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Their Finest Hour

Hello /HFY, this is actually not my first time posting. Previously, I've written stories under a different account, but I've decided to put this under a different account to avoid any baggage.
The idea for this story has been bandying it's way around my brain for months now, and I've finally managed to put it together into something I'm happy with. Unfortunately (or fortunately), it's ended up going through so many drafts and revisions that I ended up producing two different chapters, before even publishing the first. Therefore, I will be posting both chapters today. This will not be how it goes in future for obvious reasons, but enjoy it while it's here.
Questions/comments/whatever is appreciated, and I'll be happy to answer anything you may want to know regarding the story, although I recommend you read part 2 before asking a question, otherwise it may already be covered.
Anyway, I've rambled for long enough, hope you enjoy!


"We’re fucked, sir.”
“Define fucked.”
“2 separate Termite platoons, plus 2 separate companies of infantry. And an Ibis.”
“Bugger.” Captain Murray, D Squadron, 22 SAS, sighed. Today had started out far better. “Options?”
“Very few. We’re not getting out of here alive unless we start running to the coast now, Sir.”
“Leaving the resistance who came to meet us, to get slaughtered.”
“They’ll get slaughtered regardless sir. You know what orders were. Retreat if possible, we’re priority.”
“Preferably after we establish contact with the resistance, yes. But we won’t get another chance like this. They’ll think our contact is a trap and refuse to talk to us again.”
“So you’re going to get us killed to stop the resistance from getting spooked, when they’ll probably get spooked regardless if their team is all wiped out meeting us.”
“Understood sir.” Like all good SAS operators, Corporal Bickerton immediately set about enacting his Captain’s suicidal orders, giving Murray time to think.
He was currently standing on the top floor of an old windmill, watching the area around him. His unit had been parachuted in via a HAHO drop in the dead of night, alongside a massive haul of supplies for the resistance, where they had then glided in over the North Sea, towards the meetup point. At first, it had all seemed to go well, but too late, they realised that by sheer chance, an enemy drone had happened to be in the area as they landed, resulting in their discovery. Now, the might of the invaders who had brought Great Britain to it’s knees, was bearing down upon a small mill on the outskirts of Hull.
And what made it worse, was that they couldn’t warn the resistance to stay away. That was impossible, because the resistance didn’t have enough long range comms gear to reliably contact UN Command (UNCO). The details of the meeting had been communicated via airdrops with messages inside them. Even if they could make reliable contact, the resistance lacked enough radios to be able to change orders quickly once a patrol was more than a few minutes away, resulting in a complete comms failure. Wonderful, absolutely bloody wonderful.
“Ibis has entered what we estimate is it’s weapons range sir. It doesn’t seem to be planning on firing at us.” It was Trooper Hibberd, this time, who was bursting through the door with news. She was good, a specialist with explosives, unmatched by any in the unit.
“Interesting. Matthews, are UNCO still talking to us, are we getting jammed?”
“Negative sir, still no sign of a jamming capability. That hasn’t been reported by any survivors of battles, as well, so they probably don’t have anything like that.”
“Understood, tell them we’re going to need air support asap, whatever they can give us.”
“Sir, they’re also sending both Termite platoons forwards, from the west. We’re going to need everyone there.” Hibberd butted back into the conversation.
“Alright, move everyone to cover that approach. The drone will watch our rear.” Murray replied, pointing into the sky, where a Global Hawk was circling lazily, providing support for the special forces team.
Murray followed Hibberd down the stairs, doubling out the door to reach a hastily prepared defensive position behind an overturned car. He stopped to stare at the gigantic Ibis which was striding towards them, just over 3 kilometres away. Seen through the green filter of his night vision, it came to over 100 metres tall, and carried far too many weapons for Murray’s liking. The majority of the enemy force was moving alongside it, but a vanguard force had sped on ahead, moving to fight the SAS unit.
“Sir?” A quiet voice, from Trooper Finley. He was the youngest member of the unit by far, but had more than earnt his place. “Why do you think they’re only sending a few up ahead?”
“Probably the Hekatians testing us. Up to now they’ve fought regulars obviously, and resistance, but we’ve come parachuting in to come and get them. Now, they don’t know why we’re here, but they probably think we’re the advance force for the counter attack. So, these guys are sacrifices for them to test out our capacity, then they’ll move the rest of the unit in, and if we’re still alive at the end, the Ibis starts blasting.”
“So that’s like us then.”
“Pardon Finley?”
“We’re sacrifices for UNCO, before they launch the invasion. If we die, no biggy, they get more info on Hekatian capabilities. Just swap the Ibis for nukes.”
Murray was snapped out of that depressing thought, by the approaching figure of the Termite units. There were 8 of them, 10 metre tall tripods that marched alongside the Hekatian infantry. They closed in, now just under 2500 metres away. “Now or never,” Murray thought to himself.
“Fire Javelins. We’ll save the others for the Ibis, just in case we can’t get air support.” He gripped his rifle tight. This would be a hard fight, focused on conservation of strength and ammunition.
10 seconds later, the night was illuminated by a Javelin missile bursting from it’s tube and straight towards the leading Termite. A split second later, the second was fired, then the third, and fourth, each seeking out a different target. Their detonations were brilliant, with all 4 of the targets wiped out. Problem was, that left 4 more, and they now sped up, far exceeding the speed of the slower Hekatian infantry.
1500 metres, 1000 metres, 500 metres. The SAS unit opened up, firing their rifles into the giant machines. 5.56mm rounds made small dents in the armour, but it just wasn’t enough.
A 40mm grenade shot past the one on the far right, detonating in the green field behind it and causing a splash of light on Murray’s night vision. 200 metres. The other soldiers with grenade launchers fired, with 2 out of 3 scoring direct hits, both of them on the same machine. It paused, stunned, a large hole having appeared in it’s front. This gave the soldiers of 3rd patrol, who it had been barrelling towards, an opening that they ruthlessly exploited, pouring bullets into the delicate machinery inside. It collapsed into a fireball, smoke pouring out of it’s corpse as the legs gave way to gravity. The patrol immediately refocused onto the other Termites.
The front Termite reached within 100 metres of it’s target, 2nd patrol. It deployed it’s long thick tentacles, which sprouted from the central core of the tripod, and extended ahead of it. Murray had seen footage of these tearing their way through infantry during the initial invasion of Britain. They’d pick men up and toss them around like paper, or rip them to bits, or, if you were truly unlucky, capture them. Tanks that got overwhelmed were literally shoved aside by it’s overwhelming strength.
The operators of 2nd patrol were fast, but the Termite was far faster. It grabbed Corporal Osland, a 28 year old whose life ambition had been to join the military, eviscerating him instantly. His screams echoed over the radio, whilst a 2nd round of grenades missed their targets. They weren’t enough, they couldn’t turn the tide.
Despite still firing his rifle at the approaching 3rd Termite, Murray’s mind couldn’t be further from that. He had realised his error, he should have used the second load of Javelins on them. They had the ammo, they could have done it. And now, his unit was going to be killed. He watched as Trooper Hibberd, whose family had been killed in the initial invasion, was picked up and thrown against the windmill.
Could he have even won? Maybe he should have retreated. There was clearly no way to win. No Ibis had been brought down in combat yet, why did he think he could take it on with a Javelin missile? They should have cut and run while they had the chance. Now, Trooper Wingate, a man well known by his brothers and sisters in arms for his musical talent, had died for his hubris, crushed under the metal foot of this unstoppable mechanical beast.
As if to break him out of his reverie, 3 streaks in the air quickly put the other two Termites in the ground. Murray had no time to contemplate the source of this mysterious, almost heavenly assistance. Like the rest of his unit, he switched targets effortlessly, with a speed unmatched by regular soldiers. The sheer volume of fire on one single target, with everything from regular 5.56 to 7.62, was enough to finally do real damage, dotting every centimetre with dents and bullet holes. A final salvo of 40mm’s put rest to the titan, as it was just a second away from tearing into 4th patrol.
“Cease fire!” Murray shouted over the radio. Troopers Thompson and Waters rushed to the aid of Hibberd, whose body was now sprawled next to the windmill. The threat wasn’t over, although they had gained some time to breath. There were still about 40 odd Hekatians approaching, thrice his force. And that didn’t even account for the company still being held in reserve. Luckily, Hekatian soldiers moved slowly, about half the speed of a normal human soldier in full combat load.
Which was why Murray now wanted to know about the source of that intervention. He turned around to face the direction where the streaks had come from, his night vision goggles showing him 30 resistance fighters running towards the windmill. Several of them were holding recoilless rifles as they ran through the darkness.
As they drew closer, Murray could get a far better look at the resistance fighters. They were dressed in worn camo uniforms and a mix of helmets, berets, and bush hats, while wielding variations of the SA80, ranging from the standard issue army weapon, to LSWs, to cadet rifles, and, bizarrely, an L98A1 with a sniper scope. On their backs, a few carried anti tank weapons, large bergens, or useful equipment like ladders and stretchers. Oddly, the majority of them seemed to be carrying large planks of wood lashed onto their bergen. The leader of the assorted band, bearded like the other men of the unit, carrying a camo-painted L85, and with a black beret, stuck his hand out to Murray.
“I’m Sid, acting commander for the Hull sector. I assume you’re our SAS friends?”
“Captain Murray, D Squadron. Here to liaise with the resistance. Are you ex military?” While Murray replied, the resistance troopers started spreading out among the SAS lines, helping to fill in the gaps that had been caused by the previous engagement.
“No, ex-cadet. Family evacced during the invasion, I decided to stick it out, try and protect any civilians who didn’t get out in time, which is let’s just say far too many. That guy though,” Sid pointed to a soldier, currently crouched over Trooper Hibberd, who’s kit was somehow more professional and more beaten up than the rest, “he was involved in the Battle of Goole. Only survivor of 4 Yorks as far as we know. Couple other ex-regs here, but they didn’t fight in the initial invasion. More actual soldiers are at HQ.”
“Goole? Jesus, how’d he get out of that?” Goole had been the last stand of the British Army in England as a cohesive organisation, after that it had dissolved into just a resistance. Videos of the battle showed infantry being overwhelmed by battalions of Spiders, Ibises that blasting Challenger 2's into scrap metal, whilst alien IFVs had gone toe-to-toe with Warriors. It was absolutely brutal, and now burnt into the mind of every commander in the UN armed forces. “Anyway, look, you saved our arses there, thanks a lot.”
“Don’t worry about it mate, we were terrified you were going to be toast when we got here. Looks like you almost were. Anyway, I assume you have a plan for that Ibis over there?”
“We think they’re toying with us, seeing what we’re up to, and that they’ll flatten us with the Ibis if we do well. So I’m trying to call up some air support right now, hope they can take it out. Plus we’ve still got some Javelins. We landed with a supply crate so don’t worry about ammo.”
“Excellent. Looks like your Trooper survived as well.” Sid nodded towards the huddle of bodies around Trooper Hibberd. They had clearly relaxed somewhat, and she seemed to be attempting to sit up, suggesting she was far better off than Murray had thought. “She’s a lucky one. Anyway, look, does your supply crate have any night vision gear?”
“We’ve got some, you’ll have to share though.”
“Every little helps.”
The steady firing of 7.62 into the advancing soldiers began. At first the marksmen of the SAS unit had used their assault rifles in fighting the Termites, but now they were putting their preferred weapon against the infantry. By all indications however, it seemed to be doing very little against the oncoming foes.
“Sid.” Murray whispered to the resistance commander.
“Yeah?” Sid’s response came instantly.
“How many hits do they take?”
“About 1 mag of 5.56 to the chest, that’s the only ammo we use against them at the moment. 7.62 is too rare for anything other than machine guns on base defence, and snipers don’t fit into our tactics at all.”
“What are your tactics?”
“Keep close to them if possible to ensure accuracy and prevent them using support, rely on IEDs and Molotovs to weaken their armour or scare the shit out of them, then we follow up with massed rifle fire.”
“Did you bring any of those with you?”
“Yes, but they’re going to be at a premium against that enemy company. I do have some nice surprises for you when that comes though.”
“That’s the mistake I made with the Javelins though.”
“Ay well, no offence to you and your SAS lads but they’re not exactly well versed in the fine arts of armed resistance, are they? Usually they’re on the other side of the issue.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been tooling around in the Saudi desert preparing to blow up the Iranians, we’d be in far less deep shit than we are, just saying.”
Murray chose to drop the argument. The reason his unit, and a large chunk of the UK army, had survived was due to them being deployed in buildup for a then-planned war against Iran. A strong feeling of survivor’s guilt had therefore pervaded the British military. It was the question likely to haunt military planners for decades, what would have happened if they’d been at home when the pods landed?
The radio crackled to life.
“Sir, we just used up a full mag each on the bastards, we got 3 of them total. You want us to keep going with the sniper until we’re dry or what?”
“Negative Trooper, that’s a waste of ammo. Switch to your rifle and get back to the line.” Resource management, the hardest problem for every commander. His force was at risk of being stretched to the breaking point without proper management.
The Hekatians drew closer, closing to 600 metres. It was at this moment that the SAS chose to open up.
The initial volley of shots struck the massed infantry easily. They were a far easier target than that of the Termites. The Hekatians persevered however, either out of an insane discipline, or just the belief that victory was inevitable. Noticeable in the firing was the absence of the resistance units, who kept to their guns but weren’t firing just yet.
“We’ve learnt to hold fire until it’s really effective!” Sid shouted, over the loud rifle cracks. At this range, the SAS troops stuck to properly aimed shots, not wanting to waste ammo firing bursts. “At 500 metres they’ll start to fire, be warned. We’ll open up at 200.”
“How good are they at firing?”
“They’re decent shots, even when firing on the move, but they tend to fixate on targets regardless of the threat it poses. Try and shoot at it until it’s dead, then move on to the next one. We’ve been using that to our advantage, having them focus on whoever shoots at them first, then using everyone else to actually do the damage. Also they excel at CQC, so they like charging. Don’t get hit though, it’s horrific. ”
The Hekatians reached 500 metres, and now they began to fire. They also broke into a steady charge, clearly willing to start trying to smash through the lines. Green plasma lances shot out, missing troopers by mere inches, but clearly causing harm regardless, presumably from the raw heat of the shot.
The rate of fire on both sides picked up now, each having closed in to a range they began to find more alarming. Several of the Hekatians had already fallen, their bodies littering the grass irregularly, but it wasn’t enough. Murray targeted their commander in his sights, a taller creature wearing a helmet that resembled that of a Roman centurion with a clear visor. He squeezed the trigger, pumping a small burst into it’s head. The first few shots were blocked by the helmet , but the 4th and 5th clearly penetrated, tearing a hole into the soft tissue of the brain. The commander stumbled, but carried on in spite of his injuries.
A lance hit near to Murray’s face. The heat was horrible, reminding him of the time in training he’d gotten too close to an ally in an exercise, and got a faceful of hot empty cartridges.
Inevitably, the first human casualties of the fighting began to occur. Trooper Blake, son of a fairly wealthy property mogul who had given it up for the army, took a lance straight into his chest, between the lungs. He collapsed with a scream, albeit one that continued for long enough to assure Murray of his survival. 250 metres away from reaching their lines. Murray almost wanted to scream at Sid for his soldiers’ inaction in the face of the onslaught. Instead, he looked to the man and saw a serene calm, not unlike that of a cat about to pounce on a bird.
Murray refocused, firing upon the commander from earlier. 12 5.56mm rounds found their way into it’s skull, and as it tumbled to the ground, it emitted a horrific, almost mechanical scream.
Suddenly, the Hekatians crossed the threshold of the 200 metre mark. Instantly, they knew about the consequences of it. The resistance troopers, well drilled and hardened by months of experience, set about filling the air with bullets. Even the soldiers using semi auto weapons were firing so quickly, that it became indistinguishable from a machine gun. Murray took the brief pause of a reflexive reload to glance up at the windmill, where the soldier with a scope mounted to his L98A1 was working the bolt and firing so furiously, it was like no bolt action he’d ever seen.
A Hekatian fell, then another, and another. Their line collapsed, holes opening all over the place. Within 2 seconds, the number of dead Hekatians had doubled. In 5, it had tripled.
Then, as even the best armies commonly do when faced with overwhelming firepower, they do the only thing they can do. Break and run. This becomes complicated when safety is several hundred metres away, you have no supporting fire, and you run only a little faster than the top speed of an average mobility scooter.
The rout had turned into a massacre effortlessly. It was a stunning display of squad firepower, and the sheer unbeatable strength of soldiers united against their foe.
Sid turned to Murray, grinning.
“So, who’s here to rescue who?”
“UNCO says they’ve scrambled a Super Hornet flight off the Ronald Reagan, they’ll try to bring the Ibis down with Mavericks. ETA 25 minutes for them to get here.”
“Alright. That’s how long we have to stretch this battle for then.” Murray ran some internal math in his head. With the infantry approaching at around 5kph, and being 2 km away, that meant they’d have to keep the enemy at bay for around 10 or so minutes, before the strike could go through. That was the real make or break moment for the SAS-Resistance force. With the Ibis still in play, and it in fact having closed some of the distance, the chances of their survival were next to nothing. “Sid, you said you had some surprises. Looks we’re going to need them.”
“Way ahead of you.” Sid got up, and pointed to a spot where several of his soldiers were assembling some sort of a wooden structure. “Len, hurry the fuck up, we got 15 minutes before they’re in range!” One of them nodded, and the pace quickened, with more soldiers joining in it’s construction, and pulling wooden parts from their bergens.
Murray felt compelled to ask what the object was, but instead he just watched as it rapidly took shape in the night. The object rested on a main wooden frame that the other components had then been attached to. There was a long piece of rope connecting the main frame, to what looked to be like a long arm, and a small bowl on the end of this arm… oh no.
The Resistance had built a catapult. And they were now loading a test projectile onto it.
“What the fuck are you doing!” The question came, not from Murray, but from Corporal Bickerton. “This is modern war against aliens not the fucking dark ages!”
“Corporal, we don’t question your methods, I’d rather hope you don’t question ours.” Sid replied dryly, watching as Len pulled the rope, firing the test projectile high into the air, where it landed just over 300 metres away. “The catapult is an essential piece of the Resistance’s arsenal. There are people who questioned it’s use in defensive operations. Those people are not around anymore.”
“It’s from the fucking middle ages!”
“Come on Corporal, make your mind up, when was it from? Anyway, we don’t have proper mortars, or close air support. This is the only artillery we can field on a regular basis.” Len joined the argument, as he assisted in the loading of a newer projectile. Murray noted the word ‘proper’ in front of mortars, which made him suspicious. It was an irregular shape, clearly entirely improvised. A small fuse stuck out of the end. Len pulled out a lighter and put it to the fuse. Just as the fire reached the end of the projectile, the rope was pulled, firing the device into the air with a flame much like that of a firework trailed it. Then, in mid air, the firework exploded, casting brilliant light over the fields for a few brief moments, before the device itself landed 500 metres away, bouncing around a little. The catapult was then re-aimed, and loaded with more projectiles.
“That, Captain Murray, is our surprise. One of the most powerful fireworks money could buy, encased in 100 grams of C4, which is then surrounded by nails. The firework-catapult combo gives it range without risk of initiating the rest of the device. The IED variant can annihilate a patrol when placed properly. Our problem is generally making sure it actually gets in the right place to do damage. That won’t be an issue here. Remote detonation obviously, don’t worry.”
Soon 5 of the devices had been launched, spaced roughly evenly apart. The crew then abandoned the weapon, joining their comrades on the firing line. The enemy infantry had now drawn to within 600 metres of the assorted force. Murray checked his watch. 8 minutes until the strike arrived. The Hekatians stopped, maneuvering to get their forces in position before the final attack.
“Are they going to avoid the surprises?”
“No, they’ve never seen them before. This is the first combat trial of the rocket powered device with a catapult. As far as they know, we just tried to hit them with rocket powered boxes and failed, and gave up.”
“You lied to us!”
“I never claimed that the, ahem, ‘Mark 5 High Explosive Charge’, codename ‘Buggers Beware’, gotta get the name right, has been used on the catapult in a combat situation. Both it and the catapult have been in use long before, but not like this.” Sid brandished a remote detonator. “Tell me when they walk past them.”
The Hekatians finished manoeuvring, having now formed into 3 closely packed lines. The soldiers at the front pointed their plasma weaponry forwards, before having the second rank place their own weapons upon their shoulder. The third rank then snuck the weapons in under the arms of the other ranks. They then opened fire, advancing faster than usual, behind the massed barrage of plasma lances that kept the humans suppressed. The spectacle was similar to that of Napeoleonic era infantry.
“They saw your middle ages weapons and raised you a victorian army.” Murray quipped to Sid. “Still haven’t entered the range of those charges,” he added, when he got no response back.
“First rank is coming up to them now. Looks like they’re going to tightly brush around but otherwise keep the formation.” Murray was anxious now.
“Good.” The response from Sid was terse.
“Blow them in 3, 2, 1, now!” The detonation was instantaneous on the final word. 4 fireballs erupted in the middle of the Hekatian line. Red hot nails blasted into their thick armour, cutting holes through their bodies. 40 Hekatians went down instantly, including 2 of those Centurions, who emitted the same scream as Murray had heard earlier.
“Well, 4 out of 5 is good, I was expecting 3/5 or worse. Tell your men to open fire at 200, pop as many 40mms into them as possible.”
The barrage of plasma lances continued, but slightly dimmed as the formation closed back up again. Murray checked his watch once more. 6 minutes. 400 metres.
“Open fire when they reach 200 metres, no earlier! I want you to put everything we have into them! Stand fast!” Murray couldn’t resist the old cliche at the end of his radio broadcast.
5 minutes. 210 metres. 205 metres. 200 metres.
The human line erupted into fire. The “thump” of grenade launchers, the reports of weapons, all mingled with the whine and crackle as the lances shot overhead. The Hekatians dived for cover amid the initial barrage of fire, with many of those who had already been weakened by the nails now going down whether they liked it or not. The advance ground to a halt amidst the pouring of fire.
“Sir!” Trooper Matthews, designated radioman, was now besides Murray, tapping him on the shoulder. “Command says the Hornets are going full speed, coming in above Mach! Estimate we have about 2 minutes left!”
“You wait till now to tell me this?”
“Don’t blame me, blame command sir!” Matthews got up and ran back to his firing position.
The first human casualties started to occur. A resistance soldier was hit in the head by a lance, that burnt a hole right through him. His comrades didn’t even flinch, continuing to pump bullets away into the struggling Hekatians. The next was Len, who took a lance straight through his left arm. He bandaged it quickly, then got back up and began firing once more.
1 resistance soldier got up and ran towards the catapult, where many of the fighters had dropped excess gear. He grabbed a recoilless rifle, aiming it at the largest concentration of Hekatians, and fired. The rocket streaked away, blasting several of the targets into little chunks. However, the fighter had clearly not accounted for the backblast, which knocked the catapult over, pieces snapping as it rolled.
“HORNETS INBOUND!” Trooper Matthews screamed into the radio network. The gunfire slackened, then a few seconds later ceased, as everyone put their heads down, not wanting to be hit by anything falling out of the sky.
The Hekatian troopers clearly saw the lack of response fire as evidence the enemy had run out of ammunition, and began to charge as fast as their armour encased legs would carry them. This charge continued, until 6 white streaks in the night shot overhead. For the rest of his life, Murray would swear he could see a thumbs up from the pilot of the lead plane. This is, to say the least, absurd, as the pilot would have been too focused on preventing the plane from crashing, in addition to the impossibility of spotting such a tiny gesture from so far away through night vision gear. Regardless, Murray would claim it anyways.
The flight all released their Maverick missiles at the same time, then flew in for a gun run.. The Mavericks hit first, with about 20 out of all 24 impacting the Ibis. It wasn’t the pilot or weapon’s officers fault for the misses, the Ibis was simply too utterly destroyed for there to be a target anymore. The missiles flew off into the distance, impacting a random barn and blowing it to smithereens. The Hornets broke off and returned to their carrier, having lost their chance to fire their guns in anger.
The effect on both sides was immense. The resistance soldiers began cheering, the moment being overwhelming for them. For months, they’d been struggling against this all powerful force, one that they could only really nibble at, never managing to do real damage. Now, burning in front of them, was the ultimate proof that their sacrifices and losses were not in vain.
To the SAS troopers, the destruction was merely relieving. It meant that the brief period of alien control over Great Britain would shortly come to an end, and that their lives were safe. This would only be the beginning, the SAS were going to be here to stay no matter what.
To the Hekatians, however, it meant something very different. They had stopped their charge when the Hornets had sped overhead, confused by the display. Standing there, watching their “invincible” support teeter and fall to the ground, thick black smoke pouring into the night, caused something to break inside of them. When the resistance began jubilantly firing into the Hekatian lines, it all became too much. They froze, even as the bullets scythed through them, completely incapable of processing what had just happened.
Amidst the cheering and the firing, Murray turned back to Sid.
“What did you say, about who’s saving who?”
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