Ronnie glanced at Vigil. "He's out. Probably going to take a while for his brain to reboot after what they did."
Vigil nodded. "We'll leave him here for now. Come back for him after we're finished."
"Fine. Where to now?"
Vigil pointed to the broken wall that Joe Blow shattered earlier. "He was guarding something. Must be the way in." He tapped a sequence on his g-span. "I'm linking everyone up on the same channel. We need to be able to communicate in case things get bad."
Spitfire stared at Joe Blow. "Things aren't bad now?"
"Not by a long shot. Come on."
They followed him through the steam-enshrouded cavity, where Heretic had just recovered from Joe Blow's punishing backhand. Vigil gave him a hand standing up before they both examined the towering double doors in front of them. Unlike the rest of the labyrinth, the surface was clean and polished, solid as a bank vault with no visible entry panel or access point.
Ronnie joined them, staring at their warped reflections on the burnished surface. "Okay, this is unexpected. So what do we do, knock?"
As if in answer, the doors ratcheted open, blowing cool air in their faces. Ronnie didn't have time to enjoy the sensation because the view of the chamber was blocked by row after row of masked and armored bodies beyond the doorway. They wore the black and yellow colors of Warmonger soldiers, and they were armed to the teeth, pointing a wide assortment of firearms and yelling at the top of their lungs. Ronnie's raised her handgun in return as she shouted back, barely aware of Vigil and Heretic stepping forward, weapons ready to fire. Her heart exploded with adrenaline that coursed through her veins and throbbed on the finger that hovered above the trigger. For a tension-building moment, everyone froze.
Then bloodshed erupted.
Chapter 19: Hostilities
This is it, then.
Vigil's omni-shields sprang from his g-spans at the last possible second, just before the lead lines of Warmongers opened fire in a roaring blaze of muzzle flashes. The noise would have instantly deafened if his helmet's dampeners didn't automatically activate. Even when muted, the sound of thousands of bullets glancing off barriers of electromagnetically-framed plasma was near-maddening. The air crackled and warped, casting the screaming attackers in flashing neon hues. He gritted his teeth, planted his feet, and leaned into the shields to keep from being bowled over.
This is war.
On his left, Heretic had triggered his own defense, a protective barrier that resembled an energy-based Roman shield. He hunched behind it as it took the brunt of the gunfire, though Vigil predicted the same result for both of them. The lines of Warmongers fired continuously, disciplined enough that when the first line knelt to reload, the second ranks unloaded. It was only a matter of seconds before the deflectors overloaded, and everyone was shredded by a hail of bullets. Castle, Ronnie, and Spitfire crouched behind, temporarily protected. In a matter of seconds, they'd be the first to die. It would be the Hellrazors all over again, bodies turned into pulp by explosions of close-quarter gunfire.
Not this time.
Clicking the switch on his Charon rifle charged the breach-laser. He couldn't hear the electronic whine over the explosive sound of the nonstop gunfire. Patching through the com system, he gave the orders.
"Shields can't hold. When I say DROP, everyone hit the dirt. Heretic and I will open the gates. Isaac, you're the ram. Banks and Castle provide support fire. Spitfire, you're last. "
Raise hell, die well.
His breach-laser indicated a full charge. He gave the command.
"DROP."
As one, they all dropped to their stomachs when his shields deactivated. Thousands of bullets whizzed over their heads. Propping his rifle against his shoulder, he squeezed the trigger and fanned across the doorway, taking out feet and legs. The gunmen screamed when their limbs exploded into bloody wads, falling in a tumble of writhing bodies. As they toppled, Heretic launched a volley of small, spherical bombs from his gauntlets. They struck the second ranks, ruptured torsos, and detonated. White phosphorus ignited, splitting the bodies apart in a roar of sizzling flames. Intense heat rippled, transforming the scene into a macabre fever dream as the flailing figures burned like living torches, shrieking as they died.
Rising smoothly to one knee, Vigil fired the breach-laser.
The chamber flashed brighter than sunlight for a split second. When his vision cleared, the entranceway was larger than before, the sides dripping with superheated slag. The front lines were reduced to piles of charred meat grotesquely melted together, limbs split apart, red oozing from blackened flesh. The stench would have been unbearable if it had time to register. But Vigil was already on the move, eyes blinded to the horrors as he and Heretic parted to allow Isaac to storm forward, clearing the smoking corpses in a single leap.
They followed close behind, using his armored body as a barricade against the frantic Warmongers who appeared shocked by the brutality of the frontal assault. They retreated to secondary positions inside what seemed to be an old storage depot, recently renovated with fresh paint, concrete, and railings. The makeover was already blistered by char, pockmarked by bullet holes, and spattered in blood. Isaac ignored the shots bouncing off his metallic hide, mowing the Warmongers down with plasma cannon that morphed from his arm. The pulse rounds burned right through armor and bodies, tearing apart the barricaded shooters in front of him.
Vigil turned, firing at snipers on the ramparts that shot over the railings behind him. Most of them had their eyes covered by helmets or goggles, but their body language told the story. They were terrified. They expected an easy ambush, instant slaughter with little resistance and few casualties. They expected a man playing hero, someone who hesitated to use lethal force.
They didn't expect a battle-hardened soldier or the horrifying reality of war.
He took them down with precise shots, moving to his next target as they tumbled from the ledges. Behind him, Castle and Ronnie entered, providing cover fire. Spitfire followed, shooting knockout darts from her wrist rockets. Someone doused the lights. It didn't matter. Thermal vision activated automatically, giving his enemies no advantage as they fell back, regrouped, and died. Several yards away, Heretic leaped from one Warmonger to another, swords casting the room in shades of fire as he mercilessly cut through their ranks. A group of desperate Warmongers jumped on Isaac, trying to pierce his armor with point-blank shots. He grabbed one of them by the face and squeezed. The man's head imploded; crimson ooze dripped between Isaac's fingers. The dead man's comrades lost their appetite for violence, dropping their guns and fleeing.
The thunderous sound of gunfire dwindled as the attackers died, overwhelmed by the disciplined tactics of Vigil's squad. Vigil never stopped moving, clearing corners and taking out pockets of Warmongers who made desperate last stands, screaming as they were literally torn apart the railgun's devastating power. The last of them dropped their weapons, stepping out of their hiding places with hands up.
"Hold your fire," Ronnie yelled over the racket. "Hold your fire, damn it!"
Vigil barely stopped himself, easing his finger off the trigger, shaky from the sudden halt of adrenaline. The Warmongers in front of him dropped to their knees, shuddering in terror. Some of them openly cried, staring around at the bodies that surrounded them. Some were in pieces, chunks splattered on the concrete floor. Others still moved, quivering and crying out, clutching at wounds that bled in pools around them.
He lowered his rifle and turned around. "Spitfire. You're on zip tie duty. Spitfire…?