough that the highly trained SHF would miss a shot. In war, there were no plans executed without encountering roadblocks, even their lives were not safe even if the plans were executed without predicaments.

For him, it’s about eighty percent luck that kept his life after war deployment.

Damian had not seen any retaliation from their enemies. But they will come, definitely, when his two comrades reload, their enemies’ guns will blaze fire and death.

Luckily, he carried Craig back to safety behind the backs of his comrades and Jefferson’s. They went inside behind their camp’s metallic door. He saw people running in random directions, his brothers, his comrades. Mothers carried their children, retreating at the opposite end with heavy duffel bags on their shoulder.

He saw Tony’s family carrying their easy-foldable tents in both hands hurriedly running at the back with his wife and kids quickened their steps behind him. His kids just started their lessons with Elder Maria about basic science. They wanted to become scientists like Lance.

Cecilia left her store with some of her merchandise still in the cupboards. They were canned goods, of course. They were heavy, so she decided to carry the lighter ones and leave the heavy ones. She just started her store as the demand dictated, and also the request came from various members of their faction. She invested 400 units for inventory, and everything now was all gone.

And many other families hurried scurrying to the opposite side.

Joe and George ran towards him with their rifles on their sides. He let down Craig to the floor, as the latter became heavier. He felt like every wisp of Craig’s energy escaped him. As he lay down Craig, back against the floor, blood profusely flowed out from the latter’s mouth. He could not speak. Damian called his name, but he did not respond only a cold and dark stare.

He did not say a single word towards Damian but his eyes had various meanings, probably of despair or hatred.

They had a living, but they weren’t actually living. They formed the rebel faction to acquire an ideal life, even though it was impossible, or years in the making. At least, they made a difference, they stood for what is right and fought for the oppression of the Government and the Corporation.

Joe and George hovered over him calling Craig’s name. But his eyes were already blank, staring beyond his comrades, streaking through them and towards the ceiling. He was lifeless. George tried CPR but Damian knew it was too late. He knew a dead man when he sees one.

Jefferson hurried inside and closed the metallic door.

"Let’s move!" He screamed.

"What about the others?" Damian asked.

"They are gone. We can’t compete with their weapons," Jefferson said. "They will come in through this door but we have to give our people time to escape."

"How many?" Joe asked.

"Only fifteen or Twenty. I am not sure." Jefferson answered. "Let’s make a pincer defense, focus our firepower into this door. Let’s spread our forces out. How many present, George?"

"There are thirty of our men who have weapons. The others are deployed outside for supplies."

"The timing!" Jefferson grunted. "I told the council to retract the routine immediately."

"There is nothing we can do, boss. We have to pin them down here." Damian said. "We need more time. Precious time!"

Hurriedly, the armed rebel men, thirty of them spread out strategically on the corners of the maintenance deck, three thousand square meters of it still held the remnants of the community once they called home. Now it was already in ruins.

They ducked behind large supply crates, large bins, and a pile of scraps and all their weapons aimed at the door that separated them from the SHF.

"They need to cross the tunnels 25B, and 26C, and they are good to go. Our objective is to give them as much time as possible so that our people can escape." Jefferson said among the thirty nervous men.

"Remember, they are using high-tech weaponry. All lasers. And we use bullets. We can’t outgun them and they are highly trained killers. So, we will do our best, protect yourselves, and don’t waste your ammo!" Jefferson added.

The rebel men responded. For years inside the water pipe junction deck, never had once they feared being located by the authorities. What had gone wrong?

These questions flooded Damian’s mind.

There were seven crouching beside him, on the southwest side of the wall, and Jefferson and his bunch on the opposite side.

To Damian’s side, a nineteen-year-old combatant, named Flint, had sweaty hands. He always does. The rifle always slipped from his sweaty palms, causing his aim to be distracted. He had a sister, his only family left had maybe fled together with the others. And next to him had almost the same story as everyone else. Young and nervous.

Explosion!

The door cracked by a ballistic short-range detonator that could tear thick metal plating with its blast. The door was torn apart, flown five meters inside the room and the blast doubled the entrance’s size, torn a half meter from the door jamb. It startled the ambush party and as the dust settled, no SHF invaded their space.

Metallic spheres were thrown from the outside and rolled inside the clearing of the room. Four of them.

"Spike bombs!" Damian shouted. "Take cover!" He knew the forms of those bombs. They used it during the war against Abominants.

The spheres exploded but only a short radial kinetic energy was released, however, shooting metallic nails randomly like bullets filling the room.

Three of Damian’s comrades were impaled by the metallic nails. It went through the piled scraps that they hid behind. One hit directly to his neck, the other two on their chest and forehead. They died instantly with their eyes wide open. Luckily, for Damian, he hid behind stronger metallic scraps.

Flint cried their names, the names of his dead comrades, as he curved down to the nearest dead body. Damian grasped Flint’s shoulder and screamed, even though his senses were distorted, "Pull yourself together, dammit!"

If they had spike bombs, if one would be weapon strategic, they would use smoke bombs to conceal their entry, a perfect timing for detonation during their enemies disarmed.

The screams came of the wounded from all places in the room. Damian heard Jefferson screamed the word "Recover."

The smoke came as another set of bombs detonated. White milky smoke filled the room for less than five seconds, all three thousand square meters. Silhouettes of the SHF personnel invaded so fast, with cat-like speed. Damian squeezed the trigger to the shadowy figures that moved inside. The others followed suit, their guns aiming loosely at the white cloud, and emptied their magazines.

Then there was silence. The milky cloud slowly dissipated and gradually reemerged the environment. No dead SHF operatives were lying in the ground. Bullet marks heaved the walls, the floors, and the metallic pipes, but not a single body had been compromised.

"Reload!" Jefferson said.

And the lasers came from random sources, decimating their covers and killing their comrades. Lasers devasted their hidden spots, exposing the rebels behind them. They retaliated to the well-hidden, black-clad operatives. Damian saw one die, a direct hit to his head. However, it does not discourage their pursuing enemies

Damian saw the others crawl to a safe exit. He followed suit while the lasers flew past them. Jefferson threw Electric stun bombs causing the lasers a momentarily halt.

Then there was silence.