(I'm taking liberties with how Freedom Square and Batumi in general is shaped. Here's something quick I drew in [url=http://imgur.com/Vye8W1q]Imgur[/url] to try and explain how the Main Street/Freedom Square thing is going)

[b]Main Street, Freedom Square, Batumi[/b]

The screams of fear and pain echoed across the square but they were only met with the gunshots of the Adjaran army, who had concealed themselves behind a blockade of trucks and steel sheets.

The guard tower, a remnant of the Ottoman colonialism, was now smouldering softly in the fading light of evening. An officer shouted for someone to put it out as the soldiers picked off stragglers who remained on the streets surrounding the square. The statue of the former Sultan, which in the Guards eyes was a symbol of oppression and occupation, had been the target for the protesters. Where a petrol bomb had found it's target in the guards tower, the same could not be said for the statue. The failed attempts of knocking chunks from it lay around the brass statue in the form of bricks and other missiles, which had all missed their target. The statue of Sultan Suleiman still stood in the centre of Freedom Square, its eyes staring blankly at the dark, cloudy sky but its brass sword pointed at the cream cobbled ground, daring anyone to disobey it.

The main street was littered with the dead and dying, some still clutching their missiles or weapons, others with looks of defiance forever frozen onto their dark faces. The protesters who survived the initial onslaught had fled and they darted between the sharp alleyways that circled the square, lost and leaderless. As terrified people streamed past, the Guard had taken positions along the street, sheltering in alcoves, doorways of abandoned shops, alleyways and even behind the dry fountain. Rifles flashed in the darkness as the militiamen remaining men took potshots at the barricade.

In a nearby alley, Davit Patarava, founder and commander of the Georgian Guard, screamed in pain as the bullet was wrenched out of his arm. "Fuck sakes, Donauri!" roared Davit, his teeth clenched and his fist bashing off the wall in pain. "Sir, you're doing very well" murmured Donauri as he examined the bloody bullet held in his pale, albeit bloody, fingers. A sharp knife had been stuck inside his commanders arm to pull wrench a stray bullet out. The bullet, a hunk of twisted metal covered in blood, was dropped into a small, glass jar. The medic adjusted his glasses and then turned back to his patient. "See? The worst bit is over. We've pulled the bullet out, now we just have to clean the wound..." said the doctor, his soft voice barely heard over the infrequent gunfire. Just metres away, a battle was beginning to boil between the Guard and the Adjaran Army. Davit groaned, laying back onto the muddy ground. Donauri searched through his briefcase before pulling out a bottle of Polish vodka. 

"Jesus Christ..." winced Davit, preparing himself for the pain. "This might hurt a bit" said the medic. With the speed of a cheetah, he pulled the bullet wound open and poured the vodka inside. Davit screamed in pain and desperately tried to pull him arm away from Donauri, who's cold, iron grip was simply too powerful. Tears burned the corners of his eyes as he bashed his closed fist onto the ground, the searing pain in his arm almost too much to handle.

"Oh, hush, it's almost over now" said Donauri sharply, wiping away excess alcohol from the wound with a cloth. A vein pulsated on Davits temple and beads of sweat formed around his round, unshaven face. "Just fucking finish it up" growled Davit, wiping his balding, sweat-soaked hair with his free hand. The medic pressed the wound together, squeezing out any remaining blood and then began wrapping it tightly in a white bandage. "Now, Davit, this is only temporary. First thing tomorrow, I want you to go to a proper doctor and get this fixed up" said the medic sternly. Davit only nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes with his free thumb and forefinger. "Chin up. You lost a bit of blood but you'll be fine after you've seen a real doctor. I've cleaned it up and wrapped it but there's still a chance it'll go septic. So, next time, try to dodge the bullets!" said Donauri, smiling. 

His voice was as soft as his hands and his medical history was murky at best - but he seemed to know what he was talking about. He helped Patarava into a sitting position against a wall and handed him a flask of water. "Drink it slowly" said the Medic, closing his briefcase and standing to his feet. "Thanks, mate" grunted Davit, gulping down the water like he hadn't drunk any in months. "You might of saved my life" "Yes, well, make sure you see a real doctor as soon as possible" said Donauri, secretly relishing the praise that the commander gave him.

At the mouth of the alleyway, a group of Guards skidded around the corner and jumped out of the street as a volley of machine gun bullets tore down the street. There were seven of them, the oldest in his fourties, the youngest barely out of boyhood. They wore a patchwork of salvaged Turkish and old Georgian army uniforms and carrried a collection of weaponry from across the Middle East. As was customary in the Guard, a First Georgian Republic flag was sewn on the sleeves and their rank was sewn onto the material above their hearts. The oldest of the group, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard, approached Davit and Donauri wearily in the darkness. "Sir?" he asked, his unit crowding behind him. 

"Yeah, I'm here" said Davit from the ground, lifting his good arm in greeting. The captain winced at the sight of his injured superior. Davit Patarava had never been an impressive man - he was slightly overweight, unshaven and was usually found in his dressing gown with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.  But on this evening, he looked worse than usual. His right sleeve was entirely torn off and his upper arm wrapped in a white bandage. His face was slick with sweat and his eyes were red from rubbing the tears from his eyes. His rusted rifle lay against the wall, carefully placed there while Donauri had pulled the Commander in from the shooting.

"Sir, what do we do? They've set up a machine gun  in the barricades and our shots aren't hitting their targets!" said the younger private from the Guard. "Report, captain. Tell me what the hell has happened in the last half an hour" grunted Davit, ignoring the boy and sipping some more water. The captain stood to attention. 

"Sir, the Occupying Forces have barricaded the main road to Freedom Square with army trucks, sheets of metal and barbed wire. Upon the protesters approaching the barricade, the Occupying Forces fired upon the crowd, slaughtering several people and injuring many more. The protesters, along with the Trade Unions, have abandoned the square and left the units of Georgian Guards to clean up the mess. Our men have taken shelter in the alleys and doorways along the street and are now concentrating fire upon the barricades. However, we've reached a stalemate. We cannot shoot over the barricades and the Occupying Forces cannot hit our men" recited the captain.

"Hm. What's your name, Captain?" said Davit, examining the inside of the empty water flask. "Captain Laren Bakradze, sir" replied the Captain. "All right, Captain Bakradze. Tonight, the Georgian Guard is taking over Freedom Square, with or without the physical support of the people. Tonight, the statue of Suleiman will fall, if it fucking kills me. Pass that message on to as many units as you can. I want two units to snake around and flank the Turks from the other side of square. Then, I want you to split your unit - or whatever is left of it - into two and I want you to get into the shops that run up the sides of the street. These shops usually have two or three stories - get as high as you can and start seeing if you can snipe those bastard Turks out from behind their barricades."

"Yes, sir" chorused the unit, saluting their fallen leader. "What about you, sir?" asked Captain Bakradze. "Will you join us?" Davit snorted. "Fuck that, I've just been shot. I'm going to rest for a while. No, I'll lead the attack with the remaining two units on this street and try to smash through to the square from the front. Now, go on, Captain, you've got your orders. Try not to get shot crossing the bloody road, either". The unit all saluted and turn to the mouth of the alley, where the glanced out carefully. They waited for a lull in the gunfire before darting off into the darkness.

"Sir, I don't think it's wise for you to lead a full-on attack on the front of the square with the condition your arm is in" said Donauri, crouching beside his leader and poking his arm carefully. "Yeah but I don't want my own men thinking I'm a coward"

"They already think I'm crazy for doing this in the first place."