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Theatre of War

"Move, move!"

People rushed past me, running for their lives.

"Keep going!"

Screams of terror cut the air.

"Don't stop!"

A clap of thunder overtook us all. The asphalt rumbled. The screaming got louder.

I fought hard to stay standing against the fleeing crowd, the shaking. Harder still to raise and steady my rifle.

Another thud. A tremor. Getting worse. I aimed past the cars littering the tarmac, the buildings freshly emptied and abandoned, and up towards the rooftops.

Brickwork of the corner building began to crumble, burst outwards before my eyes. The top floor collapsed into the others, raining rubble onto the street from four storeys above. Another crushing slam sent yet more masonry tumbling, cars bouncing on their suspensions until the dust and debris overtook it all.

The scowl on his face remained, smattered with blood. This Velikan squirrel was the last of his squad. Me of mine. This is where it would end.

"You think this to be finished?" He limped through the dust cloud, supporting his bloody mess of an arm with the other. "I need no weapon."

No mistaking the rage. Neither from his booming voice, nor his vicious footsteps.

Resisting the shifting ground, and my own trembling, blood-matted paws, I fired a burst from my rifle. One bullet hit. His shoulder. The explosive payload spattered blood across brickwork beside him. That only enraged him further.

His growl almost deafened me. He swung out a fist, effortlessly smashing through the third floor facade of an apartment building. The whole thing shifted, snapping into two, crumpling down with an apocalyptic crash.

Whatever he cried out, I didn't need to understand Velikan to get its meaning. His limp all but disappeared. Adrenaline, perhaps. Those stomping strides got longer. Heavier. The whole street seemed to jump as his boot slammed down atop a car, flattening the front end deep into the crumbling asphalt. Another growl forced my paws to my ears, and my eyes closed. They reopened just in time to see the other swing out, connecting hard with the side of a box van. It sailed through the air as if nothing more than an empty tin can, demolishing the storefront it ploughed into.

An explosion rocked the area, blasting glass and metalwork out into the street. Instincts threw up my arm for protection, just in time for the shockwave to knock me back. My balance faltered. Down to the road I went. My tail broke my fall. Painfully. The force of it all tossed my gun from my grasp.

"Is this all you have?"

Smoke billowed into the sky above. The rhythmic pounding of the ground continued.

"You kill my brothers. Not so me."

Another step near lifted the car beside me off its wheels. The next saw it crushed by a boot almost as big as it was.

"I am thinking..." The sky and the buildings around me disappeared. Replaced by the dark green of a Velikan uniform. His creased, scowling muzzle hovered above, gaining a smile. It sent a shiver right through me. "...I will enjoy this."

The boot beside me lifted, pulling the remains of the car it impacted along with it. A quick shake freed it from his sole, resembling a twisted, broken sheet of metal as it clattered back down to the cracked asphalt.

I reached out for my rifle, frustratingly close but too far away to grab. Shards of metal fell like hail from the grooves of the squirrel's boot, joining the blood raining from his arm beyond. I groaned, grimaced, struggled against my fear to get closer to my weapon... until... success!

I took it up. Aimed upwards. A pull of the trigger... but nothing followed.

He burst out laughing, rattling me to my core. "You should not forget to reload, little wolf..." A cold shadow overtook me. Replaced my groaning with whimpering. "...But it does not matter now."

A glint caught the corner of my eye. Right there beside me, a lump of metal as big as my paw sat amongst the debris the Velikan had left behind. It didn't need a second thought. I reached out. Grabbed it. Faked the pull of a pin. "And you should duck."

"What?"

With all the might I could muster, I hurled the 'grenade' beyond his boot, rolling onto my front as if to cover myself. His panicked cries and the rumbling of his retreat came like music to my ears.

Of course, nothing followed. No blast. No screams. Nothing. I turned back over, rose onto a knee, and watched his stupid frown appear.

"What is this?"

"This is for my friends." I dug into my vest pocket, grabbing my sole remaining magazine; the signal for the enemy to rush right for me.

My paws shook as hard as the ground. One stomp to release. Another to reload. A third hit hard, enough for its own shockwave to send me back down to the tarmac. It wouldn't save him.

He let out a blood curdling cry, raising his boot to snuff me out for good. I steadied, aimed, and pulled the trigger...

"And cut!"

The camera guys beside me backed away, talking amongst themselves. The rest of the crew soon descended, jumping into action with their post-scene work. Rod, our director weasel, joined them out here on the tarmac, taking great care of all the cracks and carnage that had been left behind.

"Awesome! That was great stuff!" He pointed to the extras, massing over where this Polcian-sized street ended and the studio proper started. "You were perfect! I felt every shred, every ounce of your fear. Excellent work!" Rod turned to me. "Harley! Fantastic! The fall looked terrific. Seamless." Finally he craned his neck upwards, grinning wider than at any point during the two months of filming so far. "You especially! Amazing! ...Sorry, what was your name?"

"Milos, sir."

"That thing you did, Milos. The punch of the building. Loved it. Great Touch. My gods, you had me shaking all the way off set!"

"Thank you so much," came the reply, accent easing into something far more subtle, missing the heavy bass that had my teeth chattering just moments before. "It just felt right in the moment."

"Okay, everyone." Rod scanned the set, looking to the extras, the cameramen, then all the way up to the Bolstrovan lighting crew working away beyond the chest-height, fourth floor rooftops. "The hard work's not done yet. Gotta remind you that we're gonna get one take and one take only on the next scene, just like we did this one. This is the only part of the set that'll work for this shot, and once it's trashed, it's trashed. So, I want more gold, people!" He glanced at his watch. "Alright, let's take five for lunch. Refocus, recharge, and then let's make it happen!"

Everyone started to scatter, abandoning the broken model street. All except for the squirrel above me. He remained frozen, looking a little lost if nothing else. "Don't worry," I said. "They'll get you back where you need to be before the next scene, if you want to run off."

"Oh... No, I don't doubt that." His hands were clasped, wringing. Big tail twitching. "You're Harley Stone."

"I am."

"I, uh--" One of the Bolstrovan crew members appeared beside us, squeezing himself between a couple of the buildings.

The deer reached for Milos' vest, tugging out the used blood pack hidden around his shoulder blade. "We'll fit the others before the next take."

"Ok... Thank you." The crew guy shuffled away, leaving the two of us alone again. Having him silently staring down at me, grinning with buck teeth, was getting as tense as our filming.

"How long have you been in the business?"

"Oh, me? Only two years. Mostly local productions here. Theatre."

"That's all?" He nodded. "This is your first time working on a film?" Another nod, his hands grinding more than wringing now. "That's incredible. I've worked with guys who have been in the business for years who aren't half as convincing."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Wow." He bounced on his heels, sending the rubble around me skittering. "That means so much coming from you, I... I loved you in Iron Front by the way." I couldn't get past how soft-spoken he was. Not after all that guttural growling from earlier. "Oh, may I help?"

I accepted the finger he offered down to me, using it to climb back onto my feet. "All that said, it's a shame I've gotta shoot you in a bit."

"Yes." He chuckled. "It is. But, this has been such a great experience for me."

I grinned, pointing off set. "You wanna grab a drink before that? Only seems fair."

"Sounds good." It took him a single stride to clear the rest of the street. He'd wait up for me, though, watching me take much smaller steps on our way over to the catering tables.

Working overseas on these mixed-size sets never felt 'normal' or 'routine', but honestly, even after two decades in the industry, I probably enjoyed the experience just as much as the new blood like Milos. Maybe even more so.

After all, special effects can do a whole lot when it comes to creating 'larger' acting partners, but they'd never recreate having the real thing right there with you. Whether that be looming overhead, stomping around, or simply standing by your side, sharing a conversation over a cup of coffee. For sure, even with all the hi-tech gadgets in the world, you'd never get anything quite like this back home in Polcia!