“Hey Doc.” He asked. “How do we get up there?”
“The tunnels.” Shelley answered immediately, matter-of-fact. But then he stopped himself, realizing - “But…”
“But what?”
“They’re sealed. They detonated charges around the main passageway after we came through it.”
“Great.” Tyco sighed, and stared up at the imposing hillside. “Any other ideas?”
“Beyond the obvious…?” Shelley trailed off.
Tyco shook his head and turned his attention back towards the city. A long, narrow stairway to the North caught his eye, snaking its way through a cramped old city carved into the hillside. Tyco followed the stairs all the way up the hill until they disappeared from view. He turned back to Shelley.
“How do we get to those stairs?” He said, pointing at the carved stone of the hillside.
“The Old City?” Shelley answered. “I suppose there might be a rail car or something like that…”
“Where?” Tyco asked immediately. “Show me.”
Shelley pointed uncertainly towards the city center. “I’ve never ridden one myself, but there’s a station somewhere in that area.”
Tyco nodded. “How far?”
“Eight, maybe ten streets over?”
Tyco considered that. If Shelley was right, the station lay several long blocks into the business district, with all the dangers that entailed. Even if they reached it, the train might not reach the top of the staircase, but the cramped quarters and ample shadow of the Old City would provide better cover than the streets below. If they could make it to the station, he decided, they might stand a chance. But they would have to move quickly.
Tyco went to work briskly undoing the clasps of his body armor, snapping it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground, leaving just a small flak jacket around his midsection.
“What are you doing?” Hog asked, worried as she watched him strip off layer after layer of life-saving equipment.
“Mobility.” Tyco answered. “We’re going to have to cross a lot of open space if we want to get up there, and I don’t intend to take any longer than we have to. I’m not going block by block waiting for these bastards to pick us off. No offense, Chip.”
“None taken.” Chip smiled and lit another cigarette. “Sounds good to me, Cap.” He followed Tyco’s lead, one-handedly undoing his clasps and ditching the weight of his body armor with rapid efficiency.
“Reload everything.” Tyco nodded. “You probably won’t get the chance on the way. I’ll take point, Chip behind me, then Hog. And Ghost – “
“Yes sir?” Ghost answered.
“You keep him alive, understand?”
Ghost turned and stared down at Shelley next to him. He smiled. “Yes sir.” He said, again.
Tyco didn’t wait for them to finish. He started off across the square at a run, sticking to the shadows but moving quickly. The team had no choice but to follow at a brisk pace. Ghost’s smile faded, and he clapped Shelley heavily on the back, hard enough that the man stumbled forwards, wincing in pain.
“Don’t make me carry you.” He said, and set off after Tyco.
Tyco turned the corner and cut up a long, wide boulevard perpendicular to the afternoon sun. He knew they would be nearly invisible if he stuck to the shadows, and ran accordingly, inside the uneven shade of a gutted office building. Only the cross-streets left them exposed, and he moved across them as quickly as he could. The team trailed at intervals behind him, sticking closely to his path.
The streets were still empty in front of him, and Tyco chose to interpret that as a positive: their engagement in the overlooking hills notwithstanding, they had managed to go undetected, and he aimed to keep that the case as long as possible. He glanced back just before a slightly larger cross-street, and saw Shelley, the doctor, red-faced and sweating but keeping up well so far. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
High on the rooftop of one of the city’s former luxury hotels, a sniper sat casually staring out over the city. The fires on the outskirts were no concern of his; a local uprising, maybe, or just the handiwork of bored former conscripts, now left to their own devices. His domain was the financial district below him, and he had ruled over it for weeks now with absolute and final authority. The long progression of thin, white tally marks scratched into the wall in front of him attested to his handiwork. They were eloquent in their simplicity, efficient and unadorned, just as he had been with his rifle. He had made the most of his ammunition, stretching the boxes he had brought with him to their maximum, making every shot count.
The city had been quiet for what seemed like decades. The last hint of loyalist resistance to the rebels had been crushed and driven bleeding into the wilderness days ago, a week or more now. There had been a few tentative forays recently, it was true, but they had been far away, across the city. Other, lesser men had driven them back without his assistance. He hadn’t fired his rifle in at least 72 hours, and that was only to down the bird that would not stop squawking, half a mile away. His bullet had left little more than a pile of feathers in its wake.
But now there was movement on his streets, on the wide avenue below. He came to life, uncoiling from his perch like a snake and lowering himself into a kneeling position, training his sights along the main avenue, waiting for a confirmation his suspicions were correct.
It came soon enough, the sudden, fleeting flash of movement catching the bright sunlight as a group of maybe a half-dozen intruders rushed across a wide cross street below him
The sniper slid forwards, resting the rifle against the low concrete ledge, gripping the butt a little tighter. Target acquired.
Tyco was past the idling soldiers before they knew it. One second, the street had lain empty before him; the next, two large, muscled sentries had appeared in the alley, startled by the passing troopers. Tyco had seized the element of surprise, accelerating up the street before they could react and turning to warn the others.
“Heads up - !” He called quickly over his shoulder, even as two neat shots rang out from Chip’s pistol. The two soldiers fell immediately, dead on their feet, their heads sinking in on their massive necks as they collapsed onto the street below.
Hog nodded with grudging respect as she sprinted past their bodies. “Not bad.” She muttered. Chip snorted in response.
“Tighten up.” Tyco called from up ahead, and Ghost pushed Shelley forward to close the gap. Shelley nearly lost his footing, but regained his balance, angrily refusing Ghost’s outstretched hand. He ran faster, breathing hard, moving ahead on his own power.
Sobered by the unexpected encounter, Tyco stared up the empty boulevard ahead of them and could not shake the feeling that their luck, what little they had had of it so far, was about to run out. He unlatched his safety and slowed his sprint to a cautious run. There was trouble, he was certain, waiting for them just ahead.
The sniper continued to follow the group’s progress, saw them sweep through the patrol, watched them disappear from view behind the next block of buildings. He would have his shot, he knew, and sooner rather than later. Their route would take them directly perpendicular to his rooftop position, across the same avenue that bordered the entrance to his building below. They would have to cross a good thirty yards of open space where their boulevard intersected his, and he did not miss, not given such a wide window.
He moved his rifle sight deliberately ahead, adjusting his focus with meticulous precision. He would be ready when they arrived.
Tyco’s worries were well-founded. Not three streets distant, a full platoon had emerged from a side street, moving slowly across the intersection. They turned in alarm as the team approached, their footsteps loud against the hard concrete. The soldiers scattered quickly, ducking into the small side street and behind cover, ambushed and taking up defensive positions. Tyco opened fire as he ran, his bullets raking across the intersection unsteadily, almost wildly, chasing the rebels without striking anyone.
“Cap – “ Hog warned as the bullets started flying from below.
He nodded without looking back. “You got Ringo’s grenades?”
Hog looked down at Ringo’s ammo belt, still coiled around her shoulder.
She nodded and smiled cruelly, delighted by the idea. Ripping a grenade from the belt, she pulled the pin and dropped it neatly between her legs. It bounced once and rolled quickly down the slope towards the soldiers below.
It went off with a dull thump, shaking the ground underfoot, rattling what was left of the surrounding buildings. Shelley looked back in alarm, just in time to see the soldiers stagger and fall to the ground. Their firing had stopped completely. Hog smiled widely at the well-timed destruction behind her.
“That’s a party trick.” She muttered gleefully, and ran a little faster.
The wide boulevard approached rapidly ahead. From Tyco’s position, the street looked endless, bathed in brilliant sunlight and completely devoid of shadow or cover. Tyco glanced back at his group nervously. The faster they crossed, the better. He bore down and picked up the pace.
The sniper clutched his rifle in anticipation. The grenade had been an unexpected boon, punctuating the silence and helping to pinpoint the group’s progress. He leaned forwards and let his finger curl on the trigger, carefully tracing the last few yards up to the intersection – his chosen battleground.
The lead figure burst into the sunlight, slightly ahead of the sniper’s estimation. He adjusted quickly, zeroing in on him, then slid his sight ahead, trying to account for his speed. He had found the range and was already starting to squeeze when it happened.
The sunlight hit Tyco like a wave as he broke from cover. Despite seeing it come, it was brighter than he had expected, and he slowed involuntarily as his eyes adjusted. He felt the debris covering the street shifting underfoot, felt the brittle, ungiving hardness of the concrete below it, and struggled to stay on his feet. He heard the team approaching from behind him and resolutely regained his footing, forcing himself back up to speed, running faster now than before. He had reached the concrete pedestrian island in the center of the street when he heard the engine. It came quickly, bursting down towards the street in a sudden explosion of angry noise.
He turned, tearing his rifle from around his shoulder just as a heavily armored motorcycle roared from the shadows of a side alley, swinging wildly on its axis as turned down on the boulevard and righted itself. Its driver was just visible over the front wheel, perched in a cockpit seat and enclosed nearly completely by a glass shell. He stared down at Tyco with hungry malevolence as his wheels caught the concrete, swinging the heavy chassis around behind it.
The front-mounted machine guns opened up even as Tyco dove to the ground, rolling to evade the flying bullets. The team behind him flattened themselves against the side street walls. Ghost and Hog opened up, quickly, peppering the motorcycle with quick bursts of suppressing fire.
Tyco wormed his way along the ground; as long as he stayed low the guns couldn’t reach him, blocked by the slope of the road and the limitations of their firing angles, but he knew he wasn’t safe.
The driver responded by revving the engine, trying to run him down and crush him under the motorcycle’s wheels, firing blindly with his machine guns. Tyco rolled, dove, and slithered over the broken glass on the street, feeling it tear and grind against the exposed fabric of his uniform. It was all he could do to stay out of the guns’ range and ahead of the growling engine. He ducked quickly as the vehicle roared past, rising quickly to his feet as it swept by. He fired once, testing the glass, and watched as his shots thudded around it harmlessly. He cursed; if it was bulletproof, he was in serious trouble.
He dove again as the motorcycle swung around, sliding in a tight arc around its front wheel. He slid sideways, keeping an eye on the approaching engine while working his way back towards the concrete island. The motorcycle roared and charged again, its wheels spinning furiously, slipping over the loose surface as it bore towards him. He rolled at the last instant, looking up as the front wheel flashed by inches away from his head, the hum of the revolving spokes singing in his ears even after it had passed.
Tyco rolled to his knees just as the motorcycle tried to turn, wobbling on its wheels and stopping briefly. He saw the driver distinctly through a small ventilation gap in the side of the glass, fumbling with the controls. For the briefest of instants, he had an open shot. But the bike moved even as he fired, roaring out of its turn, and the bullets pinged harmlessly off its metal frame. Tyco cursed, reloading quickly while he had the chance. He was going to have to do better than that if he wanted to survive. The driver brought the motorcycle around again, faster and tighter this time, and Tyco steeled himself for another round.
The sniper on the rooftop had stopped, his finger frozen in place on the trigger, staring down at the intersection in furious disbelief.
“Fucking cavalry.” He said to himself, shaking his head. The arrogant, unwieldy motorcycle was messy and inefficient, a complete waste of resources. Unable to deal with the lone, stranded trooper, its driver was now tearing up the buildings with its machine gun. It was loud, wasteful, and stupid – and it interfered with the sniper’s work. He had a good mind to shoot the driver from here and get it over with.
He contented himself instead with scanning the street downhill, searching for the rest of the team. He found them just inside the shade, guns blazing.
Hog watched Tyco intently as the motorcycle roared towards him again. She had tried to distract the driver with gunfire, but her shots had proven ineffective against his glass shell. Any effort to come to Tyco’s rescue had been driven back furiously as the motorcycle’s guns carved great chunks out of the walls around her. So she had held her position in the shadows, watching as Tyco danced with the brute machine, whipping aside at the last moment time and again like an ancient bullfighter. His movements were considered and calculated: from the calm purpose in his steps, it was clear to her he had a plan in mind, a method to his maneuvers. With a triumphant smile, she realized what he was playing at: with every pass, Tyco was edging back towards the concrete island in the center of the boulevard, forcing the vehicle into tighter and tighter turns around it. She watched breathlessly as he danced and dodged out of the motorcycle’s way, preparing to pounce.
Finally, he had reached the edge of the concrete, stepping completely through it and rising to his feet as the motorcycle tore past. It slipped and skidded, trying to make the tight turn, fighting its own momentum as it wrapped its chassis around its front wheel. Unable to make the turn, it ended up stranded on each end of the concrete, its wheels spinning on the loose rubble.
Tyco was up in a flash, pressing his advantage and advancing on the vehicle, firing down on the driver from full height. He stepped carefully and quickly, staying just a half-step ahead of its blazing machine guns. From this close range, the glass dome was vulnerable, and he loosed a concentrated volley across it. The bullets smacked into the glass, cracking the screen into long, spindly slivers that left the driver half-blind behind it. Tyco went in for the kill, spraying bullets into the cracked glass in a tight arc.
The motorcycle’s wheels caught suddenly against the bare concrete, gaining just enough purchase to jolt it free. It lurched abruptly, screeching across the road and leaving a dark trail of burning rubber behind. The driver ripped the throttle wide open and roared away, bringing the motorcycle around at a safe dista
nce to regroup and lick his wounds.
More gunfire sounded on the hill below the others. Reinforcements had found the wounded patrol and were advancing from below, driving the team slowly forwards and up into the intersection. Ghost flung Shelley roughly into a doorway and returned fire, pinning down the pursuers as best he could.
Hog saw the opportunity as the motorcycle idled, the driver’s attention focused solely on Tyco. She stepped into the sunlight, opening up with her submachine gun, determined to finish this engagement quickly.
Chip saw the flash above, the sudden shift of metal under sunlight drawing his attention. In an instant, he knew it for what it was, recognizing the threat that lay behind it. He looked from Hog to Tyco, sizing up the situation with a shooter’s eye, knowing instinctively which target the shooter above would choose. He broke from cover, sprinting across the street and launching himself through the air just as a loud crack sounded from above.
He collided with Hog, knocking her to the ground, and looked up anxiously, worried for a split-second that he might have been wrong in his assessment.
But Tyco was still standing, rifle at his shoulder, taking advantage of the sudden interruption to flank the motorcycle. He moved quickly, side-stepping to find a clear shot through the broken glass. He found it and mashed the trigger, flooding the cockpit with bullets.
The driver slumped immediately. Blood splattered across the inside the fractured windshield.
Tyco wheeled immediately, scanning the rooftops for the sniper he now knew was there. There was no sign of him through his scope as he raced it across the empty city above.
“Chip?”
“Hotel garden, 3 o’clock. I’m on it – “ Chip started, but Tyco knew his time was running out. He ducked behind a small bus shelter even as the next shot rang out. Just in time, too: the glass above him shattered loudly, showering him in thick shards that cut him across the face and ear.
Hard Drop Page 12
