Eastern Front .45 +P PDW - Dmitri's Sidearm

STORY TIME! This is a continuation of the story from my Eastern Front AR-15. You're in it for the long haul if you read past this sentence.

 

Fallsten, Jason T. - Staff Sergeant - Eastern Front Joint Armed Forces (EF)

"Sic Semper Tyrannis"

June 19th, 2014 - 5 months before Jay and Dmitri's previous conversation

Allentown, PA, USA

 

Even though I couldn't hear a damned thing thanks to a stray grenade that found it's way towards me, I knew one of those "things" was hot on my tail. I could feel it's breath on the back of my neck, causing all of the hairs in my body to stand on end.. Why did they still breathe? I've seen one of their severed heads chew through a mans leg before, so they obviously don't need oxygen. Maybe they do it just to fuck with us, make us think they're still alive. Hell, maybe they do it to trick themselves into thinking they're still human. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter to me. The only thing I was concerned with at the moment was getting this damn thing off my tail so I could figure out how I was going to get back to the convoy.

 

As I continued down the alleyway, the creature still in tow, I noticed a lone trash can to the side of me. Passing it by, I extended my free hand and pulled it to the ground. The thing doesn't notice it and falls to the ground. I turn and ready shotgun, lining the sight post up with my would-be killers flaring nostrils. I pull the trigger only to hear a faint "click". Oh of course, my hearing comes back just in time to hear myself die. I know I'm as good as gone at this point, but in a last ditch effort to survive I flip my shotgun around and grab it by the barrel in hopes that I can swing it hard enough to pierce the creatures skull. I ready my impromptu hammer while the thing lifts itself off of the ground. Now on it's feet, the bloated husk of a man lets out a shriek of rage and charges me. Before I even have the chance to swing, a shot rings out down the alley and passes right through the things forehead. It falls backwards into a pile of trash as a putrid black liquid pours out of the hole left by my saviors bullet.

 

I turned to face the mystery shooter who just saved my sorry-ass. "Do not make a move. Identify yourself" grumbled the gunman in a gravelly Russian accent. "Staff Sergeant Fallsten, E.F." I said as I laid my empty shotgun on the ground. "Eastern Front? Well my friend, it looks like you are in luck!" shouted the Russian as he lowered his rifle, revealing the EF rank badge on his jacket. "Lance Corporal Dmitri Seminoff, at your service." Looks like I found my ticket home. "Phew! You had me going there man! I thought you were a wanderer who was gonna pop one in me and take my shoes or some shit!" I responded, thankful that my luck had finally taken a turn for the better. "HAHAHAH! That is a good one comrade! Though from the looks of it, you don't have much to lose. Here, take my sidearm" chuckled my new friend as he threw me a small PDW-like weapon. "She may not look like much, but she is light and accurate. I loaded her with .45 +P rounds for that extra *umph*. Just do not expect to mow down a crowd with her or anything, I have installed a semi-auto only conversion to save on ammunition." exclaimed Dmitri proudly as I looked over my new weapon. "Alright, thanks. You know how to get back to the convoy?" I asked as I flicked off the safety and chambered a round. "You bet your ass I do, comrade!"

 

We climbed into the back of the rusted prison bus that'd been converted to a troop transport. While Dmitri sat down on one of the stiff vinyl benches, a young private with a radio on his lap called out to the rest of the group: "Who's ranking? Command wants to talk to the CO". I surveyed the rest of the bus and noticed that most of these soldiers were kids. Since nobody else stood up, I took the call. "I'll take it kid. This is Staff Sergeant Jason T. Fallsten" I sternly said into the receiver, putting on my *official* voice. "Staff Sergeant?!?!? God dammit, I told that kid to get me the commanding OFFICER, not some goddamned jarhead!" spouted command on the other end. "With all due respect sir, there's nothing BUT jarhead's here, and among them, I'm ranking. Now what did you so urgently need that you had to interrupt our evacuation efforts?" I barked back. While I generally have respect for authority, I recognized the voice on the other end of the radio: Major Ashland. Back when the EF was first formed, he decided to feed a scared 15 year old kid to the things as punishment for trying to desert. I knew this fucker didn't deserve my respect. After some grunting and groaning, Major Asshole was able to tell me what he wanted. "The evacuation needs to be stopped. The eggheads in California think the outbreaks down here were caused by a different strain of the virus, which means that it has to be contained, not spread westward. DO NOT, under any circumstances, let those survivors on the buses. Load you men up and get the hell out of dodge."

 

I tried not to cause a panic, but unfortunately, chain link fences don't allow for much discretion when you're trying to abandon 1,000+ survivors. After a while people started to realize that we had no plans to take them with us, and that caused a panic. The panic led to anger, and the anger led to a riot. A few crazy assholes overpowered a nervous group of privates and got a hold of their rifles. That led to a firefight. Soon the evacuation area was a full on warzone. The worst part of it all was that this chaos was my fault. Sure, command gave the order, but I carried it out. Each and every one of these evacuees would probably be dead within 3 months, and that was my doing. Though the moral side of me wanted to take these people with us, I knew that doing so would only lead to more deaths if a even single person was carrying the mutated strain. Now might be our only chance to get out alive. "WE'VE GOTTA MOVE! GET THESE BUSES OUT OF HERE, NO MATTER WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO!" I shouted out the cracked window towards the other bus drivers. As we pulled off, the barriers holding back the rioters broke. Their efforts to sprint after the buses were in vain. We were about a mile down the road when it happened.

 

A low hum could be heard as we drove away from the evac zone. The hum became a rumble. And soon after, I heard an explosion. It wasn't any normal explosion, like the grenade that had deafened me earlier today. This was something bigger. I looked back to see the city being devoured by a ball of flames. That son of a bitch. Ashland had failed to mention that the plan was to bomb most of the east coast with FOAB's seized from the Russians. I guess I should be thankful he had the sense to get us out of there first, but that was probably more of a legal issue than a judgment call. Dmitri pulled out a flask from his jacket pocket. After taking a large swig of what I could only guess was vodka, he somberly exclaimed "Compliments of my homeland...sorry, comrade". With that, all sense of feeling left my body. I could only move my lips enough to mutter but five words: "It needed to be done."

Done