It had been some hours since sunset when the Mad Man's Jackboots had swept down upon the doomed village. They had come down in armored cars, behind a wall of fire called up by their cursed mages. The small town would exist as little more than a memory now ... her buildings mainly razed, and her heart, the people, dead ... dead as the Jackboots would soon be if Alis had her way.
They had even gone out into the surrounding vineyards ... burning and looting the villas ... and setting the vines alight ... laughing and joking the entire time ...
Now they celebrated in the old Inn ... built of stone it had been spared the fire, probably only for their celebration. Now they drank and grew drunk off of looted vintages that would never be again ... they drank down the life of a dead town.
A town that Alis had called home for at least a time ... a people she had called neighbors, and some even friends. Her home at the Vineyards of LeRoux gone ... ashes on the wind.
But not her rage. That was hot and clean and fierce.
Alis waved the rest of what remained of her Partisian group up ... she had a plan. A desperate and horrible one ... but one that would exact revenge ...
She looked around at her people. So few left. Just six out of the original group she had forged three years ago when the Mad Man's vile Troops had marched into the City of Lights. Death had stalked the group throughout its existance, but more had died in the past two days than had in the past year. Things looked grim for the entire Resistance ... not just her cell.
Her plan was simple really ... they had Molotov's ready (shame about what happened to that insane Cossack ... but his legacy was living on) ... and guns ... The sentries were dead, their necks snapped ... She and her people would get up close and toss their Molotov's in through the windows, then fall back to cover and shoot anyone who tried to get out by the windows. The other two were going to commandeer an armored car and place it in front of the double doors ... all exits would be blocked, and the bastards would burn. Burn like the village had.
She exchanged glances with her people, and they moved as planned. Grimly and purposefully.
Alis moved carefully and quietly towards her window, using the smoke and rubble as cover(It was funny how her skills from the woods came to be so useful in these kinds of endeavors), the MP-40 across her back still feeling odd after all this time - give her a bow anytime.
Under her window she got out her brass lighter and waited for a few breaths, opened her satchel, and started to light her Molotovs. Then, after a deep breath, she started to toss them in the open window.
The yells of outrage started immediately ... followed by the screams of the burning as her compatriots contributed to the rain of fire.
As she depleted her fire bombs she jumped back into cover to watch the windows over the sites of her submachinegun ...
It was then that she saw Francis and Colleen (a lass from the far island) dead near one of the cars. A Jackboot with a smoking MP-40 standing over their bodies. The door to the Inn unhindered.
Damnit all!
Alis charged him, screaming at the top of her lungs ... firing her own MP-40 the entire way ... holding the gun level and emptying the magazine into him. Cutting him down.
One look told her that her compatriots were dead ... and one look at the Inn told her that the Jackboots would be able to make their escape in mere moments as it lie unblocked ...
Alis ran to the great double doors and did the only thing that she could; she braced her legs and placed her arms upon the doors. She would hold them closed until either thr Jackboots were dead, or she was cut down.
For a moment or two there was no resistance ... then suddenly she could feel men throwing themselves desperately against the doors, but she held it closed as sure as if it was barricaded.
Grimly determined; she would not give.
Then she could feel more and more men throwing their weight and strength against the doors ... but still she held as her boots sank into the ground, and the screams inside increased.
Then, "BOOM"!!! As one of the dread Mages threw the force of his Art against the doors, but still Alis held them firm ...
Again, and again the Mages tried their Art agianst her strength ... and again, and again they failed to budge the door ... not by force of body, or by Art would they open those doors ... as the surface of the doors became hot and burned her hands, as the screams became deafening, Alis still held them closed ... her boots sinking inch by inch into the hard ground.
She held those doors long after the screaming stopped ... long after the doors themselves began to smolder ... Until what reamined of her group by soft words pulled her away.
The Defilers had paid ... paid in kind.
| Tuesday, September 30, 1997 |
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