17
The battle in the parking garage was hardly a one-sided affair.
Andrews was surprised by the ferocity shown by the survivors of the San Jose attack. Even though they were outgunned—mostly—they continued to attack the team from Harmony Base from all sides. They weren’t terribly dumb about it, either. They would show themselves, feint a charge, then retreat as Andrews and the others opened fire. Then another attack would roll up on them from a different direction, forcing the SCEV team to divide their fire. The attackers moved like wraiths, fading in and out of the darkness so quickly that it was hard to get a bead on them, flitting from decrepit vehicle to support pillar and back again. The Molotov cocktails they occasionally hurled weren’t particularly effective—Andrews and Laird kept the others moving so they wouldn’t get fixed in place where they could be easily firebombed—but the weapons had an unexpected side effect. They caused the NVGs to overload occasionally, which deprived the team of their primary tactical superiority—night vision.
Then there were the two survivors with the captured rifles.
“Jesus, just how many of these guys are there?” Choi shouted as he reloaded. They were going through their ammunition much faster than planned. Even though Mulligan had instructed them to take as many magazines as they could carry, they had only a finite amount of munitions.
“A lot more than we’d thought,” Andrews replied. He saw furtive movement in the darkness and raised his rifle, but he did not fire. Instead, he looked from side to side, keeping his weapon oriented on the original target, and he saw a group of four individuals running toward his position. They held axes and spears. Andrews turned to engage them and, as he did, one of the survivors with an assault rifle let loose a burst on his position. The gunman’s aim was poor, and the bullets hit the car Andrews and Choi were crouching behind, but they slashed through the thin sheet metal. Choi recoiled, cringing.
Andrews kept his cool and squeezed off four shots at the group, which continued to advance. One went down, then another. The remaining pair split up and ran into the darkness, but Andrews followed one and fired two shots at the figure just as it slowed to hide behind one of the reinforced concrete support pillars. The body jerked as the 5.56-millimeter rounds passed through it before it slowly wilted to the floor.
“Choi, get on your weapon,” Andrews ordered. “I want you to engage that shooter and take him out.”
“Where is he?” Choi finished reloading his weapon, hit the bolt release, and brought it to his shoulder.
“Behind that truck over there, about seventy meters to your right. See it?”
“Roger, but can’t see him!”
“Target the truck. Laird!”
“Go ahead!”
“Put a forty into that truck—the one Choi is targeting!”
“Got it!” Laird turned from his position with Kelly and raised his rifle. He put his hand on the M320’s pistol grip and prepared to fire the forty-millimeter grenade downrange as Kelly sniped at another group of attackers. An arrow slashed right past Andrews’s head.
Laird fired, the grenade launcher under his rifle ejecting its high explosive payload with a hollow puffing sound. A moment later, the truck was torn apart by a bright, sparking explosion that sent shrapnel whirling. The people hiding behind the truck fled in two separate directions.
“You want the guy with the rifle,” Andrews reminded Choi.
Choi started firing immediately at the group peeling away to the right. Crack-crack-crack-crack! Andrews sighted on the group to the left and fired single shots, aiming carefully. Two combatants fell to the floor while the rest scattered, taking cover behind another truck.
“Got him!” Choi crowed. “I got you, you stupid f*ck!” he shouted into the darkness. At the same time, something flashed to the right, immediately followed by another report. Choi grunted as he shifted sideways. Andrews spun and ripped off a burst on full automatic. Another shooter was out there, and he tried to fix him or her in place with full-auto fire. It didn’t work; the assailant scuttled behind a distant row of dusty, cannibalized cars.
“Tony?” Andrews kept his sights on the cars, waiting for the shooter to reappear.
“I’m good—the armor took it,” Choi said. A moment later: “Oh, shit!”
“What is it?”
“The shooter I dropped—I was distracted, and someone else just picked up the weapon!”
We have to get out of here, Andrews thought. And we need to do it now.
“Kelly! Come forward with Choi!” Andrews put his hand on Rachel’s shoulder as she crouched between him and Choi, keeping her head down. She was the only one who was unarmed. When Kelly joined them, Andrews waved her into his position, then scurried to where Laird had set up behind a thick support column. Leona was lying behind a nearby car, working on her leg with a medical kit. Like Rachel, she had no weapon, but she did her best to keep an eye out for any incoming bandits.
“Jim, we have to get to Five,” Andrews said. “These f*ckers are going to fix us in place, and then just wait until we use up our ammo. We can’t get into Four, and we can’t stay here. We need to get to Five.”
“I’m behind you on that, but it’s going to be one tough fight,” Laird said.
“How many forties did you guys bring with you?”
“All of them, the full twenty-four in the ordnance locker.” Laird paused to fire at shapes moving in the gloom. “But we lost Mulligan’s, so that leaves us with seventeen now. You’re right, we should start going through them and tear these bastards up.”
“Negative, that’s not what I was getting at. Law’s people have been coming down on us hard, but so far, they haven’t been able to circle around behind us—and that’s where the garage entrance is. Any chance we can use the M320s to blast through the door?”
Laird’s face lit up. “Jesus H. Christ, maybe so! Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”
“I’ll need you to take Kelly, Rachel, and Leona with you. You and Kelly can use your grenade launchers to try and blast a hole big enough for us to slip outside. Choi and I will hold them back. I’ll need your spare magazines. We’re going to have to pour it on big time to make them keep their heads down.”
Laird frowned. “I don’t think it’ll take that many shots to open up the door. One of us should be able to do it, and I can move faster on my own—”
“Lee’s wounded and Rachel’s essential personnel,” Andrews said. “We can’t care for them this close to the enemy, and they’ll slow our fallback. Much better if you and Kelly take them with you—you’ll be able to protect them as well as open up our line of retreat. And if worse comes to worst and things get too hot, you can take them to the SCEV.”
Laird didn’t seem to like that, but he didn’t say anything as he and Andrews continued to scan the darkness through their NVGs. Andrews saw two scraggly fighters round a severely shot-up pick-up truck. One went to light a Molotov cocktail, and Andrews opened up on them with a quick burst. The bottle exploded in the man’s hand as a bullet passed through flesh, bone, and glass, spraying both of them with whatever flammable liquid was inside. The bullet hit with enough authority to vaporize some of the fuel, and the flaming wick set it alight—along with the two fighters. They screamed and rolled around on the floor, and Andrews serviced both of them with two shots each.
“You keep shooting like that, we don’t have anything to worry about,” Laird said, suitably impressed.
“You have to get them out of here, Jim,” Andrews said. “We need to open the back door, but if all of us can’t make it, you need to get Rachel and Lee out of here. We’ve already lost Spencer and probably Mulligan, so you guys are the last game in town.”
“I get that. All right, let’s pass the word.” As Andrews started to rise, Laird grabbed his arm. “I’m not going to cut and run at the first sign of trouble, man. But if I have to, we’ll hole up in the rig and cool our heels for a few. Choi knows the way, so if we get separated, you can still find us. Hooah?”
“Hooah,” Andrews replied. “Get Leona squared away.” He got to his feet and returned to his original position. As he slid down beside Kelly, he squeezed Rachel’s shoulder.
“How you doing, hon?”
“I’m hanging in there, sweetie,” Choi said, between rifle shots.
“I’m good,” Rachel said.
“Awesome. You’re falling back with the others. Choi-boy and I will hold the goblins back while you guys make a back door and get out of here.”
“You and who?” Choi asked. Andrews ignored him.
“Where are we going?” Rachel wanted to know. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“Laird will give you the details, and yes, we’ll be right behind you,” Andrews said. He turned to Kelly. “Take Rachel to Jim. He’ll brief you on what needs to happen.”
“Roger that,” Kelly said. “You ready to switch?”
“Affirmative,” Andrews said. “On my count … One, two, three!”
Kelly leapt from her firing position and Andrews replaced her. He shouldered his weapon and sighted on a target hiding behind the derelict hulk of an abandoned car. He fired two rounds through the sheet metal and was rewarded with a cry of pain. At the same time, another Molotov cocktail came cartwheeling toward him from the darkness to his right. Choi fired over his head, and the bottle exploded into a thousand glass fragments. The flaming wick still ignited the fuel the vessel carried, and liquid fire landed on the concrete. The glow ruined the efficiency of Andrews’s night vision goggles, and he pushed them up on his forehead.
“Choi, I’m down to Mark One eyeballs,” he said.
“Roger that, I’ve got good sightlines to our left, but the right is messed up for me too.”
“Mike,” Rachel started.
“All right, stand by to shift position,” Andrews said. “I’m thinking that old truck over there—we might be able to climb into the cab and gain some elevation, so we’re looking down on these f*ckers instead of over at them.”
“Movement over there,” Choi said. He raised his rifle and fired into the darkness. Andrews could only see vague silhouettes.
“Mike!” Rachel said again. She grabbed his arm.
Andrews shook her off violently. “Are you f*cking deaf? Go with Kelly. Go right now, Rachel!”
“Let’s go,” Kelly said, grabbing Rachel’s arm. “We’re leaving.” Kelly yanked her to her feet, which was no small achievement, given that she was considerably smaller than Rachel. Rachel struggled against her for a moment, but Kelly dug in and yanked her toward her.
“I will f*cking punch you in the face and carry you, Rachel,” she threatened.
Faced with the threat of violence and the fact that Andrews and Choi were busy fighting, Rachel gave her husband one last glance. Andrews couldn’t even spare her a quick nod, for at that moment a nearly emaciated woman came sprinting through the flickering flame to his right, carrying a sharpened metal spear. She shrieked as she bore down on him, holding the weapon like a pike, intending to run him through. Andrews twisted at the waist and fired two shots through her chest. Even though she couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, the 5.56 millimeter rounds didn’t pack enough punch to stop the woman’s flight, so she careened right into Andrews at almost full speed. But the bullets had done their job—her heart had beat its last before she crashed into him, and the metal spear made a clanging sound as it fell to the floor. As it rolled under the car he crouched behind, Andrews kicked the corpse off him—just in time. Several more shapes erupted through the flames, screaming like banshees and carrying all manner of weapons.
With a flick of his finger, Andrews set the M416 to AUTO and chopped them down. Kelly turned and fired into the mob as well, driving the survivors stumbling back into the darkness. Two fallen enemies lay nearby, clad in stinking rags, their limbs twitching as they writhed and moaned in agony. Waning firelight made their spilt blood glisten and gleam.
“Kelly—”
“We’re gone, Mike.” Kelly grabbed Rachel again and yanked her after her as she sprinted toward the waiting Laird. Once Rachel’s back was to him, Andrews flipped his rifle back to SEMI and quickly killed the two wounded attackers nearby, shooting them in the head. He was surprised he felt nothing; only a day ago, committing such an act would have been far beyond him, something akin to an atrocity. Now, he simply considered it killing the enemy before they could kill him.
If someone presses your buttons hard enough, you’ll find killing them is pretty easy. The words Mulligan had spoken to him back at Harmony came to him suddenly, and in hindsight, Andrews felt a sudden squirt of embarrassment at how he had reacted to the big Special Forces soldier’s statement.
The voice over his radio snapped him back to the present. “Andrews, Laird. We’re linked up, and we’re going for the door. We look to be in the clear. Over.”
“Roger, Jim. We’ve got the front door.”
“See you outside. Out.”
“Let’s roll, Choi,” Andrews said. “Let’s give these goons something nice and mobile to shoot at. You ready?”
“No, I’m not ready!” Choi said, the scorn plain in his voice. “Does that count for anything?”
“Nope.”
“Well, balls. Okay, I’ve got the lead.” The younger man fired a quick burst into the darkness in one direction, then pivoted and fired off a grenade from his M320 in the other. The grenade struck a support pillar several dozen yards away and exploded with a sudden boom and a flash that cast shadows through the garage. Before the echoes had even begun to fade, Choi was on his feet, running toward the truck he and Andrews had discussed. Andrews swore and pulled his NVGs down over his eyes—the flames to his right were sputtering, so NVG effectiveness was pretty much restored—and he ran after Choi as quickly as he could. Just in time. The car the two men had been using as a fighting position was suddenly bombarded with fully-automatic rifle fire. Muzzle flashes lit up the garage far to Andrews’s right. The shooter leaned into the weapon and turned it toward him, walking the rounds toward him as he ran. Andrews juked to his right as hard as he could and shouldered up against a nearby support pillar. Bullets slammed into the stout cement post an instant later, scattering concrete chips across the floor as a small cloud of dust billowed in the air. The gunfire ended abruptly, and Andrews knew this was probably his only chance. Placing his left heel against the pillar, he turned at the waist and brought up his M416. Through the night vision goggles and the low-light scope on his rifle, he could see the man with the captured assault rifle struggling to reload it. Andrews fired two rounds and hit him directly in the center mass. The man dropped the rifle and slowly crumpled to the floor.
“In place, Captain,” Choi said over the radio. A moment later, his rifle barked, and in the dark distance someone yelped. “I’ve got your advance covered!”
Andrews pushed away from the pillar and sprinted toward the truck, scanning left to right. He saw flashes of movement in the green-white world revealed by his NVGs. Several scraggly survivors were closing on them, leapfrogging from decaying car to decaying car, then flitting behind the thick concrete pillars. Muzzle flashes bloomed from the darkened cab of the semi-truck as Choi opened fire on the survivors. He continued to fire on semi-automatic, rationing his ammunition as well as he could. Andrews ran to the truck and slammed into its dusty fender. The rig’s tires were gone, either having rotted away or been stripped off for another use. The big vehicle sat on its belly, which meant there was no way anyone would be able to crawl under it and use it for cover. Andrews pressed his back against the truck’s sheet metal and fiberglass body and shouldered his rifle, scanning for targets.
“Choi, can you see movement to your left?” he asked, creeping toward the front of the truck.
“I see ’em,” Choi replied. “They’re trying to sneak up on us. How bad of a hurting are we going to put on these guys, sir?” His voice was neutral, as if he were discussing a menu item.
Andrews looked around the truck’s grille, weapon at ready. “As much of one as we need to, Choi. If they don’t back off, they die.”
“Hooah. I’m engaging with a forty.” Choi fired another grenade out of the truck’s windowless cab. It arced through the air and landed in the shell of a car several survivors were hiding behind. The explosion was tremendous, made even more so by the relatively tight confines of the parking garage. Andrews’s NVGs were once again overwhelmed by the sudden flash as the high explosive round went off, fairly decimating the car and turning it into one giant shrapnel generator. The goggles cleared instantly once the flare dissipated, and he saw several shapes writhing about on the concrete floor, shrieking in agony, their bodies flayed open by the fusillade of whirling metal. Men, women, and to Andrews’s shock, children lay in the blast radius, their screams of pain echoing through the garage.
“Oh man, are those f*cking kids?” Choi said from the cab. “They brought their kids to the fight?”
“Hold it together, Tony,” Andrews told him. “They did it to themselves; you didn’t do shit.” He shouted into the parking garage, raising his voice so it could be heard over the cries of the wounded. “Back off and no one else gets hurt! We’re not here to harm you, we just want to get out of here! You can send two people to recover your wounded—we will not fire on you!”
In response, another Molotov cocktail came spinning through the darkness from their rear. It burst open against the rear of the truck’s cab, spewing flaming liquid across it. Choi swore as some of the flaming accelerant landed inside the cab.
They’re behind us! As Andrews spun to face the new threat, something struck him in the chest with enough force to throw him back against the truck. He kept his grip on his rifle and looked down. A metal arrow stuck out from the body armor covering his chest, right between two pockets that contained magazines of 5.56 millimeter ammunition. That he felt no pain was little comfort—he had no idea if the projectile had penetrated the ballistic trauma plating that lay beneath the composite layers of bullet-resistant armor that covered the surface of his vest. Until he felt it, he wasn’t going to stop fighting. Realizing he was silhouetted against the ribbons of fire that raged across the back of the semi-truck’s cab, he ducked to his left. Just in time, for another arrow slashed past, and this one ripped right through the truck’s sheet metal cab without even slowing down.
“Choi, we’re taking fire from the rear! Laird, this is Andrews—we have OPFOR to our rear, they are between you and us! Over!”
“Roger that, Mike. We’re at the door now, start making your way toward us!” As Laird finished transmitting, a loud explosion tore through the garage as a forty-millimeter grenade did its work against the steel mesh garage door. Then two more explosions.
Choi leapt out of the doorless truck’s cab and landed beside Andrews. He fingered the firing selector on his rifle and ripped off a quick burst at a man standing fifty meters away, a huge longbow held in one hand. Both men fired at the same time, and Choi missed being killed by the man’s steel arrow by millimeters. The attacker spun and dove away, and Andrews didn’t know if he’d been hit or not. Choi glanced over at Andrews and saw the arrow sticking out from the center of his body armor.
“Man, that’s some shit, Captain,” he said, before returning to the task at hand.
There were two more resounding explosions from the far end of the garage, and stroboscopic flashes of light peeled back the darkness for an instant. Andrews saw flurries of movement to their rear, and he stood up and peered through the open cab of the truck. More figures raced toward it, using its bulk to camouflage their advance. Andrews cracked off two rounds, then his weapon clicked empty. He ejected the magazine, pulled another from his vest and slapped it in, hit the bolt release switch, and was back in business. The attackers had disappeared. He knew they were crouched down on the other side of the truck, which meant he and Choi were practically within knife-fighting distance. But they weren’t outfitted for close-quarters combat; their rifles weren’t short-barreled, and they had no sidearms—those were not part of the SCEV weapons loadout. The only thing the two men could do was put some distance between them and their attackers. He slapped Choi on the arm and pointed in the direction of Laird, Kelly, and Rachel.
“Let’s roll! When we get forty meters out, turn and drop a grenade on this thing!”
“Roger that,” Choi said, already sliding another forty-millimeter grenade into the M320. Both men set off at a sprint from the vehicle, and just in time. With a war cry, the attackers on the other side of the rig swarmed over it, hoping to catch the two men from behind. Andrews half turned and fired a burst at the dusty wreckage, aiming as best as he could while on the run. He needn’t have worried. When the bullets rained down among them, the attackers reversed course and dove back behind the hulk of metal.
“Laird, we’re heading your way!” Andrews said as another explosion tore through the garage.
“Great timing—we’re through over here! Speed it up! I’ll drop back and give you some cover!”
“Negative—get Rachel to Five! We’ll be right behind you!” Andrews ordered. Beside him, Choi slowed and turned, raising his rifle to his shoulder. At the same time, Andrews saw a burst of movement to his left and he spun, bringing his rifle sights on a small figure as it darted toward him. The boy was ragged and thin, his long, filthy hair tied back in a ponytail that seemed to go on forever. Through the NVGs, Andrews could see his every feature: wild eyes, foam building at the corners of his mouth, pockmarks on his face, the natty tunic he wore. He carried a single blade of steel that was patinated by time and use, and his feet were wrapped in scraps of cloth. His thin arms were exposed, and a sheen of sweat stood out on them. He looked to be only six or seven years old, but given the apparent malnutrition that stole through the group of survivors that had made the shattered hulk of San Jose their home, he could have been twice that age.
“Stop there, or I’ll shoot you!” Andrews shouted. Behind him, Choi’s grenade launcher thumped, and an instant later another explosion shook the garage. Dust rained down from the ceiling and the boy slowed, frightened by the sudden fire and fury as Choi’s grenade destroyed the semi-truck the rest of the attackers were hiding behind. More cries and screams of shock and agony reached Andrews’s ears. The boy looked at the conflagration behind Andrews, his pace slowing; then his face hardened and he accelerated toward Andrews again, blade held high. He released a keening wail as he bore down on Andrews, his eyes full of hate and fear.
Andrews shot him once through the chest. The boy stumbled and fell, skidding and rolling across the dusty floor, his blade clattering as it slid across the concrete. The small figure came to a rest on his back, chest heaving, a bloody froth spilling from his mouth.
Jesus …
Andrews snapped out of it and turned to Choi. “Come on, Tony—let’s get the hell out of here!”
The two men sprinted toward the far end of the garage, where they could see the ragged hole that had been blown through the entrance door. Choi reached it first, and he knelt beside the opening, rifle at ready. An expended forty-millimeter grenade casing rolled across the concrete ramp when he brushed against it with one of his boots, tinkling as it bumped over metallic debris. There was no sign of Laird, Kelly, Leona, or Rachel, and Andrews hoped they were well on their way to SCEV Five.
“Go on,” Choi said. “I’ve got your back.”
Andrews tucked his rifle close to his body and lifted up one leg. The hole was only four feet tall and just shy of that wide, so he had to step through it carefully, lest he cut himself on the ragged metal edges. The night on the other side of the hole was cool and dry, and a light breeze cooled his sweat the instant he was out of the garage. He reached back inside and tapped Choi’s shoulder and, a moment later, he stepped out as well.
“Got one banger left. I’m going to use it to hold those bastards back,” Choi said. “Just in case they decide to come after us.”
“Roger that, but let’s make tracks,” Andrews said. The street was deserted, filled with the detritus of passing years—shattered glass from the buildings, collapsed facades, fallen light poles, and stripped vehicles. Several hundred meters up the street, he saw Laird leading Kelly, Rachel, and Leona away. Rachel was supporting Leona, helping her navigate her way across the debris-strewn street.
“Jim, we’re out of the garage and coming up behind you,” he whispered into his headset. “Keep going, we’ll keep a watch on the back door. Over.”
“Roger,” came Laird’s quiet response.
Andrews and Choi pressed on, gravel and glass crunching beneath their boots. Choi kept turning and looking back at the garage, but he did not fire off his last grenade. Apparently, their attackers weren’t interested in pursuing them any further. Andrews was grateful.
Then he saw Laird stop. He turned and motioned Rachel and Leona to crouch as he and Kelly did the same thing. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and began firing bursts into the darkness.
Shit.
Behind him, Choi’s grenade launcher went thoomp as it ejected its round, and a moment later, the harsh crack of an exploding grenade tore through the night. Andrews turned and saw several survivors writhing amidst the rubble, screaming in pain. Several more boiled through the hole in the garage door, and Choi clipped them with precision fire.
“Let’s get to the other street so we can get a better angle on them!” Andrews said, hustling across the street’s cracked pavement. Choi followed, walking backwards and firing a shot every second or so in an attempt to keep the rest of the enemy bottled up inside the garage. Andrews heard a scuffling noise from above, and he looked up in time to see several Molotov cocktails flying toward them, hurled by figures looking over the remaining portion of the civic center’s roof.
“Choi, look out!” He raised his rifle and squeezed off a few rounds at the new set of attackers. They darted back behind the roofline as his bullets struck the retaining wall there, sending puffs of dust exploding into the night air. Then he and Choi were practically dancing in the streets as the bottles landed and shattered, spreading their flaming contents everywhere. From up the street, more gunfire sounded from Laird and Kelly.
“Mike, we’ve got a problem up here!” Laird said over the radio.
“Roger that, we’ve got goblins to the rear as well,” Andrews told him as he flattened against the pockmarked wall of the building across the wide street. “Choi, keep the pressure on them, don’t let them out of the garage!” He raised his rifle to his shoulder and targeted the roof of the civic center. He saw movement as several fighters slowly looked over the lip of the roofline, and he blew one of them away with a single shot. The heads dipped down again, and Andrews wished he had a grenade launcher of his own. He could lob a forty up there and ruin the rest of the night for several of the enemy. Beside him, Choi fired again and again, then stopped.
“Reloading!” he said, ejecting the spent magazine from his rifle. Andrews took up his firing position and drilled a survivor right through the chest as he started to shove himself through the ragged hole in the garage door. The figure cried out and fell back through the dark maw.
“Laird, how many combatants do you have up there?” Andrews asked. Beside him, Choi loaded a fresh mag into his rifle and resumed his position. Andrews returned to his examination of the roofline and saw someone quickly stand up to hurl another Molotov cocktail. Andrews shot him through the neck, and the figure fell away. An instant later, light blossomed as the cocktail exploded on the roof.
“Can’t tell,” Laird said, “but it’s a lot of the bastards—we’re taking some pretty accurate arrow fire up here, and they’ve got more of those Molotov cocktails as well. Our NVGs are pretty much garbage now. Over.”
“Roger that. We’re trying to keep the outbreak contained back here, and we’re taking Molotovs as well. Over.”
Laird’s response was lost amidst an ululating chorus of war cries as over a dozen people stood up on the civic center’s roof, hurling Molotovs and firing arrows. Choi let out a frightened yelp as a metal arrow ricocheted off the wall beside him. Andrews flipped his rifle’s fire selector to full auto and raked the crowd overhead, sending several reeling back into the flame-lit darkness. An arrow slammed into the sidewalk between his feet, and he felt a nick of pain as something tugged at his right sleeve, above his elbow. He ignored it and kept firing, squeezing off measured bursts and trying to break up the enemy offensive.
“Keep on the garage door!” he shouted to Choi. At the same time, he heard more automatic gunfire from Laird’s position. A quick glance up the street sent a lance of horror through his chest. More survivors were advancing on Laird’s position.
And they had an armored truck.
“Jim, hit that thing with grenades!” he shouted over the radio. His rifle stopped firing, the bolt locked back—it was empty. “Reloading!” He ripped the expended mag from his weapon and pulled a fresh one from his vest.
“F*ck, me too!” Choi said as his own weapon fell silent. From Laird’s position, a grenade exploded, then another. Above the din, he heard a secondary noise, like a gunshot—but it didn’t sound like five-five-six NATO.
“Taking fire up here!” Laird said. “They’re using the truck as a combat platform!”
“Shoot it with a grenade!” Andrews repeated. He hit the bolt release on his rifle and cracked off two shots at the people emerging from the garage, missing them entirely.
He stepped to his right, realizing he’d been stationary for too long. The enemy had to know his position by now. He was right. An arrow wedged itself into the concrete facade right where he’d been standing, a shot that would have hit him directly in the forehead had he not moved. Choi was operational then, and he engaged the enemy combatants emerging from the garage. He missed just as often as he hit, and sparking explosions dappled the steel door as bullets flattened against it. Another detonation sounded from up the street, but Andrews couldn’t check on the circumstances there as he fired on the enemy combatants who clung to the civic center’s roof. He fired at one, and the bullet-riddled corpse tumbled off the edge and fell headlong to street.
“These guys are gonna get us, they’ve got the high ground!” Choi said, an edge of panic in his voice.
“Laird, SITREP!” Andrews said.
“We’ve hit that armored car with two grenades and we’ve managed to stop it, but the f*ckers are using it for cover—we can’t shoot through it, and Kelly and I can’t take it by ourselves! We need you up here!”
Andrews heard the crackle of gravel down the street, as if something was making its way toward them. He started to look that way, but three archers stood up on the civic center’s roof and raised their bows. He engaged them immediately.
“Roger th—”
“Get down!” Choi slammed into him suddenly, driving Andrews to the rubble-littered ground. An arrow slashed into the pavement only inches from his face, pelting him with concrete chips. He struggled against Choi, trying to pull his rifle out from beneath him and return fire.
“Choi, what the—”
The night erupted into fury as great gouts of flame seemed to arc up the street, turning night into day. A furious ripping sound cut through the air. Andrews turned, looking toward Laird’s position, and saw the armored truck facing them was being slowly demolished in great, sparking explosions that sent bits and pieces of it flying through the air. Laird and the others cowered before the tremendous fusillade, and the enemies facing them jerked and spun as arms and legs were blown off their bodies. The corpses essentially disintegrated where they stood, and Andrews wondered what kind of hell had been unleashed upon the world. The ground beneath him vibrated, the shuddering growing with each passing second as the raucous din grew louder. He heard Choi whoop suddenly, an abrupt exultation of joy that seemed misplaced. Then Andrews became aware of another noise, a mounting whine that deepened into a bellow.
A gas turbine engine coming to life.
SCEV Five rolled to a halt right beside them, the turreted miniguns in its slanted nose spitting bursts of 7.62 millimeter death up the street. The opponents that faced Laird and the others broke and ran, but the firing didn’t stop—the fleeing combatants were chopped down as they fled. The SCEV’s outer airlock door cycled open, and the LED lights inside snapped on. The rig’s armored bulk shielded them from the fighters on the rooftop, rendering their arrows ineffective. As if to underscore just how the tide had changed, the missile pod on the SCEV’s back quickly extended into firing position, rotated toward the civic center, and promptly sent a projectile lancing into the structure’s side. Riding a column of fire, the missile tore through the civic center’s outer wall and exploded deep inside, causing the remains of the roof to suddenly bow upwards before it collapsed inward in a rising cloud of dust.
“Andrews, you guys had better get in. The meter’s running, and I’m low on quarters,” a voice said over his radio. Even in the heat of battle, Command Sergeant Scott Mulligan managed to sound completely bored.
“About time we rated door-to-door service!” Choi said as he pushed himself off of Andrews and climbed to his feet.
***
“Mulligan! You’re not dead?” Andrews said as he bolted into the cockpit. Mulligan was strapped into the pilot’s seat, so he slipped into the copilot’s seat and buckled himself in. Mulligan looked like hell—he clearly represented the three Bs: battered, bloodied, and bruised.
“That’s a matter of personal opinion,” Mulligan said. A chime sounded as the airlock indicators went from red to green, and the big man pushed the control column forward. The SCEV responded like a tiger that had just slipped out of its cage, its engines shrieking as its huge tires spun, seeking purchase on the debris-littered ground. Every now and then, a tinny tink and clunk reached Andrews’s ears. Despite the rig’s firepower, the denizens of San Jose were still trying to put up a fight, launching whatever they had at the SCEV as it barreled down the street.
“I’ve got the guns,” Andrews said, slipping on his headset and taking over the fire control systems. A window opened up on the infrared overlay that was projected on the viewport—a digital targeting system, which allowed him to control the turreted miniguns on the rig’s nose. But there was nothing to fire on; all of Law’s people were laying low.
“Roger, you have the guns,” Mulligan said.
“Laird, Andrews—check your six, we’re rolling up on your position. Get everyone ready to board. Over.”
“Roger that,” Laird responded immediately.
Ahead, Andrews saw Laird and Kelly marshal Leona and Rachel to the other side of the street so they would be in a better position to board the rig when it came to halt.
“Choi, override the inner airlock door! We’re going to want to board them as quickly as we can,” Andrews shouted.
“Roger that!” Choi responded. “I’m on it!”
“Get them aboard ASAP. We’ll be vulnerable when we come to a stop, and it’s not like we have three hundred sixty degrees of coverage,” Mulligan said as he slowed the SCEV. When it rumbled just past Laird’s position, he braked it to a shuddering halt. The huge vehicle skidded several feet across the loose debris. Andrews reached for the FLIR yoke and twisted it from right to left; the FLIR turret panned in response, and he watched the projected overlay, looking for any signs of life. Motionless bodies lay near the immolated armored truck, the figures glowing dully, still warm against the chilly night. Ghostly pools formed around them—blood, slowly cooling in the nighttime breeze. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of figures moving through the ground floor of a devastated building. He rolled the targeting bracket on them, his thumb hovering above the FIRE button.
Do it! They want us dead, so do it to them first!
He crushed the button beneath his thumb. The two miniguns blared, firing long streams of high-powered ammunition at the building. The infrared overlay revealed the destruction caused by the sudden salvo of 7.62 millimeter bullets as they slashed across the building’s floor. Two shapes went down, blasted into pieces by the deadly hail of steel rain. More escaped being blown into oblivion, and Andrews felt a small—but not unexpected—twinge of relief in his gut. He knew he’d reached his limit, had had his fill of killing for the moment.
“Having an attack of the mercies, are you?” Mulligan said.
“What?”
“You didn’t slew the guns to the left—you could have taken the rest of them down.” His voice was neutral, revealing neither compliment nor reproach.
“All aboard!” Choi shouted from the second compartment. “Airlock sealed!”
Laird shoved his way into the cockpit. A big grin split his handsome, grime-covered face when he saw Mulligan.
“Well, I’ll be damned. You must have an angel in your corner, Sarmajor!” He slapped the bigger man on the shoulder.
Mulligan winced at the contact. “The devil in my detail’s averaging everything out.”
“Jim, get everyone squared away,” Andrews said. “We’ve still got some work to do, so we’ll decon once we secure the supports and clear the city. Sarmajor, you good to take us back to the warehouse?”
“Absolutely, sir. I’m a hundred percent operational.” He set the SCEV back into motion, accelerating past the wrecked armored truck. “And the sooner we get there, the better … These guys’ll figure out where we’re headed soon enough, and we’d better get gone before they can corner us again.”
“I’ll give you one great big hooah on that, Sarmajor,” Andrews said, as Laird retreated from the cockpit.