A Defiant Spark Ignites in the Shadows
A STRATEGY CENTRAL ORIGINAL
By Maurice "Duc" DuClos - January 22, 2025
Part 1 of 4: The Ambush
Diesel fumes hung thick in the night air as Kai crouched in the shadows of a rusting shipping container. His fingers traced the crimson scarf at his throat - a splash of defiant color in the darkness, a symbol that had come to haunt the occupation's nightmares. Beyond the dim glow of flickering streetlights, the convoy rumbled forward - three armored vehicles bristling with machine guns. To the untrained eye, it was an impenetrable fortress on wheels.
To Kai, it was an opportunity.
The convoy inched through a section of the city still bearing the scars of the initial invasion—collapsed buildings and rubble-strewn streets testify to the occupation's brutal arrival. But the area remained vital, its network of access roads feeding the industrial zone, where factories still churned out goods under enemy control. The invaders needed the city's manufacturing capacity intact—they hadn't come to rule over ruins.
From his position on the street's eastern side, Kai could see Liang's shadow waiting in a doorway across the way, while Mei's voice came from somewhere above - the abandoned telecom tower that gave her clear sight lines to both positions. The Crimson Moon could not allow this convoy to pass unchallenged. Rain-slick metal pressed cold against his back as he adjusted his position, the scarf's bold insignia hidden for now but ready to be revealed - let them see who struck this blow.. The weight of his trapo - a crude but effective impact weapon favored by the resistance for its simplicity - rested reassuringly in his jacket pocket. Just a padlock on a loop of cord, but in the right hands, it could shatter bone or kill.
"Ready," Mei said through his earpiece, the faint crackle barely audible over the convoy's approaching thunder. “Scrambling their frequencies... now."
Kai tapped his mic twice, signaling his move. They had to time this perfectly. Their intelligence suggested Colonel Zhan himself had arranged this shipment - the same Colonel Zhan who'd earned his reputation breaking resistance cells across three occupied territories. He never failed to root out dissent, which made tonight's message all the more vital.
Liang emerged from the shadows, moving like oil across water. His hands gripped the straps of a homemade explosive device carried like an oversized messenger bag. Inside, eight pounds of salvaged RDX waited - military-grade plastic explosive that could tear through armor like paper. Liang had a gift for this, turning the occupation's own unexploded ordnance into precisely shaped charges. Weeks of testing had gone into this one. He nodded to Kai, his eyes sharp with focus beneath the grime that streaked his face. The timing was everything, and Liang never missed.
The first armored vehicle rolled past, its mounted turret swiveling with a hydraulic whine that set Kai's teeth on edge. Then came the second, its metal tracks crunching broken asphalt. Finally, the third--a command vehicle, reinforced and teeming with soldiers. This was the one they had to cripple.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted ahead of the convoy. An old vendor's food cart had lost a wheel, spilling steaming bowls across the street. The convoy ground to a halt, and soldiers shouted at the vendor to clear the road. They didn't know the cart's "accident" was as carefully planned as everything else tonight. Liang's eyes met Kai's--this was their window, but it wouldn't last long.
Liang darted forward, staying low, and attached the device to the vehicle's undercarriage. The magnetic clamps latched with a muffled click that echoed in Kai's ears even from across the street. His fingers tightened around the detonator as he counted down, checking each position. Three... Liang was clear of the kill zone. Two... the food cart vendor safely away. One... spotters all accounted for…. Now.
The explosion tore through the night, a flash of fire and screaming metal lighting up the narrow street like a false dawn. The command vehicle lurched sideways, its rear axle transformed into modern art. The convoy screeched to a halt as shouts erupted, the acrid stench of burning rubber and explosives filling the air. Spotlights swung wildly, carving through the smoke.
Through the chaos, Kai caught glimpses of Liang sprinting through the smoke. Three soldiers broke off from the convoy, giving chase with rifles raised. Gunfire erupted, the sharp crack of automatic weapons echoing off warehouse walls. Liang disappeared down a side street, the soldiers close behind. More shots rang out, followed by the crash of metal trash bins being overturned.
"Mei, you have eyes on Liang?" Kai whispered into his comm.
Static answered. Mei would have already gone dark, vanishing like a ghost into the city's shadows. Her cardinal rule--she never stayed in one place once the operation started. Some resistance members joked that she might not even exist--just a voice in the night that helped them survive.
"Incoming patrol!" Another voice cut through his thoughts - one of their street lookouts. He caught sight of two more soldiers breaking from cover, rifles raised, boots splashing through oily puddles. They moved quickly in his direction, but Kai was quicker. He bolted toward a nearby alley, the wet concrete streaming past beneath his feet.
Suddenly, strong hands seized him from behind. A soldier, moving faster than expected, had circled around. Kai felt the cold press of a rifle barrel against his back, the man's breath hot on his neck. For one terrible moment, death seemed certain.
But Kai had survived this long by using desperate moments to his advantage. Kai twisted hard, using the soldier's momentum against him, slamming him into the alley wall. The man grunted, his rifle falling with a metallic clatter. Kai's hand shot to his pocket, pulling free the trapo – and with a quick circular swing stuck out. The padlock cut through the night air, its steel body catching the soldier across the temple with a dull crack. Blood sprayed the bricks as the man staggered, his hands flailing for balance. Kai struck again, the padlock connecting with his jaw this time, teeth shattering with a sickening crunch. The soldier dropped, his body limp on the ground. Kai stepped over him and looked back to see where the remaining soldiers were now.
Bullets sparked off the bricks as the other soldiers opened fire, but Kai was already moving. He didn't stop to check if his attacker was dead or merely unconscious - hesitation meant death. His boots found the crumbling stairwell, and he took the steps two at a time, his movements practiced and precise. At the top, he reached a tripwire rigged to a cache of smoke grenades. He yanked the wire as he passed, and thick white smoke billowed into the alley below. The chemical haze muffled the soldiers' curses as Kai emerged onto the rooftop. The higher vantage point gave him a clear view of the chaos below, but he couldn't linger here for long.
Kai crouched low on the rooftop, his breath steadying as he scanned the chaos below. Smoke billowed in the alley, shrouding the soldiers as they regrouped. He had seconds—maybe less—before they moved again. The explosion had drawn a crowd--curious onlookers and terrified residents peeking from windows. The soldiers, still coughing from the smoke, were beginning to emerge. Through the haze, he could see them checking on their fallen comrade. The man was moving - wounded but alive. Good. Dead soldiers brought harder crackdowns.
For a moment, Kai considered dropping the crimson scarf. To be caught with it meant certain death. But its weight carried too much meaning—too many promises. Carefully, he stowed it in his backpack. A symbol of defiance, it had served its purpose during the mission, but now it was a liability in his escape. He turned his jacket inside out, flipping it from black to a lighter blue, a subtle but deliberate change, the black jacket common but identifiable by the soldiers. The black baseball cap followed the scarf into his bag, leaving no trace of his earlier persona.
His hands shook slightly as he separated the trapo's padlock and cord into different pockets, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Kai forced himself to take deep breaths, steadying himself like he'd learned to do in countless similar moments. Later, these pieces would join his phone in various disposal sites across the city.
What emerged onto the street was someone else entirely - just another face in the crowd, a young man drawn by the commotion, shoulders slightly hunched with the same fear that marked all civilians under occupation. His steps were uncertain, his head down, his entire bearing a study in carefully crafted invisibility.
He moved through the growing crowd with practiced ease, his eyes never stopping to scan for threats. Soldiers barked orders at the edge of the blast site, trying to keep onlookers at bay. A flash of movement--a soldier scanning faces in the crowd. Kai shifted course without breaking stride, using a cluster of elderly women as cover, their nervous chatter about rising food prices a perfect shield.
He didn't stop moving. Stopping was dangerous. Stopping invited scrutiny.
The next hour was a careful dance through the city's arteries. He removed the battery from his burner phone and dumped it in a storm drain, the SIM card broken and scattered across multiple trash bins. The padlock wiped clean, went into a construction dumpster, and the cord dropped down a storm drain ten blocks away. As he zigzagged through the streets, he spotted a checkpoint ahead—soldiers already questioning civilians about tonight's ambush. Kai slipped down a side street, using a route he'd memorized for exactly this scenario.
As Kai approached the checkpoint, he caught a glimpse of a man walking along the opposite side of the street. For a moment, he thought it might be another Crimson Moon member. The build, the stride—familiar enough to make his heart skip.
Kai’s hand twitched toward his side, the coded hand signal, a form of the resistance’s secret sign language, almost muscle memory. His instincts screamed to warn the man about the checkpoint ahead. But doubt crept in like a shadow. What if he wasn’t who Kai thought he was? A misplaced signal could draw the wrong kind of attention—suspicion that would ripple far beyond this moment.
And if he was Crimson Moon? Then he’d already know the risks, the unspoken rules that kept them alive. Kai’s fingers hovered, then relaxed. Doubt, he reminded himself, was both a weapon and a curse.
Head down, the man kept walking, his steps steady and unhurried, giving no indication of recognition. Kai did the same, his stride calm but measured, resisting the urge to glance back.
Twice more, he doubled back, slipping into the shadows of a crumbling archway to watch the street behind him. The faint hum of a drone’s engine passed overhead, its spotlight sweeping the ruined facades. Kai flattened himself against the cold stone, his pulse steady but his mind racing.
The man disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the night. No one followed. But even as he turned away, Kai couldn’t shake the gnawing doubt. Had he just let an ally walk into danger—or passed a stranger without consequence?
This part of the city was a maze of broken streets and abandoned buildings, a patchwork of decay and defiance. Tonight's safe house waited in a basement beneath an old storefront, one of many secrets hidden behind the occupation's blind spots.
Kai knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more - a simple code that meant everything. He waited, letting the stillness of the alley press in around him, alert for any sound out of place.
A soft knock replied - one, then two, then one. "Who's there?" whispered a voice through the door.
If they had asked, "What do you want?" instead, Kai would have known there was trouble and vanished into the night.
"It's Wong," Kai said, his voice steady. "Here to pick up the food."
The second code, "Wong and food," signaled that he was alone and hadn't been followed. The silence stretched like a drawn wire before the voice replied, "One moment. Let me get the food."
Kai's shoulders relaxed fractionally. The phrase confirmed the room was safe. The door creaked open just enough for a pair of watchful eyes to appear, then wider to admit him into the resistance's embrace.
Inside, Mei and Liang were already waiting, both bearing the grime of the night's work. Liang sat drinking coffee while Mei hunched over her laptop, her fingers never still.
"You're late," Mei said without looking up.
"Had to take the scenic route," Kai replied, dropping his bag onto the floor. "One of them got behind me in the alley. Handled it."
Liang inspected his bruised hands, picking at soot caught beneath his nails. "The fuse was a bit off---didn't fire as clean as I wanted. And... I might've gone a little heavy on the RDX." He sounded more like a critic reviewing his work than someone who'd just blown apart an armored vehicle and escaped with his life. "That rear axle just... disappeared." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, and I lost those three assholes at the Old Gate Market through the fish seller's tunnel." He grimaced. "Those vendor tunnels are getting way too hot."
Mei's fingers stopped their relentless typing. "It's going to get hotter," she said, spinning the laptop to face them. On the screen, Colonel Zhan's face was sharp with cold fury as he delivered a statement to the press, while behind him, silent footage showed his security units dragging civilians from their homes.
"These terrorists hide behind their crimson symbols, thinking shadows will protect them,” Zhan was saying, his voice clipped and precise. “Make no mistake--the Crimson Moon will burn. And when it does, the people who protect it will burn with it.”
"He's mobilizing his special security units,” Mei continued, tapping another window. “The ones he used in the North. Remember how that ended?”
Kai remembered all too well--a flash of fire screams in the night and the faces of friends who had vanished into Zhan's detention centers. Many never emerged. The Northern Province had taught him the cost of failure.
“We’ve lost people before. It doesn’t stop us.” Kai was resolute, but he felt the hardness creeping in. This was a hard reality; they knew this kind of reaction was likely after the attack. "Mass arrests are incoming," Liang muttered, studying the screen. “He'll round up everyone he can—not just suspects—families, friends, anyone who might know something."
"Our auxiliary networks," Mei said quietly. "Street vendors, shopkeepers, the people who pass messages..."
"The food cart vendor tonight," Kai added. "The one who gave us our opening. How many more like him are already on Zhan's lists?"
"How many can withstand serious interrogation?" Liang asked. The question hung heavy in the air.
Kai had no answer. The resistance's strength lay in its web of ordinary people - each knowing only their small part, but together forming an invisible army. If Zhan's forces began systematically targeting them...
"We need to warn the other cells," he said finally.
“Already trying,” Mei replied, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "But Zhan's patrols are sealing off the market districts, checking IDs, building their database."
“He’s not just arresting people,” Mei said, indicating areas on a map that Zhan’s forces were moving into. “He’s mapping relationships—who buys from who, who talks to who, even family connections. If he finishes this, it won’t just be raids. He’ll dismantle us piece by piece.”
Kai's jaw tightened as he studied Zhan's image. The Crimson Moon had always been more than just a name or a scarf's bold color. To the occupation, it was a menace, a shadow force that defied their control. To the people, it was hope, a reminder that resistance was possible. But now it was also a target, and Colonel Zhan had built his career destroying such symbols of defiance.
"He won't stop with arrests," Kai said. "He'll use them to map our networks, trace our supply lines. Every person he breaks will lead him to three more."
"And for every person who breaks, three more will join us," Liang countered, but his voice lacked conviction.
"If they're alive to join," Mei whispered.
Outside, sirens began to wail. The real war was just beginning, and its first casualties might be the very people they'd sworn to protect. Kai touched the spot where his crimson scarf had been, feeling the weight of what it represented: hope to the people, defiance to the occupation. They’d struck a blow tonight, but Zhan’s retaliation would paint the streets a different kind of red.
And somewhere in the city's shadows, a clock began ticking.
The Crimson Moon Chronicles are purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, organizations, or operations is purely coincidental. The story follows a fictional resistance organization operating under occupation, showcasing various tactics and techniques inspired by current resistance, irregular, and unconventional warfare theories and concepts. Written in the style of short, serialized action fiction, it pays homage to the 1930s and 1940s pulp classics popular in the U.S., such as Doc Savage and The Shadow.
About the author
CW5 Maurice “Duc” DuClos currently serves as a Guest Lecturer at the Naval Post Graduate School (NPS) in Monterey, California. His professional background includes various positions at the United States Special Operations Command (USSOCOM) Joint Special Operations University (JSOU), the U.S. Army John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and School (USAJFKSWCS), and 1st Special Forces Group (Airborne).
The views expressed are those of the authors and do not reflect the official position of the United States Special Operations Command, Joint Special Operations University, Naval Post Graduate School, or the Irregular Warfare Center.
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