The cold bite of September air wrapped around them as Bravo Team and the resistance leader crept through the dense Romanian wilderness. Hours had passed since their brutal fight in the sewers, and now survival meant staying silent, moving unseen, and taking out threats before they could sound an alarm.
Elias raised a fist, signaling the group to halt. He crouched low, scanning the terrain ahead—jagged trees, thick undergrowth, and the soft glow of distant headlights filtering through the mist. The Russians were still out there, sweeping the forests for survivors.
Jackson leaned in close, voice barely a whisper. "You see that?"
Elias nodded. A small patrol—three soldiers moving in a slow pattern, rifles at the ready. If they weren't careful, those three would call in an entire platoon.
The resistance leader, breath steady despite the exhaustion, gritted her teeth. "We take them out. Quietly."
Irina exhaled, adjusting the grip on her knife. "Stealth it is."
Gaz took the far left, slipping into the shadows of a fallen tree. Jackson and Isabelle flanked right. Elias, Irina, and the resistance leader took center.
The moment was calculated, precise. Like wolves closing in for the kill.
The first Russian never saw it coming—Gaz's gloved hand clamped over his mouth while his knife slid effortlessly across the throat, silencing him before he could struggle. The body dropped, barely a whisper in the wind.
Jackson lunged at the second, jamming his blade into the man's side and wrenching it upward. He held him close as the Russian shuddered, his final breath a wet gasp against Jackson's shoulder.
Isabelle took the last. A brutal, surgical cut between the ribs. She gently lowered the body into the underbrush.
Three bodies. Three silent kills.
Elias gave a sharp nod. "Move."
They trudged onward, crossing muddy trails, wading through shallow rivers, and pushing through thick groves of trees. The deeper they went, the less patrols they encountered—but that only made things worse. It meant the enemy expected them to be dead.
"We can't keep this up," Dr. Mercer huffed, barely keeping pace. "We need shelter. A plan."
The resistance leader wiped sweat from her brow. "There's only one option. Bucharest."
Elias turned, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"
"There are resistance fighters still holding on there. Supplies, weapons, maybe even a way to strike back," she said. "It's risky, but better than freezing to death in the woods."
A heavy silence fell over them. The decision was clear.
Elias adjusted his rifle and started forward. "Then we head for Bucharest."
Ashes of the Past
After hours of grueling travel through the wilderness, they found what remained of a village—charred ruins, shattered homes, and the skeletal remains of vehicles long abandoned. The air still carried the scent of burnt wood and death, a grim reminder that war had come and gone like a storm, leaving only silence in its wake.
After ensuring the area was clear of threats, they found a relatively intact house on the village outskirts. The walls were scorched, the furniture overturned, and there was evidence that it had been hastily abandoned, but for now, it would serve as shelter.
Elias motioned for the team to spread out, scanning for signs of movement. It was clear the Russians had razed this place long ago. No civilians. No resistance. Just ghosts.
Jackson kicked a rusted canister aside, sighing. "Shit, it's like everywhere else."
Dr. Mercer exhaled, gripping his satchel. "We need to rest. At least for a bit."
Elias nodded. "Alright, find shelter. We'll stay here until nightfall."
Inside, they set down their gear and took the first real breath of relief since escaping the sewers. Minor injuries from the brutal battle had taken their toll—bruises, cuts, and sore muscles ached as they lowered themselves onto the dusty floor.
Gaz stretched, groaning. "You know, I never thought I'd miss hard floors, but after marching through mud for hours? This feels like luxury."
Jackson smirked, leaning back against a crumbling wall. "What, the finest five-star war zone accommodations ain't good enough for you?"
Isabelle grinned. "Could be worse. At least we don't have rats crawling up our asses."
Irina, checking her rifle, raised an eyebrow. "Yet."
A chuckle spread through the group, a rare moment of lightness. Even the resistance leader cracked a small smile.
Dr. Mercer, rubbing his sore legs, glanced at her. "You never told us your name."
The woman hesitated. She had been nothing but 'the resistance leader' to them, a hardened fighter with no past. But something in their weary eyes, their shared struggle, made her lower her guard.
She took a breath. "Anya Petrescu."
Jackson nodded. "Well, Anya, I think we've earned the right to call you that."
Anya smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. I'm still the one keeping you alive."
Elias chuckled. "That makes two of us."
The fire crackled in the hearth, shadows dancing on the broken walls as they sat together—fighters, survivors, strangers bound by war.
Gaz grunted as he peeled off his combat gloves, flexing his fingers. "Remind me never to crawl through a sewer while dodging bullets again."
"Could be worse," Isabelle (Elle) muttered, wincing as she rolled up her sleeve to reveal a fresh gash on her forearm. "I could have gotten bit by one of those damn dogs."
Jackson scoffed. "You mean the dog you stabbed in the neck?"
Elle smirked. "Yeah, that one. He had it coming."
Dr. Mercer, who had been silent for most of the journey, finally sighed and took a seat beside them. His normally pristine attire was filthy with grime and blood. "I can't believe I just survived a military operation in a sewer… This is not what I signed up for."
"You didn't sign up for anything," Elias (Ajax) reminded him, leaning against the wall as he inspected the tear in his sleeve. "You got thrown into this mess same as us."
Irina sat by a shattered window, pressing a damp cloth against a bruise forming on her temple. "We're all alive. That's what matters. For now."
The weight of her words settled over them, and for a moment, silence took over. Outside, the wind howled through the abandoned buildings, and in the distance, gunfire echoed—reminders that they weren't out of danger yet. They do night shift just to be safe.
For the first time in hours, a small sense of camaraderie settled over them. Even in the middle of a war zone, in a shattered village with death lurking in the shadows, they found a moment—just a moment—of respite.
But it wouldn't last long. Bucharest was still ahead, and danger was always just around the corner.
Onward to Bucharest
The team pressed on through the dense Romanian wilderness, the cold September air biting at their exposed skin. The sky overhead was painted in muted grays, the morning sun struggling to pierce through the thick cloud cover. The damp earth beneath their boots squelched softly with each step, their movements careful, silent.
Despite their exhaustion, no one spoke of stopping. The further they distanced themselves from the massacre in the sewers, the better. The Russian forces would be hunting for them, and if they didn't keep moving, it was only a matter of time before they were found.
Anya Petrescu, their reluctant ally, trudged ahead, guiding them through the overgrown forest paths. Though wary of her at first, Bravo Team had begun to accept her presence, even if the trust wasn't fully there yet.
"We should head to Bucharest," Anya finally suggested, her voice breaking the silence. "There are others still fighting there. The resistance isn't gone… not yet."
"Bucharest?" Elias frowned. "That's a hell of a long way."
"We don't have many options," Irina pointed out. "If the Russians believe we're dead, we should keep it that way and move where they wouldn't expect."
Jackson, adjusting the strap of his rifle, sighed. "So, what? We just walk the whole way there?"
"Unless you see a damn bus stop around here, yes," Elle quipped.
Gaz grinned. "Shame we didn't bring our frequent flyer miles."
Despite the grim reality of their situation, the humor kept their spirits intact. Even Dr. Mercer, normally quiet, let out a small chuckle. They had barely survived the last battle, and Bucharest was still miles away. But for now, the goal was clear—stay alive, move forward, and find a way to keep fighting.
After hours of trekking, the dense forest finally gave way to open land, revealing the desolation of a once-thriving Romanian village. Smoke still curled from the charred remains of buildings, their wooden beams collapsed into piles of ash and rubble. Vehicles sat abandoned, their tires slashed, windows shattered. The smell of burnt flesh and gunpowder clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
The team moved cautiously, weapons raised, scanning for any lingering threats. It was clear this place had been recently attacked—by whom, they weren't sure. Russian forces? A different faction? Either way, they weren't alone.
"Bodies," Irina muttered, pointing toward a small alley where a group of civilians lay motionless, riddled with bullet wounds.
Dr. Mercer swallowed hard, the sight forcing bile to rise in his throat. He had seen death before, but never like this.
"Let's keep moving," Elias ordered. "Stay alert."
After ensuring the village was abandoned, Bravo Team took refuge in what remained of a partially standing house. It wasn't much, but it offered some shelter from the wind and prying eyes.
They sat around in the dim interior, eating whatever rations they had left. The atmosphere was quiet but not tense, a shared understanding that they needed this moment to breathe.
Anya, who had remained mostly silent, finally spoke.
"My name is Anya Petrescu," she said, her tone softer than before. "I was a teacher before all this… before the war. Now, I kill."
The team absorbed the information. Another life, another person forced to abandon what they were to survive in this hell.
"Guess we all used to be something else," Gaz said, wiping the dried blood from a cut on his arm. "War doesn't care who you were before."
"I used to be a boxer," Elle added. "Not professionally, but I could throw hands."
Jackson smirked. "That explains why you're so good at breaking noses."
Elle grinned. "You volunteering to be next?"
The banter continued, a fleeting moment of normalcy in a world that had long since abandoned it. For the first time in what felt like forever, they weren't just soldiers and fugitives—they were people.
Tomorrow, the fight would continue. But for tonight, they just sat together, bound by survival and the thin thread of hope that something still remained worth fighting for.
– The Desperate Need for Supplies
The Romanian wilderness stretched endlessly, an unforgiving landscape of dense forests, rolling hills, and abandoned roads choked with debris. Night had fallen, the cold creeping into their bones as Bravo Team and Anya Petrescu huddled around a small, carefully concealed fire.
They had been walking for days, surviving on the scraps of rations they carried and whatever they could scavenge. But their supplies were dwindling—bullets, medical kits, and food were running out.
Scott exhaled slowly, looking over the team. "We can't make it to Bucharest like this."
Anya, leaning against a fallen log, nodded. "Even if we do, we'll be half-starved, wounded, and out of ammo. We'd be liabilities, not allies."
Gaz grunted. "And let's not forget, the Russians and Chinese are still sweeping through Romania. If we don't stay sharp, we'll end up just another pile of bodies in the mud."
Dr. Mercer, still adjusting to life as a fugitive, wiped a hand over his face. "We need more than just food. We need medical supplies. I don't have much left."
Jackson adjusted his rifle strap. "Then we take what we need. The bastards rolling through here have more than enough."
Elle leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning their rough map of the region. "Agreed. But we can't hit just anything. We need high-value targets—patrols carrying supplies, convoys with medical gear, outposts stocked with weapons."
Anya spoke up, pulling a stick from the fire and using it to trace lines on the dirt beside her. "There are four locations nearby where we have a real shot at resupplying."
The team leaned in, watching as she marked four spots.
1. A Russian patrol moving through a dense forest path—lightly armed, carrying food and medical supplies.
"This is a regular patrol route. They take the same path every few days, so they're predictable. Won't be heavily armed, but they'll have supplies."
2. A Chinese convoy stalled at a collapsed bridge—a perfect bottleneck to destroy them and loot their gear.
"That bridge was taken out a week ago. Any vehicles trying to pass through have to stop and clear a path. Perfect place for an ambush."
3. An abandoned gas station being used as a rest stop—a chance to take out an entire squad in close-quarters combat.
"This was an old supply station before the war. The Russians turned it into a temporary staging point. If we time it right, we can hit them while they're refueling and resting."
4. A ruined farmstead acting as a temporary outpost—likely storing weapons, radios, and other critical supplies.
"Resistance fighters used to hide there before it was taken over. The Russians use it now as a relay station. If we take them out, we get comms, weapons, and a new place to regroup."
Scott studied the marks in the dirt. "Alright. Four targets, each one giving us something we need."
Jackson smirked. "So, what's the plan? Hit 'em all?"
Scott met his gaze. "Damn right we do. We take what we need, and we don't leave anyone standing."
Anya cracked her knuckles. "Then let's not fail."
Scott nodded. "We move at dawn."
The team rested—one last night before the bloodshed began.
First Ambush – The Dense Forest Path
The Romanian countryside stretched out in rolling hills, thick with clusters of towering trees. The sky was overcast, casting deep shadows beneath the canopy. The air smelled of damp earth and decay—nature reclaiming a world torn apart by war.
Bravo Team crouched in the undergrowth, their camouflaged gear blending into the environment. Anya Petrescu knelt beside Captain Elias Scott, her grip tight on her AKM. "Russian patrol. Six men. Moving slow," she whispered.
Scott gave a sharp nod. "We do this quietly."
Jackson Osiris adjusted the suppressor on his rifle. "Elle, Irina, you're on the left flank. Gaz, you're with me on the right. Scott and Anya take center. Mercer—stay back, spot for us."
The patrol, loaded with crates of medical supplies and rations, was making its way down a narrow dirt road. The soldiers walked with the carelessness of men who thought they were alone.
They were wrong.
A single, sharp whistle signaled the attack.
Irina and Elle struck first—Irina slipped behind the last man and drove her knife into his neck, clamping a hand over his mouth as he gurgled and slumped. Elle followed, yanking a soldier into the brush and snapping his neck in a practiced motion.
On the right, Gaz lunged, his blade puncturing a soldier's side before slitting his throat in one smooth motion. Jackson buried his knife into another's spine, twisting hard.
The last two Russians barely had time to turn before Scott and Anya put suppressed rounds into their heads.
Six dead. No alarms. No survivors.
The team rifled through the supplies—medical gear, ammo, and Russian MREs. A silent victory. But they knew the next one wouldn't be so easy.
Second Ambush – The Collapsed Bridge Checkpoint
The bridge was in ruins, reduced to chunks of concrete jutting out of a shallow river. A Chinese convoy had stopped, its vehicles bottlenecked. Soldiers stood around, some smoking, others talking.
Scott, lying prone on a hill overlooking the site, watched through his scope. "We hit them hard and fast. Irina, you and Elle take the sniper position. Gaz, plant charges under the lead truck. Jackson, Anya—we take the middle."
Gaz moved first, slithering beneath the stalled convoy. He wired explosives under the first transport. One tap on the detonator, and the whole convoy would be trapped.
On Scott's mark, Elle's suppressed sniper rifle cracked—one Chinese soldier fell, his head snapping back. Irina followed, putting a bullet into the throat of another before he could scream.
Then—BOOM.
Gaz's explosives detonated, flipping the truck into a ball of fire. Chaos erupted.
Jackson and Anya stormed forward, cutting down the disoriented survivors with ruthless efficiency. Gaz fired his rifle one-handed while throwing a grenade into the nearest vehicle.
It was over in less than a minute.
The team scavenged weapons, gear, and fuel before disappearing into the woods, leaving behind only burning wreckage and bodies.
Third Ambush – The Abandoned Gas Station
The station was in ruins, a burned-out husk surrounded by cracked asphalt. A joint Russian-Chinese patrol had stopped for a break. Soldiers leaned against rusted pumps, unaware of what lurked in the shadows.
Scott whispered, "Take positions. No survivors."
Elle crept around the back, silencer ready. Irina followed, knife drawn. Gaz rigged a distraction—a small explosive tossed behind an overturned car.
BOOM.
The patrol turned toward the noise. That was their last mistake.
Elle's rifle spat suppressed shots—one, two, three. Heads snapped back, bodies dropped. Irina lunged, slicing a man's throat before spinning to bury her knife into another's gut.
Jackson and Anya stormed in from the front, executing stunned soldiers with cold efficiency.
In the chaos, a Russian soldier drew a pistol—Mercer, finally forced into action, smashed a rifle butt into his skull, sending him crumpling.
Silence followed.
Blood pooled around the cracked pavement. Bravo Team took what they needed—ammo, food, intel—and faded into the night.
Third Ambush – The Abandoned Gas Station
The station was in ruins, a burned-out husk surrounded by cracked asphalt. A joint Russian-Chinese patrol had stopped for a break. Soldiers leaned against rusted pumps, unaware of what lurked in the shadows.
Scott whispered, "Take positions. No survivors."
Elle crept around the back, silencer ready. Irina followed, knife drawn. Gaz rigged a distraction—a small explosive tossed behind an overturned car.
BOOM.
The patrol turned toward the noise. That was their last mistake.
Elle's rifle spat suppressed shots—one, two, three. Heads snapped back, bodies dropped. Irina lunged, slicing a man's throat before spinning to bury her knife into another's gut.
Jackson and Anya stormed in from the front, executing stunned soldiers with cold efficiency.
In the chaos, a Russian soldier drew a pistol—Mercer, finally forced into action, smashed a rifle butt into his skull, sending him crumpling.
Silence followed.
Blood pooled around the cracked pavement. Bravo Team took what they needed—ammo, food, intel—and faded into the night.
Aftermath – The Road to Bucharest
The four ambushes had provided them with enough supplies to last. But the weight of the killings lingered.
That night, as they camped in the wilderness, the team sat around a small fire, eating stolen rations in silence. Eventually, Jackson smirked. "Well… at least Russian food isn't as bad as I thought."
Elle chuckled. "I don't know, Jackson. I think I'd rather eat tree bark."
Anya, now fully a part of their team, sighed. "I still can't believe you Americans joke after this much bloodshed."
Scott, chewing on a piece of dried meat, glanced at her. "It's how we stay sane."
Gaz stretched. "Damn right. If we didn't joke, we'd lose our minds."
Mercer, rubbing a sore spot on his head from his first kill, muttered, "I think I already have."
The group laughed.
It was a grim existence. But in the darkest moments, they found ways to hold on to their humanity.
Tomorrow, they'd reach Bucharest. And the fight would only get harder.