Abdera was a sorry sight, but nothing new to Evan Kontos. Half of it had been reduced to rubble and graveyards, the other half had been hastily converted into basic slums to house a population too big for the meagre AAF's ration shipments. Two years ago it had been in the hands of Evan's brothers, the FIA, until the Americans and their NATO allies stepped in to give the butchers of Altis the weapons they needed to complete their genocidal rampage. He stared bitterly at the two burnt out husks of T-80's, long since dead, and quickly rusting into the cracked earth beneath them. They had been part of the FIA's Freedom Brigade in better times, when his brothers-in-arms were still considered a combat effective force.

Now they were [i]terrorists[/i]. Hiding in the shadows, throwing grenades into cafes and blowing up market places. Usually these attacks were targeted at off duty AAF soldiers and officers, other times they were just directed at anyone. Whatever it took to grab the headlines. Evan despised such tactics that involved the killing of civlians, but his hands were rich with their blood all the same. It was far too easy for a bullet to fall stray in a busy road, or a for a child to pick up an IED hidden in some shrub. He would stand trial for all of them, and accept his just deserves; this he had promised himself. 

The ground beneath him rumbled and animated as the convoy of Unimog Model 406's thundered down the dilapidated roadway that ran through Abdera. Through his binoculars, Evan could see the townspeople quickly hurrying into their depressing hovels; they had learned in the early days of this strife that the AAF, and indeed the FIA were in the business of shooting innocents who gave them disapproving looks. Though efforts had been made by the Cell Commanders to limit FIA's involvement in war crimes, the discipline was not always there to prevent such things. Evan himself had shot two of his fellows for taking liberties with the very people they were trying to save. It was sick situation - the good wanted to hide and obey, the bad wanted to kill and save. Evan fell under the latter, but not by choice. He shuddered as memories of his bloody baptism resurfaced temporarily, before they were put down by his psychological S.W.A.T team. 

Two American made Humvees of no specified model followed the trucks. Evan guessed he was facing a total of sixty AAF soldiers, but judging by their last generation equipment, these were the dregs. As the convoy started to leave the town southbound, and head towards the FIA combat team, he flashed a light across the road. He did not believe in the use of radios - too easy to track - always the operations he led were done with total silence. Success demanded it. 

The leading Unimogs were picked up by an almighty explosion, and thrown this way and that. Evan gleamed a smile as he watched one smash into the earth, throwing fiery bodies from it's smouldering ruin. Even as he joyed in the anihiliation of two dozen of his foe, the rest of the AAF were responding with practiced discipline; the explosion had failed to cause panic. [i]Damn.[/i] 

Twenty, then forty AAF soldiers, in their flak jackets and weilding a variety of weapons poured from the remaining Unimogs. The Humvees at the rear separated from the roadway, and scanned for the FIA with their mounted 20mm machineguns. Evan was outnumbered, four to one, but not out gunned. He shouldered his F2000, sighted the nearest soldier some two hundred yards off - gazed into the youthful eyes of a sixteen year old boy - and then pulled the trigger. His bounty jerked backwards, head first, and collapsed on the floor with a bloody mess spreading from the middle of his chest. [i]Another boy I've had to slaughter. St. Peter will have many questions for me, I'm sure.[/i]

The AAF focused on the direction of his shot, and just as Evan rolled from his firing position, a hundred rounds crashed into the spot he had been laying. 20mm rounds exploded the rock formations, raining him with stinging fragments, whilst small arms reduced the earth and shrub to a fine powder. The second signal had been given. 

The exposed AAF troops, confident they were facing either one man, or a very small team, had resolved to stand and charge Evan's position. Ten or so Soviet-Era and American surplus machineguns opened up from the shrubs, rises, rocks and crevices that dotted the landscape around the besieged convoy. The soldiers were hamburgered; their body parts easily seen flying above the red mist. The Humvees responded, firing sporadically in all directions until a LAW smashed into both of them, blasting them to ruins. Now it was the FIA's time to go on the offensive. 

NATO was in trouble, betrayed by the AAF as they had betrayed the FIA those many years ago. Command had seen fit to aid the Americans, and their friends, in hopes that this time around they'd see the FIA as allies, and not terrorists. Evan didn't care, he just wanted to slaughter the AAF. It was his mission;his goal. Downing their machineguns, the FIA geurillas picked up their AKs and F2000s, and charged down onto the road. A bloody melee ensued, and bodies was blasted from just feet away.

Reaching the wreck of the first Unimog, Evan eyed an AAF soldier attempting to put his entrails back into his ruined midsection. Evan was not a monster, he would not let a man suffer so, and blasted the unfortunate man's head into nothingness. A NATO round cracked off the metal work of the Unimog, just inches from Evan, but he did not flinch. He turned with lightning grace, sighted his attacker - a soldier lying beneath one of the burning Humvees - and tapped the trigger three times. The soldier's face and shoulder were hit, and he slumped immediately. 

What was left of the AAF force was retreating back into the town; Evan could not allow this. "Kill them, kill them all!" He roared, shouldering his F2000 and firing wildly at the backs of his beaten enemy. 

He was soon joined by the remnant of his Cell, and together they put down the last of the AAF threat. The distant sound of helicopters told Evan it was time to pack up and leave - to melt back into the mountains. Sixty plus dead, at the loss of four FIA geurillas, not bad, not bad at all.