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The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 5967

Updated: 2018-06-29 12:02

Mykl d'Angelo reached out to recover his father's old auto-rifle, and dragged it closer to him by the sling. He had nothing left to lose now! No-one to save, no-one to protect anymore! Nothing at all to live for now but – what? Justice? Vengeance? Why live at all if it had to be like this?

He accepted that he had perhaps minutes left to live, maybe even hours – but he was going to use what time he had left to make them pay! The boy scrambled to his adrenaline-numbed feet, nearly falling over with the effort. He half-fumbled the weapon with his injured arm as he plucked it from the bed in the long grass, almost dropping it. He recovered it, and held it firm. Grimacing with pain as he slid the bolt back to cock it, he allowed the torture inside him to manifest in the demented expression in his eyes. Setting his smooth jaw, Mykl d'Angelo began to run for the street.

The last tanks of a Red armor group were just passing by the blazing rubble that had been home. These were large, extremely modern truck-sized machines that could transport 20 soldiers inside their bellies and lay mines in the ground as it passed over it. An artillery piece jutted out of the large turret near the front end, the heated barrel still smoking faintly but perceptibly with built up heat of repeated firing. Their crews were openly celebrating the fall of Adamsville – the fall of the DEM seemed within their grasp now! Machine-gunners jeered at him from their open hatches atop the sleek bodies of the long tanks, mockingly showing him raised middle fingers!

The rear gunner on the back of the nearest tank spotted him, and traversed his machinegun to open fire – but young Mykl instinctively ducked below the body-line of the tank's hull and the Red gunner's short burst of fire overshot. M

d the dead man's lips, along with a final breath. Then he put another bullet in.

Still panting with exhaustion, Mykl pulled himself back to his feet and leaned on the side of the turret. The gunner's corpse was wearing a flak jacket laden with objects dangling from straps on it that Mykl recognized. Nerves are frayed and his limbs like jelly, he sat down again on the top ledge of the turret as the tank jostled along the messed up road, passing blazing houses and burning trees. He felt no sense of victory or triumph – just satisfaction in what he'd done. In just a few moments he had unleashed a lifetime of misery and suffering that had been bottled up inside him – and it felt good! It felt cleansing!

Clearing his head, he reached over to the dead man's flak jacket and pulled two of the objects free. How did they work? He remembered seeing some movies a long time ago… Oh yes, that's how… he popped their tops and pulled the pins out. He was committed now… A deep calm came over him as he dropped them down the center hatch of the turret and waited as they clanked and bounced around inside. From inside, he heard a muffled, terrified scream of alarm – but it was too late.

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