Between his carbine and Mark’s belt-fed the noise was incredible. He couldn’t tell if his rounds were having any effect at first. He fired about a dozen times at one Growler turned broadside to his position, peppering the front and rear side door windows with bullets. He then swung over two vehicles, to the next unarmored Growler, and began putting rounds through its windshield. Compared to his Marlin lever action the military carbine barely had any recoil. He saw movement inside the vehicle and it started to roll. He directed his fire more carefully toward the driver as the Growler accelerated north up the southbound service drive. His bolt locked back on an empty magazine but the vehicle continued north, still accelerating.
Jason heard an explosion and felt the floor shake under him. When he got a fresh magazine inserted and closed the bolt he looked over to see the hallway filled with people. Then he realized someone had shouted “Displace” over the sound of Mark’s SAW, but it wasn’t until afterward that the words registered on his brain. There was another explosion, this one much closer, and the entire apartment rumbled around them and the hallway was filled with clattering debris.
\Set up in the northwest corner apartment Renny fired and worked the bolt. He knew he’d broken the trigger cleanly but he didn’t know what kind of deflection the window glass would cause to the bullet, if any. As soon as he worked the bolt he was back focused through his scope, looking at the IMP’s roof gunner. The man was still there and just starting to fire the big fifty-caliber machine gun atop the armored personnel carrier. Renny unfocused his vision enough around his rifle scope to see that the big Hornady bullet had blown a foot-wide hole through both panes of the double window, so he no longer had to worry about glass deflection, at least in that direction.
He settled back behind the gun, got the crosshairs steady on the gunner’s neck, and pulled the trigger once again. He worked the bolt smoothly and was back on the gun almost before it was done recoiling. He saw the soldier was now slumped over the big machine gun, bright red blood everywhere.
Renny swung his rifle over to the first unarmored Growler he saw. The vehicle was facing him but at an angle. Renny fired and the remainder of the window glass in front of him blasted away. Through the scope he saw the window glass had deflected his bullet and it had hit two feet to the left near the edge of the Growler’s windshield. He was back on target in an instant, tried to quiet his body, and stroked the trigger. The big gun bucked and a white spot appeared in the glass right in front of the Growler’s driver.
Renny worked the bolt and swung back to the IMP. There was a Tab atop it trying to wrestle the body of his fallen comrade out from behind the fifty cal. Renny’s shot took him below his armor through his hips and the man fell back atop the big vehicle screaming.
Renny pulled the bolt to the rear, dropped his spent magazine, and grabbed a fresh one. It was only then that he became aware of all of the incoming fire. Tabs had bailed out of the other IMP and several of the Growlers and were firing in his direction. Then there was a massive explosion nearby and shouts to displace. He recognized Ed’s voice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ed struggled to his hands and knees, hearing the chatter of Mark’s SAW as the man fired short controlled bursts from the nearby apartment. The other members of his squad were firing rapid semi-auto shots, and the noise was tremendous. He looked over his shoulder through the debris-laden air. The apartment where Harris had been standing when he fired the Spike was simply gone.
Even though he knew he should have gotten the hell out of there Ed grabbed his binoculars and quickly scanned the distant intersection. Harris must have hit his mark because the tank which had fired at them was slowly rolling off at an angle. Not only wasn’t the presumed commander visible in the open hatch, both he and the machine gun he’d been firing were simply… gone. The open hatch was both blackened and spattered with something gooey. Ed suppressed a shudder. Both tanks seemed to be out of commission and one of the IMPs was very visibly damaged. The other had two bodies draped over the roof gun. The Growlers were being soundly chewed up by small arms fire. A few seem to be disabled and several had their windows shot out; the remainder were scrambling, some racing north and some south. It seemed the perfect time to get the hell out of Dodge before the enemy regrouped.
“Toads down, IMPs down, let’s get the fuck out of here!” Ed shouted, glancing once more at the gaping wound in the face of the building where an apartment used to be. He saw dark speckles on the walls that might have been Harris. “Go go go!” he yelled down the hall where he could see Early and Sarah. She’d run halfway down the building to get away from the incoming Toad shell. “Grab Quentin,” he shouted at Early and the man gave him a thumbs up. “Let’s go,” Ed told George and Weasel and they ran down the hallway.
Ed saw Jason, braced against the doorway for shooting but looking their direction. Ed grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him down the hallway. “We’re leaving,” he told the young man. Then he looked into the apartment. “Let’s get while the getting’s good,” he shouted to Mark.
“I heard that.”
George ran to the last apartment. “Time to move,” he told Renny.
The men pounded down the northwest stairwell, guns up, but reached the ground floor without incident. Right outside the stairwell entrance on the north side of the building was a Growler. Weasel checked it—not only were the doors open, but the keys were in the vehicle.
“Can we all fit in?” Ed asked. Just then they all heard a sound, and looked up.
“Motherfucker,” Weasel spat.
“Mark, on me!” George shouted. The grizzled veteran pointed at the remainder of the squad, his face stony. “You stay here.” Then he took off at a run, Mark on his heels.
Early and Sarah ran to Quentin and they went down the stairwell together. Quentin was in the lead, bouncing down the dimly-lit stairs, and as he came around a corner a soldier in camouflage fatigues popped out of the third-floor door and fired a burst at nearly point-blank range. Quentin went down with a yell.
Early, coming around the corner right behind him, fired four rounds from the hip and the soldier flipped backwards through the doorway, his face suddenly gone.
“Oh no, no, no,” Early said, kneeling down beside Quentin. Sarah knelt on the other side of them.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Quentin said wheezing, but the spreading red on the concrete floor underneath him told a different story. His skin already looked ashy from blood loss.
“Let’s go, let’s get him up,” Early said, and started to lift him.
Sarah stopped him. “No, I’ve got to bandage this here,” she said, and her tone stopped Early. He held Quentin’s quivering hand as she pulled out a packet of gauze and fought to pack his wound under his armor plates and webgear. The bullet had gone in at an angle by his left shoulder, just missing the edge of his armor. She checked, but there was no exit wound. She grabbed a compress and pressed it down over the packed wound, which was still bleeding heavily.
“Do what you can, darlin’, but we’ve got to move,” Early said softly.
“Leave me,” Quentin said through gritted teeth.