I nodded. A military unit would have hit all of the ways up at the same time, clearing the way ruthlessly with grenades and softening fire. The downside of a citizen militia, which the Communists probably thought they were, was that they weren’t always keen on taking insane risks. Local discipline would probably be a problem for their commanders, even if they were dedicated and loyal. The longer they spent worrying about what they should do, the better.
“They’re coming,” Peter snapped suddenly. An instant later, a grenade detonated at the bottom of the stairs, clearing the remains of the drinks cabinet out of the way. The same happened at the other stairs, allowing the first group of enemy fighters to attack and make their way up to the first floor. We greeted them with a round of shots and sent the first ones tumbling backwards, but the second group threw additional grenades ahead of them. I kicked one back down the stairwell and it exploded among the enemy, but another one nearly killed us all. We were only saved by a young private who threw himself on the grenade and took the brunt of the blast. We owed him our lives, yet we didn’t even know his name. I silently promised him a grave fit for a war hero and a posthumous promotion, but for the moment all we could do was fight.
“Keep them back,” I snapped. The enemy were hampered by the small size of the stairwells, but if they knew how short we were on ammunition, they’d press the attack regardless. The muttering from downstairs was growing louder, with a sharper undertone, but they didn’t seem any less determined. I heard faint noises I couldn’t identify, no matter how hard I listened, but in the distance, I could hear more explosions. Someone was tearing the entire city apart.
My earpiece buzzed suddenly. “Boss, this is Eye-Spy,” a voice said, sharply. I recognised it and blinked in surprise. Eye-Spy was the code name for Commander Daniel Webster. “We’re over your position. Be advised that the helicopters are about to make their final approach now, but enemy have portable SAM units; I repeat, the enemy have portable SAM units.”
“I heard,” I said, silently cursing Fleet under my breath. If that was all they would do, then how much use was the destroyer, high overhead? It might as well have been thousands of light years away. They couldn’t tell the difference between the terrorists attacking us and the civilians trying to flee in terror, away from the nightmare their city had become. “Thank you.”
I altered the earpiece and called Jock. “Jock, where are the helicopters?”
“Just coming in now,” Jock said. “One of them was engaged by a portable missile and had to sheer off, firing flares, to escape. No vehicles lost as yet, but the enemy are moving up more of their own men and trying to get into firing position.”
The roar of the helicopter blades suddenly broke in through the windows and deafened us all. I used hand signals, warning Peter and the others to keep a sharp eye on the stairwell, knowing that the enemy might use the distraction to attack. A pair of heavy helicopters drifted into view, their weapons blazing away at targets on the ground, and I allowed myself a moment of relief. That lasted barely a second before a SAM smashed into the lead helicopter and sent it crashing to the ground in flames.
“Shit, boss,” Jock said, grimly. “They brought her down and killed everyone. No one got out, sir.”
“Fuck,” I said, as a wave of tiredness swept over me. They built the little helicopters tough, but a missile at point-blank range, or close enough to ignore the difference, would always be lethal. There would be no hope of escape in the seconds it took for them to die. I rekeyed my earpiece. “Got nuts; I repeat, go nuts.”
The helicopters took me at my word and opened fire with furious abandon. Every building that could have hidden an enemy sniper or heavy weapon was ruthlessly hosed down, devastating the centre of town. I found myself hoping that Svergie didn’t send us the bill afterwards… or that they didn’t blame us for the civilians who would be caught up in the fire and killed. The rockets, normally designed for use on tanks and armoured bunkers, made short work of the surrounding area. The flames were already spreading out of control.
“That’s half the city on fire, looks like,” Peter commented, from his position. I desperately hoped that he was wrong. Between us and the Communists, we’d done more to render the city uninhabitable than the UN. “Do you think that the fire department can get a crew out here in time to save the rest of the buildings?”
“Fuck, no,” I said. The helicopters were very close now, the larger ones dropping down towards the roof. “Keep an eye on…”
The enemy down below took the opportunity to launch another rush attack, which we beat back soundly, losing two more of our number. A ricochet took out a politician who had insisted on staying on the first floor, rather than heading upstairs to the relative safety of the second floor, and we laid his body out next to the President. I looked into Suki’s eyes and saw her growing fear, but she was still in control. I heard the first soldier arriving on the roof and felt a moment of relief. We were no longer alone.
“F Unit, sir,” someone called down from the third floor. “King takes Bishop, Knight’s Move.”
“Advance and be recognised,” I said, coldly. The soldier stepped into the light, his assault rifle slung across his shoulder, and I allowed myself to relax as I recognised Captain Kendrick. The code phases weren’t perfect, but they were the best we had. Expensive IFF equipment had a tendency to fail when we needed it. The rest of his men soon followed and looked ready for orders. “Take position at the head of the stairs and advance downwards when ready.”
The team of medics who followed him were almost more welcome than the reinforcements. Doctor Patrick Keegan examined the President quickly and professionally, inspecting the wound and muttering curses under his breath before injecting the President with a small fortune’s worth of drugs. I waited as patiently as I could for the report, while Kendrick led his men down the stairs and into the teeth of the Communist position. He had some advantages over the Communists. His men were all wearing heavy body armour and had training in MOUT — Military Operations in Urban Terrain. It was still deadly dangerous and four of his men — my men — went into body bags before the remainder of the Communists were flushed out and killed. None even tried to surrender. I wondered at that, before I realised they’d probably been told that we’d torture prisoners to gain whatever information they had, even though I would never have permitted torture except as a desperate measure.
“The President is a very strong man,” the Doctor said, finally. “He’s also seriously injured. The bullet is pressing on his lung and the damage is threatening to cause serious complications, even with the drugs I’ve pumped into his bloodstream to slow the collapse. He’s damn lucky to be alive and we have to get him to a clinic.”
I swore, even though I’d expected that. “How long can we wait?”
“Not long,” the Doctor said. “If the damage gets worse, the odds are that he’ll die here on this cold floor. We can’t wait long before we have to operate.” He hesitated for a moment. “I might have to operate here.”
“Do so,” I ordered tightly. The noise of battle echoed again from the outside. Someone was launching mortar shells at someone else, although it didn’t seem as if we were the targets. The CRUMP-CRUMP-CRUMP of the incoming shells seemed to be coming from the other side of the river. I wondered who was shooting and at what, before it dawned on me that they had to be trying to impede Ed from reaching us. They might even succeed. MOUT is the worst form of military operation, although Fleet’s Marines, used to boarding starships in space, might just disagree. “Suki, help him as much as you can.”
I turned and headed down the stairs. Now that the reinforcements were here, I could leave them taking care of the politicians — one of which was demanding that the medic see to him at once, never mind the President — and see what remained of the stadium. Peter’s horrified expression made me smile inwardly, before he ordered a pair of heavily-armed soldiers to escort me everywhere and protect my life. I wished that I didn’t need a bodyguard, but I had to bow to his logic. The Communists certainly wanted me dead.