They scattered obediently, seeking out cover in the ruins. Chip scrambled up to the gas station roof, taking up a position high on its arc overlooking the entire complex. The others spread out, taking up positions at intervals along the crumbling maze of the shopping structure.
Tyco turned back to the personnel carrier. Balancing his rifle on top of its roof, he cycled through its display, keying in the satellite coordinates he’d been given before drop. Standing in the middle of the empty square, he glanced anxiously at the surrounding hills as the computer went to work, verifying his handprint and location before downloading the next set of coordinates. He looked up to find Hog watching him from the vehicle’s open driver door.
“First sign of trouble, you tuck her away.” He said, nodding at the APC.
“Sure thing, Cap – “ She said, just as static broke in over the comm.
“Boss?” It crackled.
“Yeah?”
“Trouble.”
Tyco looked up immediately, staring out towards the road. There was no sign of incoming soldiers. “Where?”
“North-Northeast.”
“How many?”
“Two trucks. Armored.”
Tyco turned to Carter with a worried look on his face.
“Tell me you’ve got something heavy.” Carter shook his head. Tyco frowned ferociously. “Of course not.” He checked the satellite link, hoping it was somewhere near completion.
No luck. They would have to fight.
He tapped back in. “Chip, any chance you got a bead on one of the drivers?”
“…working on it.”
And then the loud roar of engines descended on the square, groaning as the vehicles they served came tearing down a steep dirt track on the hillside. Tyco looked up just as the first vehicle came into view, dripping snow with every turn. It crashed down onto the concrete with its front wheels, bouncing unsteadily against its suspension, and turned menacingly towards the APC.
“Still want me to tuck her away, Cap?” Hog asked, but Tyco shook his head. He waved her over towards him instead, taking cover behind the APC and raising his rifle to his shoulder.
A shot rang out with authority, crisp and clinical. The lead truck lurched as the bullet smashed into it, but it held its course steadily.
Tyco glanced up towards Chip, waiting for the second shot to sound as the vehicles closed the distance from the corner of his eye. But Chip seemed pleased and confident, entirely unhurried as he stood with his rifle off his shoulder, patiently watching the truck roar on. Tyco stared out towards it nervously, confused by the sniper’s inaction and worried at the speed of the closing vehicles. They would be in machine gun range soon.
And then the vehicle’s front wheels wobbled slightly, trembling back and forth in their wells. They corrected back sharply, cutting hard in the opposite direction before finally overcorrecting drastically once more. The truck rocked unsteadily, turning in very fast, widening S-curves across the concrete. And then, at last, the wheels caught, locking in place as they dug in beneath the vehicle.
The truck skidded sideways, tires screaming against the pavement until the tortured metal gave way. The screaming suspension crumpled and snapped, folding under the chassis and flipping the vehicle end over end in a brutal roll until it slammed into a pillar and stopped abruptly wheels still spinning as flames licking around its frame.
“Got one.” Chip said, over the comm. Tyco couldn’t help but smile.
“I can see that.” He said, rising to his feet with his battle rifle pressed to his eyes.
The second vehicle never made it past the first. Its driver slowed to avoid the wreckage in front of him, trying to cut around the spreading flames. The split-second of hesitation was all that Chip needed. His rifle sounded with regular, murderous precision. His first shots hobbled its front tires, hobbling the vehicle’s speed and making its steering erratic. His next shot shattered the glass windscreen, blinding the driver and showering glass shards across the hood. The truck slowed to a crawl, its rims weaving pathetically across the rubble. It didn’t take long for the debris to accumulate, and soon the wheels were stuck, spinning freely on the loose gravel and pulverized wood that littered the concrete.
Soldiers leapt from the stopped vehicle, emerging with guns lifted towards Chip’s position, furiously pelting the sniper with everything they had. But Chip was unflappable, sighting in on one soldier, then the next, mechanically going about his business.
Ringo, too, was enjoying himself. He posted against the wall of a shattered storefront window, firing round after round into the remaining truck, shattering its windshield and collapsing its roof, gleefully destroying what cover the rebels had left.
Wary of lingering and attracting further reinforcements, Tyco took the offensive, waving the team forwards quickly to move on the stranded rebels. He alternated with Hog, laying down controlled bursts of covering fire as the others advanced around their flank. Ghost moved quietly in tandem, staying unseen in the shadows of the overhanging buildings, holding his fire until he had flanked the stranded truck’s position. Crouching behind cover, he opened fire, raking the truck and its occupants mercilessly with his submachine gun.
The soldiers fought back desperately, firing in all directions as they tried to regroup. Their bullets flew by harmlessly as Tyco and his men advanced, dodging from cover to cover, sporadically trading bursts and keeping up pressure on the group.
“That’s four.” Chip chirped over the radio.
“Good for you.” Hog muttered sarcastically. She was within shouting distance of the vehicles, spraying fire in a wide arc across both of them, watching the bullets spark and ricochet off the metal. “Real damn brave of you, up on that roof – “ A bullet zipped past her head, stopping her mid-sentence. She whirled to find the shooter, chasing him back behind cover with a vicious burst of gunfire.
“Don’t get petty, dear.” Chip was unbearably smug even on a good day, and today, he was unbearable. Hog kept firing until her magazine ran dry, then dropped to her knees and reloaded with tight, furious precision.
The locals, those that remained, had fallen silent. Expecting an unopposed bloodbath, they had been severely shocked and disappointed by the opposition they had encountered. The advantage had shifted abruptly and unexpectedly away from them, and now, unable to move on their attackers, they were forced to hunker down, holding their fire to save their ammunition. The debris-strewn tarmac fell eerily silent.
“Chip - ?” Tyco asked.
“Negative, they’re still there.” Chip said. “I’m working on a shot.”
“Ringo, how’re you on grenades?”
“Cap, I got this – “ Chip protested.
“We don’t have time.” Tyco was clipped, focused, staring up at the hillside from which the vehicles had come. It was empty, for now, but that could change at any second. “We have to move. Ringo?”
Ringo stopped firing and flashed a quick grin, hooking his thumbs into his grenade belt with a demented smile.
“I’m on it.” He announced, clambering over the splintered wreckage in front of his position. In a blur of quick, uncoordinated movement, he headed up a line of abandoned cars, running with his head kept low until he disappeared from sight.
The team fired sporadically, keeping the rebels pinned down and distracted as Ringo worked his way towards them. Tyco held his breath, staring in Ringo’s direction. He watched as a something small and dark flew high in the air, arcing gracefully towards the pinned soldiers. They fired desperately, seeing the grenade, trying to shoot it out of the sky.
The grenade bounced once and dropped over the overturned truck, going off with devastating effect. Crumpled metal rolled across the hard concrete in all directions, and the near side of the jeep disappeared in dust and smoke.
“Nice work.” Tyco tapped in shaking his head at Ringo’s precision. He checked his display, nodding with relief to see it had finished its uplink. “Sat’s reprogrammed. Let’s head – “
“Ringo - ?” It was Hog who asked, but Tyco and Chip looked up in alarm as well.
“I’m alright…” came the response, trailing off into static. Tyco waited uncertainly, but Ringo didn’t tap in again. He turned his attention to the rest of the team.
“Carter, Mac, Clark, you guys with us? Sinclair?” No response. “Anyone, eyes on Carter?” Tyco asked.
Chip scanned the area intently from his perch, sweeping it through his rifle sight. It didn’t take long: Carter’s body was draped limply across the dirty concrete, blood spilled in a puddle around his head. Clark had fallen nearby, limbs splayed at violent angles, unmoving.
“He’s down.” Chip tapped in. “Clark too.”
“Bring the tags.” Tyco tapped back grimly.
“Copy that.” Ghost said, already moving towards the bodies with calm efficiency.
“Any word on Mac - ?” Tyco asked, staring blankly across the concrete square.
“Behind you, sir.” Tyco turned to find Mac behind him, looking as sheepish as his 6-foot-5 frame would allow. “Sorry, my comm quit on me. Hell of a job though.” Tyco nodded.
“Yes it was.” Tyco answered distractedly. There would be time for that when they were safely on their way. He tapped back in nervously. “Chip, you ready to roll?”
And then Ringo appeared, bracing himself against the rusting car frames, and Tyco’s face fell. Covered in blood, limping, and nursing an ugly shrapnel burn in his leg, he was definitely far from alright.
“Jesus man, what happened to you?” Hog asked, shaking her head in dismay.
Ringo looked down in shocked surprise, as if only just seeing the extent of his wounds. “I’m sorry, Cap,” he said, gritting his teeth through the pain as he leaned on his wounded leg. “I fucked up – “
His leg gave way without warning, and he collapsed, falling violently onto the hard pavement. Hog and Tyco ran to catch him as he fell, reaching him just before his head could smash against the ground.
“Any chance you’re a medic, Private?” Tyco asked, struggling to raise Ringo to his feet as he glanced up at Mac.
The open-mouthed, nauseous expression on Mac’s face as he stared at Ringo’s bleeding leg answered his question.
“Pretty sure that’s a no, Cap.” Hog groaned they raised Ringo between them. Tyco nodded, grimacing as he caught sight of the bone through the open wound.
“Let’s just get him in the APC.” He said, shifting Ringo’s dead weight across his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out from there.” He tapped in with effort, using his free hand to reach the link. “Chip, get your ass down here. We’re going.”
The city lay in the distance, as the personnel carrier shuddered to life. The new navigation beacon blinked on Tyco’s rifle, guiding them down the hill and directly into the clouds of smoke ahead.
And then, shimmering in bright contrast against the distant black clouds that dominated the sky, a helicopter gunship rose from the valley floor, turning in a wide arc towards their position. And Tyco, slumped in exhaustion against the still-warm turret, groaned inwardly, knowing: their day had only just started.
EIGHT: AN EARLY GOODBYE
Ringo awoke with a groan, thirty minutes and eighteen miles later. The APC had entered a long, wide highway underpass, hiding it from the gunship overhead as it rolled into the city. A particularly heavy jolt had shaken the wounded man awake. He clutched his leg immediately and groaned, rolling onto his good side with tears in his eyes.
“Welcome back.” Tyco smiled thinly, kneeling down at Ringo’s side. He nodded at the wounded leg. “How do you feel?”
Ringo shook his head slowly, head swimming as he gained his bearings. “I…don’t know.”
Tyco frowned, then reached down and punched Ringo in his good leg.
“…the fuck, Cap?!” Ringo, roared, his face flushing a deep, angry red.
“Congratulations.” Tyco responded with a smile. “You’re not in shock.” Satisfied, he turned back to Ringo’s wound, holding the man’s machete in his hand. “Lighter.” He demanded. Chip hesitated before handing it to him unwillingly. Tyco let it play over the knife, sterilizing it for the work ahead.
“You couldn’t do that while I was out?” Ringo groaned.
“Trust me, with those roads, you wouldn’t have wanted that.” Tyco answered, and handed him a thin metal flask. “You’ll need that, though.”
Ringo eyed it warily, glancing up at Tyco with suspicion. “That yours, Cap?” he asked. Tyco shook his head.
“Hog’s. She says knock yourself out.”
“Tell her I said thanks.” Ringo growled, and took a very healthy swig. Tyco waited until he had it tilted fully up before digging the tip of the machete blade into his leg.
Ringo grimaced, tightened his grip against the cold metal seat, but did nothing more, bearing the pain until the blade was out and a dark, thin piece of shrapnel lay in Tyco’s hand.
“You were right,” said Tyco, considering the blade. “It does come in handy.” He patted Ringo on the shoulder admiringly. He really was a tough bastard.
“Huh.” Ringo smiled back weakly, taking another large swig from the flask. Tyco bent down to examine the wound, mopping up the blood around the cut carefully with a gauze pad, cleaning it as well as he could. Satisfied, he stood tall in the cramped APC, wiping his hands on his uniform.
“That’s a start, at least.” He said. “Chip, want to handle the leg?”
“…No.” Chip answered. Tyco turned to stare at him.
“Wasn’t asking.” Chip’s face fell as Tyco pushed past him and made for the front of the vehicle.
“Ringo says thanks.” He said as Hog looked up.
She nodded calmly, turning back to the road in front of her. “We getting anywhere close to this facility?” She asked.
“Let’s hope.” Tyco said darkly. He put a hand up to the roof of the vehicle and looked away.
Thirty minutes later, they had reached an impasse. The tunnel was monitored by large security doors, massive metal gates that marked the highway at intervals. At some stage in the fighting, they had triggered, and had come crashing shut across the asphalt. Or rather, they would have, if the highway had not been so jammed with debris. The security gate now facing the APC was wedged open, but barely. Its thick metal doors were held apart only a few feet by the mound of debris piled in their path. The gap between them was narrow – wide enough for a man to walk through, but not nearly wide enough for the personnel carrier. The pile of garbage, filth, and wreckage reached upwards, cresting between the gates a foot above Tyco’s head height. Tracks – human and otherwise – led up this filthy ramp, reaching up to the top of the pile and disappearing down the other side.
Tyco’s face had fallen as soon as the roadblock had come into view. He knew what it meant, not only for their vehicle, but also for Ringo. Had he been wounded anywhere else, had he lost his hearing, or even an arm, Tyco might have held out hope he could make it through. But he had seen Ringo’s leg, knew how deep the shrapnel had gone, and knew that walking more than a few hundred yards would be impossible for him. As tough as he was, Ringo’s leg would not bear his weight. There was no way he could continue.
Hog, seated at the wheel, let out a heavy sigh as she brought the personnel carrier to a stop. “We could go around…?” She offered quietly, after a long silence, staring up at the thick metal doors. But Tyco shook his head.
“Not with that chopper in the air.” He sighed. “And there’s no way we can force that gate.”
“Cap.” Ringo groaned, from the back. Tyco ignored him.
“…Evac?” Hog asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Not from here.” Tyco said. “Pick up’s on the far side of the city…” Tyco let his voice trail off, knowing the hard choice in front of him, trying to ignore it.
“Cap.” Ringo repeated, and Tyco turned at last, unwillingly. “It’s ok, I get it.” T
he look in his eyes was steady and calm, his gaze unwavering. The burly trooper reached up around his neck without hesitation and pulled off his dog tags, holding them out to Tyco. “Just leave me a gun.”
The team stared in silence, waiting on Tyco’s word. No one wanted to be the first to acknowledge what they all now knew to be inevitable – they would have to leave Ringo here. Orbital, by definition, did not have the option of recovering the bodies of fallen troopers, but it was rare that they had to choose to leave a living trooper to his fate. It was more than the loss of a soldier that bothered them – it was the fact that the Legion lived and died by a code of mutual reliance and trust. A unit that deployed routinely without support and off the radar had to; each soldier knew the others were all that stood between them and certain, painful death. Choosing to leave Ringo behind was a heavy decision, one that flew in the face of their creed. Not one of them wanted to accept that it had to be made.
Tyco nodded, at last, forcing himself to move, to make the choice he knew he had to. Had Ringo not offered himself freely and unprompted, it would have been impossible.
He stepped forwards, taking the dog tags from Ringo’s outstretched hand. He stowed them slowly, securely in his front vest pocket and paused, trying to find the words. He might not have understood Ringo completely, might not have liked him particularly, but on the battlefield, he had trusted him with his life. Losing him hurt more than he wanted to admit.
“I’m sorry, Daniel.” He said, at last.
Chip glanced at Hog, mouthing ‘Daniel?’ quietly. She shrugged and shook her head. It was news to her as well.
Ringo bit his lip as wave of pain went through him. It wore off slowly, and he was smiling as he looked up, relieved by the temporary reprieve.
“If anyone’s got some poppers.” He said quietly. “It might be nice to have them on the way out.”
Hard Drop Page 8
