Join the new world

I am sorry this chapter took so long 🙁

I hope you are still enjoying the story.

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The RPG whistled wildly through one of the Café’s second floor windows and exploded with bone shattering force.

A loud cracking force echoed through the roar of the Polish gunfire and Brayford had just enough time to look up before the huge cracks across the Cafes’ ceiling began to widen and grow and the café began to tear itself apart.

Corporal Hank Moody watched with sudden horror as a large chunk of stone ceiling detached itself from its fellow with a soft thunk and made its inevitable downward journey towards him. The crunch as It connected with his leg was loud in even above the roar of another incoming RPG, this one spinning wildly into the bakers next door.

Brayford felt like vomiting as he saw the mangled wreck of his Corporals lower left leg. White shards of bone showed through the stump of flesh and a great deal of blood was already spreading across the small mosaic tiles of the bullet ridden Café. Looking at Hank’s face it was clear he was already unconscious and probably no more than half an hour from deaths eternal grasp.

“Octavian throw me your grenades and do what you can for Hank.” Catching the grenades in the air Brayford quickly tossed one across the street before ducking back into cover as the Poles loosed round after round at his position.

Counting to five Brayford heard the explosion as the grenade ripped into the Poles position. Before the ringing in his head had even stopped another two grenades were across the street, cooked and just moments from bringing death knocking on the Polish door.

“Dakota we need you now. Hank is down, his leg is in a very bad way if you don’t get to us now he will die.” Dakota believed it to be a secret but everyone in 1st armoured knew she was smitten with Hank and his wonderful way of simply always being awesome. If anything would get her here it would be to rescue Hank. Yet nothing reached him on the other end of the line except static. Brayford dreaded what that meant.

The situation was bleak. Octavian was helping a dying Hank leaving Brayford on his own to hold back god knows how many Poles armed to the teeth and hunting revenge. The situation became even bleaker and more hopeless when he checked his ammunition and found just one magazine left untouched.

“Just thirty bullets left,” he muttered as he pushed the mag into his rifle.

Just as the two grenades exploded in a great cacophony of noise and light Brayford rose up to take his last few shots at the waiting hordes.

And froze just as the trigger began to bite. A Blackhawk helicopter was powering down the street rockets and miniguns blazing. The bullets and missiles exploded the Polish stronghold sending shards of stone and pieces of blood and bone flying through the nights sky.

****

As the team lifted Hank into the Helicopter Brayford turned to his saviour with a beaming smile.

“Bout time you got your hands dirty sir,” he muttered.

“Well I couldn’t let you have all the fun now could I,” replied the man known simply as UK’s Finest. He handed Brayford some magazines and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to do some hunting Lieutenant?”

“Oorah.”