The radio buzzed to life, the voice of Scout One coming over with mild static distortion to report to the Commander about the latest developments. On the other end, Commander Vloch, commanding officer for the organized parts of the Russian Rebellion, listened intently to the ill news, his devious mind forming ideas and plans, then dissecting them for flaws.
Scout One's report went from bad to worse. "Commander, the Army has destroyed Kivrow's village. They left no one alive, leveled every building in the place. An analysis team has moved in to dig through the rubble for untouched information. The villagers had no warning and would have had no chance to destroy documents pertaining to the rebellion. It's entirely possible that some of those documents survived the devastation."
"Thank you Scout One. Which base did the army come from?"
"Unknown Commander, but they were heading East along the main road when they left."
"Very well, that will be all. Stand by for further orders."
Vloch's mind whirled with each new idea popping into his head and getting blown through with holes nearly as fast as they had arrived. Finally, after going through nearly a dozen possible scenarios, he finally came to one he liked.
Moving with all due speed, he found his Lieutenant and conveyed to him the orders for his soldiers. The Lieutenant acknowledged his orders and went to get his weapons. Moving a little bit further through the encampment, Vloch found the tent with his four favorite people in it: the two snipers and their cover men.
"Wake up, my deadly friends. You have work to do. Move with all due haste to the remains of Kivrow's village. There you will find Scout One. He will point out your targets to you. You have his radio frequency and his call sign, contact him before hand to let him know you are coming. You must make it to the village in the next twenty minutes or all may be for naught. Good luck."
The four men nodded their understanding and with all the silence of trained infiltrators, they began their hasty preparations. All was in motion to turn this disastrous night into a small victory for the rebellion and a humiliating defeat for the Russian Army.
The small group of men sat in their cave, reflecting on what had happened. Merely a few hundred yards from the hidden cave entrance, one of their own had been killed. These men were all family. There were Uncles and Cousins, Grandfathers and sons. It had been the leader's nephew who had died, another innocent victim of the government's ruthless tyranny.
Their small, wireless television was turned on to the local news channel, a channel which was liable to be shut down due to its slight nonconformity to the government's wishes. The government wanted to make the war against the rebels to be a just one meant on keeping the order, but the dead boy with the three gaping holes in his back, lying amongst the leaves and branches of the jungle showed anything but a just war. It showed that the government was willing to do anything to keep its iron fist wrapped tightly around its people, no matter what the cost.
A small tear rolled down the cheek of the boy's Uncle. He looked around him at his relatives. Many of their faces were tear streaked as well. Without a word, the leader, Kam Jung, turned and walked to the rear of the group, to a small door at the back of the room. All the heads in the room turned towards him. They knew what he was going to do.
Opening the door, Jung walked into the small closet. There was a loud clanging as things in the closet were jostled around. A belt of ammunition was flung out of the open door, landing in the open arms of one of the men. It was followed by a heavy machine gun being passed out the door and into the hands of another rebel. Dozens of belts of ammunition, magazines and guns were tossed or passed out of the armory into the waiting hands of Jung's fellow rebels.
When the armory was practically stripped bare, Jung himself came out. He had gone in wearing combat boots, jungle camouflage pants and a black t-shirt, tucked into his pants; a mere rebel. Now, he exited a lethal killing machine, with a look in his eyes that said he would stop at nothing for revenge. He had strapped two nine millimeters to his thighs, each with a full silencer on them as well as a pair of extra magazines for each. Strapped to his back was a twelve gauge shotgun, with a dozen extra rounds on the front of the strap. Looped over his shoulders was a belt of fifty caliber rounds, and resting in his two massive hands was a fifty caliber machine gun. Topping off the entire ensemble were a trio of grenades hooked onto his belt.
Huddled in a corner, with his knees tucked up against his chest, the sympathizer's friend thought about his possible courses of action. Obviously his one true ally in the army had been discovered, but how it had happened he did not know. Was he in danger? Could he continue to operate from within without being detected, or were some of his comrades on their way now, coming to execute him for treason? With his lofty rank of Captain, he hoped that he would be able to avoid any charges. Hopefully his superiors would continue trusting him the same way that had enabled him to get promoted. But that was all wishful thinking.
He knew that he would have to act. He could not count on them only having discovered his friend, or on whether or not his friend had talked before being killed. No, there was only one course of action really open to him. He was going to have to do as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible, and ignore the fact that he would be discovered. Maybe it would even get him into the history books.
He got up and walked out of his quarters. As he walked down the hall and through the massive complex that held his unit, the man made sure to act normally to all his subordinates and superiors that he passed. None of them could have any hint of what he was going to do, or it would all be for naught. He reached sub level six, the lowest level of the entire complex. There, buried underneath fifty feet of earth, were enough explosives to send the whole building up in a gigantic fireball. Guarding the door of the armory was a single Private, leaning against the wall.
The Private noticed the Captain coming down the hall towards him and immediately snapped to attention, not even considering the need to go for his assault rifle slung over his shoulder. That was going to cost him. At ten yards away, the Captain slid his hand onto the butt of his pistol. At eight, the guard spoke. "Good morning, Sir." At seven, the Captain slid the pistol out of its holster. At five, he brought the weapon up and put a silent round through the Private's skull.
Quickly glancing back down the hall to make sure that no one had seen him, the Captain turned back to the keypad and quickly punched in the door code. Then he entered the armory and dragged the Private's corpse in after him.