Fall, Rise, Repeat

by Matthew Schneider

  Zav slammed his head against the glass, repeatedly, his brain aching, but he did not stop. His hands pressed against the glass like suction cups, and he fell to his knees sobbing. He pressed his lips against the glass and kissed it, his top lip dragging across the glass. A single teardrop rolled down his cheek and dropped to his pants, leaving a small dark spot where the water was absorbed.

  He heard the door creak open behind him, but he continued to sit on his legs like a grade school child and breathe slowly.

  Jimenez carried a bottle of whiskey and a small glass over to Zav, placing them both next to him. Without a word, he left the room once more.

  Zav twisted off the cap and tilted the bottle towards the glass, paused, and then put the rim to his lips. He chugged. The horrible burn in the back of his throat felt like the very fire that attempted to escape him.

  He dropped the bottle, the bottom shattering, the whiskey spilling out, and fell over backwards.

  Jimenez had his ear pressed against the door and listened to the glass shatter and the body thud, and sighed, but moved away from the room and returned to the elevator. He pressed for the ground floor and waited patiently for it to arrive, stepping out onto the shiny tile when the doors opened.

  There were a few people sitting around, either slacking off from work or not assigned any. There were also people busy cleaning: shining the floors with mops, getting rid of debris and litter, or getting blood off of the walls and furniture.

  Jimenez nodded to everybody he made eye contact with, doing his best to acknowledge their hard work. He strided across the room and pushed through the front doors, a fresh breeze hitting his body. Immediately, he spotted a soldier jogging towards him. He cleared his throat and raised his chin, implying inquiry.

  The civilian stepped up and saluted. “Good to see you. We are just about to send out a small group of soldiers to the building where Marx was killed to see if there is any hostile activity.”

  Jimenez opened his mouth very slightly, and leaned forward. “The German? He died?”

  The civilian nodded. “Yes sir. Grappling hook hit him in the chest and decapitated him. But we know there were enemies there, so there could be more. Would you care to join us?”

  Jimenez traced his finger around the outline of his eyepatch. “Uh, I suppose? How well prepared is your squad?”

  “Two men from the military, two from your army, and some guy who said he was caught in the crossfire but decided to join us. Seven if you decide to join us, sir.”

  Jimenez nodded his head slowly as if analyzing the information. “Well, some experienced fighters wouldn’t hurt, especially if we are getting ourselves into something dangerous. I will assist you, uh,” Jimenez paused, looking at the civilian.

  “Mike Rogers. But please, follow me if you’re interested,” he finished, and began slowly turning around, looking at Jimenez for an answer.

  Jimenez gave a quick thumbs up and responded, “right behind you,” and they walked off together.

  The rest of the group was standing around a stockpile of weapons located just before the road of holes. They were an odd-looking bunch, with mismatched gear and evident lack of eagerness.

  Mike Rogers lifted his arms and smiled to the group, spinning around and pointing to Jimenez and said, “This is our newest recruit to our band.” Mike snapped his fingers and continued to point at Jimenez. “What do you want us to call you?”

  “Jimenez,” said Jimenez.

  Mike nodded his head and turned back to the group. “Let’s introduce each other so we have no trouble out on the mission.”

  Jimenez stood awkwardly and looked around at the six other men during this moment of brief silence. Finally, one began. He was the soldier on the far left. “Bill Harvey. Sergeant Major.”

  The next soldier spoke, and the group assumed they were going to speak going clockwise. “Dave Gooden. Corporal.”

  Then the first member of the militia. “Alex Louie.”

  Followed by the second. “Tucker Lane.”

  And finally, the second civilian. “I’m George, George Lincoln.”

  Jimenez nodded his head to each of the men and gave a calico smile. “As wonderful as I’m sure you people are, I will either forget your names or not find them practical on the field. Can we arrange some codenames?”

  Mike paused for a brief moment before looking at Jimenez. “I suppose that wouldn’t be a burden, Agent. How would you like to organize such a thing?”

  Jimenez bit his lip and pondered, his eyebrows furrowed towards the ground. “Let’s just use the phonetic alphabet – in the same order as the names went. So, our two soldiers will be Alpha and Bravo. The other two will be Charlie and Delta, respectively. And you, George, are Echo. As for me, just use Kingpin. Phonetic? No. But cool? Yes,” he chuckled, and gave another smile.

  “Kingpin, I’m still here,” Mike said, walking forward.

  “Well, don’t stand behind me, or else I’ll forget about you, Mike.”

  “Okay, well what would you like to use for my codename?”

  Jimenez looked at Mike. “Don’t be foolish. You’re Mike.”

  “Yes, but what will I use for my phonetic name?”

  “I already told you, Mike,” Jimenez repeated.

  “Are you telling me that it’s Mike, or are you saying, ‘I told you, Mike,’” Mike repeated, and Jimenez stared him dead in the eyes.

  “Mmm...Mike, might you refer back to your alphabet? ‘M’ is Mike, Mike,” Jimenez said, his lips beginning to pucker and he held back laughter.

  “Yeah, my name is Mike. I don’t get what you’re saying. Is it still Mike? Or will you call me Mike?” Mike asked.

  Alpha slapped his hand against Mike’s back. “Dumbass, Mike is the phonetic name. He’s making a joke.”

  Mike looked at Alpha, then to Jimenez. “So my name is Mike still?”

  “Not still, it’s Mike now, since we have codenames,” Jimenez said, holding his breath and covering his mouth with his hand.

  Mike looked back at Alpha. “I don’t get it.”

  Alpha shook his head and cocked his head towards Jimenez. “This really reminds me of that joke from Abbott and Costello. I don’t think he understands the joke because he’s the punchline—”

  Mike cut in. “Now, now, you already hit me once, no need to punch me,” he said, and Jimenez choked and burst out laughing, bending over and placing his hands on his knees to support himself.

  Alpha shook his head and looked back at Jimenez. “Okay, we know Mike doesn’t understand jokes, but we must get to work. Kingpin, what’s the order?”

  Jimenez stopped laughing and rubbed his hands against the sides of his head. “Okay, yes. Now, I would not say I am anymore experienced than our own American soldiers. But as kingpin, I, Kingpin, request that I lead the assault. And, oh! I just thought of something.”

  Bravo and Alpha looked at each other. Jimenez continued. “I might be able to contact Xavier and have him do a live video feed – oh no, I forgot. He’s passed out in his room.”

  Bravo raised one of his eyebrows and stared back at Jimenez. “Why is the leader of our city passed out in the hotel?”

  “GAH! I’ve said too much. We have more important matters to attend to. We have few hours of sunlight remaining, so we must conquer our opponents swiftly before they have time to retaliate. Grab guns, grab ammo. We will search the whole building and sniff out every last Cossack. Let’s go, boys,” Jimenez said, pushing past the line of men and picking a large gun off the ground.

  Alpha scooted past Bravo and leaned over towards Jimenez. “Don’t you think we should used suppressed weapons? We are gambling our lives by drawing attention with loud weapons,” he said.

  Jimenez ran his tongue across his upper lip. “We have nothing of the sort. We will engage whether it puts me on my deathbed or not. I’m sick of standing around.”

  Jimenez rolled his shoulders and adjusted his gun. He nodded his head to the others and began walking out of the camp. The
others prepared themselves and followed closely.

  They soon arrived at the towering brick building that they suspected was the Russian hideout.

  Jimenez walked slowly. There were no doors in front, at least not on this side of the street. Jimenez crossed the building and took a right into the parallel alleyway.

  He paused for a moment, inspecting the metal door at the base of the building. He looked back at the others and waved them forward.

  They crept in a single-file line up to the door. He turned his back and spoke in a soft voice: “When we get inside, split up. Divide across the building and sweep.”

  Jimenez looked down at the door handle and placed his hand firmly around the metal knob. He squeezed it tightly and slowly twisted it, pushing on the door with the same conservative motion. There were no creaks, but the sound of the materials rubbing together was clear.

  The door was open an inch when Jimenez gave it a soft push and moved into the doorway. He raised his hand to signal for the others to follow.

  The first floor of the building was as wide as it was long. There were dozens of concrete beams supporting the ceiling. There were desks, computers, monitors, and transparent televisions everywhere as if this was the headquarters for a tech company. There were makeshift plywood walls decorating the room like a maze. And of course, plenty of hostile men.

  They filed in, crouching behind the makeshift barriers that shielded them from inevitable death. They each spaced themselves out behind a concrete barrier, discreetly moving across the ground and readying their weapons.

  Kingpin, Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, and Mike pressed against their concrete support blocks. All heads turned to Kingpin in the middle and awaited an order.

  Kingpin quietly clicked the safety off on his gun and lifted the barrel towards his chest. He took a deep breath and looked both directions at his fellow men. His head nodded downward, then gyrated.

  With all seven guns blazing, bullets sprayed across the room. Wood splintered, glass shattered, concrete exploded; there were particles in the air from every object in the room.

  Kingpin continued firing, swaying his gun from side to side as he kicked down the wood barrier in front of him and began marching forward. The others followed, but in their respective columns, moving across the room.

  The nearest Russians were already in a bloody mess on the floor, their innards decorating the walls. Those in the back of the room had fled or dove for cover, but there was no return fire yet.

  Kingpin yelled “Keep pushing!” as he walked, stepping over fallen objects and bodies.

  There was chaos in the room: yelling from both sides, ringing gunfire, the rumbling and creaking of the room falling apart – there were muzzle flashes from the Russians now, but they were simply overwhelmed. The room began to darken as lights and computers were shot out.

  “KINGPIN, WHERE DO WE ADVANCE?” yelled Charlie.

  “SWEEP AND ELIMINATE. MOVE UP FLOORS,” responded Kingpin.

  It was a hard-fought feat; the Russians were not given enough time to fight back, so they were easy targets.

  The Americans were halfway across the room, using the concrete supports to protect themselves as they moved along.

  Kingpin pressed his back against a desk and slid down it, pulling the magazine out of his gun and replacing it with a full one. He slapped his hand against the bottom of the magazine and rolled over to his knees, standing up.

  The entire room was a mess now – little resemblance to what it used to look like: desks were now firewood, the computers were glitter on the floor, the organized setup now stampeded. Kingpin climbed across the desk, landing on the other side on top of a pile of papers. He kicked his feet around to clear the floor and regained his footing.

  There was no more action on their floor. The massacre was quick and without friendly casualties. Kingpin bent down next to a Russian soldier on the ground and snatched the equipment on the man’s tactical vest.

  He pulled the helmet off and inspected the inside. He ran his thumb across the small transceiver on the inside of the helmet, next to the padding for the right ear.

  “Grab these helmets. We can use them to communicate. Move quickly now, we must make it to the remaining rooms. This place is infested with the fuckers – I’d rather reach them first before they come to investigate us,” Kingpin said, pulling the helmet over his head and pressing the small plastic button on the earpiece.

  The rest of the group did the same. They all turned on the small earpieces and looked at each other.

  “Mike to Alpha, do you read?” asked a voice in Kingpin’s ear.

  “This is Alpha. Bravo, do you copy?” asked Alpha.

  “This is Bravo. No Alpha, I can’t hear you,” responded Bravo, staring Alpha dead in the eyes.

  Kingpin rubbed his face with his hands and blinked profusely. “Listen up. There’s a door leading to the main staircase of this building; I want each of us on a different floor. We’re all going to be lone wolves in a way – but clear the floor and find out whatever you can. The future of the city is counting on us.”

  Kingpin led the group to the metal door at the back of the room. There was a large, red ‘G’ painted on the door. Kingpin twisted the handle and swung the door open, causing the metal handle on the backside of the door to hit the wall with a clatter. They ran up the stairs and stopped at the first door.

  Kingpin turned around and faced the rest of the men on the steps. “Alpha, you’re positioned here. Do not move in until given an order.”

  Everyone except for Alpha followed Kingpin up the stairs. At the next door, Bravo was ordered to stand and wait. Then Charlie. Delta. Echo. Mike.

  Kingpin climbed the last flight of stairs and stood outside the door with a red 8 painted on the front. Kingpin cleared his throat and spoke into the earpiece. “Prepare to breach in five...four...three...two....one....” he placed his hand on the door handle and gripped it tightly. “Fuck! Fuck! Go now!”

  Kingpin kicked open his door and raised his weapon. He immediately began firing at the men in suits seated around a meeting table in the center of the room – it was impossible to tell if they were armed and he would not be able to fight the dozen men alone.

  Alpha rolled into his room, sliding under a desk directly in front of the door and peeked over, met by a spray of bullets. He ducked his head and fired the gun over his head. “There’s too many!”

  Bravo moved in and followed the wall to his right. He moved along the corridor and turned the corner. A Russian soldier swung a punch at Bravo, but Bravo ducked and jumped backwards, dropping his gun and pulling a knife out of the sheath at his side.

  “Delta, over, being OVERRUN! CHARLIE WATCH YOUR HEAD!” An explosive detonated on the fifth floor. Charlie skidded to a halt and dove for the ground as the ceiling began to collapse above him.

  Echo was already prone. He crawled across the floor, his weapon out in front of him. He rolled over to his back and tucked himself under a crook in the wall as two soldiers ran past. He fired at their feet, the bullets piercing their heels and kicking their legs out from under them.

  Mike was in hand-to-hand combat with the soldier stationed at his door. He swung his fist but missed, then took a punch to the stomach. He dropped to his knees but instinctively wrapped his arms around the soldier’s legs, twisting and throwing the man to the ground. They wrestled for a moment before the soldier grabbed his gun and beat Mike over the head with the stock. Mike grunted into his earpiece in a desperate cry as he received a crushing blow, but reached out his hands and stuck his thumbs in the soldier’s eyes.

  Alpha gasped as a bullet broke through the desk and ripped through his knee pad. He used his right leg to push himself out and bear-crawled out of sight to the corner furthest from the entrance.

  “Bravo, requesting immediate assistance.” Bravo felt at the hole in his stomach and stepped over the dead Russian on the ground. He winced at the pain and grabbed a gauze from his pocket and pressed it against the
wound. He placed one knee on the ground next to the Russian and inspected the cut marks along the woman’s neck.

  Kingpin released his finger from the trigger and stopped breathing as he looked around the table. Every suited man was lying dead on the table or on the ground. He shimmied across the side of the room and walked up to the table. He pulled the least bloody body out of its chair and sat down in its place. He shuffled through the papers on the table, prioritizing the value of the intel over the lives of his men.

  “This is Echo, two down, two just left the room in a scamper, heading towards one of you guys,” coughed Echo, still hiding. He rolled out and stood up, shaking his arms and regripping his gun. He crept along the hallway and moved towards two pairs of doors on each side of the hall. He swayed left to get close to the first door. He twisted the knob but it would not move. He used the butt of the gun to break the knob off and kicked open the door, barging into a supply room full of weapons. The Russian in the room cocked his pistol and fired.

  Charlie rubbed his ear as white noise crackled in his earpiece. He attempted to stand up from where he was lying on his stomach, but a sharp pain prevented him from moving. As the dust began to settle, he could see around the room – he had a brief realization that the room had a pair of civilian hostages before the rest of the ceiling collapsed and the room filled with a dark cloud of dust once more.

  “Agh! This whole building might collapse!” Delta leaped forward as the ground beneath him gave away, and he grabbed onto a metal beam that was bent from the explosion. His feet dangled above two limp bodies beneath him. His gloved hands gripped the notches in the beam and used whatever strength was left in him to pull himself up.

  Kingpin gripped the table as the building shook, holding onto the papers as they began to inch towards the edge. He stood up and swiped his hand across the table, dragging his fingertips and collecting every paper he could. He pushed them together, tapped them against the table to make all the ends meet, and folded the stack in half. He then pushed it into his pocket, grabbed his gun off the table, and made for the exit.