"Keep his head down!" McCord yelled.

I placed several shots towards the customer service desk. Everything in it's proximity exploded as dozens of rounds ripped through whatever there was: Cigarette boxes, hover baskets, holographic projectors, everything.

One of the PRF soldiers stood up but before he could return fire he was immediately shot dead on the spot.

From within the store, a unified scream of fury sounded, a desperate battle cry. Then a squad of PRF soldiers emerged, guns drawn, but firing blindly.

"Oh shit!" James shouted.

'Oh shit' was the appropriate reaction. These men were running as if they were on a suicide charge. Their bullets flew right over our heads. I went down on one knee, rifle shouldered.

And blasted them to kingdom come.

The two PRF soldiers leading the charge fell flat to the floor first. The rest followed suit, some tripping over their dead comrades, only to stand back up and take another bullet to the face.

The PRF soldiers behind the desk stood up and opened fire again.

"Somebody shoot that guy!" James said. His directed his muzzle at the desk, and shot the other guy in return.

"Tossing frag!" Amber yelled.

With a graceful flick of her arm, the spherical shape of a grenade flew itself behind the customer service desk. A panicked struggle ensued among the PRF soldiers as they tried to locate that volatile ball of death.

First came a bright spark, followed by a cloud of grey dust and ferrocrete. Shrapnel violently tore through anything caught in the blast. The bang smothered the screams of those unfortunate enough to receive fragmentation and shockwave.

The dust settled. No one fired another shot.

"Alright, let's split up," McCord said, pointing at me and James, "You two, go check the dairy section. Amber, Midnight, on me."

We parted ways, walking past empty dirty shelves and freezers, it was clear that news of an incoming PRF invasion struck panic within the population. On peaceful planets, the grocery shelves would be filled quickly and stocks never run out. But ever since the orbital factories and farms were shut down due to the invasion, food stocks and necessities dwindled. Those who raced here first got what they needed, but for those who were too late, they didn't fare too well.

"Firing up TacHo," McCord said on squad comms.

A wave of blue flashed across the shiny white floor, the shelves, freezers, everything. We looked around, guns up, but there were no red figures, nothing.

"I think we got them," I said.

"Think so," James said before reaching for the radio on his right shoulder, "All clear, moving up to check out area."

"Yeah, get over here quick," McCord said, "we got a prisoner."

"You got it," I replied.

We raced to where the remainder of the fireteam were. McCord could be seen standing over a wounded PRF soldier on his knees before him. Amber was securing a cable tie to the POW's back. Midnight had his M-5 sidearm trained on him, just in case he tried anything stupid.

"Y'know, when the sarge said," James put on the worst possible British accent to ever land on my ears, " 'Alright lads, I'm pretty sure there are bad guys in that store'. I thought he meant two or three guys, not a whole dozen."

"Ok, you've just violated my ears with that terrible accent," I replied.

We followed up behind Amber, who had just finished securing the cable, "Hey boys," she said as she stood up, "Remember this guy?"

"Who the hell is this," James asked.

"We shot a lot of guys," I added, "Half of them have balaclavas. How am I supposed to know?"

"He's the one that pushed the fucking hover trolley at us with the grenades in them," Midnight said, "Son of a-" he tapped the POW in the head with the muzzle of his M-5.

McCord put his hand on Midnight's pistol. His face clearly saying, 'Let me handle this'.

He lowered himself to the eye level of the POW, "I'm gonna ask you very nicely, where are the civilians?"

The POW kept his head down and muttered something in Rukhovian.

McCord sighed, "Alright then," he the reached for the knife that was sheathed in his left upper left arm. Calmly, he replied in Rukhovian while drawing his customized blade very slowly.

He waved the blade across the POW's face, with the edge centimetres away. He twisted the blade with his wrist, dancing it between his fingers, twirling with cold efficiency.

"Ok, ok. I'll talk," the POW replied.

"So you do understand English," McCord said, "Good."

"They take them," the prisoner said, "the others."

"Where?" McCord asked.

The prisoner sunk his head, tilting to the side. McCord, still calm, asked again, "Where did they take them?"

No answer.

"Where?!" McCord yelled into the man's face

The prisoner looked McCord on the eye again. His eyes met the cold visor of McCord, his bloodied face reflected off the black dark visor. Then he looked at McCord's blade still dancing in his fingers, tracking the sharp tip.

"Do you really think I will comply to the Olympus Accords?" McCord said.

"N-North, ten k-kilometres."

McCord's blade stopped in the gap between his index finger and thumb, "Liar."

The prisoner widened his eyes, "No! No! I tell truth! I tell truth! Please!"

McCord stared into the man for another two more seconds. Finally, the blade went back into it's sheath. A dark stain began creeping down the man's digital green camo pants.

"See, that wasn't too difficult," McCord said, "On your feet."

Amber grabbed the man by his arm and yanked him up. A yelp exited the POW's vocal chords.

"McCord, give me a sit rep," Jackal said over the squad comm.

"We're all clear here," McCord said, "You were right, there were bad guys in here."

"Good. We're mopping up stragglers here, rendezvous with the rest of 1st Platoon, North Gate."

"Roger that, we're on our way, 2 minutes, out." McCord said.

He faced me, "Kevin, take him to the East Entrance, find Jill," McCord said, "Tell her GSW to the leg."

"Who's Jill?" I asked.

"Corporal Valor," McCord answered, "Company medic. "

"Hold up," James said, "Are we seriously going to waste medical supplies on him? Shouldn't we just put one between his eyes?"

"We're not going to pull a Yuri on him," McCord replied, "We're better than this."

Midnight nodded with a satisfied look, "McCord's right."

Amber protested, "So Yuri is allowed to shoot POWs?"

"He has his reasons, private," McCord replied, "The man has lost half his squad, give it a rest."

He turned back to me, "But if he runs, kill him," McCord added.

"You got it," I said. I placed my free hand on the prisoner's shoulder, "Start walking."

The prisoner limped forward as he took his first steps as a POW. My boots squeaked as it stepped over a puddle mixed with his own blood and piss.

"Watch it, piss," I told the rest.

"Oh come on, now I'm gonna smell like piss!" James said as his boots squeaked over the yellow stained floor.

As the rest went towards the north gate, I ushered the limping prisoner towards the East.

-----------

The beam from the refrigerator painted Andrew's face with dull white light. His sleepy eyes squinted. The cool air froze over his wet uniform. He shivered slightly as he stretched his hand deeper, rummaging and scavenging whatever snack he could find.

A chocolate bar would do, he thought to himself.

He struggled to peel open the packaging, especially in the dark. After several unsuccessful attempts, he resorted to his bayonet.

He took a bite.

"So good," he whispered to himself. It was better than any combat ration he was issued. No one in the PRF Ground Forces would eat any of those unless they really had to.

Most of the men assigned to sleep in this house were already asleep. Some on couches, some in sleeping bags or the floor. But only officers or 'well-behaved' men ended up on beds upstairs. Wanna guess where Andrew was going to sleep? Yeah, that's right, he got the kitchen floor. At least it was better than sleeping outside, the cold rain was still battering the windows.

From downstairs, he could still hear the faint knocks and muffled screams of an atrocity coming through the ceiling.

Andrew just wished he had music. As much as he hated propaganda music, it was still better than listening to a female trying to stop a man from violating her.

A head stuck up from the sea of sleeping soldiers,"Whoever is fucking the whore upstairs, shut up!" someone from the couch yelled, "We're all trying to get some sleep!"

Some of the men jolted awake, only to return to their slumber a few seconds later.

A reply came from upstairs, but the rumbling of an angry thunder drowned it with a low ominous hum.

Andrew quickly finished the bar, and walked carefully towards the front door. He made sure he didn't step over any of his sleeping comrades. As he was one step away from the door, he took his raincoat and tossed it over his head.

He waved his hand over the door panel.

When the door swung open, he was greeted with wet, cold rain. A cold breeze, colder than the air from the refrigerator slammed him right in his cheeks. Without delay, he looked for the soldier in charge of guard duty.

The guard was leaning against the bonnet of a car, having a cigarette. Andrew reached him, "Your shift is up, Renesky."

"Finally," the man stood up, cigarette still in his lip, "Is Petrov done with the whore yet?"

Andrew didn't want to answer, but he knew exactly what he was talking about, "I don't know, maybe?"

"He's had enough. It's my turn," Renesky said. He patted Andrew on the shoulder, "I'll keep her alive long enough for you to fuck her."

"S-Sure," he replied.

Should've shot her when he caught her. Should've put her out of her misery, Andrew thought to himself.