A New World: Return (38 page)

“I love you too, Dad,” I hear him say in a slightly trembling voice as if he did not understand exactly what was said but knowing it probably was not good.
 
I slink a little way to the left of the lined up teams.

“Now!”
 
I whisper into the radios.

My night vision goggles pick up the movement of arms along the firing line as they arc grenades into the parking lot and among the masses of night runners gathered there.
 
Seconds later, the grenades go off in an almost simultaneous roar.
 
The eleven grenades create one giant explosion of sound and light spreading their deadly payload of shrapnel across and through the horde.
 
Bodies that were close to the grenades are lifted into the air, flailing as they rise, their expressions not yet exhibiting the surprise, shock, and pain that their bodies are undergoing.
 
Severed limbs join the bodies.
 
The greenish glow does not catch the splash of blood, bone and flesh that must cover an area so littered with flying body parts.
 
Those not tossed into the air are thrown sideways from the force of the explosion and shrapnel.

With the loud explosions still ringing in our ears, I see the group we have come to help emerge from the front of the BX and run in our direction.
 
The night runners still left standing, and yes, there are quite a few of them, stand still for a moment in a daze, confused by the sudden noise and the disappearance of so many of their group.
 
Recovery is quick though and they shriek loudly as they spot Mullins’ group dashing across the parking lot to join up with the others.

“Lynn, start back now as planned!
 
Hold your fire as long as you can.
 
I’ll draw as many as I can.
 
See you soon, hon,” I say loudly into the mic.

“You be careful Jack!
 
I love you!”
 
She responds.

I stand from my position and yell loudly, “Come on you ugly shits!
 
I’m over here!”

I fire a few rounds on semi to get their attention, my weapon casting a strobe effect over the area with each round expelled.
 
A few night runners, as they begin their chase towards Lynn and her now retreating teams, drop as my rounds find their mark.
 
Many of the night runners change direction in mid-step and head towards me.
 
I turn and run.
 
The chase is on.

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Lynn quickly briefs Sergeant Mullins on their exit strategy of falling back in teams of two.
 
She directs the first team of two to hold as they reach the street.
 
Looking quickly over to the side, she sees Jack run across an intersection and between two buildings with night runners close behind him and closing.
 

“Be safe,” she whispers into the night before falling back and detailing the next two, arranging the rest quickly into teams of two to provide the covering withdrawal back.

Not a few of the night runners continue after Lynn, deciding to continue after the larger group rather than chase after Jack.
 
The first two team members kneel in the road and begin to fire on semi-automatic at the closest night runners.
 
The soldiers attempt, and succeed for the most part, to keep the distance between themselves and the night runners.
 
Each watches several night runners fall as the steel leaves their barrels in quick intervals and finds targets.
 
Heads snap back and small spots blossom on the chests.
 
Night runners spin, are launched backwards, or fall forward as the soldier’s rounds strike home.
 
They are keeping count of their rounds as they fire rapidly; quickly shifting aim from one night runner to the next.
 
The clink of individual shell casings is barely audible as they bounce across the hard top.
 
Night runners behind quickly take the place of the fallen.
 
Leaving over twenty on the ground, most not moving where they fell; some slowly crawling short distances, the soldier on the left yells “Go!”
 
They stand and run to their rear passing the next two kneeling in line; passing all of the others getting set up and take a position ten meters to the rear of the group, ready to repeat their actions when their turn comes again.

Lynn takes station in the middle of the group with another team member to her right, waiting her turn to cover the retreat back to the aircraft.
 
Drescoll is at the rear, separated so they will still have command in case one of them goes down.
 
She sees the soldiers up front kneel and begin delivering rounds into the crowd of night runners chasing rapidly after them.
 
The flashes of light from their barrels reach her a split second before the echo of their shots.
 
The noise of the night runners and the ensuing rifle fire fills the air around, belying the quietness of the star-lit, night sky looking down.
 
The two soldiers that were at the head of the line soon rush by her on their way to the rear, the action taken up by the next line of soldiers.

A large, muffled explosion comes from her left, carried with the breeze, followed by even more muffled sounds of gunfire being delivered in short, measured intervals, exactly like those now being delivered once again to her front; rapid fire rounds on semi-automatic.
 
Jack’s still alive and fighting
, she thinks with a moment of worry.
 
The situation to her front draws her attention back to their fight.

The next two in line deliver their measured rounds in rapid fire fashion but the sheer numbers of night runners closes the distance dramatically.
 
Lynn notices that the night runners are also attempting to run around and circumvent the group on the flanks.
 
She moves up the line and orders the groups of two to fold into groups of four, the outside two to begin firing into the flanking hordes.
 
The groups quickly reform and the volume of fire doubles dropping night runners in their tracks and keeping the distance between the oncoming mass and the retreating soldiers more or less constant.

Lynn does a quick calculation in her head measuring the distance travelled with their ammunition expenditure.
 
She knows it will be close but calculates that they will have enough ammo to continue making the leap frog maneuvering back to the aircraft.
 
Not a lot of room, but enough
, she thinks kneeling with a soldier to her left and one to her right.
 
They are next in line.

The line in front of her rises quickly, turns and sprints through the line Lynn is kneeling with.
 
She brings her M-4 to her shoulder and begins sending out her special message-grams; delivered on the tip of her 5.56mm, steel-jacketed delivery system.
 
Aiming for upper body shots, her first round catches one of the night runners in mid-stride, hitting its neck just above the chest.
 
The round tears through the cartilage, hits the spine and the juncture of C5 and 6 with tremendous force, and explodes out of the back after splintering, taking large amounts of tissue and bone with it.
 
The head flops to the side, almost severed, and comes to rest on the shoulder before it flops backwards as the night runner falls forward, hitting the ground.
 
Its head then slings forward and separates from the body with the force of the impact.

Lynn only sees her target begin to drop before quickly aligning her sight with the next, that one spinning to its left as the bullet, fired almost immediately after the first, strikes it in the upper chest, the round splintering on impact with a rib and ripping through the lungs and heart; grabbing handfuls of tissue and severing veins and arteries on its passage through.
 
Ten more fall, spin or are knocked backward from her rapid but carefully delivered fire before she yells “Go!” and runs through the line behind her.
 
They are making progress and able to control the situation so far.
 
Another muffled explosion reaches her ears off to the side; heard above the sound of her boots pounding on the pavement with the other three beside her, along with the sound of the opening rounds from the soldiers she just passed through.

“How are you doing Jack?”
 
Lynn calls as she heads towards the rear.

“Little busy right now,” he responds after a pause.

They make their way back close to the tarmac thirty feet at a time.
 
In what seems like hours, a roadway to the ramp opens behind them.
 
They have dropped hundreds of night runners, the bodies littering the road and marking the path of their retreat.
 
Many other night runners joined the initial mass on their march back but their numbers have dwindled substantially.
 
Lynn passes through the line for the seemingly thousandth time, passing Drescoll along the way.

“Heard from Jack lately?”
 
Drescoll yells above the tremendous noise from the volleys of gunfire surrounding them.

“Not a word for some time,” Lynn answers, slowing slightly with her lips tightened with worry.

“Robert, this is Lynn,” she calls on the radio after taking her station at the rear of the formation.

“This is Robert,” she hears after a slight pause.

“Open up the ramp, we’re coming in,” she says further.

“Okay, it’s opening now,” Robert says.

“Be ready to close it as soon as we’re in,” she says.

“We’re ready.”

“All those not on the line, ready a grenade and toss it in front of the night runners on my command.
 
Run for the rear of the aircraft immediately after,” Lynn bellows, her voice heard above the deafening noise of gunfire and howls.

“Now!”
 
She yells after a moment to give the soldiers nearby time to pluck grenades from their vests and pull the pins.

The last of their grenades arc through the air and land on the pavement in front of the oncoming mass of night runners.
 
Lynn and the soldiers turn and run with everything they have left across the tarmac for the lowering ramp of the 130.
 
The sound of their boots, the clink of slings banging against the stock and rails of their M-4’s, and the heavy breathing of those next to them reach their ears in their flight across the concrete.
 
Seconds later, a series of explosions to their rear drowns all other noise momentarily.
 
The sound of boots on concrete is replaced by the sound of boots on metal as they reach and run up the ramp into the interior.

Lynn runs past Nicole who is standing at the rear of the ramp near the controls.
 
Nicole starts the ramp up as soon as the last of the soldiers have reached the bottom of it.
 
Lynn turns at the top, seeing a much diminished horde of night runners rocketing across the ramp in their direction.
 
The ramp begins its upward travel but is moving in slow motion as compared to the closure rate of the night runners.

“Teams, open fire!”
 
She bellows, her shout heard above the shrieks of the closing mass.

Gunshots echo in the metallic interior and across the ramp as rounds are expelled outward, dropping more of the night runners in their tracks until the ramp raises to a level that they cannot fire anymore.
 
The outside tarmac slowly disappears as the ramp continues upward.
 
A sliver of the outside visible through the greenish glow of their NVG’s, almost there, as a set of hands grasp the outer edge; the fingers gripping the ramp as it rises ever upwards.
 
A scream is heard outside as the ramp closes and seals.
 
Fingers roll down to Lynn’s boots as they are severed by the hydraulically-actuated ramp closing.

Thumps against the side of the aircraft, accompanied by muted shrieks, demonstrate the frustration of the night runners outside.
 
Howling at the closeness of their prey and the frustration of not being able to get at them.
 
Lynn turns and races up to the cockpit.
 
Climbing the stairs, confusion crosses her face as she enters and looks around.
 
Robert is sitting in the co-pilot seat, his helmet sitting loosely on his head so he can hear both radios; Brianna is camped in her usual location in the engineer seat.