The Hard Core

by Allen Manning

  Ears still ringing, he barely made out Roland’s voice over the comm channel. “Say again. Roland, is that you?”

  “They’re in the base,” Roland said. “A team just rushed through our defenses on the south side and came in through the door. We’ve got people down there now holding INSEC back, but they need help.”

  Jason hollered back over his shoulder. “Go. I’ll stay here with a few guys and hold this spot.” He stepped back to the window and continued firing.

  John took a breath and looked at the men fighting for their freedom. They were risking their lives to help a group of strangers take down a large faceless corporation. He pointed to a couple of the others.

  “Help Jason hold those men back. We can’t let any more inside,” he said, heading for the stairs.

  Rifles cracked and boomed, shaking the air in the confined space of the stairwell, creating an almost physical barrier as John reached the landing for the second floor. He saw an inmate sprawled out on the floor, blood pooling under his body. Another grabbed his rifle and took cover at the base of the stairs, firing down the hall at an unseen enemy.

  Muzzle flashes stretched out from the doorway leading to Cell Block A as two more men put up a brave fight. John pulled his M4 tight against his shoulder, ready to run down and assist.

  The enemy overwhelmed the inmates guarding the hall, gunning another man down as the others fell back into Cell Block A. John prepared to rush down when a helmeted head peered around the wall, weapon trained on the new targets.

  One of the inmates opened fire, his shots going wide. The INSEC mercenary shot back, killing the man quickly. John pressed the trigger, sending a pair of bullets back at the attacker, but the helmet disappeared behind the wall.

  He turned and pushed the other man through the door to the second floor. “We can’t hold them off in here. We need to fall back.”

  John crossed through the door as bullets shredded the wall and frame around him. He dove and slid across the floor, picking himself up and running toward the bridge connecting the buildings, past the empty cells.

  “Chance, they’re in the building now,” John said. “We’re coming to you.”

  “I’ll move to your position. Where are you now?” Chance asked.

  “No. Stay there,” John said, cutting him off. “It’s a fatal funnel. You’ll be a sitting duck coming down this walkway.”

  Punctuating his point, bullets splintered the walls and ceiling, shattering the windows. John and the other inmate turned and shot back to prevent the enemy from entering the block.

  John knew they would need a delay long enough to reach the end of the bridge. He crouched and pressed his body against the wall, aiming toward the stairwell.

  “Go,” he said to the other inmate. “Run.”

  * * *

  Roland came down from the roof, ducking into the third floor when he heard the firefight raging in the stairwell.

  “John, where are you?” he shouted.

  “He took a couple of guys to head off the intruders,” Jason said, reloading his rifle. “He’s going to need—”

  An explosion swallowed the inmate’s body, hurling two more men to the side. Roland fell back from the concussive wave. Gritting his teeth, he sat up, no longer seeing the inmates at the windows holding the enemy back. The machine-gun on the roof fell silent as an increasing volume of fire shifted their sights on the remaining defenders.

  Pressing his hands against his temples, Roland felt like he was trying to hold his skull together as his head pounded. He wiped a finger under his nose and saw the blood. Snatching up the G36 on the floor, he scrambled to his feet.

  Thunder rolled, splitting the air in the stairwell. Roland stepped through the door looking down the sights of his weapon as he spotted a group of men in INSEC uniforms rushing up from the first floor. Taking aim over the railing, he fired down toward them, his bullets sparking off the metal landing below.

  One of the men shifted his sights up and fired wildly. Roland stepped away from the railing, heading down the stairs to rush the intruders. They shouted conflicting commands to each other as their boot steps receded. Roland perched himself on the landing halfway between the second and third floor and fired again.

  A scream confirmed that his bursts had hit one of the men below. Between the rattling echoes from the close quarters firefight, Roland noticed another battle raging in the B Blocks on the second floor.

  John, he thought.

  CHAPTER

  41

  Choom choom choom.

  John’s rifle locked back on an empty chamber. He drew the 1911 and shuffled back half a step as he fired twice. The .45 caliber slugs blasted chunks of plaster and wood, buying him several more seconds of peace as his opponent flinched and ducked.

  He swapped magazines on his rifle and had the weapon back in the fight just as another mercenary popped out, spraying down the hall as he crossed the opening to the other side. John fired, but the man made it behind cover.

  The first man held his rifle out, firing blindly before he leaned out behind the weapon to continue his attack. The bullets kicked up debris as the booming reports rattled the already cracked and shattered windows, but none of the shots came close to hitting John.

  As the second merc popped out to help his buddy, John responded with a pair of shots at each, his bullets striking the wall close enough to deter them from continuing the attack. As he shuffled back another step, he crouched again and noticed a somewhat familiar lump poking out from behind the wall in the distance.

  Pulling the rifle against his shoulder, John focused through the red dot sight and exhaled as he squeezed to break the resistance of the trigger. His shot shredded the toe of the military boot poking out, and the INSEC soldier shouted in agony. The man fell to his side and John finished him with a double tap to his chest.

  More voices joined the man at the far end. A woman shouted angry orders as she popped out long enough to take a mental snapshot of the tunnel. She dropped back before John could take a shot.

  Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder, John could see that he was only halfway through the hall. He didn’t have the ammunition to fight his way back at this rate.

  The woman issued a command to her team and the men responded as three soldiers stepped out and opened fire. They rode their bursts up the hall. Diving to the other side, John’s shots did little to dissuade their offensive.

  “John, we’ve got a problem,” Chance said.

  “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

  He swung his legs behind him, laying prone as he leveled his rifle at his foes. Flicking the fire selector to full auto, John unleashed several long bursts. Rolling back to the other side, across the width of the tunnel, he drew the pistol again and fired the last five rounds in the magazine.

  “Hawke’s men are in the base,” Chance said.

  “I’m aware of that,” John said. “They’re currently shooting at me.”

  “No, I mean they’re in the main structure. Heading this way.”

  John cursed, but in the back of his mind he noticed that the switch from his suppressed rifle, to the pistol had an unexpected result. He rose to a crouch and reloaded the weapon, stripping the quick release suppressor from the M4’s barrel.

  This time, as the INSEC assaulters leaned out to continue their attack, John stood and brought his weapon up, firing a continuous string of short controlled bursts.

  The thunderous fury from his weapon gave him the desired flinch from the enemy as their shots scattered around the hall, much different from the focused discipline they showed seconds earlier.

  John turned and bolted down the hall, his boots tearing away at the distance he needed to cover. The woman shouted something to the men, hoping to rally them against the lone opponent. Before he reached the far end, they pressed the attack again, this time stepping into the hall.

  He let out an involuntary grunt as a round sliced across his deltoid. Whirling around, John fell to a knee a
nd snapped the muzzle of his rifle up again, dumping the other half of the magazine at the men at the far end. One merc fell, clutching his chest as the others scrambled back behind the wall.

  John pushed off his feet and ran toward safety again. A bright flash pulsed behind him as a boom and concussive wave propelled him forward as he stumbled the remaining distance. The impact pushed the air from his lungs with a hiss.

  * * *

  “Just come out,” the woman in the distance shouted. “I promise I’ll kill you quickly.”

  Millie looked down at the empty magazine, tossing it to the side as she pulled the rifle's sling over her shoulder. She set the weapon down and backed away, toward the back of the stacks of plastic pipes next to the heavy construction equipment.

  The PVC wouldn’t stop any bullets, but the concealment it afforded her was all she needed. Millie slid into a pool of shadow, peering up at the enemy encroaching on her position.

  Tanika Sloane. She remembered the woman’s photos from Travis’ briefing. Known as Flash, she was the melee expert on Captain Hawke’s strike team. Millie drew her M&P pistol and clutched it in both hands, circling out as Sloane ran behind cover.

  Armed with only her handgun, Millie knew she was outgunned. With Hawke’s team approaching from behind, and Flash between Millie and the base, she would have to close the distance to finish this fight if she wanted to get back inside to help the others.

  She picked up a rock and tossed it at the forklift she used for cover earlier. Flash snapped her weapon up and unleashed a burst, closing the distance even further.

  Aiming through one of the PVC pipes to mask the muzzle flash, Millie waited for her opponent to cross into her line of sight. Catching the movement in the distance, she pressed the trigger. Her pistol bucked twice, the first round missing entirely, but the second struck one of the bags, kicking up a puff of concrete dust.

  Millie ran around to flank the other woman. Her opponent would quickly realize that she was no longer behind the forklift, based on the direction of her shots.

  Flash whirled and fired toward the pipes, shattering and splintering the plastic. She blasted away with another burst until her weapon clicked.

  Millie dug her foot into the hard-packed dirt and changed directions, cutting a line straight to her opponent. Crossing the open ground, she raised her pistol and fired as she ran.

  The movement spoiled her aim completely, but Flash had to shift her focus on Millie’s rush. She had to bridge the gap before the INSEC mercenary could reload her weapon.

  Flash drew her sidearm and opened fire. It was what Millie had hoped for. She altered her course, lunging to one side and zig-zagging as she closed in.

  Quickly firing a pistol with one hand, at a moving target was difficult. This improved Millie’s odds of bringing the fight within melee range, leaving her opponent with an empty primary weapon, and a half-empty sidearm. Best odds she could hope for in such a tough position.

  With a flick of her wrist, Millie tossed her empty handgun forward. Flash raised her hands to block the foreign object and Millie crossed the final gap in time to snatch the woman’s wrist.

  A well-placed palm strike knocked the pistol from Sloane’s grasp. Millie followed with an elbow strike. Flash pulled her head out of the way as split-second before the blow landed.

  Millie’s eye caught the glint of steel and ducked under the blade slipping through the thin mountain air. Flash pulled a second blade from her belt and rushed her opponent, lashing out with both knives.

  * * *

  Roland’s boots clanged along the steel landing. He rushed down to Cell Block B to help John, no longer worried about the enemy hearing him approach. The roaring of the automatic rifles inside would mask his movements.

  He hurled the door open and stepped inside, weapon up and ready. The G36 was a dragon, spitting fire as gouts of flame erupted from the barrel. The stock jackhammered against his shoulder as Roland pressed forward, gunning down one of the mercenaries inside.

  It wasn’t until he was all the way in the room that Roland realized that there were five or six heavily armed opponents inside. They turned back to face a new threat, half of them already firing their weapons. Roland fell backward and scrambled to the exit as bullets cracked the walls and floor around him, sending bits of stone spraying in his face.

  Roland lay on his back and aimed the rifle at the mercenaries, ready to face death. One of the men raised his weapon, a scowl scratched across his face. Roland beat him to the punch, pressing the trigger.

  Click.

  Empty. Roland cursed himself for not paying enough attention to his rifle. He closed his eyes and heard a furious roar from the tunnel. A weapon with a deeper, more forceful report shook the air.

  John’s M4 exploded in the distance as several plumes of red spray dance up along the man’s side. The rest of the men scattered, diving behind cover again.

  Roland rolled out the door and pressed his back to the wall as several bursts chased him, the last punching holes just above his head. He fumbled stripping the empty mag from his G36. Footsteps approached as more rifle fire struck the wall and floor around him. He pushed himself up to his feet and ran to the stairs.

  “I know that’s you, Forrester,” his pursuer said.

  The woman’s voice froze the blood in his veins. He recognized it from the mission in Central America. It was Burst.

  He reached the third floor as more bullets sparked around him.

  “You’re a dead man, traitor!”

  * * *

  “John, I’m not exaggerating, these guys are inside the main building right now,” Chance said.

  John crouched behind the wall at the far end of the bridge connecting the cell block to the primary structure. “I’m here now. I just need to break away from these guys so I can head to the control room and meet you.”

  He slapped the last magazine into his M4, thumbing the paddle to chamber the first round. Two INSEC soldiers found the courage to start the advance, moving in smooth, controlled steps, weapons pulled tight against their shoulders as they watched over their sights.

  They learned the hard way that they willingly entered a fatal funnel as John’s rifle cut the first down and shattered the kneecap of the second. Another merc rushed forward to pull his friend back as the rest unleashed their fury. John ducked behind the wall again as plaster, wood, and glass showered over his head and shoulders.

  While the invaders threw their ineffective tantrum, John swapped the partial magazine in his 1911 for a full one, slipping it back in the drop leg holster and cradling the M4 against his chest again.

  He stood straight and pressed his left shoulder to the wall, ready to make his move once the firing died down. There was a brief lapse in the attack, but the shooting picked up again. John noticed that the INSEC mercenaries weren’t shooting down the hall anymore.

  What’s this all about? he thought, leaning to get a good look. Most of the attackers had turned their attention to an unseen enemy in the distance. The rest of the inmates must have come down.

  He wheeled out, rifle against his shoulder. John’s thumb found the fire selector, flipping it to full auto. He held the trigger, leaning into his weapon as it furiously pushed back in a thumping rhythm. John let up and pressed the trigger again.

  Seeing several more fall to his renewed attack, John took advantage of the enemy scrambling from an assault on two sides, to escape. He bolted toward the control room where Chance and Ty were waiting for him.

  * * *

  Flash was a whirling dervish, slashing and slicing with the blades as Millie did her best to avoid the killer. Steel bit into her leg, sending a rush of hot pain coursing through her body. Millie gritted her teeth and planted a front kick into her opponent’s gut, knocking her back.

  Before Millie could catch her breath, her foe hurled one of the blades and followed close behind as she moved back into combat range. Millie’s body twisted in the air barely avoiding the spinning knife as it struck t
he wooden pallet behind her.

  Millie pulled a karambit from its sheath at the small of her back, whipping her hand out in an arc to stop Flash’s advance. The wicked curve of the nine-centimeter blade would even the odds in the battle. The two combatants danced in and out of range, stabbing and slashing in an attempt to slow the other enough to take control.

  Flash swiped the edge of her knife across Millie’s forearm, the thick fabric doing little to stop the weapon from drawing blood. She winced in pain, but answered in kind as her karambit dug a deep wound just above her opponent’s knee.

  Screaming with a mix of pain and anger, Flash fell to a crouch. She whipped a handful of dirt up at Millie, but the move was a futile attempt to steal the advantage without being in a position to capitalize.

  As she started to move into the cloud, Millie realized too late that the other woman was using it to hide another attack. The flash of metal reached Millie’s eyes a split-second before the throwing knife buried its tip just below her collarbone. Millie let out a cry through clenched teeth as she staggered back.

  Already Flash was on her feet rushing in for the kill. She had Millie on her heels, doing all she could to escape the bite from the edge of the blade. Checking a kick with her shin Millie stepped in attempting a slash.

  The blade still stuck in her shoulder slowed her own attack enough for Flash to grab Millie’s wrist. A line of bloody saliva trailed from the woman’s lips as she drew her knife hand back.

  “I’m gonna gut you like a fish and feast on your liver,” Sloane said.

  Millie watched the knife, tracking its movement as the attack came. She ducked and dropped to a knee, yanking the knife stuck in her own body free. Letting out a guttural shout, Millie stabbed the point of the blade through the top of Flash’s boot.