"Goodbye, my son."
Bidding farewell, the father put his hand through the wall of weeds that was blocking the entrance. Searᴄh the NovelZone.fun website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
His eyes were tightly closed as his heart had already calmed down. He was already content with facing his demise; he had come to terms with it. He was fully expecting his hands to be blown up any moment. At this time, time slowed down. All his past memories began to replay in his mind as he prepared for his death — his childhood, the fond memories in the gurudwar, playing with his friends, getting into fights, growing up, the back of the beautiful girl, getting married, feeling the warmth of that little hand that held his pinky finger — the memories so distant, yet so close, so comforting. He was at peace.
One second, two seconds... something was wrong. Nothing happened to him. He opened his eyes with doubt, but to his surprise, his hand was intact, which for some reason confused him. As he noticed that the light that was seeping in through the weeds did not seep in anymore, his eyes widened and his face reddened, visible to the naked eye. His heart began to beat rapidly, as if it had suddenly woken up from its slumber, making him tremble all over. 'Can I really live?' He pulled back his hand very quickly and crawled next to his son, clenching his fist as tightly as possible, making his arm tremble all over. The adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream, causing his hair to stand on end. The relief he felt caused his chest to go up and down heavily, but he soon understood that they were not out of danger yet.
He placed his ear to the wall and tried to listen carefully. The taunts of the enemy were heard, but he could not understand their language.
"Look at these rats hiding in the ditch for dear life."
"Stop playing, Veer. Don't underestimate the enemy."
"Alright, alright, Shiv. You nag so much."
"Ahh!! You infidels, you'll die sooner or later under the wrath of our Sultan, grrr."
This he did understand, but he felt a little sorry for the people who had been discovered. At the same time, he was thankful that it was not them.
"Bang!!"
"Bang!!"
"Bang!!"
His eyes remained resolute as he heard the gunshots, causing the soldier to collapse on the ground immediately. The father, who had already psychologically died once, was no longer startled by the gunshots. His son was, and he twitched a couple of times, but due to his father being right next to him, he stopped struggling and tried to nestle deeper into the arms of his father.
---
A few hundred meters on the outskirts of Qom
Jvalā's eyes radiated a faint golden hue as he peered at the city, which was up in flames in multiple places through the telescope.
"Looks like they succeeded," he smiled as he put back the telescope in his backpack and took out the rifle he was carrying on his back.
"Uff"
"Uff"
He blew it in a few spots, making sure that no dust would affect its operation, took the small oil canister from the back, oiled up all the important parts, readied the weapon, and looked back. All the comrades in his squadron gave him a thumbs up.
"All right then, Squadron 6, move out!"
"Hooraaa!"
---
Soon, Jvalā and his 6th squadron infiltrated the city, which was extremely undefended since there was no city wall and no patrol guards defending it either.
"All the enemy forces should be concentrated within the city," Jvalā mumbled. He moved through the nooks and crannies of the city, with the only goal being to get closer to the sounds of shooting and firing coming from within. They couldn't do anything else either, since, unlike the special forces who were already in the city for the last few days and were learning of its environment and layout, they had no such information.
As the sixth squadron got deeper into the city and closer to the town, they saw bloodstains becoming more and more frequent, and a lot more buildings were destroyed.
"Those special forces are something else," Jvalā heard someone in his squadron say, to which he nodded. "I was expecting as much, people in the special forces are picked by some of the most elite brigades in the regiments. After all, this group of a hundred people are among the top performers in a sea of millions, they are bound to be extraordinary."
As they were running, Jvalā finally came across his first actual enemy. He was facing forward, giving his back to them, and Jvalā did not hesitate. He quickly pulled up the dagger at his waist, lunged forward at the fastest speed, and pierced the man right at his neck, severing the connection between the brain and the rest of the body.
The mind couldn't even let out a sound before he died.
There was no pause in his movement as he continued to move forward while his squadron followed him from behind. There was no emotion on Jvalā's face, as if this was not the first time he had killed someone, which actually was true, because, in the several months of training he had to endure in the Vajragharbha (Star Fortress), one of the trainings was to prepare him for actual combat, and the best way is naturally to kill. So he was trained by the military instructors by having him kill the death row prisoners with his own hands so that he could hone his mind and will.
Initially, he was very confused by this method of training, not because he found it too cruel, but because he could not understand how there could be so many death row prisoners. If each recruit were given a death row prisoner to kill, then wouldn't the prisoners required be in the hundreds of thousands? He only got to know when he was about to leave the Vajragharbha that the training he had been subjected to was only for the special seeds of the military, who were very hopeful of reaching the ranks of the generals. The higher-ups had very high hopes for him.
He felt like his father might have pulled the strings in order to make him the so-called seed and make him receive the so-called special training, but that's beside the point since he was no longer afraid to see blood. His squad mates showed uncomfortable expressions when they ran past the cold corpse, but they were also mentally prepared. Although they were not given the privilege of participating in actual combat where they could not die, they were still shown several instances of live battles and skirmishes at the border to remain composed.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
Up ahead, Jvalā finally got a glimpse of several Ottoman soldiers pointing their guns forward and aiming in a certain direction.
Jvalā immediately clenched his fist and gestured. The soldiers behind him, understanding his orders, acted immediately. Two soldiers took two different directions respectively, and they used the walls of the corridor as a step-up and got on top of the mud compound. Finally, he, along with his remaining comrades, crouched down and aimed their sights, lining their weapons towards the backs of the enemy.
Everything happened within a few seconds, almost as if the whole squadron was a single body functioning with a single brain. An Ottoman soldier, hearing the sound from behind, turned around, only to be startled when he saw so many guns being pointed at him. Unfortunately for him, he did not have the chance to have another thought as a barrage of gunshots rained over his group, making the Ottoman soldiers who were before them collapse onto the ground like a toy whose battery had died or a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"All dead, Sergeant."
"Bang!!"
"Uh."
"Idiot, why did you go forward? We haven't notified the other side that we are friendlies yet."
Jvalā glared at the young man as he took out a small firework from his backpack and lit it with the flint. As the fuse tinged with gunpowder lit up, the firework flew to the sky, made a sound, and blew up in white smoke.
Jvalā then went forward and gave a hand to the burly young man, helping him get up. Making sure that he was alright, he looked forward into another alleyway where the bullet had come from. A few seconds later, a few figures walked out, pointing their guns at him, not dropping their guards despite wearing uniforms with a similar badge. Their clothes were burnt in several places, cut, filled with bloodstains, whether it was the enemies or their own—it couldn't be identified.
Jvalā's eyes flickered seeing these people. Their auras were all strong, tinged with red—the kind of red he had only seen in the biology lab on the rats who were forced to kill each other for food.
'These people are dangerous,' he thought, but he wasn't afraid or panicked. Growing up under the care of his father, who was the strongest emperor of the Bharatiya Empire, Tukaram, a heavenly saint who passed away and achieved Moksha, along with several commanders, the marshal, and the admiral, he could not be swayed by the bloodthirsty aura of anyone.
He was just curious about what level the special forces of the Alliance Army were, and from the looks of it, judging by their capabilities and bloodlust alone, they seemed to be a touch bit better than the special forces in the Empire. But he was not very surprised by the realisation, since the commandos, rangers, and marines of the Empire hadn't been in tough situations for a long, long time. Whereas in the Alliance Army, it was always a game of high intensity between the Alliance and the Ottoman Empire. Every day, assassinations and raids kept happening in the border regions. It was bound to produce some good soldiers.
A burly man came in front of him and lowered his weapon as soon as Jvalā showed him his identification code while he spoke the secret password mentioned in the protocol.
It was only after that the middle-aged man calmed down and put down his gun. "You have to control your squad better, Sergeant. If it wasn't for the emblem of the Alliance Army that appeared in my eyes for a split second, I would have blown his head off."
"I will. I'm sorry for my oversight." Jvalā did not argue and humbly accepted the criticism. The big man who had made the mistake clenched his fist in shame.
"Alright, what's done is done. Since nothing bad happened, everything is alright."
The middle-aged man immediately identified where he was and gave orders rapidly, pointing at his men who were atop the compounds. "Sharpshooter on the left, climb to the top of the building—it will be a better vantage point. Same for you, sharpshooter on the right—get higher."
"The remaining, follow my men and get into positions."
"As for you, Sergeant, come with me."
Jvalā didn't know what the man was doing, but since he was now a sergeant and not the prince of the Empire, he would do as he was ordered. The person next to him was a lieutenant colonel, which was two major ranks above him.
Jvalā hunkered together with the lieutenant colonel, assisting him in calculating the trajectory, wind speed, and all that. Apparently, four of the lieutenant colonel's team members had stayed behind, holding back a group of Ottoman enemies, and this group of four people happened to be sharpshooters who were holding down advantageous vantage points. So the lieutenant colonel had to use the sharpshooter in Jvalā's squadron as a replacement. And since Jvalā was a sergeant, the lieutenant colonel assumed he was good at math and would help him in calculating the aim, which he was correct in assuming, since Jvalā really was good at this sort of thing.
Very soon, four people jumped out of the alleyway. The lieutenant colonel did not react, so Jvalā assumed they were friendlies. Soon enough, following behind, a group of ten to twelve Ottoman soldiers ran out. He did not have to be told what to do; he quickly did his calculations and gave the required data.
"Bang!"
As if it were the sound kicking off the slaughter, gunshots rang out from different positions around the Ottoman group, not giving them a chance to react before they were blasted into smithereens.
"Haha, you did good, kid. Work hard—it should not be hard for you to be promoted on merit this time."
The lieutenant colonel laughed heartily and patted him on the back and got up. Jvalā was silent for a moment before he showed a slight smile and followed along.
To Be continued...