It was head’s up thinking by Rodriguez. The grenade’s deflection off the cabinet had caused it to roll back toward the same wall where the insurgents had shut the door and were taking cover. The explosion blew a hole through their wall and plunged the would-be ambushers into a buttoned up pocket of chaos mixed with smoke and debris. Whether any had survived was a question Rodriguez knew would be better asked once they were all outside of this kill box.
Stephen and Rodriguez crossed the open area and saw the light of day shining through a broken door which now hung by a single hinge. As they passed the threshold, Stephen saw his men getting to their feet and noticed the closest man to him was Tomlison, who had been at the rear of the fire team when they entered the building. A quick glance around and he immediately knew someone was missing. Stephen recalled that Waters had been in front of him and had jumped left when the call for alarm went off. Without explanation, Stephen broke free of Rodriguez’ grasp and spun around, returning back through the doorway and into the smoke-filled building. Faintly guided by the small fires riddled throughout the clearing hallway, he took the first left down the hallway and began feeling around for his steps.
Gunfire erupted behind Stephen. He dove to the ground and pinned himself against the flat wall. He still couldn’t see but he raised his rifle and wildly returned fire into the darkness. He saw the burst of additional fire to his right, stemming from the entrance they had used. Despite the confusion of the moment, his men were quick to engage. Several more muzzle flashes appeared from the opposite end of the hall where the insurgents had emerged. The echo of heavy caliber firing thundered through the building with a chorus of shattering glass.
Stephen assumed Hooper had taken a position outside and was now unloading the SAW into the room where he expected the insurgents to be. The SAW’s gas regulator offered two different gas port sizes allowing cyclic rates of fire of 725-rounds per minute; which in itself caused a significant amount of pure bread, dreadfully intense intimidation. Unfortunately, what Hooper couldn’t know but Stephen could now see was that the enemy had been joined by others from a room just opposite them and several had moved into the hallway. Hooper was shooting at an empty room and the rest of their team was being forced back out the exit by an abundance of enemy firepower.
Stephen made his way farther down the hallway. He got into a prone position and began firing rounds down the long narrow corridor. Hoping to buy his men some time with cross fire he flipped the switch to fully automatic and sent every round into the darkness of the hallway. When he heard the bolt snap back for the last time he instinctively depressed the discharge button and dropped the magazine. Immediately he slammed another magazine into the rifle. Fearing his men had been pushed beyond the door’s threshold, he launched a barrage of covering fire in the hope of providing his team a chance to regroup outside. Another hard recoil and a pause, Stephen swapped out his clip and reloaded once again. He listened for the expectant rush of Chelp or Tomlison to come bounding through the hallway.
His men must have been forced to take cover outside because instead of a supporting volley from his team, he heard the yelling of insurgents as they ran forward and took positions behind the corners of the open area where the hallways met. Stephen continued firing but after only a few rounds the rifle stopped. He discharged the magazine and quickly rolled his finger across the top. Feeling the prick of the bullet’s tip he knew he had ammo. Unfortunately, he was suddenly reminded of the well-known Army truism that your weapon had been made by the lowest bidder. Jammed rifles were a constant problem for soldiers, especially when operating them in an environment where the rifle can get small granules lodged into the firing mechanisms; small granules like sand.
He knocked the magazine against his kevlar helmet before jamming it upwards into the rifle and pulling the charging handle all the way back. It was pointless to try and observe whether or not a round had been discharged because he still couldn’t see anything but flashes of muzzle fire. He released the charging handle and tapped the forward assist assembly to make sure the bolt had closed. With a quick prayer for the Colt Corporation, Stephen aimed at a single muzzle flash and squeezed the trigger to release a single round. He breathed only a hint of relief when he felt the recoil and saw the muzzle flash continue but quickly rise into the ceiling, indicating that his round had found its target. After a brief pause, their return fire became deafening.
Rolling to his right in the dust filled hallway, Stephen rolled onto a spike of some sort. Responding, he flipped his body hard against the wall and his leg began to cramp from receiving a major charlie-horse. He instinctively looked toward his leg, but caught sight of a faint light further down the hallway where there might just be an exit. Painfully rising to his feet, Stephen bolted for the light amid a hail of bullets exploding into the walls around him. Not two steps into his sprint, he tripped over something and fell face first into the darkness. He reached down and his hand found flesh; it was Waters.
Mile 10
He pulled his face close to Waters and started calling out to him. The hallway echoed gunfire so loudly Stephen couldn’t even hear the sound of his own voice. Waters was limp and unresponsive. He grabbed Waters by his load-bearing harness and dragged him towards the room with the light in a crouched, limped run. Stephen cut the corner to the lit hallway too close and clipped his shoulder on a large metal filing cabinet. The cabinet was industrial sized, and Stephen hitting it was like a fly ramming into a door; the door doesn’t notice the fly but the fly goes spiraling out of control. It was exactly what happened to Stephen while also tripping over Waters. As he was twisting and descended past the immovable cabinet, the hallway behind him exploded from the massive shock explosion of a fragment grenade.
The concussion of the grenade collapsed ceiling tiles onto them and the seemingly impenetrable cabinet also gave way and collapsed onto its side. The ringing in his ears made everything else inaudible and Stephen could hardly see his own hand in front of his face. Looking around he saw a large object and placed his hand against it. It took a moment but his fingers felt familiar buttons and plastic trays which slid out laterally. It was a commercial printer. He looked up and saw a window too small to fit through about seven feet above his position, which was currently flat on his back. All too late, Stephen realized he wasn’t in another room or new hallway but instead, he had dragged Waters into a small cove the office had used for printing supplies. He pushed Waters a few more feet to the back wall of the cove and then returned to get a view of the hallway.