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Gevaudan, Astral Republic, 3070.
The Acolyte peeked from his upper story window perch above the hastily erected barricade in the street below, and looked for targets. There they were: infantrymen of the Astral Republic, moving cautiously up the street in his direction. He waited until the moment was right, just as a squad was advancing in the open, then quickly fanned a few short bursts from his squad automatic weapon. One ARAF soldier jerked, fell and stayed down; another was hit, but got up and threw himself sideways into cover as his unit went to ground.
The Acolyte ceased fire, and scanned the street through his sights. The lack of return fire said that the ARAF infantry were unsure of his location, so he stayed put and watched for another opportunity. He could faintly hear his foes shouting to each other, and adjusted his weapon as a few of them darted here and there between cover. No good shots, so he focused briefly on the soldier he had killed; the man was lying face down in a puddle of blood. "Lucky shot," he muttered; ARAF infantrymen were tough targets in their urban camouflage, visored helmets and heavy body armor. He didn't think of the dead soldier as a man; he had learned quickly that he couldn't do that, if he wanted to be able to sleep at night.
The sound of armored tracks clanking over rubble snapped the Acolyte's brief reverie, and he looked up the street to see an ARAF tank approaching. The rotary autocannon, bracketed by coaxial lasers, identified it as a Sanglier, a heavy tank built for close combat. It drove up the street without hesitation, and the ARAF soldiers began moving up behind it as it passed them. The Sanglier paused ahead of the dead soldier to provide cover, and the soldiers quickly gathered up their dead comrade as the Sanglier lowered a bulldozer blade from its bow. The Sanglier's engine audibly revved up to full power with its brakes on, then suddenly it leaped forward, and the Acolyte reflexively ducked as it crashed through the barricade.
The Acolyte peeked up again to see the Sanglier "jitterbugging" below him, shifting quickly between forward and reverse and turning in place, to extricate itself from the ruined barricade. It was almost right under his window, and the ARAF infantry behind it were a tempting target. He opened fire as he had before, with short fanning bursts that scattered them into cover again, but this time his eyes widened as the Sanglier's turret swung and elevated with surprising speed. He threw himself backwards into the room just in time for a buzzsaw hail of shells and beams to rake across the window, rip through the wall and shower him with chunks of the ceiling.
The Acolyte half crawled and half stumbled out of the room as the hail of fire continued, and tumbled down the stairwell as an explosion rocked the entire building. Clearly, it was time to go. He picked himself up, quickly adjusted his helmet from where it had been knocked down over his eyes, readied his weapon, then kicked open the back door. He peeked out, saw more ARAF soldiers, and ducked back to pull a grenade. He tossed it out, waited for the blast, then ran through the smoke and dust with his SAW blazing, across the street into an alley. Once there, he ducked between two dumpsters and paused to check his radio; it was ominously silent, leaving him alone to consider his next move.
From what the Acolyte could tell, the ARAF was moving up along several parallel streets, and he was right in the middle of their advance. He knew there was another barricade on the next block, so he decided to link up with his Blakist brethren there, if he could. He peeked out from between the dumpsters, ducked as another ARAF vehicle, a Destrier infantry carrier, rumbled past the end of the alley where he had entered from, then quickly ran to the opposite end. If his memory was right, he would emerge behind another barricade.
The Acolyte was right, but not in the manner he had hoped for. He looked out just in time to see another Sanglier crash through the barricade, and ARAF infantry charging the defending Blakists. The Acolyte opened fire from the cover of the alley, but only got off two good bursts before seeing his ammo belt's end flap loose from its can and vanish with a CLACK. His gun was empty.
The Acolyte ducked back into the alley, dropped the empty can from his gun and tried to reload, but the ammo feed cover wouldn't open. The catch released, but the cover was stuck. Was it the dust? Was it overheating? It didn't matter. Suddenly desperate, he banged his fist on the cover and pulled his knife to pry it open, but was interrupted by a sudden blow that threw him onto his side. Another blow separated him from his gun, and he rolled over just in time for a spike bayonet to stab into the ground beside his neck. He looked up into the barrel of an ARAF "Charleville" laser rifle, and into the eyes of the young soldier holding it. He saw hesitation, such as he had once felt before he stopped thinking of his enemies as men, and lashed out with a sweeping kick. That put his foe on the ground, and then he was up and running, out of the alley and down the street with bursts of deadly light snapping around him.
As he ran through the fog of adrenaline, noise and war, the Acolyte recalled what someone once told him about laser shots: if you see them, that means they missed.
He was almost to the cover of the next corner when suddenly, he stopped seeing them.
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Fini.
_________________ Be careful what you wish for. I might let you have it. 
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