The Crusader, moved on, as he walked, he tucked the Grendle back into his backpack. as he walked on the barren highway, he noticed very slowly, the signs of battle, and he walked, an walked, he walked for an hour, maybe two.  He found the fight, the American soldiers had attemptd to barricade the Russians in the city, they fired upon the Crusader, the Crusader fired back, he grabbed his Kriss super V, and Mini Uzi out of the sash on his waist, and dropped his bags. The fire was too much, the Crusader dragged his things behind a roadblock.  A grenade, seconds left, the Crusader reached, swung his arm, and sent the raging ball of fire into the soldiers’ bunker.  After the combat, the Crusader gathered his things and walked into the soliers’ resting place, he spyed a bullet-proof mask with only a few cracks, he looted it from the soldier’s scarred body.  Our vigilante continued to walk, the misery reminded him of his mother, she was a prostitute, she would lock him in their hotel room’s bathroom when entertaining clients. When Maddox was ten, he escaped the prison to find his mother in the hotel’s bed, and he no longer slept in the bed, he used the bath tub.  The world he knew was over, he called child services, they took him away. Still he walked on,  and by this time it was mid-noon. Suddenly, a slug smacked the Crusader’s visor.

“That was a dragunov round, these russians must be everywhere,”

The Crusader opened one of his weapon cases,  a P-90TR, and so he continued, a backpack hung from his shoulders, three cases in his left hand, a P-90TR in the right. Another bullet came past, it grazed the Crusader’s ear, the sniper was coming from the left. The Crusader ducked down, and charged while spraying his left flank.  The highway fell silent, there were no gun shots, blood stained the grass in an area to the left of the road, the dragunov lay at the russian’s fingertips. A helicopter rose over the treetops, it moved over the road, it’s golden hmmer and sicle gleaming against the dark steel hull.  Words came from a bullhorn on the aircraft.

“Surrender and die!”

“Don’t you mean surrender or die?”

The chopper dropped a rope ladder, and a soldier climbed down, he waved his hand to show his friendliness. 

“Mother Russia wishes to extend a pardon, to you as an inividual, accept and you will be pulled from the coming fire that will scorch this land.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That tear in your green uniform.”

“Where?”

A single round exits the barrel  of the P-90 and tears a hole into the Russian soldier.

“That one, with the red stain around it.”

The soldier collapsed, as a bug flew from the woods landing on the Crusader’s neck.  This was no flying insect, the pain was not a sting, this was a tranquilizer dart!