“Very well,” Bisping said. “Get off that boat as quickly and safely as you can so I can sink the damn thing!”
“Roger that.”
Bisping then looked at O’Leary. “Launch two more ASWs,” he ordered. “I want them in position to provide covering fire for Reese and his men as they’re being picked out of the water. Then I want that pig sent to the bottom.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
Sixty-Eight
Forrest, Kane, and Danzig were all pretty badly shot up. Only by the grace of God had the hits missed their vital organs; their body armor had done its job many times over, but they were all bleeding from multiple limb and shoulder wounds. Forrest was the worst for the wear, one round having penetrated his thigh and another having shattered his right ankle. Kane had bound the joint for him, wrapping an elastic bandage tightly around the canvas boot to help immobilize the foot and to stem the flow of blood, but the pain was intense when he applied any weight to the leg. So far, he had refused morphine, needing his head clear for the ongoing fight.
Veronica sat in the back corner behind the counter with Andie, Joann, Jessie, Renee, Maria, Karen, and the children. Michael, armed with a carbine, was lying in the hall covering the rear entrance, which they had barricaded with a desk and a filing cabinet.
Andie had been nicked in the chest and face by a ricochet, and Maria Vasquez had a bullet wound to her backside. A couple of the children were badly bruised up, and a few of them cried continuously.
Melissa sat in the dark beside Veronica, keeping Laddie on a short leash.
By now they had received word that Tonya had already taken her own life, as well as that of her son Steven, and the women were aghast. Kane had remained silent on the issue but Forrest knew he was blaming himself.
“Hey, she had eighteen happy months,” Forrest said, bumping Kane on the shoulder. “So did the boy. It’s more than what they would’ve had.”
“I told her not to worry,” Kane said quietly, not wanting the others to hear him. “That I’d come for her if anything happened.”
“Maybe we see it differently, partner, but from where I sit, she bailed before you could make good on that promise.”
“Don’t make me feel no better.”
“Ain’t tryin’ to make you feel better. I’m tryin’ to keep your head in the game.”
“My head’s in the game, Captain.”
Forrest crawled forward to peer up at the top balcony across the street. The building was only coated in fluorescent paint on the first floor level, so he still needed the NVD to see the upper levels. “I haven’t seen any movement over there for ten minutes. They’re up to something.”
“Yeah, but what?” said Danzig, crouching in the opposite corner.
They only had to wait a few seconds for the answer. The fuse popped on a grenade right outside the window to the left. Neither Forrest nor the others made a sound. All of them knew from experience that to shout a warning would only prevent them from hearing where the grenade landed. The steel orb hit with a thunk inside the showcase, where they were unable to grab it, but they did dive clear of the blast and were already bringing their weapons up as the first attackers came charging in through the smoke.
The women remained surprisingly quiet as Forrest and the others kept up a withering fire, effectively piling bodies up in the showcase window. By the time the enemy realized their surprise assault had failed, they had lost five men. The rest retreated around the side of the building.
Kane and Danzig moved quickly to strip the dead of weapons and ammo as Forrest kept an eye on the apartment across the street with Kane’s M-21 sniper rifle; Kane’s shoulder was too badly wounded for precision sniping. The first enemy to sneak a peek from the second floor balcony took a .308 through the center of his face, and Forrest just missed another the next level down, driving the man back inside. After searching the bodies and stacking them in the window, they retook their positions to either side.
“We can’t let them keep creeping up on us,” Forrest said. “If they come to the well like that enough times, they’re gonna get in.”
A Molotov cocktail landed on the sidewalk in front of the window and exploded, setting the clothing of the dead bodies on fire and illuminating the inside of the store.
“Everyone stay down! They’re trying to see in!”
Two men ran up on either side of the window and tossed in another pair of grenades, blasting the showcase apart and filling Danzig’s left side with shrapnel. He screamed in agony, and Jessie and Veronica both jumped from cover to drag him to safety.
“Stay down!” Danzig shouted, not wanting his wife to get herself killed, but they ignored him and finished pulling him behind the counter where the children were all screaming and the dog was going wild at the end of his leash.
“Jack, what the fuck is going on over there?” Sullivan’s voice sounded over the radio in Forrest’s ear.
“They’re storming the goddamn castle! Let me talk to Wayne.”
“He’s unconscious. Stand by. I’m coming to assist.”
“Negative! Hold your position. There’s nothing you can do for us!”
But Sullivan hadn’t heard him, having already peeled off the headset and given it to West. He ducked out of the pharmacy and ran to the corner. Scanning the cluttered greenish-black street through the NVD, he saw two men rifling the second snowcat for the MREs and shot them dead, dropping into the snow and taking aim, left-handed, on seven more men lining up outside the porn shop window, preparing to make another assault.
He opened fire on their legs, knowing many of them wore armor of their own, and the attackers danced about on the sidewalk in an almost comic display as the bullets tore the meat from their bones. They fell, scrabbling for cover through the snow on their hands and knees, but a grenade was lobbed from the porn shop window and it exploded in their midst, ripping many of them apart, though only killing two. The survivors lay in a bloody, screaming tangle on the walk.
As Sullivan stood to withdraw to the pharmacy, he was jumped by two stinking, hairy men. The NVD was bashed from his helmet and the carbine pried from his grip. Someone kicked him in the groin and he buckled, grabbing a grenade from his harness and pulling the pin with his teeth before stuffing it down the pants of an assailant.
The man cried out and let go of him, presumably to pull the grenade from his pants, but it was too dark for Sullivan to know for sure. His other attacker was still struggling to subdue him when the grenade went off. Sullivan felt himself fly through the air. He landed hard on his back, the left side of his face and neck full of shrapnel, his left arm nearly severed at the elbow and his left leg in tatters.
He blacked out.
He came to in total darkness a short time later, feeling hands probing his wounds, and grabbed ineffectually with his crippled right hand for the knife on his belt.
“Easy,” West said, gently catching the arm.
“You’re safe now,” Taylor said softly into his one good ear. “Sean brought you back in.”
“Jack’s group,” Sullivan murmured. “Are they… ?”
“They’re secure for the moment.” West was working feverishly beneath a flashlight to stanch the flow of blood from Sullivan’s wounds. “Whatever you did seems to have bought them some time.”
“You have to finish it,” Sullivan whispered, feeling the morphine carrying him away. “Finish it now… too many to hold off… saw them in the flash…”
West looked at Price, both of them realizing what that meant, and picked up the headset. “Jack, it’s Sean. Over.”