When There's No More Room in Hell 3

by Luke Duffy

  "This stretch should take us pretty much all the way there," Stu said from the passenger seat as he sat studying the map.

  "How long?" Steve asked, anxious to meet up with the rest of their group.

  "Depending on the road, an hour, maybe an hour and twenty minutes, shouldn’t be much more than that, though."

  Steve nodded, and began to speak again, but was cut off by Stu suddenly screaming over the radio that he held close to his mouth.

  "Contact left, contact left…"

  Steve's eyes shot to the left. From within the tree line above the road, he saw a number of flashes from the barrels of rifles and machineguns, sending red beams of tracer rounds down towards the convoy, particularly aimed at Marcus' vehicle in the lead.

  The crackle of the firing weapons followed, and soon the air around them snapped and hissed with the sound of bullets flying overhead and smacking into the vehicles with loud, metallic thumps.

  An explosion erupted somewhere ahead of the convoy, sending up a plume of black smoke and debris hurtling through the air, the deafening percussion making Stu's ears pop and ring, even though they were over two hundred metres away from it.

  Marcus heard the panicked and hollering voice of Stu through the radio and immediately saw the rounds racing towards them. With sickening thwacks and clangs, the hot steel projectiles smashed through the front of their vehicle, mutilating the engine; instantly, clouds of smoke and steam erupted through the bullet holes in the hood.

  The tyres hissed and exploded as they were hit with rounds and the vehicle began to lurch across the road.

  A cluster of static vehicles, just fifty metres in front, disintegrated in a blinding flash that was accompanied by a deafening bang. The shockwave struck the Range Rover, knocking it from side to side and peppering it with shrapnel. The windows cracked and the chassis buckled under the force of the detonation, jolting the two men inside.

  Marcus felt the pressure against the side of his head as the blast threatened to crush his skull and suck his eyes from their sockets. His ears rang and his eyes burned as Jim fought with the wheel and struggled to keep the vehicle on the road as it continued to roll forwards.

  "We've lost power," Jim screamed over the crack of the rounds as more fire was poured at them, punching its way through the thin metal of the doors and shattering the glass.

  The vehicle was still moving, rapidly losing speed as Jim tried to drive through the killing area and out of the line of fire, but it was no use; the Range Rover was too badly damaged and they would soon come to a halt, stranded at the mercy of their attackers as they rained down their fire at leisure.

  "Out," Marcus cried as the widow beside him exploded from a round cracking past his face, just centimetres from the tip of his nose.

  "Bail out, Jim, move."

  Marcus had already begun to scramble across the centre console, dragging his rifle with him, intending to jump out from the opposite side of the contact and use the disabled vehicle as cover. He realised then that Jim had not moved as ordered, and was still in his seat as more rounds smashed into the body of their vehicle.

  "Jim," Marcus screamed as he looked up and saw his friend clutching at his throat.

  Blood pumped from between his fingers and spattered the windshield and dashboard. Jim's eyes bulged with panic, and he struggled to breathe as he gripped his torn flesh.

  As the Range Rover rocked and shuddered under more impacts, Marcus reached across the gasping and writhing Jim, pulling the door handle and throwing it open before pushing Jim through and out onto the road.

  Marcus followed him just as a burst of machinegun bullets ripped into the passenger seat where he had been sitting just moments before, sending up clods of shredded leather and padding.

  He crashed from the stalled vehicle, landing on top of Jim, who lay on the tarmac, squirming as he grasped at his neck with both blood-soaked hands.

  The crescendo of the shots cracking above them and striking the vehicle was ear splitting. Stray bullets smashed into the road, sending up fountains of loose tarmac that ricocheted in all directions and showered down on Marcus as he dragged Jim to safety.

  Marcus placed his friend behind the front wheel, hoping that the axle and engine would be enough protection to stop Jim from taking any more hits.

  He quickly peered over the hood of the Range Rover, hoping to gain an idea of the situation.

  Another burst struck the vehicle, sending splinters of metal flying through the air at deadly speeds and forcing Marcus to duck back down into cover.

  Smoke began to pour out from the car as the tracer rounds burned and ignited the material of the seats. Diesel began to seep onto the road, and the smell of burning oil filled Marcus' nostrils and stung his eyes.

  More thumps and cracks rang out around them as hundreds of rounds hurtled down towards the road.

  Marcus looked down at the frantic face of Jim as the blood continued to pour from his neck. He reached into his vest and began ripping open a field dressing, and placed it against the gaping wound in Jim's throat, pushing down hard in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Jim's eyes stared back at him pleadingly as he gargled and coughed up thick strands of frothy blood that speckled his face and chin.

  His arms flailed and his legs kicked as he struggled to breathe and cling to life. Already, Marcus could see his skin turning pale as the precious blood poured from his body.

  To their right, a figure suddenly lurched out through the smoke and from behind the torn open vehicles that had exploded at the start of the ambush. It saw Marcus and reached out towards him, staggering forward on rickety legs.

  More shadowy figures emerged from the smoke, lurching their way along the road and towards the smouldering vehicles and trapped men.

  Marcus raised his rifle, but before he could shoot, the lead creature's head exploded as stray bullets ripped through its torso and skull, dropping it instantly.

  "Shit," Marcus hissed as he saw the dead approaching.

  The rate of fire that the ambushers released onto them was immense. Marcus was completely pinned down and unable to move, or return any kind of suppressing fire. The air around them cracked incessantly as the glowing projectiles flew overhead, striking the tarmac. Deafening clangs and thumps rang out as more bullets shredded the vehicle that Marcus and Jim took cover behind.

  Marcus looked to his left, further along the road in the direction they had travelled from, and saw smoke and tracer as the rest of his team took incoming from the tree line.

  Over the racket, he heard the distinct sound of the GPMG opening up. Its heavy rattle echoed in long bursts as Stu began firing along the crest of the high ground, hoping to force the enemy to take cover and slacken their rate of fire.

  In the thick of the battle, Marcus found the sound of the machinegun strangely comforting, knowing that there was still someone alive from his group and they were fighting back.

  He glanced back behind him, looking for any cover that they could retreat to, but he could see that they would be exposed for far too long before they were clear of enemy fire and probably would not make it more than a few metres.

  "Fuck," he growled.

  The enemy fire slackened for a moment and Marcus was able to raise his head, long enough to get an idea of the enemy's position. He watched as Stu's machinegun rounds strafed along the summit of the hill, their glowing red tracers smashing into the hillside and sending clods of dirt up into the air, and smashing large chunks of bark from the trees beyond.

  More rifles joined in from the left, telling Marcus that at least some of his people had managed to survive the initial contact. He looked to his right, searching the ground for an area he could move to and assault from the right flank, then rolling up the enemy position.

  There was nothing.

  The area was too open and provided no cover for him to move to and launch an assault. Their ambushers had chosen their killing area with the tell-tale signs of experience, leading Marcus to believe that they w
ere up against professional soldiers and not a gang of bandits.

  "Stu," Marcus called through his radio. "Stu, Jim is down, Jim is down. Can you move to the left and assault from the flank?"

  There was no reply and Marcus could hear the continued rapid rate of fire that Stu threw back at the enemy position.

  "Marcus, it's Steve," a panicked voice replied through the radio, hollering over the noise of the roaring machinegun.

  "We can't move left. Stu says it's too open."

  "Roger that," Marcus replied dejectedly.

  He shuddered to think that there was no other option but to launch a full frontal assault, taking the fight to the enemy and charging up the slope of the hill, with nothing to support them apart from their sheer aggression.

  The vehicles around them were slowly disintegrating and beginning to collapse inwards. More rounds punched through the Range Rover, passing clean through and exploding out onto the far side. The smouldering wrecks would not provide adequate protection for much longer, leaving them with no choice to move.

  "Steve," he shouted into his radio as another burst struck the vehicle. "Who is left at your end? Are Lee and the others still alive?"

  There was a pause, and then his earpiece crackled.

  "I don't know about Lee, but I can see Helen and Jake," Steve replied breathlessly.

  "Right, send Jake and Helen to me. I need them to cover this side of the road," Marcus commanded.

  He turned just in time to see the barrel of Jim's pistol rise up in front of him. It was pointed directly at Marcus.

  Marcus' eyes narrowed as he stared back into the pale face and unfocussed eyes of his friend.

  "Jim," he began, but his words were drowned out by the deafening blast that erupted from the barrel.

  Marcus winced as the round cracked at the side of his head; he turned just in time to see the disfigured corpse of a woman crumple to the ground behind him.

  Jim managed to force a smile at Marcus.

  "Nearly had you there, buddy," he croaked hoarsely.

  The sound of footsteps approaching from his left dragged his attention away from Jim. Jake and Helen suddenly appeared from the smoke that filled the road and crashed down beside Marcus, as a stream of bullets ripped up the patch of tarmac, across which they had just sprinted.

  "All call-signs," Marcus hollered over the radio. "When I give the order, pour as much fire onto their positions as possible, and I mean, really fucking hammer them."

  Marcus was preparing himself to assault the hill, alone and with the remainder of his team giving him fire support. He knew that the others, being mainly from a civilian background, would not be able to turn and face the enemy, charging through a hail of bullets and storming forward.

  Stu was the only other person, apart from Jim, trained and experienced, and therefore reliable enough, but Marcus needed him to remain behind the gun, pinning the enemy down while he ran forward to a better position from where he could begin his one-man assault on the enemy.

  "Helen," he said as he turned to face her, "keep an eye on Jim. Jake, you keep firing on the hill and don’t let those bastards get too close."

  Jake turned to look in the direction where Marcus nodded and saw the cluster of dead approaching along the road from the right.

  "Oh fuck," he whimpered.

  Marcus crouched behind the front wheel of the Range Rover, checking he had a fresh magazine on his rifle. He had one more in his vest and he knew that it would not be enough for his assault. He looked at Jim, who was still holding the dressing against the wound in his neck as more blood seeped from his mouth.

  "Jim," he said as he reached into his friend’s assault vest and began removing his ammunition, adding it to his own.

  "I'll be back soon, buddy. Just hang on and we'll get you seen to."

  Jim did not reply as Helen continued to fight the flow of blood. His eyes were rolling and his face was drained of colour. He seemed to be struggling to stay conscious as more blood soaked through the swollen dressing in his hands and down his chest.

  Marcus took a deep breath and began to inch his way forward, towards the bumper. The fire aimed at him and his vehicle seemed to have tapered off a little, and was being concentrated upon the remainder of his team who continued to sporadically fire back.

  It would not be much longer before they were all out of ammunition. They had been in the fight for well over a minute now, and he guessed that most of them would be down to their last magazines.

  Soon, his fire support would diminish, leaving him exposed, but as long as the initial crescendo of fire was heavy enough to keep the enemy's heads down as he made his first bound, he could continue to rely solely on Stu's general purpose machinegun to cover him up the hill.

  He breathed deeply, looking back over his shoulder at Jake and then in the direction of the other vehicles.

  He could see the enemy rounds gliding through the air, across the road, ploughing into the static vehicles that littered the carriageway.

  He checked his weapon one final time, feeling his knees tremble as he crouched, psyching himself up for the insane move that he was about to make.

  'One good thing I have on my side is surprise. They must think I'm already dead,' Marcus thought to himself when he considered the reasons that the rate of fire towards his vehicle had dropped substantially.

  More fire suddenly erupted from the hill in long rattling bursts, but it was now coming from somewhere to the right. Marcus looked up and saw the muzzle flashes, a hundred metres to the right of where he believed the main ambush to be situated.

  "Shit," he hissed to himself, realising that it would now be impossible to move and believing their new attackers were one of the 'cut off' groups, closing in to help the 'killing group' finish the job.

  He raised his rifle, aiming towards the new threat. As he looked through his sight, he noticed that the new arrivals in the battle were not aiming their shots towards him and his stranded team.

  They were firing at the positions on the ridge.

  Marcus watched for a moment as the tracer rounds zipped along the crest of the hill, smashing into the enemy ambush and adding to the weight of fire that Stu poured onto them with his machinegun.

  Marcus had no idea who they were, or why they were suddenly coming to their aid, but he was happy to take full advantage of their added firepower.

  "We got fire support from the right," Marcus called excitedly into the radio.

  "Standby, standby…rapid…fire."

  Stu's machinegun suddenly upped its rate of fire. Long, echoing bursts streamed forward, shattering the trees and sending up plumes of earth and rock all around the enemy position. Marcus paused for a moment, watching the scene and revelling in the weight of fire that he was suddenly able to bring to bear on an enemy that believed it had the upper hand in the battle.

  Dozens of bright red tracer rounds shot into the area where the enemy took cover. They sailed across the ground at lightning speed, cracking and whizzing as they thumped into the mud and rock covering the crest of the hill.

  Marcus almost smiled, a surge of triumph and pride rising from within.

  He wanted revenge and his aggression and blood lust spurned him on as he launched himself forward across the road. His legs bounded in long strides and he vaulted over the crash barrier and into the long wet grass of the hill.

  As the new and unexpected fire support continued to suppress the enemy from their right, Stu and the others hammered away at the enemy from the left. Marcus charged up the middle, his eyes fixed on the summit of the slope, his heart pounding and a silent voice screaming at him aggressively inside his head, forcing him forward and blocking all other thoughts from his mind.

  A number of shots cracked over him as the enemy realised what was going on, but with the weight of fire that was brought to bear against them, their aim was far from accurate and their fire was sporadic at best.

  The rattle of the weapons to his right continued and he was distantly awar
e of movement from that direction. As he forced himself forward, his chest heaving and his mind racing, he caught sight of two men moving forward along the ridge from the right, closing in on the position and supporting one another as they moved forward in bounds.

  The ambushers were being overwhelmed. They had lost the advantage of surprise and their domination of firepower dwindled under the pressure that Marcus and the others had thrown at them.

  Marcus' main concern now was that the enemy would retreat before he was able to make the final assault.

  He was now just ten metres from the summit and was close enough to feel the air displacement as Stu's rounds cracked past him just a few metres to his left. As the red-hot projectiles shot by, they sounded like a thousand whips, snapping with an ear-splitting thunder by the side of his head.

  "Move," Marcus hollered down the hill, waving his arm and indicating to the left as he continued forward.

  "Left flank, attack from the left."

  Stu saw the signal and understood what Marcus needed him to do. He pulled the machinegun from the hood of the car that he fired from and scooped up the long belts of ammunition, flinging them over his shoulder.

  "Steve, you're with me," he shouted to his right as he began to move forward towards the left of the hill.

  Drawing on the last of his strength and roaring at the top of his lungs, Marcus launched himself forwards onto the enemy position, his finger depressing the trigger as he fired on automatic, sending long rasping bursts into the bodies of the men occupying the summit.

  The shock and awe of his deadly charge was complete. With the heavy fire coming in on them from their left and right, and then suddenly seeing Marcus charging towards them, the ambushers were too stunned to react.

  Some of the men, their eyes bulging with terror as Marcus launched himself at them screaming like a wild man, his eyes ablaze with madness and the lust for revenge, tried to fling their arms up in surrender, but they were too late.