Jack sat in the apartment. He hadn't bothered moving the shell casings, nor the split furniture. Fuck, there was still brain matter on the floor and wall's. But besides all this, Jack did need to admit he enjoyed the view from up here. There must've been an artillery shell through the wall, or a few grenade's gone off in a chain reaction, because that was an almighty big hole. With a tight squeeze, he was sure an Abrams tank could fit through that hole. Mind you, there wasn't a great chance of seeing an M1 Abrams round these parts. The bastards were away 'protecting the flag'. This here was the fucking flag! The hub of the whole damned world! Jack thought angrily. But no. The army wasn't here because they were too scared. Scared of the Iron Fist from the Russians. Scared of the Chinese's recklessness. Scared of the North Koreans Socialist and aggresive ways. But not scared enough to help. A few platoons had been sent this way, but hadn't lasted long. So, their new plan of action was 'Take the rest of the country, then we'll take New York'. Useless idiots.
Standing up, he grabbed his bag which was air-drying by the hole. It had rained earlier and, thanks to the water-proof bag, only some stuff was ruined. A few batteries, a packet of Walkers Salt & Vinegar crisp's, and an old picture book of some family. Jack picked up a used iron-bar, and slowly openeing the door to make sure no enemies were there, he went down the enormous amount of stairs until he reached the exit. "Bring on the bastards," he muttered, checking the back-street was clear before stepping outside.