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Metro: Beyond


Yakov Denikin

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The station ahead of them had already sounded the alarm, the dinging could be heard from it all the way down the tunnel where the Red Army had gathered, standing before their colonel, Yakov Denikin who now stood upon a heavily armored railcart, a megaphone in hand.

“Soldiers, it has been many months since we have begun our campaign—but it will soon be over. Ahead of you lies the final traitorous station before we come upon the territory of the greedy Hansa. Ahead of you lies Krasnye Vorota—once one of our most productive stations, now a hub for cowards and traitors, too greedy, too selfish to keep their oaths to the Redline! Some of your former comrades, the dissenters and fear mongers we have left behind have spoken of a massive army armed by Hansa and trained by the Spartan Order; the men who spread these rumors as you all know are dead, they were nothing more than traitors, spies and saboteurs sent to destroy your morale—a pointless task! You have secured the capital, Ploschad Revolyutsii; the Revolution Square; you’ve strengthened our control over the Theater, Okhotny Ryad has been rebuilt by our engineers hands and defended by many of you over the years from the Nazi’s and others who would do them harm; the prisoners of Lyubianka have been returned by your hands after many months of hunting them, the enemies of the revolution down, and you are armed with the greatest weapons the armory can produce! You have proven your courage and your skills many times before, you are better armed then your enemy and no doubt better motivated; even if these rumors were true you have proven you have more than enough to skill to take another station after securing so many!” The colonel explained, taking a breath before continuing on.

“One more station comrades!” He said, almost gleefully.

“One more station and we will have secured all of the central Redline, one more station and we will have taken a massive leap towards total unification; one more station comrades and we shall have victory!” The colonel once more shouted through his megaphone, soon gesturing forward with his hand to one of the soldiers ahead of the main squad. Both the left and right hand tunnel had motorized rail carts filled with explosives, mainly alcohol, gasoline and bits of metal all in barrels for shrapnel; a new strategy the Colonel had ordered the night before after having the station scouted out and learning of the defenders barricades and machine gun nests at the front of the stations south tunnels.

 As one of the soldiers near the rail carts spoke into their radio to those in the right hand tunnel, the colonel continued with his speech.

“You all know what to do—after the first strike, we will advance and take the station; the station is to be secured, any prisoners are to be brought back here!” He ordered, as the commissars near him took their positions behind some sandbags, making sure their machine guns were loaded. Soon a large explosion rocked the tunnels, followed by screams further down the tunnel, now illuminated by a massive fireball that gave way after a few moments.

“We cannot afford to lose here—Not now! It is either victory or death comrades!” The colonel shouted, pulling out a whistle and blowing, the high-pitched noise echoing off the tunnel walls, the signal to attack.

“Forward! —Forward, comrades, not one step backwards!” The Colonel ordered. With the speech over with, and the whistle blown, the troops had charged forward, the old soviet battle cry of ‘ura’ had returned and now echoed off the walls of the tunnels, the Red Army soon flooded the station; the defenders either lied dead at what remained of their barricade, or were in the process of dying as the blood loss and the fire finished them off. Running up the various homemade steps onto the station platform revealed the usual tent cities of the metro, the fire from the barricade seemingly having spread to some of the closest tents from flying bits of wooden shrapnel, many remained in their tents screaming as the flames continued to grow while a group of about fourteen men had taken up positions behind the pillars of the station and various other pieces of cover and opened fire as the soldiers came into view. Members of both sides soon dropped as the bullets flew. The Red Army, as always, continued to force itself ahead despite their comrade’s deaths, their Kalashnikovs and Bastards guns cutting down the defenders before they could do more than take a few reds down. Many began to run away, heading north-east, in the direction of Hansa’s capital, Komsomolskaya.

“They are retreating comrade-major!” A soldier shouted from behind cover, returning fire on one of the few who had yet to run off, hitting the man in the chest and killing him instantly.

“Look at them run!” Another laughed out.

“Those capitalists won’t save you!” A young private yelled out, then got too enthusiastic, aiming his kalash and shooting one of the fleeing men in the back. Soon the rest of the young recruits followed suit, opening fire, hitting more of the fleeing men, even as some turned and raised their hands in surrender before another soldier ordered a cease fire.

“Enough—Enough! The colonel said we are to take prisoners to him!” The older soldier shouted, and soon enough the unit ceased its fire. Many of the defenders laid dead, a few had sat on the ground, holding their hands up, others too wounded to move around but still alive held their hands out in surrender as well. Eight men, no women, or children; no doubt they had been evacuated to Hansa before the attack had even commenced. Odd for such a small force to remain behind—perhaps they were used to by the civilians and other soldiers time….

The battle of Krasnye Vorota had been one, all within the span of less than twenty minutes. Many of the troops had expected more, some had hoped for their own little Stalingrad but in the end most of the stations defenders had died in the first strike, and the rest had surrendered while the Red Army only lost a handful of men, with only a few others wounded. All in all it was a successful operation, and another station would soon be readmitted into the Redline before the day was done. Now all that remained was handling the prisoners.

They were a sorry lot, most of them were old men, with a handful of men in their twenties. Most of them looked more like farmers and craftsmen rather than soldiers. Those who could walk had their hands tied, while field medics had used homemade stretchers to gather the wounded and, with the wounded hands bound as well, they were lifted onto the stretchers. With both groups secured they were marched out of the station, past their dead comrades and the fire in the left hand tunnel and into the tunnel itself, where the commissars and their machine gunners were waiting.

“Good work, comrades!” The colonel said, a smirk on his face as the prisoners were brought over. Soon the commissars walked over to them, pulling them away from the regular troops and the stretchers. The procedure up to this point had been to load the wounded onto a rail cart and then have them sent off to Lyubianka, where the NKVD would be sure to get as much information as they could out of the poor bastards, now it seemed the colonel had other plans, the prisoners were lined up against the side of the tunnel, the wounded prisoners were dropped at their feet.

“Wait—Wait, you said you’d be taking prisoners!” One of the prisoners shouted, as the commissars loaded their Kalashnikovs and the colonel spoke up, ignoring the pleading young man while the regular troops still in the tunnels could only look on.

“Citizens of Krasnye Vorota, you have been found guilty by a revolutionary tribunal of rebellion—for this crime you have been sentenced to death by firing squad!” The Colonel shouted, pulling out his pistol, a Tokarev taken from an exhibit at the capital, and took aim.

“Fire!” The colonel shouted.

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