Hundreds of men and women and children piled through the streets, shouting and chanting a myriad of indiscernible phrases beneath the clear, crystal sky above. The sun beat down on each of them, mocking them with its radiance, their signs and flags and banners held aloft for all to see. Widows were crying for the lovers they had lost, adolescent orphans knew nothing but the rage that blackened their hearts. Months of battles against the insurgency had seen their lives torn apart far more than the oppression of the Communists before them. Those who still had homes lacked running water and electricity; those who still had those lacked stocked grocery stores or unpoisoned wells. The buses and trains had closed weeks ago after multiple bombs had proven they were more detrimental to the social good than beneficial. Gasoline was gone, the railroad tracks leading into the city sabotaged, the bridges over the rivers and creeks destroyed.
The crowd was gathered here to protest the bombing of a mall, but really they were here for a thousand reasons, all of them meaningless now. There were only three things they could do with their miserable lives. Murder, die, or protest. Protesting was therefore the least violent; the soldiers that watched over the protest only hoped that the other two outcomes wouldn't occur today.
Despite their hope, they all knew in their heart that their prayers would go unanswered. Sai Yok had become Sinhai's veritable hell. No one cared what the government did anymore, any auspice of salvation from the military through preventative measures such as curfews and checkpoints had been forsaken.
The battle of Sai Yok was no longer fought between insurgents and the military. Every living person in the city had been drawn into the war to some extent; everyone had been affected. Widows picked up their dead spouses rifles and shot the guilty, orphaned teens with no one to turn to grabbed grenades and hurled them into the houses of those they blamed. Sai Yok had been a powder keg of poverty for forty years, people had been holding on to a glimmer of hope. That glimmer was destroyed by the insurgency, and now starving, sick, and hopeless, everyone had joined the battle.
The soldiers watched over the windows of the surrounding buildings with vigilance, hoping today that their comrades wouldn't be spilling pools of blood into mud and broken pavement.
Several insurgents, all equally as desperate and hopeless as the protesters, hunched behind windows in a broken building on the south side of the plaza. A dozen more hid in an alley, checking their ammunition clips. The initial insurgency had been fighting for Communism. Now they were just fighting because they were pissed. Their rifles would execute their vengeance on those "innocents" that protested. They'd kill the soldiers, too, because they had done nothing to stop this mess.
Inside of the protesting crowd a man on the northern edge unfurled his jacket and, with tear-filled eyes shouted a prayer and detonated the bombs strapped to his body. The explosions sent over fifty bodies flying through the air, and screams of the dying and the fleeing echoed in the small plaza. People fled from the explosion, to the south. Insurgents popped out of their cover with machine guns and assault rifles and grenades, firing on the protesters.
Over a dozen people were killed within seconds where lead tore through their bodies. Those others fortunate enough to live long enough to slip on gravel in a bid to run somewhere else heard the distinctive cling of metal bouncing on cement. The grenades bounced and rolled their way into the crowd, each blast launching bodies in different directions like a grotesque display of fireworks. The soldiers lit up the building, heavy machine guns mounted atop vehicles ejected spent shells like a broken vending machine. Dust and broken brick fell from the ruin, and an insurgent on the roof of a building on the southeast side of the plaza grabbed his rifle and steadied his breath. The crosshairs of the scope drew their mark around the gunner, and the slug caught him in the helmet, penetrating deep through and shattering his skull in the kevlar case.
The machine gun fell silent for a moment, and the insurgents pushed out of their alley and fired on the fleeing protesters. Some of the protesters drew weapons of their own and fired back, but to little avail. The soldiers took cover and used their training, but without equipment available to most other modern armies, like bullet-proof vests, they had to rely on fortune.
Some of the soldiers managed to pick off the sniper in time for another to get back on the big gun and bring the storm back down on the insurgents. But there were too many, and too spread apart, for the gun to find much effect. A RPG launched into the truck and quieted the gun for good, the explosion killing three soldiers that had found cover behind the truck. The plaza was clear of unarmed protesters now, everyone left alive had a gun. Some loyal protesters pushed the flank on the insurgents, arriving from the south with all the fan fair their heavy foreign automatic rifles could afford. The insurgents moved to respond, and the soldiers moved to pincer the communists down, when the loyal armed protesters started firing on the soldiers too. More armed protesters arrived from the east and, before they could respond, the soldiers were trapped on all sides.
The battle had taken a total of ten minutes, and over one hundred people lay dead. The plaza was coated in blood, and its color did not distinguish between the factions.
The crowd was gathered here to protest the bombing of a mall, but really they were here for a thousand reasons, all of them meaningless now. There were only three things they could do with their miserable lives. Murder, die, or protest. Protesting was therefore the least violent; the soldiers that watched over the protest only hoped that the other two outcomes wouldn't occur today.
Despite their hope, they all knew in their heart that their prayers would go unanswered. Sai Yok had become Sinhai's veritable hell. No one cared what the government did anymore, any auspice of salvation from the military through preventative measures such as curfews and checkpoints had been forsaken.
The battle of Sai Yok was no longer fought between insurgents and the military. Every living person in the city had been drawn into the war to some extent; everyone had been affected. Widows picked up their dead spouses rifles and shot the guilty, orphaned teens with no one to turn to grabbed grenades and hurled them into the houses of those they blamed. Sai Yok had been a powder keg of poverty for forty years, people had been holding on to a glimmer of hope. That glimmer was destroyed by the insurgency, and now starving, sick, and hopeless, everyone had joined the battle.
The soldiers watched over the windows of the surrounding buildings with vigilance, hoping today that their comrades wouldn't be spilling pools of blood into mud and broken pavement.
Several insurgents, all equally as desperate and hopeless as the protesters, hunched behind windows in a broken building on the south side of the plaza. A dozen more hid in an alley, checking their ammunition clips. The initial insurgency had been fighting for Communism. Now they were just fighting because they were pissed. Their rifles would execute their vengeance on those "innocents" that protested. They'd kill the soldiers, too, because they had done nothing to stop this mess.
Inside of the protesting crowd a man on the northern edge unfurled his jacket and, with tear-filled eyes shouted a prayer and detonated the bombs strapped to his body. The explosions sent over fifty bodies flying through the air, and screams of the dying and the fleeing echoed in the small plaza. People fled from the explosion, to the south. Insurgents popped out of their cover with machine guns and assault rifles and grenades, firing on the protesters.
Over a dozen people were killed within seconds where lead tore through their bodies. Those others fortunate enough to live long enough to slip on gravel in a bid to run somewhere else heard the distinctive cling of metal bouncing on cement. The grenades bounced and rolled their way into the crowd, each blast launching bodies in different directions like a grotesque display of fireworks. The soldiers lit up the building, heavy machine guns mounted atop vehicles ejected spent shells like a broken vending machine. Dust and broken brick fell from the ruin, and an insurgent on the roof of a building on the southeast side of the plaza grabbed his rifle and steadied his breath. The crosshairs of the scope drew their mark around the gunner, and the slug caught him in the helmet, penetrating deep through and shattering his skull in the kevlar case.
The machine gun fell silent for a moment, and the insurgents pushed out of their alley and fired on the fleeing protesters. Some of the protesters drew weapons of their own and fired back, but to little avail. The soldiers took cover and used their training, but without equipment available to most other modern armies, like bullet-proof vests, they had to rely on fortune.
Some of the soldiers managed to pick off the sniper in time for another to get back on the big gun and bring the storm back down on the insurgents. But there were too many, and too spread apart, for the gun to find much effect. A RPG launched into the truck and quieted the gun for good, the explosion killing three soldiers that had found cover behind the truck. The plaza was clear of unarmed protesters now, everyone left alive had a gun. Some loyal protesters pushed the flank on the insurgents, arriving from the south with all the fan fair their heavy foreign automatic rifles could afford. The insurgents moved to respond, and the soldiers moved to pincer the communists down, when the loyal armed protesters started firing on the soldiers too. More armed protesters arrived from the east and, before they could respond, the soldiers were trapped on all sides.
The battle had taken a total of ten minutes, and over one hundred people lay dead. The plaza was coated in blood, and its color did not distinguish between the factions.