The Apocalypse Agenda

Gretchen Osborne was in the middle of the cobblestoned, Rue Batiste when the first shots were fired. With the instincts of a field soldier, she broke into a run towards the Samilier.

One of the snipers targeted her and opened fire. In the maelstrom of bullets and confusion, a motorcyclist rode into the center of it all. He swerved to avoid Gretchen in the street, a bullet, meant for her, hit him and the bike went down. In a skid, it bounced against a concrete barrier post and came to rest. The rider, thrown clear, died as he hit the ground.

Ben grabbed Ritter Wagner and pulled him down behind an overturned table. The small tables gave little cover, but, made of heavy metal, they were better than nothing.

The gunfire continued and Ben had the automatic in his hand. He fired towards the only source he could see. At least one attacker was on the second floor of the small hotel next door to the Indonesian restaurant across the street. Ben fired rapidly at the second floor to provide cover for Gretchen as she made it to the overturned tables near him. Now three tables were turned over, providing a make shift fortress.

"Everyone okay? Gretchen?" shouted Ben, as he continued to aim and fire in the direction of the shooters. "Did you see anyone?" he continued.

"I'm, okay. No, no one." shouted Gretchen over the deafening sounds of gunfire.

"How's--"

They both looked toward Wagner. He was lying against the table with his back pushed up against it. A small trickle of blood was at his lip, and a spreading, burgundy stain, oozed a pattern of death across his chest.

"He's been hit," said Ben, stating the obvious. He bent over to check the wound. "Looks pretty gnarly."

"Gnarly? You were in California, too long," said Gretchen. "Here, let me have a look."

The gunfire continued and Ben shot back, again and again. The patrons of the cafe were huddled in small groups behind tables, chairs, light posts; whatever was handy.

"He's fading," Gretchen warned, as she reached under Wagner's shirt in an effort to locate the entry point of the bullet.

Wagner was gasping now. The bullet had penetrated his left lung and had continued on through his body. It had exited below his rib cage, leaving a gaping hole in his back, but Ben and Gretchen couldn't tell how badly he was hurt.

Wagner gasped for air again and reached for Gretchen. His fingers wrapped around her collar and he pulled her to him.

"Halt Agamemnon," he whispered.

"What?" whispered Gretchen to Wagner, as she pressed her face near his. She was barely able to hear him with the exploding gunfire all-around her.

"What'd he say?" shouted Ben. He was occupied with the gun battle and was now low on ammunition.

"Halt Agamemnon," shouted Gretchen.

"What the hell is that?" said Ben. He fired another round towards the second floor, then turned to Wagner. He reached his fingers towards his neck in search of the carotid artery. Nothing.

"He's got toe-jam football," said Ben, as he crouched lower behind the table.