Jake pivoted at the hips, and brought his whole weight around behind a rising left-handed body blow, crunching into al-Sîf’s ribs and lifting him off the ground.
“…DOES NOT…”
Al-Sîf reeled, dropping the rifle.
Jake caught it before it hit the ground, then brought the stock around into al-Sîf’s jaw. The Somali was truly reeling now. Jake let the rifle drop gently on a sandbag.
Then he moved in and picked al-Sîf up, by the crotch and the vest, raising him to shoulder height and bellowing -
“…BELONG TO YOU!”
– as he lifted him over the railing and hurled him off into space.
Limbs flailing, al-Sîf fell though twenty feet of open air then slammed into the hard ground below. The instant he hit, the scattering of dead around that part of the wall turned in to face in on him.
And they all descended, moaning and shrieking.
Jake turned around, picked up the Bushmaster, and dusted it off.
Back to work.
The Price
The Stronghold - South Gun Truck
Todd held on against the violent thunk-thunk-thunk of the Mk 47 and hoped the micro-sutures in the repaired artery in his arm didn’t come loose. This was so his blood would stay in his vascular system where it belonged, and not pour into his body cavities as internal bleeding, which would be awkward right now at best.
As he kept his trigger down with his right hand, he used his left to quickly tug at the Kevlar groin protector attachment to the bottom of his vest. It had taken him a while to dig that particular piece of gear out of stores. But he sure as hell wasn’t taking any chances after his last two near-castration gunshot experiences.
He reflexively flinched as a shit-ton of incoming AK rounds clanged off the turret – but only because they hit the section of turret behind his head. He wasn’t too bothered by incoming from his front sector.
Twisting to take a look, he saw it was two dudes with AKs at that same building corner where he’d just grenaded their buddies. They were shooting high-low, which betrayed a certain amount of tactical savvy, and Todd had a bad feeling the ole suppressive-handgun-fire-and-grenade-bank-shot trick wasn’t going to work again. So instead he gave these two a good look at his fat face, waited for them to take the bait and go crazy trying to shoot through steel and plexiglas…
And then he dropped straight out of the turret like a gravity-fed shell, grabbed his rifle, slid out the back door on the covered side, moved to the nose of the vehicle at the back, popped around the grille, and shot them both from where they weren’t looking for him.
Straightening up and doing a tactical reload, he then went back around the corner of that building and cleared it all the way out to the next alley – then reversed and cleared to the other side, also one building deep. Somebody had to do this shit, and it looked like it was him.
At least now he’d be safe in the truck for, oh, another good twenty seconds or so…
* * *
Jake looked around the guard tower, which he now held alone. It was not a bad position for the good guys to occupy – a great overwatch point for the battle, plus it would put the kibosh on al-Shabaab’s irksome strategy of having them surrounded from elevated positions and subject to plunging fire.
But Jake wasn’t in any position to defend this position, not alone. And he had to keep moving, stay light on his feet, to stand any chance of surviving. No, he wouldn’t take this position, much less defend it.
Instead he would deny the enemy.
He took a look at the large remaining stockpile of RPGs and was slightly tempted to fire a few of them off at other a-S positions around the courtyard. That would piss in those guys’ Wheaties, not to mention sow panic and confusion. But it would be too little pay-off for too much time burned, and he’d be making himself a target – a static one.
So instead he took out that other grenade – the HE one.
And he pulled the pin.
* * *
Getting back to his mutant main battle gun truck, Todd risked sticking his nose out the front of the gap in the buildings. Where the fuck was Jake? He’d gotten the distinct impression the team sergeant was in a serious fight, and wasn’t enjoying all of Todd’s witty badinage on the radio.
He couldn’t make out anything up at that guard tower, which he could only see one edge of anyway.
Fuck Jake’s enjoyment, he thought. He hit his radio.
“Jake, Todd.” He paused. “Wasssuuuuupp?”
“Moving to you now. Can you hold?”
Todd touched his mic while scanning over the EOTech sight on his SCAR, panning the barrel smoothly. “Sure. I’m out here doing your goddamned job now, and it’s all kinds of fun, break.”
He paused to raise his rifle and trigger off six quick rounds at another group of foot mobiles moving toward him, from the front right this time. He hit one or two and the rest dove for cover.
“On the other hand, if two of these RPG hunter-killer teams put their heads together and come at me from two directions at once… that’s gonna be it for this vehicle. And if I’m inside at the time, I’m gonna be pork tenderloin flambé in the world’s most heavily armed backyard grill. Over.”
“Roger that. Back in fi—”
The end of this transmission was made inaudible by the sinister whoosh of an incoming RPG, moving at subsonic speed, thank fuck, so Todd had a split second’s warning to dive to his right and throw himself flat. He didn’t feel the shower of dirt and rock, blasting from the exact patch of ground he had just been occupying, because his senses were overloaded by the heat and force of the explosion itself.
He kept rolling until he was on his back again and came up firing, gunning down the whole RPG team that had snuck up on him. He was only able to do this because they’d naturally assumed there was no way he could survive that explosion and immediately ran forward to finish off anyone else in the truck. If they’d stayed under cover they could have picked him apart at leisure. Instead they were caught in the open and the three of them went down in a pile, the last one right at Todd’s feet.
A lifeless outstretched arm actually flopped on his boot.
Todd dropped his mag out and reloaded again. As he did so, he saw that his left hand was shaking badly. He also saw it didn’t look the right color.
Moving mechanically, he hauled himself to his feet and dragged himself back inside the truck, his left side feeling all fucked up. He managed to pull the door shut with burnt and buzzing fingers. Lying on the back seat, he touched his mic button.
“How copy my last?”
He meant the explosion, which had nearly taken him out. This actually was a pretty funny thing to say. But Todd’s normal smart-ass, devil-may-care tone was nowhere in evidence. He sounded shaken.
Everything had finally stopped being a joke.
* * *
Jake copied all. He knew he had to get back to Todd – now.
He gave the live grenade a roll toward the foot of stacked RPG rounds, brought the liberated Bushmaster up, and headed out of the guardhouse the way he came. His plan was to retrace his steps, passing through the next guardhouse then climbing down the same ladder, and cut off that one corner of the courtyard running back again.
What he hadn’t reckoned on was that next guardhouse had been reinforced – massively.
He took three steps out along the parapet and ran straight into a wall of lead. There were a shit-ton of shooters in the next position now, half-destroyed as it was, and they were all emplaced and under cover, and lighting up Jake – and his vaunted surprise, speed, and violence of action had all bled away when he dropped everything to slug it out with al-Sîf.
He was jammed up. And he was paying the price – or maybe just starting to.
In his mind he was counting down the grenade fuze. He definitely couldn’t go back into what was about to be, technically, a controlled detonation, but in reality was going to be a very kinetic event. He couldn’t go forward – the guys in t
he guardhouse would gun him down, and he wouldn’t even be able to dodge on the narrow parapet.
4… 5…
And, now, he couldn’t stay here.
He jumped off the top of the wall, as far away from the armored guard tower as he dared, while maybe not guaranteeing himself a broken leg in the fall.
* * *
Dragging himself back up into the gun turret, moving like an ALS sufferer, but slowly getting his strength and control back, the first thing Todd saw out his viewport was:
A world-shaking fucking explosion, originating just out of his line of sight – but by no means stopping there, the tremendous fireball and even larger cloud of black smoke expanding to fill half the sky over the Stronghold.
And then he saw Jake flying through the air.
That didn’t look good.
* * *
Jake let his legs collapse under him as he hit the loose dirt and rolled onto his hip and then shoulder, absorbing as much of the force as he could with – well, with something other than his shin bone.
Because he only had one of those left.
Coming to a stop, he covered up his head as wood and metal debris rained down all around him – and as far as he could see in all directions, actually. That steel-reinforced guard tower had made a hell of a casing for the explosive charge inside.
As the explosion finally settled, Jake noticed something even stranger: no one was firing any more. No more chattering AKs, whooshing RPGs. No whining miniguns, or walking explosions of the Mk 47.
Everyone in and around the courtyard, on both sides of the battle, had stopped shooting – and instead were all looking up in awe. It was probably the biggest explosion anyone there had ever personally seen.
But the ceasefire wasn’t going to last long.
Uncurling and looking around, Jake saw his Beowulf lying in the dirt less than ten feet away. Nice. He rose into a crouch, snatched it up, and pulled the charging handle, ejecting a round.
He took a look to his right, and the cover of all those buildings curving around the inside edge of the twenty-foot wall.
Then he looked across the empty courtyard, where he could see the tail of Todd’s vehicle. The Mk 47 was down. Todd wasn’t firing. And Jake had never quite heard him like he sounded on that last transmission.
Fuck it. He had to get back, ASAFP.
He took off straight through the middle of the courtyard.
And that was when everyone started shooting again.
* * *
Jesus Christ, Todd thought, shaking his head, getting his hands back on his weapon, fighting through the pain: The dumb, brave son of a bitch IS Lieutenant Speirs.
Todd’s sense of humor was coming back, which was reassuring. Plus he was going to need it.
He watched awe-struck as Jake raced right back through the middle of the goddamned German-held village, weapon cradled, heels kicking up – and dozens of incoming rounds and explosions kicking up all around him.
Todd smiled. It was a truly heroic and inspiring sight.
And then Jake’s leg went out from under him, knocked sideways by some unseen but powerful force.
He went down hard into the dirt.
And didn’t get up again.
Interdiction
The Stronghold - By the East Wall
Brendan’s eyes had adjusted to the daylight now.
Which was good because his shot foot still hadn’t adjusted to the weight.
But he was coping. He was still marginally combat effective. And right now he had slung over his shoulder what might actually be the most valuable object left on earth. He was doing some good.
Even more heartening, he knew Kate was free. She and Baxter should be outside the walls already by now. He desperately wanted a sitrep from them – not to mention from everyone else under his command. But talking aloud didn’t seem real advisable in his current tactical posture.
He had no one to watch his six for him.
And, hell, he couldn’t even turn around quickly if someone should get the drop on him. Which could happen at virtually any time.
He was monitoring what radio traffic there was. This kept him in the picture. Though he was troubled not to hear anything yet from Baxter or Kate. Had they gotten jammed up down below? Trapped? Had they run straight into a larger force – and been gunned down?
There was nothing Bren could do about that right now. His current objective, and by far the best thing he could do, was get the hell back to the north gun truck – so they could begin the seriously perilous process of breaking contact and getting the hell out of there.
So he was moving as stealthily as he could in and around the buildings strung along the east wall, circling around to the north. These gave him pretty good cover, and kept him out of the main action in the center. Every time he passed a gap in buildings, he could sense minigun fire raking the courtyard from the north, and a lot more obviously, full-auto 40mm grenade fire from the south. In and around that, AK rounds and RPGs crashed and rolled.
Almost all of the latter was now from buildings and groups of disorganized a-S guys on the ground. The dangerous plunging fire from the elevated guardhouses had been suppressed. The enemy had more than enough people to reoccupy those positions – they were just going to think long and hard about doing so, having seen what happened to the first hundred or so who had been positioned up there.
Brendan’s stealthy circuit around the perimeter was going well.
Until it wasn’t.
Luckily, he heard voices before encountering their owners – a squad-sized element doing exactly what Bren was, namely using the buildings and wall for cover as they moved around. And they were moving in the opposite direction – probably trying to get to Todd’s gun truck.
His first impulse was interdiction – stopping them before they got to his own man. Luckily, that madness passed. Not only was he in no state to fight eight or ten guys, but this group would eventually run into Jake, whose job it was to fight them.
Right now, he had to avoid them.
He took the immediate left between buildings and followed the alley out until it opened up. If he didn’t want to be seen when they passed the alley, he was going to have no choice but to stick his face out in the courtyard.
He looked right and left and it was clear-ish, so he moved out in front of the building to his right.
And then a tremendous explosion went up, from nearly the opposite side of the whole complex – a guard tower in the north-west corner. Somebody just lost a shitload of ordnance, Brendan thought. And it sounded like Jake’s handiwork to him. There was no way not to stare at the rising fireball for a second and admire the violent beauty of the thing.
When he shook his head and got his mind back in the game, he realized he was not the only one who had been transfixed by the sight. There was an AK-wielding guy in a man-dress to his left, in front of the next gap, barely twenty feet away. The man shouted and fired once, sending a jarring round into Bren’s front plate. Between his wounds, his load, and the shock of being shot, he was stunned and slow getting his weapon up.
And he could already see two more of this guy’s buddies spilling out of the alley.
Brendan already knew there was no way he was going to get squared up and engage in time, not all three of them. He was probably done for.
But as he raised his rifle and locked on, the first guy instantly took one to the chest and dropped. His buddies, still turning and figuring out the situation, were both shot so quickly that nobody had time to react – neither they nor Brendan. They slid into the dirt and lay still.
Brendan spun around again – and his gaze went long.
He looked out over the courtyard to the south-east. He looked over the wall. He peered off into the tall trees of the forest, which was strung with thick vines and symbiotic vegetation.
He couldn’t see a damned thing out there.
But he could be seen – by someone who wasn’t going to make him say thank you. “No problem
, Cap. Now get your overloaded ass moving again.”
Kwon. Up in overwatch.
Brendan nodded his thanks and respect, having no doubt his weapons sergeant could see the gesture through his massively magnified rifle optic.
And then he got his overloaded ass moving again.
Sniper Support
Camp Price - Jake and Kwon’s Hooch
[The Night Before]
Jake opened the gun cabinet in the near dark.
He took his Beowulf off its place in the rack, held it diagonally out before him – and blew the dust off. He’d also be giving it a thorough cleaning and oiling. He had a pretty good idea it was going to get a workout in the morning.
As he reached for the cleaning kit in the bottom of the cabinet, he sensed more than heard Kwon coming back in. Rising and turning to face him, he smiled at what the man was carrying. He had a 100m coil of nylon rope over one shoulder and a serious-looking slingshot in the same hand. But in the other he was carrying a truly beautiful piece of hardware.
“Let me see that,” Jake said.
Kwon nodded and handed it over, then dropped the rope on his bunk.
Jake hauled the long charging handle back and inspected the chamber, then eased it forward again. The weapon was a SCAR Mk 20 Mod 0 Sniper Support Rifle (SSR) – essentially an accurized version of the 7.62mm SCAR-H, but with a twenty-inch barrel, precision stock with adjustable cheek rest, and extended receiver with extra rail space for accessories. Some of its other high-end features weren’t visible, but Jake knew they were there: a strengthened barrel extension that reduced barrel whip and increased accuracy; an enhanced, modular trigger assembly; and accurized internal mechanisms.
This one was mounted with a Leupold 3-10x day optic, which was a very serious scope, as well as a fold-out bipod and a quick-detachable suppressor – which made the shooter of this thing much harder to spot by eye or ear.
Jake was pretty sure this weapon was going to get a workout, too.
“Anybody see you pull this stuff out of stores?” he asked.
“Negative.”
* * *
Brendan entered the hooch a minute behind Kwon.
Arisen : Nemesis Page 36
