He spotted a Sergeant on foot behind the IMP as it drew close, and the way one of the soldiers was slouching in the back of the Growler he had to be an officer, although he was too far away to see any rank.
Suddenly Ed twitched, realizing a soldier had veered off the sidewalk and was heading toward the side of the house, his house. There was another tall privet shielding that side of the porch as well, but Ed could tell the man had stopped just feet away. Spitting distance.
The IMP drew abreast of Ed, the exhaust a low grumble, its big tires quiet on the pavement. He stared with envy at the belt-fed grenade launcher on its roof. It was the perfect weapon for these neighborhoods and fired the same round as the weapon he held in his hands, but his was a break-open single shot. Theirs could fire a hundred rounds a minute. Its only drawback was that it was too big and heavy to be carried; it had to be mounted on a vehicle or a tripod.
One soldier had passed by on the sidewalk and another was drawing close as the IMP slowly swung past. Ed caught a glimpse of a gesturing hand at the back of the armored personnel carrier and then the roof gunner jerked in his perch and slumped over. A meaty smack combined with a loud SPANG! echoed down the street, then another, more recognizable sound. Gunshot.
Everyone froze for half a second, then someone yelled “Sniper!” and all hell broke loose.
The street looked like a kicked anthill as everyone scrambled. The soldier on the sidewalk in front of Ed charged directly at the porch, eyes wide. Weasel rose up and fired a long burst into the man’s upper chest and neck before he’d cleared the top step, aiming above the soldier’s armor plate. As the dead-on-his-feet soldier flew by him Ed straightened up and fired the grenade launcher at the rear of the IMP. The round exploded inside the open rear door just as several panicked soldiers were about to dive inside. Bodies flew and gunfire erupted all around.
George felt lightheaded from lack of oxygen as the soldier in front of him finally emptied his bladder and tucked himself away. In just a second he’d be able to take a normal breath, blink his itchy eyes, and…
The sound of the bullet impact and following gunshot was totally unexpected, and both men jumped. The young soldier saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. For a fraction of a second George was still invisible to him, then his eyes went wide in shock and disbelief. George yanked his knife from its sheath and buried it in the boy’s neck, wrapping his other arm around his head. As he dragged him behind the bush George roughly sawed outward and felt the soldier kicking. He left him flailing on the ground and spun to face the street, finding the squad’s last hand grenade in his palm. Straight across from him was the Growler and he yanked the pin and heaved.
Whether he saw George, the incoming grenade, or both, one of the soldiers in the back of the Growler shouted a warning and jumped over the side. As he landed a blast at the back of the IMP knocked him off his feet, and then George’s grenade went bouncing by him to explode under the Growler. Both his legs were sheared off at the knees as the Growler lifted two feet into the air with a thunderous flash. Both men inside the vehicle died instantly from the shrapnel, as the underside of the vehicle was not armored. By the time the Growler was airborne George had his carbine up and was firing at the soldiers on the sidewalks. Most of them were less than fifty feet away, practically point-blank range.
The explosion at the IMP caused both Mark and Quentin to duck back from their windows, then they were firing at the troops on their side of the street. Mark let loose a long burst from the SAW. Two soldiers went down immediately. The others charged off the sidewalk and ducked between the houses.
“Fuck!” Mark yelled, hurtling himself across to the far side of the rotting living room. Just as he neared a small window one of the panicked soldiers appeared outside it. Mark fired a short burst, bringing the man down, but another soldier ran past the window and disappeared from view.
“Shoot boy, shoot!” Early yelled, dropping one of the soldiers on the sidewalk before the man could take two steps. Explosions near the two vehicles had bodies all over the road, men screaming. There was black smoke coming from the Growler. He heard what had to be the sniper’s weapon again, something heavy and distant, but still had no idea where the shots were coming from. He poured fire at every soldier he saw not flat on the ground, then heard shouting next door. He looked across his shouldered rifle to see Quentin trip and fall trying to exit the next house through the ragged hole in the wall. Early instinctively lunged that way. By the time Early reached the gap in his own house Quentin was up and suddenly there was a soldier running between the two houses, looking for an escape route. They shot him in the back and he slid to a stop in the tall grass.
When the grenade went off Ed heard shrapnel zinging over his head. It cracked against the bricks behind him. Weasel, up on one knee and firing, flinched and a red line appeared at his temple. Ed dropped the grenade launcher and grabbed his rifle, but before he could bring it to bear on anyone the Growler exploded into the air. None of the soldiers nearby stayed on their feet.
Those soldiers that still could were scrambling for cover, firing wildly in an attempt to keep their attackers’ heads down. The combined roar of over a dozen rifles created a wall of noise Ed could feel in his chest. He had his carbine up and fired at the soldiers trapped in the street, pulling the trigger as fast as he could. He could see their panicked expressions as they realized they’d been caught in an ambush. Receiving fire from two directions they discovered they were exposed to fire no matter which side of the vehicles they cowered behind. A few tried to run from the kill zone, but they were cut down before they could reach the safety of the houses. Bodies covered lawns and sidewalks.
Weasel had reloaded once and was firing short bursts, pivoting back and forth. “Get the driver!” Ed yelled at Weasel, pointing at the IMP. Weasel leapt off the porch and fired a wild burst as he ran into the street toward the open rear door of the IMP. Ricochets whined off its armor, but the IMP wasn’t accelerating away. It was still coasting leisurely down the street, now angling slightly toward the far curb and the burned out and rusting vehicle. Ed fired at the writhing bodies in the street between the vehicles to cover Weasel during his charge. The red circle/dot reticle of his carbine’s optical sight bounced up and down every time his gun fired, but the noise was distant, deadened by the adrenaline in his bloodstream.
Jason jumped at the sniper’s shot and then Early was spinning around, graceful as a dancer, brining his big rifle to bear on something in the street as an explosion shook the house. Jason stood frozen, his mind blank, the rifle in his own hands forgotten. Early fired, adjusted his aim, fired again, and a second explosion shook the house.
“Shoot boy, shoot!” Early yelled from behind his rifle. Jason stared at him uncomprehendingly, the wall of noise from the shooting and the explosions freezing his brain, then the big man fired again. The National Match bucked in Early’s brown hands and the smoking, spent case struck Jason square in the face. The pain brought him out of his reverie and he turned toward the window.
The scene before him was a madhouse. Bodies littered the street, some thrashing, and their screams above the deafening gunfire were horrible. A huge army vehicle was almost directly in front of their house, its open rear door hazy from smoke. The four-by-four behind it was a crumpled, smoking hulk and as Jason stared he saw its back end erupt in yellow flame.