The Hard Core

by Allen Manning

  The other woman reared her head back and howled, releasing her grip on Millie’s right wrist. Twisting her body, Millie yanked the knife from her opponent’s foot as she sliced her karambit across the woman’s inner thigh. Continuing her rotation, Millie spun around and plunged the throwing knife between two of Sloane’s ribs before rolling away.

  Millie rose to her feet, legs shaking. Sloane dropped to her knees, shoulders slumped as she struggled with each ragged breath. Limping closer, Millie swatted away the woman’s weak attempt to continue the fight.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing the back of the woman’s head and her jaw, wrenching it violently to the side.

  She knelt next to her opponent’s body, wiping her fingers over her eyes to close them. Millie lifted her body up enough to retrieve the rifle from around her shoulders. Reloading the weapon, she glanced down at the wound in her shoulder.

  The nylon webbing slowed the blade, but it had still sunk into her muscle and flesh. With a sigh, Millie switched hands, pressing the weapon’s stock against her left shoulder as she stood and made her way back to the base.

  * * *

  Roland slammed the heel of his palm into the bottom of the magazine and released the bolt. He held the rifle over the railing and sprayed the second-floor landing. A trio of holes punched through the steel landing next to his foot.

  Rocking back on his heels, he fell as he heard the boots pounding up the steps. He crawled several feet before pushing up to a full run, diving through the doorway as Burst’s carbine cracked to life behind him. He blindly fired another shot through the door as he ran further into the debris-strewn cell block.

  He kicked a desk over and ducked behind it, propping his weapon along the edge. A shadow wiped across the doorway and he jerked the trigger, his rounds tracing a jagged constellation across the wall.

  Leaning in much lower than he expected, Burst whipped the muzzle of her shorter weapon around, and the weapon’s flash swallowed her up from his point of view. A flaming hammer thumped into his side as a second grazed his left arm.

  Roland screamed and dropped to his back. He fired his rifle through the table, using his feet to push, sliding along the concrete floor. Lieutenant Driver rushed inside, her steps quick and short. Roland rolled back over his shoulder behind one of the opened cell doors. She fired just as he made it behind cover.

  The carbine’s rounds punched through the first layer, but only dented the other side, the splitting metal barely containing the power. Roland stared at the lumps in the steel right in line with is head. He heard the hollow plastic clatter of a magazine dropping to the floor as he stood.

  Now. Go now while she’s reloading, he thought, trying to will his feet into motion. The half-second delay cost him as he stepped out in the open. Burst slapped the bolt release and raised her weapon.

  Time moved through the syrupy distortion in Roland’s mind. He fired from the hip, trying to beat the more skilled adversary to the punch. She spun to one side dropping to a crouch to avoid his shots.

  The clack of the hammer falling on an empty chamber thundered in his ears, louder than the weapon’s report. Burst stood, carbine snapping back up. Roland hurled his empty rifle like a clunky awkward spear just as she pressed the trigger.

  The first trio of bullets punched two holes in his stomach while the third glanced off of his hip. He hit the ground hard, his already empty lungs giving up what little air they had left. Roland’s throat burned and his eyes watered.

  He watched his weapon bounce off the woman’s arm as she raised the muzzle of her carbine, sending another pair of bursts into the wall and ceiling. He clapped at his hip with a shaky hand, finding the Glock 17 still at his side. Roland had only enough strength to pull the handgun clear of the Kydex holster.

  With tears in his eyes and fire in his chest, he pulled as hard as he could on the trigger. The five-pound break felt like a ton against his finger. The pistol bucked just as Burst swung her weapon back on target. His shot struck her between her collarbones, just below her throat.

  Lieutenant Driver’s eyes shot open, mouth agape as she strained to suck in a breath. Roland tightened his jaw, grinding his teeth as he brought the Glock up in both hands. He fired five more rounds, two hitting his foe center mass while the rest went wide, the strength in his arms gone.

  His skull thunked against the concrete as he let the pain and fatigue wash over his body, taking him where it wanted him to go. His world grew bright before the blackness swallowed his vision, pulling him into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER

  42

  John closed the door, locking it behind him. “What’s the status?”

  “Five men have come in through the main entrance. We were able to hold most of the forces back, but they just overwhelmed us,” Chance said.

  “There are too many,” the inmate said.

  “What’s your name?” John asked, moving to the screens showing the inside of the building.

  “Trent.”

  Listen, Trent, I need you to call the rest of your guys down from the roof,” John said. “We need you to hold INSEC off at the cell blocks.”

  “What are you going to do?” Ty asked.

  “I’m going to go greet Captain Hawke. Give him a housewarming present.” John handed Ty the M4, grabbing a G36 and a spare magazine.

  “I’ll go with you,” Chance said. “I’m pretty good at introductions myself.”

  * * *

  Millie leaned against the wall, looking up the steps as several men stormed down toward the second floor. One of them, an inmate, spotted her and raised his weapon. She lowered her rifle and held up a hand as she started up to join them.

  She limped up, making it halfway when another man came down to help her. She waved him away.

  “Are you here to help us?” one of the inmates asked. “We’re here to hold this spot.”

  “I’ll be right with you,” Millie said, limping up the steps. “I’m just going to make sure the rest of the place is clear first.”

  * * *

  Captain Donovan Hawke crouched behind a pickup parked in the cavernous interior of the main structure’s lower floor. He signaled his men and kept his rifle trained deeper into the darkness as they spread out to take cover. Rhino took a knee next to him, swapping his grenade launcher for the shotgun on his back.

  “We’re moving to the target now,” Hawke said. “Get that chopper ready for a fast pick up. Once we grab Kingston, we are out of here.”

  “Roger,” the helicopter pilot said.

  Hawke turned to Rhino. “And after that, we level this place. Nothing left standing.”

  The big man smiled.

  Switching channels to the men with him now, Hawke said, “Remember, Faust is somewhere in this building. Watch your fire.”

  The strike team captain clutched his weapon and stepped out, keeping his body low as he moved. His team followed suit, making their way further inside. One of the men approached too aggressively, running for cover far too deep inside.

  Before Hawke could say something, the explosive report of rifle fire echoed through the space. Two rounds punched through the merc stuck out in the open.

  Hawke ducked and pressed his shoulder against a concrete pillar. The rest of his team popped out and fired indiscriminately into the shadows.

  “Check your fire! Check your fire!” he screamed.

  A second rifle opened up in the distance, driving his team back. Another of his men dropped as he leaned out to fire. Rhino let out an angry shout and huff as a bullet lanced along his cheek. Instead of taking cover, the beast stood up and let his weapon roar.

  The AA-12 spit double-aught buckshot rounds at a furious pace. The hyper-aggressive tactic halted the enemy’s attack, letting the rest of Hawke’s men find cover and reload their weapons. Rhino plodded forward until his shotgun ran dry. He crouched behind another truck as the two rifles answered back again.

  * * *

  “That shotgun is no joke,” Cha
nce said. “If we don’t take that brute down, he’s going to be trouble.”

  “He and I have some unfinished business,” John said, slamming a fresh mag home.

  The enemy’s weapon ceased it’s fury and John swung out, pressing the trigger of his G36. Two INSEC men made their move, trying to run across the open space to find cover, but a burst of 5.56 NATO struck one of them on the thigh and stomach. A second burst dropped the other man as he spun in place, trying to decide how to help his buddy.

  “Cover me,” John said, running forward to get behind a concrete pillar.

  “Wait, you have to—” Chance stopped talking and started shooting.

  The shotgun started up again, this time coming far too close to his location. The man behind the AA-12 must have seen his muzzle flash. Chance dove and rolled over his shoulder as massive chunks of concrete broke away from the wall and floor around him.

  That madman switched to slugs, he thought, scooting his butt along the ground to take cover behind a parked sedan.

  He took aim under the rear bumper and spotted a man moving up. Chance tilted the rifle to fit behind the rear tire and fired. The spent brass from the G36 bounced and rattled in the rear wheel well as he watched the mercenary stumble and fall face first.

  John fired from somewhere off to his left as another INSEC soldier screamed and fell.

  Chance rose to a crouch and moved up, keeping his body pressed against the wall, using the darkness for cover as he closed the distance. Captain Hawke popped out from behind a pillar, taking aim in John’s direction. Chance saw him through the windows of several parked vehicles, but he didn’t have a clear shot.

  A walking refrigerator stepped out, firing his shotgun into the pool of darkness across the makeshift motor pool. Chance moved out away from the wall and took his shot. His rifle kicked out a burst, stopping after four rounds.

  As he twisted the weapon to check the ejection port, he saw the double feed malfunction. Rhino shouted, clutching a hand to his right shoulder as he spun and aimed the AA-12 in Chance’s direction.

  The windows of a nearby pickup shattered as the INSEC merc’s weapon screamed to life. Chance dove away and moved up, dropping his rifle. Rhino stripped the empty drum from the shotgun as he fumbled with a box mag.

  Chance hopped up into the back of the pickup truck before leaping off the cab. He covered the distance, spinning with his body horizontal to the ground. His foot lashed out, knocking the shotgun from the brute’s grasp. Before his foe could recover from the surprise, Chance followed with a left hook to Rhino’s ribs, then a right hook to the jaw.

  His third punch stopped cold, slamming into the big man’s massive forearm. He grabbed Chance by the front of his jacket and growled as he lifted the detective off his feet, pinning him against a concrete column.

  Chance braced for impact, expecting Rhino’s left fist to come crashing in any moment. But the beast paused and chuckled with a smirk.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rhino said. “Today must be my lucky day. I’m getting paid to kill the man that locked me up.”

  * * *

  “Did you clear this floor?” Millie asked down to the inmate as she reached the top of the steps.

  “Yeah, the only INSEC guys left are on block B. We’ve got them on the run now.”

  Millie nodded and limped through the door.

  Along the windows, she could see the of bodies several inmates lying on the floor. Behind her, she spotted another pair. Millie walked by, looking down at the dead woman’s body wearing the full INSEC uniform. Burst.

  Roland coughed. She snapped her attention up. Stripping a first aid kit off the wall, she hurried over, ignoring the lancing pain in her leg and shoulder.

  Cracking the case open, she dropped to her knees next to Roland. He pressed a hand against his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers. But she could see at least two more bullet wounds, one in his hip.

  “I can’t feel my body,” Roland said through bloody gritted teeth.

  “Hang on, Roland,” Millie said. “Just relax. Don’t try to talk too much.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “Burst? Yeah, you took her out.” Millie started treating his wounds. “A pretty impressive feat for some kid with only a few months of training.”

  Roland gave her a smile soured with pain and fear. She pulled her jacket off, rolling it up and placing it behind his head. Millie’s training did include some first aid, but she hardly had the skills necessary to stabilize the young mercenary. He would need a doctor soon.

  She reached for the radio on her belt, but before Millie could call the others, Ty’s voice broke through the silence.

  “Uh, I’m going to need some help. INSEC is trying to bust in here,” he said.

  * * *

  Ty grabbed John’s M4 and ducked behind the console as he aimed at the door.

  “I’m going to enjoy watching the life drain from your bullet-riddled body,” Faust said, his teeth almost needle-like in the shadows.

  “I’ll be sure to shoot you first, then,” Ty said.

  The handle rattled again. Ty raised the weapon and fired twice through the door. The first round struck below the handle and the second drifted toward the middle. A second later, a thunderclap shook Ty as the steel around the latch peeled away. A second blast ripped the lock free.

  The man outside booted the door in and pivoted out of the way as another man stepped inside. Owen Blythe, started screaming, covering his head as the INSEC merc opened fire, sparks flying from the console.

  Gritting his teeth, Ty frantically pulled the trigger before scrambling behind another control panel. Words swam through the mud in his head as more mercenaries entered the room.

  “Mr. Kingston, we need to get you out of here now,” someone said. “The chopper is on its way.”

  Ty leaned out to open fire, but more bullets tore away at his cover, driving him back again.

  Kenneth yanked at his chains. “Get me out of here. You can’t just leave me behind.”

  Ty took three short, sharp breaths and stood up again, rifle braced against his shoulder.

  “Frag it,” one of the men said as he pulled Faust from the room.

  A grenade clanged along the ground, wobbling as it rolled into the center of the room. Owen’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. Ty turned and dove behind the control consoles, tucking his body tight into a corner.

  The blast shattered all of the glass and tore the room’s furniture apart. The concussive force cracked Ty’s jaws together, and darkness swam at the edges of his vision.

  His ears still ringing, Ty shook the cobwebs out of his head. He ran his tongue along his teeth, expecting half of them to be missing, and relieved that they were all still there. He turned over and looked at what remained of the consoles. They absorbed the blast, allowing him to survive. Owen Blythe wasn’t so lucky.

  Ty sucked in a deep, shaky breath and grabbed his radio.

  “Faust is loose,” he said. “A bunch of INSEC gorillas just barged in and took him away.”

  CHAPTER

  43

  Captain Hawke, and his muscle, Rhino, fired across the cavernous space, their weapons rattling the windows around them. John ducked under their barrage and moved out of their line of fire. Before they could track his movement, he brought his rifle to his shoulder and pressed the trigger, holding it as he sprayed with a long burst.

  Hawke took cover. John shifted his aim at the big man when Chance leaped out from behind a truck and kicked the shotgun from Rhino’s hand, engaging him in hand to hand combat.

  As John stepped forward, swinging back to the strike team captain, Hawke leaned out from his cover. Anticipating the attack, John’s burst shattered the vehicle’s headlight, spraying his opponent with shards of plastic, glass, and sparks.

  John ran the G36 dry and drew his pistol, firing as he closed the distance. Hawke instinctively raised his arms to cover his face as the .45 caliber slugs chipped away at his chest plate
. The last round hit the weapon protecting his opponent’s face, staggering the captain.

  Brushing a gloved hand across his eyes, Hawke shouldered his rifle and fired. The round gouged into John’s trapezius as he ducked the shot.

  Grasping his empty rifle by the fore end, John swung it like a club. Hawke raised his weapon to block the attack. The captain let out a scream as his right hand caught part of the blow. John wound up again and took a swing like a slugger looking for a home run. Again, Hawke blocked the strike with his weapon, but the impact knocked him to the floor.

  He pressed the trigger, but the savage assault damaged his weapon, rendering it inoperable. Hawke’s hand moved to his sidearm, but John was already on top of him, stripping the handgun from his grasp and hurling it away.

  Fists rained down like artillery strikes, each one powerful enough to end an ordinary foe. But Hawke’s hand to hand training far surpassed most men. He deflected many of the punches and used his hips and legs to force John back to bleed off much of the power from the ones that slipped through.

  John drew his arm back to batter through the man’s defense, but Hawke used the gap to kick away and create more space, getting back to his feet. John rushed his opponent, but Hawke snapped a jab that lit his senses up. Hawke slammed a boot down hard on John’s instep and whipped a hook across the big man’s jaw, opening up the distance between them again.

  Hawke closed in this time, pressing the attack. John recovered and brought his hands up to block the first attack. Blows slipped through his defenses and battered his ribs. John pushed through and launched a counter-attack. He doubled over, hissing as he overcommitted with an overhand right, catching a knee to the midsection.