Holding Oath

A shot rang out in the silent street. It tore through the crisp air and right into Siemowit's shoulder, simultaniously a special operative soldier grabbed Vladlen from behind and slit his throat.

Siemowit was trapped, if he tryed to go back he'd be sniped, if he went forwards he'd be murdered.

Siemowit heard the bark of an automatic machine gun muzzle from down the street where he had come in.

It wasn't one of the guns his platoon would have used. Meaning it was one of the Germans. Siemowit was screwed no matter what.

He dodged side to side heading towards an unbroken display window. Another shot from the sniper rang out, then one from the other sniper. Another from the first, another from the second.

Again and again in almost machine like motion the shots from the snipers fired. Siemowit dived through the window shattering the expensive burnt glass. He hit the floor with a thump.

Siemowit managed to land just behind the wall in cover. Snipers can't hit what they can't see. Siemowit had learned that from experience. Several rounds hit the wall but it was too thick to be pierced.

Siemowit sighed with relief. He was safe, theoretically not literally. He quickly assessed his situation.

Squad down.

He counted backwards from three as he shifted away from the window. He had no cover under that window and if he opted to stand up he would be shot immediately. He needed cover. Part of basic training was to learn what cover was, be it snow or hay, if you can’t be seen you can’t be shot.

Siemowit rolled over to get into a position to stand. The floorboards creaked under the stress. This building was badly damaged to say the least. Slowly the Russian soldier lifted himself to his feet. He didn’t want the floor to buckle and collapse under him.

Siemowit was out of the line of fire from the snipers. He quickly moved some burnt furnishings and upended them to make a wall, he only had a short time to do anything. He worked fast to create a wall of cover.

It may not stop bullets nor anything that was fast enough, but it was enough to hide something. Siemowit quickly opened the storage closet and slipped in, closing the vented door.

The cover was only a distraction. Siemowit was hoping that if any enemy’s entered the room, they would think he was there.

Siemowit's shoulder was pouring blood now, only did he notice it because of the amount of red slush that was poured over his uniform. He needed to patch his shoulder and fast.

Quickly he searched himself for a bandage of some item of that magnitude. Unfortunately he had left his pack at the end of the street.

Shit! he thought.

"Fuck!" he cursed.

Slowly Siemowit removed his boot and one of his socks. It wouldn't be comfortable but still, a sock is a bandage to the right man. Quickly he cut it into a long strip.

He then removed his shirt and located the wound, then used his knife to pry the bullet out. It luckily hadn't gone very far in. Siemowit gritted his teeth and grinded them together as he removed the bullet.

He then wrapped the makeshift bandage around his shoulder. It took some doing with the use of only one arm but he still managed to do it. He then put his shirt back on and rebuttoned it.

He listened carefully as he waited for a group of soldiers to enter the room. He was a dead man one way or another. He wanted to take one or two enemies with him and he was sure he would get at least one.

The floor creaked under the stress of four or more men, they were all obviously special operatives. Siemowit readied his rifle against his shoulder. Lucky the bullet didn’t go through the shoulder he used to fire his gun.

Siemowit ran his and down the rifle’s stock, the name Ellena carved into it. Siemowit had named his rifle as many soldiers do. Ellena was a sturdy well-built service rifle. With enough kick to put a soldier who held it wrong when firing. It also had enough punch to burst through a brick wall and kill anything on the other side.

He checked the magazine, then held it back to place at his shoulder. Siemowit Saw the shadow of a man. Trick worked.

Siemwoit squeezed the trigger, a loud bang followed by a thuck sound a squelch and another thuck sound signaled the fate of two potential combatant's. Siemowit dropped his rifle and pulled out his bayonette and kicked the door out.

He kicked it hard enough to launch it off it's hinges and onto one of the three remaining men. Siemowit then threw and empty magazine of pistol ammo at another and used the Bayonette to finish the one who wasn't distracted. He quickly dropped down and sweeped his leg under the one he had thrown the magazine at.

Then quickly he stabbed the one he had kicked the door onto. Then whipped out his sidearm and fired off three shots into the first and second. He then shot around as another enemy approached quickly.

Siemowit fired off six rounds into the man's chest, he clutched the six rounds all placed on the right hand side of his chest. The Spec op then pulled out a grenade from his belt and pulled the pin.

Siemowit couldn't stop him, the man was not only too far from him, but he was also out of ammo. Siemowit though, was always a fighter, sometimes his father would tell him that even when he was born he came out fighting.

He charged as the man removed the grenade. But before he could tackle him and wrestle the grenade off him the man had pulled the pin. Siemowit ripped the grenade out of the man's hand and threw it at the window, but it was too late.

It exploded.

The initial explosion wasn't what killed him, it was the shrapnel from the grenade.

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Chapter Three:                                                                         Awakening. ___________________________________________________________

Siemowit sat up with a gasp, his vision blurred. The coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He shifted about and coughed out the mucus blocking his throat. His ears rang from the sound of the explosion.

His vision slowly returned, albeit at a rate much slower than when one is hit with a flashbang.

Siemowit curled up a bit, his back and legs felt like someone was driving white hot needles into them. He gripped the back of his neck with his hand, he rubbed it. Scar tissue had formed exactly where the shrapnel had pierced his skin.

He ran his hand down the side of his neck and let it drop down onto the ground. He lifted himself off the ground and onto his feet. He hunched into a crouching position, bringing his knees up under himself.

He then forced himself to begin to stand. However long he was out it had degraded his muscles to the point where it hurt to move. Siemwoit thought he died.

Oddly there was grass under him instead of snow or flooring. It was lucious beautiful green grass. Siemowit had only ever seen in children's books and on postcards from family overseas. Before the war.

He sighed, standing in the small field. Little poppys and dandelions littered it. Siemwoit hadn't seen real flowers before, only imported fake ones. When the war was only beggining.

He reached down and picked one, he examined the small flower. Every detail, it's petals, it's stem, the little leaf that was begging to grow near the very top. The wrinkles in the flower petals that seemed like veins.

Even the little black pieces of the poppy that was in the center. The little fibours that seemed like hairs on the flower. He picked off a petal and examined the little green bit at the bottom.

He dropped the flower and rubbed his hand over where the sniper round had gone through. The shirt was repaired and scar tissue was where the round had gone through.

"What the hell?"

Siemowit then unbuttoned his shirt and examined his shoulder and what he could of his back. It seemed scar tissue had formed where he had been hit by the shrapnel.

He then spun around and looked at where he was laying down previous. The spot was covered in dried up blood, clotted all over the ground. His pistol was laying a little to the left of it.

Siemowit ducked down and scooped the gun up. It was filled with clotted blood. He pulled out a magazine from his pocket. It was his second last one.

"Blyat," He swore in clear russian.

He then looked up to the sky, the clouds seemed like big sugary moutains that just floated there. Siemowit spat into his hand, his saliva was frothy like when someone normally spits.

He rubbed off the saliva into his open shirt. He then quickly rebuttoned the shirt and looked around a bit more.

There was a rifle about three yards up the hill, a small pile of ammo for it just stacked around it.

This was strange.

Far, far too strange to be coincidence.

Siemowit cautiously walked towards the rifle, it looked a lot like Ellena. It was a damn strange sight. Siemowit squatted and slowly moved towards the rifle. He picked up the rifle and ammo.

The rifle was a blank slate, fresh off the assembely line. Not even loaded. It even had the little tag on the side for where it was supposed to go.

This one was to be sent to Shipping.

Siemowit gripped the corner of the tag and peeled it off, he then picked up one of the loose bullets and examined it. It looked like a .303 round from the length of it.

Siemowit held the bullet next to the rifle, it seemed like a .303, quiet a bit too much like a .303.

"How on, and where on Earth am i?"

Siemowit scratched his head, he looked at the little bullet and to the rifle, then to the field around himself. It all seemed too.

Real.

Siemowit cracked his neck and hefted the rifle to his shoulder. It felt like a big gun, didn't look like much, but that was the inner workings that made it big. Not neccisarily the area of the gun, more the volume.

Siemowit pulled back the slide and made sure the firing pin was in there. Sometimes it wouldn't be with the actual rifle rather than in a packet with the rifle.

It was in there, clear as day and more silver than a piece of foil. Siemowit pushed a magazine into the mag slot. He then released the safety. He pushed the slide back in and ensured the rifle butt was against his shoulder firmly.

He then slowly squeezed the trigger.

A Loud bang followed by the sound of glass shattering and wood splitting was the wake up call for Twilight Sparkle. Followed by the sound of a little dragons scream.

"Twilight, Twilight!"

The lavender unicorn rolled over in her bed, still partially asleep.

"Yes Spike?" Twilight asked.

"Something just blew a massive hole in the wall!" The little wyrm squeaked.

"Oh, that's nice."

The drake's face grew to one of confusion. It wasn't like the student of the ruler of the sun and land of Equestria to be this, nonchalante.

"Twilight?"

"Mmmh?"

"Get up, you honestly can't expect to help investigate whatever just shot through half of the town's buildings while in bed!"

Twilight moved a little bit further to the edge of her bed. The drake was extreamely loud and preventing her from getting back to sleep.

"This is the only day i don't have anything schedualed, so please Spike, just, piss off."

"But Twilight, whatever it was blew a hole in the wall the size of my head!"

Twilight shifted just a little further to the edge of the bed.

"Spike, I'm not getting up, come high heaven or hell, i will not leave this bed today for any reason other than food or to go to the lavatory."

"Lavawhat?"

"Toilet."

"But Twilight!"

Twilight moved again but this time it was not towards the edge of her bed, seeings as the baby dragon had take the incetive to leap apon Twilight's bed Twilight had moved much father than she had thought.

Twilight fell off of her bed and landed on the ground with a loud bump. She groaned in pain from the unexpected fall. Usually she'd cast a levitation spell and take a step away from the average pain of landing on the floor, but this time she didn't expect it.

Siemowit pulled the slide back, letting the empty casing fly out, the pumped the slide forwards then placed the rifle back to his shoulder and pulled the trigger again.

He then pumped the slide back in a split second and slid it forwards in less than a second, he placed it back against his shoulder and fired again.

He continued at this mad pace until all the remaining eight shells were out.

Hmm, rather a good fire rate with this one. He thought.

Another bang followed by the shattering of glass, followed by another bang and another and another hailed on the town of Ponyville. Ponies ducked for cover under furniture and behind low objects to try and prevent the objects from hitting them.

Some ponies had been hit by the projectiles but it only grace them, whatever these tiny things were, was going fast as hell. Fast enough to take wood glass and flesh with them.

Twilight used her magic to try and follow the trajectory of the tiny objects but they were going far too fast for anything like that to work. They were breaking the speed of sound and sight without effort.

After about eight loud booms the comotion stopped.

Everypony stayed low for a little bit, making sure the hail of strange projectiles stopped.

Hopefully they had.

Siemowit was sat on a stump just a little ways from where the rifle and ammo had been. He was smoking a ciggarette that was in the jacket on this stump.

The jacket was a standard airforce leather jacket with seven pockets. Three on the outside, four on the inside.

Enough to hide a gun, knife clip for ammo and pack of ciggarettes. Possibly a bottle of scotch whiskey.

Siemowit was only so lucky. A whole bottle of vodka, a ciggarette lighter and a bottle of scotch was on the stump. With a little news article and a few clips of ammo for Siemowit's pistol.

Plus a big fat cigar.

The news article seemed to be from just after the war.

"Allies win World War Two," Siemowit smoked a little bit of the ciggarette, "Berlin captured by Ruskies, Frenchies, Brits and Americans, City devided between nations."

Siemowit then poked a little hole in the paper where the american flag was with his ciggarette top. He then took a drag on the ciggarette, he had about half finished it.

"Heh, The ancient Jewish people gave the new world a vision of eternal peace, of universal disarment, of abolishing the teaching and learning of war and we started a war for all the same reasons."

Siemowit let his head hang back as he looked at the sky. He sighed letting out a puff of smoke as he watched the sky.

A rainbow streak passed overhead.

I wonder what that is?