text: This is among my first attempts at writing short stories, so advice and criticism are much appreciated! Johnny Hall was sprawled on his bunk bed, listening to the heavy rain drops on the train’s sheet metal roof and a faint guitar in another wagon. His former squad mate, now cell mate- Dan Burns, was playing solitaire on the shoddy wooden end table in the other corner of the room. It was kind enough that the handlers had given them a deck of playing cards... too kind for a bunch of no-good dirtbag invaders. This was not an ordinary train, and they were not ordinary prisoners. The door to the coupe opened, letting in the evening chill. It was pitch black outside. A Russian soldier walked in and laid his heavy backpack on the table by the door: “Feeling energized, comrade specialist?”- he asked Burns, who didn’t even look at the newly arriving handler: “The train is five hours away from Houston. There- you’ll be interrogated and, hopefully... recruited.” “Forget that, Ivan.”- Dan answered briefly, looking into the soldier’s eyes: “No amount of tea and *Pirogi* will make me give away my command!”- he followed with a grin. “Well that’s a shame... the war *IS* over. You are now officially considered terrorists and government obstructions! If I were you I’d use the chance to land myself in the new government! And you- comrade specialist... you are presented with such an opportunity.” “Better shoot us on spot.”- Hall joined the conversation. “It’ll come to that eventually, don’t worry.”- the Russian squatted beside the cell bars: “But if I were you I’d play nice. I don’t see how your command would even vouch for you! They’re all terrorists, and so are you! And if you don’t abide, you’ll be dead terrorists by dawn!”- the soldier stared Hall in the eyes. Hall stared back. The rain got heavier. The sheet metal roof sounded like it was being banged on. The guitar in the other wagon faded away: “The lads were so happy we captured you two that they’re probably too drunk to even play the guitar now.”- the handler chuckled: “If you were my soldiers, you’d be there with the others- enjoying the victory! *but nooo*, you’d rather die for a failed government that couldn’t even-“- he couldn’t finish the sentence. A sound Hall and Burns knew too well just resonated in their heads... *flashbang* The prisoners got on the floor and covered their ears. “What the-“- the Russian exclaimed. *bang* *bang* *thud* “Would you look at that! Two more *meat-shields* for my squad of *terrorists*!” Hall knew the voice too well- Colonel Bertram Reeves. He opened his eyes and got up from the floor. The colonel was wearing a waterproof rain poncho under a decked out load bearing harness, and a compact set of night vision goggles. In his hands- a decked out specialist AK-12. He picked up the keys to the cell and tossed them to Burns: “Open it up, Burns, we have to get off this fucking train! Hall- you get the dead guy’s AK.” The cell door opened. Burns hugged his commander and exclaimed: “All hail the mighty god-emperor Reeves- the savior of the unbroken and the bringer of doom upon the invader menace!” “It’s nice to see you too, kid! Now... can you still drive?” “Yessssir! What are we driving?” “A trio of Ural motorcycles is waiting in the cargo carriage. Modded to the bone." "Urals? Not bad, but I heard the clutches are a nightmare to work."- said Hall, putting the dead Russian’s load bearing harness on. "Don’t worry, we’ll spend most of the journey in 5th gear!"- the colonel fired back with a tone of pride and military spirit: "The rain is pretty loud, and no one on board knows that the two rear guard carriages are knocked out. Let’s move quickly and get to the cargo bay!" The three walked out of the prisoner carriage and prepared to breech the next one. The colonel gave a signal to Hall, who was the only one armed of the two captured specialists. Then, he opened the door and threw a flashbang. *bang* "Breech!"- the two soldiers moved into the coupe and mowed down a dozen of stunned enemies with controlled bursts: "Clear! Burns, get a gun!"- Reeves shouted. Burns picked up a Saiga 12 shotgun from the floor and decked himself out with a scavenged harness, while his two squad mates reloaded their weapons and finished off the injured foes. "Next!” They walked out of the carriage and into the next. Same drill, flashbangs flew in and enemies collapsed onto the floor. No one heard the shots in the deafening storm and rattle of the train tracks, so the trio had the element of surprise on their side. One by one, clearing out all the enemies on their way, the party reached the cargo carriage: “Voila!”- the colonel pointed at three motorcycles in the midst of weapons and other military equipment, pulling out a detonator and a plastic charge from his harness: “Hall, plant this in the munitions storage! Let’s see how easy it is for the Russkies to get to Houston on a burning train!” Hall took the charge and planted it in the pile of boxes with RPG-7 grenades, then came back to the three motorcycles and sat on the one beside Burns. Colonel Reeves unhinged the barn door on the side of the carriage and a wall of hail and rain covered their faces. Next, Reeves pulled the brake lever next to the door and the train violently came to a halt in the span of several seconds. Alarms went off in every carriage: “Just in time, Ivan!”- Burns chuckled. The trio revved their motorcycles and, one by one, jumped out of the carriage. Hall felt the wind blowing in his face, the stiff suspension recovering from the brutal jump, the nightmare-inducing clutch that was barely even working, and the angry roar of the engine- the magnificent sound that he grew up with! This was freedom! “Blow it up!”- Reeves shouted once the bikes were half a mile away from the train. Hall pressed the detonator. The train erupted in flames, throwing up clouds of toxic smoke and debris.