Alex scrambled to open the dump bag containing the flares while Ryan rapidly fired two-round salvos at the militia. He felt Ryan’s hands clawing at the rifle magazines in his left cargo pocket before he had unscrewed the top and bottom end caps of the first flare. His son burned through the rest of the magazine in seconds. Incoming gunfire struck the top of the barrier and the side of the bridge, spraying them with painful fragments. They needed to move to the next barrier, but he didn’t dare risk running toward the marines without sending up the flares. He prepared the second flare and turned to face the opposite side of the bridge.
Ryan stopped firing and ducked behind the barrier to reload. “They’re getting too close! I can barely stick my head out!”
“Just buy me a few more seconds!” said Alex, aiming the flare at a seventy-degree angle in the direction of the marines.
He withdrew the safety pin and depressed the trigger, launching the aerial rocket. The flare sailed skyward and disappeared in the rain. He heard a faint pop a few seconds later.
Fuck.
Alex had forgotten that the parachute flare travelled nearly a thousand feet before igniting and drifting back to the ground. He wasn’t sure if it would drift down far enough to be seen through the gray curtain of clouds and precipitation before extinguishing. Firing another flare seemed pointless, but he aimed the next one skyward and fired it with the same grim result. Swallowed by the impenetrable squall.
“What happened to the flares!” yelled Ryan, changing magazines.
“Into the clouds! Stand by to leapfrog to the next barrier. I’ll cover you and Chloe with the .308 from here. You lay down fire for me. Focus on the closest shooters. Three-round salvos. Go!”
Bullets snapped overhead as Alex and Ryan swapped positions at the end of the crumbling Jersey barrier. Ryan pulled on Chloe, but she didn’t budge.
Wrong time for this!
Alex leaned around the corner and found a target crouched behind a thick tree in the traffic island. He centered the crosshairs on an exposed shoulder and pressed the trigger. The rifle bit into his shoulder. He scanned over the barrel for more targets, locating a shooter at the corner of the pool building. The 6X scope brought the man into focus; a .308 bullet dropped him into the mud. The volume of fire against Alex’s edge of the barrier intensified, forcing him back.
“You have to get her moving!” he said, sliding in the mud to the other side of the barrier.
“It’s only twenty-five feet, Chloe,” Ryan said to her. “You can do it. My dad and I will protect you. We have to go, Chloe! You have to run!” pleaded Ryan, tugging furiously at both her arms.
Alex fired two shots from his new position, connecting with one of them before the Liberty Boys adjusted their aim and started to pulverize the corner. He pressed his back into the concrete and examined the rifle scope. Small miracle. The scope was attached to a quick-release mount. He flipped the levers and discarded the scope, raising the front and rear flip-up sights. That was better. He rose to his knees and braced the rifle’s hand guard against the concrete, firing the rest of the magazine in two-round salvos at the militia squad that had taken cover behind the destroyed vehicles. The level of incoming fire dropped significantly for a few seconds.
Alex dropped below the barrier and processed the situation. He could suppress the militia and hand Ryan the rifle, giving his son a few seconds’ head start. It might be enough to get him to a safer position. The Liberty Boys would focus their initial fire at the barricade, giving Ryan a few additional seconds to reach cover. No other scenario worked.
“Get to the next barrier and cover me! I’ll carry her,” said Alex.
“You can barely run! I’m not leaving her!”
“Get to the next barrier! That’s an order! I’ll unload the HK and give you the time you need to get in position to cover our withdrawal. It’s the only way,” said Alex, tossing the .308 into the mud.
Alex reloaded the HK416 with one of the magazines from his back pocket. He passed the three from his right cargo pocket to Ryan, who stuffed them in his pockets, shaking his head.
“Dad, I’ll carry her. You shoot,” said Ryan.
With Chloe on his back, Ryan would move at less than half of his potential speed. Alex was willing to fight and die behind the first barricade, but the high volume of fire required to momentarily quiet the militia guns would burn through the HK’s thirty-round magazine in seconds. Ryan and Chloe would be caught in the open during the first magazine change. Only one scenario produced a guaranteed survivor if Chloe refused to run. Glancing at her shell-shocked, inert form, he didn’t see a ten-meter dash anywhere in her near future.
“That won’t work! You go first and get ready to cover us!” said Alex.
“You’ll leave her here!”
“I won’t leave her,” muttered Alex, stunned by his son’s accusation. “I don’t get to walk off this bridge without both of you.”
“Then let me carry her.”
“Ryan—”
A red glimmer in the sky east of the bridge caught his eye. He craned his neck against the harsh concrete and watched a red parachute flare break through the murky ceiling, swinging wildly for a few seconds before extinguishing. The parachute landed on the northern riverbank, nearly three hundred feet away. A green flare appeared further downriver, visible for a brief moment. Red tracers streaked past on both sides of the bridge before he could turn to Ryan, followed by the thunderous pounding of heavy-caliber machine guns. Alex pulled Chloe and Ryan flat against the pavement as the air filled with the sharp, staccato crackle of automatic machine-gun fire. The deafening roar continued for a few seconds before Alex lifted his head far enough off the ground to see that the tracers raced north to south.
Hello 1st Battalion!
“Those are marine guns! Lift her up and haul ass. I’ll be right behind you!” said Alex.
Alex crested the top of the concrete block and stared at the carnage for a moment. The municipal building’s red brick façade crumbled into chunks of brick and mortar under a hail of tracers, each red streak representing four steel-jacketed bullets. Large and small projectiles punctured the thin metal on both sides of the pickup truck and SUV, hammering the men seeking cover from the onslaught. A geyser of blood erupted above the pickup truck’s hood, followed by a headless body toppling into the mud. A group of panicked men scrambled away from the vehicles east of the traffic island as tracers ricocheted off the metal. The marine gunfire intensified, tearing into the men as they crossed open ground. He felt a solid tug on his shoulder.
“Ready to move,” said Ryan, holding Chloe in a fireman’s carry.
“Right behind you,” said Alex, firing at the few targets of opportunity left by the marines.
He found it difficult to keep up with his son, who effortlessly carried Chloe to the next barrier. Ryan paused near the next barrier, waiting for instructions.
“All the way! All the way!” said Alex, pushing Ryan forward.
Two bullets struck the face of the barrier, stopping him from immediately following. He scanned the intersection through the ACOG scope, searching for a shooter the marines couldn’t see from their firing positions or vehicles. The bridge rose a few feet higher than the north bank, possibly obstructing their view of low-profile targets directly in front of the first barrier. He focused on positions close to the ground, spotting movement under the front end of the pickup truck. With all of its tires flattened by machine-gun fire, the front fender sat several inches above the mud, providing a perfect firing position for anyone willing to burrow their way through the filth.
Alex centered the tip of the red arrow on the darkness beneath the bumper and fired twice, unsure if his bullets struck a target. Smoke erupted from the same spot, spitting several bullets back. Alex pressed the trigger once before the projectiles reached the barrier, shattering concrete and grazing his right cheek. He dropped to one knee, clutching his face with his left hand and firing indiscriminately with the other. More rounds hit the barrier, forcing him to crouch. Ryan cried out less than a second later. This wasn’t working.