The Warriors of Ghwahali

We moved as one, not making a sound. Leaves crunched under our boots. We held our rifles close to our chests, the enemy was near. We had a simple objective: kill the colonizers. We were soldiers of the RDF. Our cause was righteous, as all people in Ghwahali knew. Were we Kazhims? Perhaps, but Ghwahali was no place for the people of the City. Everytime they strayed beyond their walls and into the jungle, they knew there was nought but death for them.
Outer Kazhimistan was hostile territory. Every one of us knew it, but the Royal Guard had orders. The enemy had the numbers advantage, but this mission was of vital importance. Clearing the jungles would allow for new farms and expansion outside of Kazhim City. It couldn’t be understated how important this was to create wealth in Kazhimistan. We were a poor country, lacking in natural resources, and lacking in industry. Expanding our agricultural sector was the first step in the Sheikh’s plan to enrichen our nation.

The lights of the compound burned bright. Its unnatural luminescence drew careful attention from our eyes. The assault plan was simple, there wouldn’t be more than a dozen soldiers in the compound. There were a hundred of us. War is a numbers game, but it’s more than manpower that decides a battle. We were armed mostly with bolt action rifles, some of us had stolen semi-automatic and fully automatic rifles, and the Royals were armed with state of the art weaponry and had the oddsmaker, a heavy machine gun mounted on the walls of the compound. Any approach from that direction would end with us all dead. But the walls weren’t able to be blown through with our limited explosives, and scaling them would take time. Our intelligence indicated that the entire force of Royal Guards would be active at the time of our attack, but there would not be a better opportunity to destroy the compound.

We expected an attack that night. Moles in the RDF had alerted us that they would be marching on us. Our only hope was that our training and equipment would be able to out last the onslaught of terrorists.

“RDF 1 to all units, commence assault.”

My assignment was to assault the front gate with 30 or so other soldiers. The threat of the heavy machine gun was on all of our minds, but we hoped that our speed would allow most of us to enter the compound where the heavy machine gun would no longer be effective. With the order given, we sprinted out of the jungle and onto the road leading to the front gate. To our astonishment the front gate was already open, a truck was being loaded with material as we were running. As we were 50 yards down the road, the heavy machine gun opened fire. We had a hundred more yards to run, yet we were certain we would make it.

I was taken aback when I saw the men sprint toward me. 30 some odd militants wielding hunting rifles running down an open road, a spotlight followed them as they made their way down it. I glanced down from the wall at the open gate. I shouted at the men loading the truck to take cover, and opened fire. My assault rifle slammed against my shoulder as I sprayed ammunition downrange. The heavy machine gun on the wall opened fire a moment after me. Enemy bodies hit the ground, lifeless. The ones who remained sprinting shot a few sporadic rounds at the HMG. One of them managed to hit the soldier manning the machine gun, and I rushed to his aid. “No! Keep shooting!” He yelled at me, before standing and returning fire at the enemy. I did as he told, but my delay had allowed them the time to make it to the gate and into the compound.

I made it into the compound without harm, one of a dozen to make it past the machine gun fire. I hadn’t a moment to catch my breath. I ducked behind the truck as two men near the gate took aim at me. Their shots missed, and I crawled underneath the truck. I took careful aim, as they continued shooting near where I had been. Liquid dripped on me as I cautiously pulled the trigger. The soldier I was aiming at jerked back, then fell. He was dead, but I had no time to revel in the small victory, the other soldier had noticed where I was and was shooting at me.

The machine gunner fell dead at my side. We had climbed off the wall and opened fire at a group of terrorists near a truck. An enemy had taken fire from underneath the truck, killing the man by my side. I shot at the terrorist, but he retreated without being hit. I quickly ran towards cover near a guard tower. As I ran, a bullet hit my leg. I fell to the ground, not knowing what would happen next. “Great Kazhim, let me live!” I cried.

The soldier retreated, I allowed him to, one of my comrades would kill him. I turned around to see that the rest of our group had scaled the walls and were taking fire at the few remaining enemies on the ground. After a few moments, everything fell silent. Our leader waltzed to the middle of the compound, and I heard the familiar crackle of my radio.

“RDF 1 to all units: Victory is ours! Glory to Ghwahali!”

I bled, hearing the shouts of the victorious terrorists. I was confident I was the only Guard still alive. I tuned my radio to the emergency channel, and managed to say, “This is Depot 1 to Guard command, Depot has fallen. I repeat, Depot has fallen.”

I took my hand off my leg, and let myself pass into the darkness. Glory be to Kazhimistan, of Toil and Tears.