Member
Batumi, Georgia
Sergeant Mamuka shivered in the warm, evening air. Not from cold - Batumi was quite a warm area of Georgia, after all - but from anticipation. The rifle in his hands felt heavier than usual and his clothes (a standard Guard uniform made up of mix-matched old uni) felt thread-bear. The jeep was turned off behind him yet the lights atop it were left on. His shadow was stretched down the long, dark street and within seconds, it was joined by several more. Sabuari, who was out of the jeep for the first time since Mamuka had met him, could finally be seen in his full glory.
While sitting in the front seat of a jeep, he was a large man but an even larger man standing at full height. He had broad shoulders and a rather muscly abdomen. His legs were long and built like tree trunks. His face was covered in a very Russian, shaggy, black beard and moustache while his head was shaved close to the scalp. In some ways, he reminded Mamuka of Milidani, one of his colleagues, except Sabuari was much younger and larger. He wore a heavier version of the Guard uniform, with shining boots and a thick fur coat that looked much too warm for a summer night. His men were dressed identically except they wore helmets or hats of some kind - Sabuari's shaved head was bare. On each hip hung a holster holding some kind of pistol of Persian origin and a large hunting rifle hung around his shoulders.
Compared to Mamuka's youthful and lanky body, Sabuari was a god. His men easily had more experience in a single finger than all of Mamukas put together. These boys were the best of the Guard, recruited from the harsh rural towns around the Adzhara Republic. The large Caucasian shepherd, who Sabuari affectionately called "Tsarina", had padded its way to some nearby grass and sniffed at a pile of fox shit suspiciously.
Mamukas men wearily rallied behind, awaiting orders and unsure. They were a rag-tag bunch from the Batumi side of the Guard - men of all ages and skills, from young green eared boys to older, world wary ex-soldiers. They wore no constant uniform as Sabuari's guerrillas wore and their weapons were mostly salvaged from stolen Turkish soldiers. Some were in a dire state of repair and compared to the shining efficiency of Sabuari's rifles, they were figurative shit.
Sabuari snorted as he looked at the small city divison rally around each other. "Jesus, Davit told me you lads weren't much but I was expecting a bit more than this" he sneered. Mamuka bit his tongue and did not answer. Sabuari motioned for all 11 men and Tsarina to gather around him in a rough semi circle as he went through the plan.
"Well, anyway, we've got a job to do. Around this corner, there's a small Turkish barracks, one of two in the city. It's mainly used for training new recruits to Polat's army and according to the report Davit sent me, Turks were seen bringing crates stamped with Sinop Weaponry, some shitty Ottoman company that makes guns. Even if the guns are shit, we need to arm the Guards more effectively and that's where we come in. We're going to get in there, make as much noise as possible and steal anything that's not nailed down. Once we have it, we'll take it to Freedom Square in the jeep and start arming the guards who are using slingshots or throwing rocks. If there's any left over, we'll give them to citizens. Remember - ammunition is important too. Also remember not to kill too many Turks in there - we're only hitting them quickly, not taking over the base and we don't want a war crime on our hands. Any questions?"
There was silence as each man looked at each other expectantly. "Good" said Sabuari happily, patting one nearby man on the back. "Gelovani, you keep the jeep running. When you hear shooting, drive around and open all the doors. We might need to get out of here quickly" ordered Sabuari. Gelovani just nodded from underneath his brown ushanka, murmured a confirmation and ran back to the jeep.
"Right, lads. Follow me and listen to Mamuka and I. And keep quiet" his voice lowered and he motioned for the group to follow them. They formed a tight line and stuck to the shadows of a building as he approached the corner to the street that held the barracks. Sabuari glanced quickly around the corner, surveying his options. One side of the street held the barracks smack-dab in the middle. A chain-link fence separated it from the street and opposite it in the street, the buildings were boarded up. Up the street from Sabuari, a small group of soldiers were talking quickly around a jeep. They all climbed in and the jeep revved out of the street quickly.
The barracks themselves looked lightly defended. A few men with torches wandered around the edges of the fence and the gate itself looked more like a door with a small office beside it than anything. Sabuari signaled to his men and they all quickly followed. Mamuka copied what the man ahead of him did, unsure what these hand signals meant. They all spread out quickly around the street and walked directly towards the barrack gates. The guardsman, a Georgian, snorted in his sleep and woke with a start at the sound of approaching boots.
"Wha-Er, hey, who are you guys?" he asked groggily, desperately reaching around him for a pistol. Sabuari looked unimpressed with a rifle in his hands as the guardsman finally found his pistol and pointed it at him through the small window. "Well, we're here to liberate you, first of all. If you'd put that pistol away, that'd be great" started Sabuari. The guardsman, now fully awake, didn't move and instead licked his lips nervously. "This is Republic of Adzhara property. Unauthorised access from...erm....armed groups other than the army of the Republic of Adzhara is strictly prohibited and will be dealt with in a serious manner" said the guardsman, his voice cracking as he read off a card above the window. Sabuari snorted and pointed his rifle at the guardsman. His troops followed suit.
"Put the gun down, boy and let us in. We don't want to kill Georgians tonight" said Sabuari, his voice taking a patronising tone. The guardsman stared down the barrels of 10 rifles held by his enemies and suddenly decided the gate wasn't worth his life, so he placed the gun firmly on the table and sat back into his chair, defeated. "Stay down, son" grinned Sabuari, picking up the pistol and emptying it of all bullets.
The guardsman hung his head in shame, somewhat glad that he'd not needlessly died. Others, however, weren't as lucky.
Beria Street, outside of Freedom Square
The dead and wounded lay on the streets, full of Turkish bullets. Many had fought to make their way off the streets and into the sides of buildings, where they now lay covering their heads in fear. Among the dead and wounded were several Guards, who's corpses lay in a pile just metres from the Turkish line. They had given their lives to protect citizens who had stood behind them and they hadn't died in vain.
The Turkish rifles rattled on for a few moments longer after a majority of people had left the street but soon silenced. Every now and then, a Turkish marksman from the tower far above would pick out a target and splatter their head across the street. Davit stared out at the dead men from behind an overturned dumpster and silently cursed the Turkish. His men were confused, scattered after that. They needed to be organised before they left in fear.
He hadn't anticipated in this many dying so soon.
Sergeant Mamuka shivered in the warm, evening air. Not from cold - Batumi was quite a warm area of Georgia, after all - but from anticipation. The rifle in his hands felt heavier than usual and his clothes (a standard Guard uniform made up of mix-matched old uni) felt thread-bear. The jeep was turned off behind him yet the lights atop it were left on. His shadow was stretched down the long, dark street and within seconds, it was joined by several more. Sabuari, who was out of the jeep for the first time since Mamuka had met him, could finally be seen in his full glory.
While sitting in the front seat of a jeep, he was a large man but an even larger man standing at full height. He had broad shoulders and a rather muscly abdomen. His legs were long and built like tree trunks. His face was covered in a very Russian, shaggy, black beard and moustache while his head was shaved close to the scalp. In some ways, he reminded Mamuka of Milidani, one of his colleagues, except Sabuari was much younger and larger. He wore a heavier version of the Guard uniform, with shining boots and a thick fur coat that looked much too warm for a summer night. His men were dressed identically except they wore helmets or hats of some kind - Sabuari's shaved head was bare. On each hip hung a holster holding some kind of pistol of Persian origin and a large hunting rifle hung around his shoulders.
Compared to Mamuka's youthful and lanky body, Sabuari was a god. His men easily had more experience in a single finger than all of Mamukas put together. These boys were the best of the Guard, recruited from the harsh rural towns around the Adzhara Republic. The large Caucasian shepherd, who Sabuari affectionately called "Tsarina", had padded its way to some nearby grass and sniffed at a pile of fox shit suspiciously.
Mamukas men wearily rallied behind, awaiting orders and unsure. They were a rag-tag bunch from the Batumi side of the Guard - men of all ages and skills, from young green eared boys to older, world wary ex-soldiers. They wore no constant uniform as Sabuari's guerrillas wore and their weapons were mostly salvaged from stolen Turkish soldiers. Some were in a dire state of repair and compared to the shining efficiency of Sabuari's rifles, they were figurative shit.
Sabuari snorted as he looked at the small city divison rally around each other. "Jesus, Davit told me you lads weren't much but I was expecting a bit more than this" he sneered. Mamuka bit his tongue and did not answer. Sabuari motioned for all 11 men and Tsarina to gather around him in a rough semi circle as he went through the plan.
"Well, anyway, we've got a job to do. Around this corner, there's a small Turkish barracks, one of two in the city. It's mainly used for training new recruits to Polat's army and according to the report Davit sent me, Turks were seen bringing crates stamped with Sinop Weaponry, some shitty Ottoman company that makes guns. Even if the guns are shit, we need to arm the Guards more effectively and that's where we come in. We're going to get in there, make as much noise as possible and steal anything that's not nailed down. Once we have it, we'll take it to Freedom Square in the jeep and start arming the guards who are using slingshots or throwing rocks. If there's any left over, we'll give them to citizens. Remember - ammunition is important too. Also remember not to kill too many Turks in there - we're only hitting them quickly, not taking over the base and we don't want a war crime on our hands. Any questions?"
There was silence as each man looked at each other expectantly. "Good" said Sabuari happily, patting one nearby man on the back. "Gelovani, you keep the jeep running. When you hear shooting, drive around and open all the doors. We might need to get out of here quickly" ordered Sabuari. Gelovani just nodded from underneath his brown ushanka, murmured a confirmation and ran back to the jeep.
"Right, lads. Follow me and listen to Mamuka and I. And keep quiet" his voice lowered and he motioned for the group to follow them. They formed a tight line and stuck to the shadows of a building as he approached the corner to the street that held the barracks. Sabuari glanced quickly around the corner, surveying his options. One side of the street held the barracks smack-dab in the middle. A chain-link fence separated it from the street and opposite it in the street, the buildings were boarded up. Up the street from Sabuari, a small group of soldiers were talking quickly around a jeep. They all climbed in and the jeep revved out of the street quickly.
The barracks themselves looked lightly defended. A few men with torches wandered around the edges of the fence and the gate itself looked more like a door with a small office beside it than anything. Sabuari signaled to his men and they all quickly followed. Mamuka copied what the man ahead of him did, unsure what these hand signals meant. They all spread out quickly around the street and walked directly towards the barrack gates. The guardsman, a Georgian, snorted in his sleep and woke with a start at the sound of approaching boots.
"Wha-Er, hey, who are you guys?" he asked groggily, desperately reaching around him for a pistol. Sabuari looked unimpressed with a rifle in his hands as the guardsman finally found his pistol and pointed it at him through the small window. "Well, we're here to liberate you, first of all. If you'd put that pistol away, that'd be great" started Sabuari. The guardsman, now fully awake, didn't move and instead licked his lips nervously. "This is Republic of Adzhara property. Unauthorised access from...erm....armed groups other than the army of the Republic of Adzhara is strictly prohibited and will be dealt with in a serious manner" said the guardsman, his voice cracking as he read off a card above the window. Sabuari snorted and pointed his rifle at the guardsman. His troops followed suit.
"Put the gun down, boy and let us in. We don't want to kill Georgians tonight" said Sabuari, his voice taking a patronising tone. The guardsman stared down the barrels of 10 rifles held by his enemies and suddenly decided the gate wasn't worth his life, so he placed the gun firmly on the table and sat back into his chair, defeated. "Stay down, son" grinned Sabuari, picking up the pistol and emptying it of all bullets.
The guardsman hung his head in shame, somewhat glad that he'd not needlessly died. Others, however, weren't as lucky.
Beria Street, outside of Freedom Square
The dead and wounded lay on the streets, full of Turkish bullets. Many had fought to make their way off the streets and into the sides of buildings, where they now lay covering their heads in fear. Among the dead and wounded were several Guards, who's corpses lay in a pile just metres from the Turkish line. They had given their lives to protect citizens who had stood behind them and they hadn't died in vain.
The Turkish rifles rattled on for a few moments longer after a majority of people had left the street but soon silenced. Every now and then, a Turkish marksman from the tower far above would pick out a target and splatter their head across the street. Davit stared out at the dead men from behind an overturned dumpster and silently cursed the Turkish. His men were confused, scattered after that. They needed to be organised before they left in fear.
He hadn't anticipated in this many dying so soon.
