Fiction:East African Civil War/Thrown Into Chaos

Under Attack
Tumelo stood watching the ship come in. He remembered the first time he visited one of the shipyards and watched one of the enormous ships come in to dock. At the time, it had filled him with awe; now, it was simply another day. Repetition can make the most amazing occurrence dull. He had seen thousands of ships come in to harbor, and now he was going to see one more. This had to be one of the most boring jobs in the East African Alliance; defending a shipyard deep in the nation’s territory, where word of war would reach them far before the enemy starships did. When he first arrived, he would carry his gun everywhere, and took his jobs seriously; but now, due to boredom and inactiveness, he simply left it in his locker. The starship slowly lowered to the ground, and Tumelo sighed, wishing there were more women on board. He had left a girl on planet, but after several months, he would kill for some female companionship. The ship touched ground, and sat against a wall and wished he could go home. Nothing ever happened here; all one could do was watch ships arrive. A ramp so that cargo could be unloaded descended slowly from the ship, and twiddled his thumbs, his mind far away. A small ball rolled down the ramp, and the world exploded in light. He was blinded and deaf, unable to see anything other than white, unable to hear anything other than ringing. He clamped his hands over his ears, but the sound did not stop; shut his eyes, but he still saw white. Slowly, his senses returned as he lay on the floor, and he could hear muted screams and the sound of gunfire. Once his eyesight returned, he could see fully armored men with plasma guns mercilessly destroying anyone in their path. He froze, unsure of what to do. He should help these people! That’s why he was here! He was supposed to protect the ship mechanics, the civilians. But he didn’t have his gun. He had left it in his locker, a fair distance away. He could do nothing but watch the innocent explode in a burst of plasma, could do nothing to prevent the horrible carnage in front of him. He could only run. He ran through the corridors, only thinking of reaching his gun, sprinting past those who still had no idea of what was happening. They stared at him as he raced past, oblivious to their impending doom. He reached the locker room within minutes. There were a couple of guys inside, chatting amiably, when he burst through the door, panting. They looked up at him in surprise as he ran to his locker, grabbed his gun, and ran out, shouting, “We’re under attack!” He needed to get back to the main docking station, to prevent the attackers from overtaking the entire shipyard. As Tumelo ran back the way he came, he noticed that the screams were louder and more numerous. They had been taken completely unaware, and all the shipyard’s military personnel were in disarray, unable to properly defend from the sudden invaders. But maybe he could do something, maybe with him there the tide would turn, and the attackers would be forced back to their ship. They could defeat them! The invaders didn’t know the layout of the shipyard; he could use that to his advantage. He turned a corner, and nearly ran into a man with a plasma gun. They were both caught unaware, but Tumelo recovered before the man did. Instinctively, he raised his gun, aimed, and fired, just like in training. Except this time, he didn’t hit a practice dummy. Instead, the world seemed to slow, and focus in on the man’s face as the plasma bolt hit his chest. He was surprised, eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly open, as the bolt exploded, destroying his midsection, and sending what remained of his body flying everywhere in a volcanic explosion of blood. Tumelo stood in shock. He had never killed a man before, and had never imagined it to be so gruesome. He fought the urge to vomit, and slowly got himself to move; telling himself he could deal with it later, people needed him now. But he knew that that moment would haunt him forever. He began to run; whether to the battle, or away from the man’s remains, he didn’t know. He passed what looked to be like replications of his encounter, except between the attackers and unarmed, unarmored civilians. Then he passed another, and another, and another; they were being massacred. He slowed down to a walk. What was he doing? He couldn’t take them, not on his own. He could barely kill the one, could barely stand all the gore, all the death. He wasn’t cut out for war; all he would do was die. Another wall stained with blood. Another innocent, mercilessly slaughtered. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t stopped it, hadn’t stopped any of the attacks. And if he didn’t try to stop it, the carnage could only continue. If he could manage to save one civilian, wouldn’t that be worth his life? Wasn’t he here to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves? He wasn’t some unarmed ship mechanic. He was a trained soldier, a killing machine, designed to destroy anyone he set his sights on; especially when they were destroying his home, and killing his friends. Now, whenever he passed the bloody remains of a civilian, he wasn’t filled with a feeling of hopelessness; he felt angry, he wanted revenge for all that these invaders had wrought. He would make them pay for all the death and destruction they caused, for all the civilians he couldn’t save. He could still hear screaming in the distance. He turned towards it and started running again, guns at the ready. He would save them; he would save them all. He turned a corner, and there at the end of the hall were two men not in uniform, both holding guns, with another man, unarmed, standing hands above his head, and a look of terror on his face. The men with guns were laughing. They made their captive jump, and dance; they were playing with him, as though he were an action figure and they were ten years old. Tumelo didn’t even stop to think. He raised his gun, aimed, and fired; instantly killing one of the tormentors. The other one was taken completely by surprise, and in his shock, fired his gun, which was already aimed towards the captive; all that was left was another bloodstained wall. Within seconds, he had been hit by a second plasma bolt, and he too was dead. Tumelo was left standing in the hall, cursing himself for his foolishness. He was the reason the captive was dead; if he hadn’t shot so quickly, maybe they would have aimed at him instead of the civilian. Another scream. He had no time to mourn his mistakes; the invaders wouldn’t wait for him. He kept running, trying to reach those under attack before they died. Another corner, another man with a gun. Except this time, he was wearing an EAA military uniform. They simply nodded to each other before running side by side; there was safety in numbers. Soon, they were near the side entrance to the docking area that had suffered the first attack. They looked through the door. Inside, there were a number of armed men, watching over a line of kneeling people. A number of dead bodies were around the room, many in uniform; it looked like the initial attack targeted those with weapons. Tumelo had probably been able to escape because he hadn’t brought his gun with him, making him a secondary target, and buying him some time. There were too many guards for Tumelo and the other soldier to take on their own, but they couldn’t simply leave the civilians behind. They quietly backed away from the door, and tried to make a plan. They were debating what to do when the sound of footsteps interrupted them; and they weren’t coming from the direction of the door. Suddenly, from around the corner, came a mass of men; some armed, but most walking together, heads down. The invaders were escorting more prisoners back to command. There was no escape. All they could do was strike quickly, and hope the element of surprise would let them defeat the guards and run. Tumelo raised his gun, aimed, and fired; one of the enemy soldiers exploded, and suddenly it was raining. The enemy soldiers were taken by surprise, but recovered quickly; their guns were coming up when Tumelo shot another one. The other EAA soldier didn’t respond as quickly, but soon got a shot in, and 3 enemy soldiers were down before they had even fired a shot. There were only 3 left; they had their guns up, and were ready to fire, when suddenly their captives fought back. Their hands were bound, but they could still knock themselves into the enemy soldiers, throwing off their aim. With their help, Tumelo and his ally quickly took care of the remaining soldiers. They looked at each other and shared a relieved smile; they had managed to survive. The EAA soldier exploded. He hadn’t expected it; he was still smiling as his chest erupted in a supernova of blood and guts. Tumelo didn’t register what happened for a moment; he just stood in shock before turning his head to look down the hallway at the man who had shot the EAA soldier. The soldiers in the room with the captives had heard the commotion, and one stood at the end of the hallway, gun smoking. Tumelo started to turn around, but the man had already shifted the gun slightly to the left, and pulled the trigger. He barely had enough time to say “shit” before all that was left was a bloodstained wall.