Urban Soldier Novels & Stories

You're being so lame! Xander didn't understand what he was saying. Many of the young soldiers at the time were from rural villages. Most of them were orphans saved from other young soldiers. Since they were young, they dreamed of wearing uniforms and were passionate about serving their country. "What do you mean?" Xander asked. The male student yelled, "Someone please send me back! I can't hold a conversation with them. Can you stop imposing your era's thinking onto us? We're already under a lot of pressure from our academics, so—"

Many tents dotted the space, fires burned in metal drums, and people were everywhere. Dirty, exhausted, wounded people who looked up as we entered. The conversations died instantly. A woman near the entrance dropped the bandage she'd been wrapping around a man's arm, and a child that was peeking out from behind a tent ducked back inside. An older man with a grey beard and a missing hand stood from where he'd been tending a fire. They all stared at me like I'd crawled out of hell itself. "Marcus." A soldier approached, young, maybe twenty, with a crossbow slung over his shoulder and burns covering half his neck.

We froze. Figures stepped out from the trees—silent as shadows, but now unmistakable. Clad in structured brown uniforms that blended with the bark and undergrowth, they moved with the discipline. Each one bore a rifle across their chest, matte and utilitarian, not gleaming like parade weapons, but dark and worn from use. Real weapons, for real threats. Their uniforms were minimal but functional: tightly fitted brown jackets with reinforced shoulders, matching trousers, and dark boots silenced by the forest floor. They were Artonac soldiers—there was no doubt.

Sadly, the walls aren’t exempted. I can’t help but chuckle at the sight of the men standing in the porch. Looking at them through the broken window, I can tell from their uniform that they are soldiers. And although I can’t decipher the patterns in the military uniform of any country to save my life, I know these aren’t Country Zee’s Army. These ones; even with their uniforms on, they reek of absolute coldness, their rifle points facing the living room, their fingers ready to pull the trigger again once the order comes.

Rusty who suddenly laughed. "Is it a girl?" Mr. Rusty asked before he could ask. The soldier looked at the older man funnily before replying. "No. It's an old man." Mr. Rusty raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Might not be your fangirl after all." The soldier by the door seemed to have realized something. "Oh... Oh I get it. Oh right, you're the one swarmed by the civilians yesterday, weren't you? Haha! Tough first day for a star like you, isn't it?"

They didn't need to ask me what happened; they knew it must be the handiwork of the female soldier. There was also this favourite soldier, who was loved by everyone. He was very friendly and had a special way of making us obey orders. He was voted the best military man in the orientation camp. He would always come with a stick like a Fulani herdsman. He never used the stick on anyone but he would threaten us with it as he shouted, If you are still in the hostel, you are wrong!

His gaze swept across the faces of the soldiers, each one carrying the weight of the city's security on their shoulders. The city, once draped in the tranquility of dawn, now quivered under the impending manhunt. Soldiers fanned out into the labyrinthine streets, ransacking homes and questioning citizens. The wilderness became a theater of pursuit, where the rustle of leaves and distant footfalls signaled the desperate escape of the hunted.

"We will report at the state secretariat once I've been discharged." The soldier nodded in agreement. "Don't talk to the media. They might be here any moment from now." he warned and they left the ward. Trevor heaved a deep sigh and lifted his head. He shut his eyes. "Those bloody insurgents that caught us." began Trevor. "I've heard of them a couple of times. They are a sort of movement revolting against the government. You can call them terrorists. They kidnap civilians, demand ransom and shift to a different location. I think they are more like bandits." he explained and opened his eyes.

There was blood all over his face. This world is far crueler than she imagined. Laura stood there a little stunned. A dozen soldiers with guns had already surrounded him, all wearing the uniforms of the Jun North. She looked in the direction from which the gunfire came, and saw a familiar figure nimbly coming from the cedar forest beside her, and only when she got closer did she see that the man was holding a wooden warehouse in his hand. He was wearing the uniform she was all too familiar with, his boots were stepping on the fresh snow, and his face was stern.

Mandy ran towards Sonny who jumped down from his horse and embraced her. Also watching this reunion were a dozen or so soldiers on horseback. They were covered in dust and grime but that did nothing to hide the air of menace they exuded. The only thing worse than a vicious thug is a vicious thug in uniform. Each was built like brick shit-house and had the face of man who would kill you if he could be bothered, so probably best not to bother him.