Hard Drop (10 page)

Chip, staring down his sniper scope, shook his head.

“Negative, Cap.”

“Ringo.” Tyco said, smiling already in anticipation of the response he was about to get. “You’re on.”
 

Ringo needed no further encouragement. He launched himself up through the open hatch and into the turret, taking hold of the turret controls with both hands.

The local soldier froze in his tracks as Ringo appeared from the belly of the APC. The grizzled trooper who had emerged from the vehicle’s belly was unfamiliar, the markings on his uniform unmistakably foreign, and the wicked smile on his face as he brought the turret around left no doubt as to his intentions. The local man barely breathed as the barrel spun. He was caught in the open, betrayed by his legs, caught in his mistake and unable to save himself. He raised his gun in desperation, firing blindly and frantically as the turret gun came up to speed. His bullets came nowhere near Ringo, pinging wildly off the carrier’s undercarriage as he flailed with it.
 

A shot rang out from the inside the tank even as the turret opened fire. The man jerked once, a clean hole punched through his head from cheek to scalp. A split-second later, a flood of bullets smashed into his falling body, driving him backwards across the concrete like a ragdoll.

“God damn it, Chip!” Ringo yelled in fury, knowing damn well who had stolen his kill.
 

Chip laughed loudly from below, calmly taking aim at his next target. Above him, Ringo threw his weight against the turret sides, rushing to turn his spinning barrels on the remaining soldiers with a redoubled fury.

The local soldiers scattered and bolted for cover, diving behind their crates and burned-out car frames, but these gave little protection against Ringo’s minigun. The barrel spun freely, sending bullets smashing through metal, leather, and wood alike. It scythed through the soldiers’ flimsy cover, mowing them down as if there were nothing shielding them at all. They fell in quick, brutal succession, most without firing a shot.
 

In the end, the one-sided skirmish took a matter of seconds to conclude. Satisfied with the complete lack of movement from the behind the shattered debris, Ringo released the turret triggers. For a long second, the whining of the spinning barrel was the only audible sound in the concrete square.

Tyco opened the carrier door cautiously, stepping down onto the hard concrete and heading towards the pitiful remains of the storefront. Its splintered woodwork and freshly pock-marked bricks had passed as cover in the skirmish, but given the condition they were in, it was hard to believe anyone had survived behind them. Tyco shielded his eyes and stepped into the darkness with more hope than expectation.
 

 
“Commander, that you?” A voice called out from the rubble

 
“Affirmative.” Tyco replied, lowering his rifle as his eyes adjusted. “Who’s there?”
 

Slowly, warily, four figures emerged from the darkness, squinting uncertainly into the light. At their head was a small, stocky, balding man, bandana covering an open wound on his head.
 

“PFC Carter.” The man said, voice hoarse and gravelly, worn out from the firefight. “Boy are we glad to see you. That’s Clark, Mac, and Sinclair.”
 

The other three emerged behind him, bloodied and dirty but otherwise in one piece. Tyco recognized them with unexpected relief. All three of them were veterans, all good soldiers, and he was glad they’d made it this far. They hadn’t been alone, either – there were more bodies behind them in the rubble.
 

“Looks like we could’ve made it sooner.” He muttered apologetically.

Carter nodded and grimaced. “We’ll take what we can get.” He said quietly, with grim resignation. Without ceremony, he handed Tyco a small handful of tags. Tyco took them with a sympathetic nod.
 

“Who’d we lose?” He asked evenly, keeping his voice down. “Anyone hurt?”
 

“Negative.” Carter said, answering the last question first. “Morgan, Patel, Petersen.”
 

“Got it.” He said grimly, and looked away, carefully adding the new tags to the one already lying in his side pocket. He turned towards the APC. “You know Ringo, Chip, and Ghost. Hog’s at the wheel.” Carter nodded at each trooper in turn.

“That makes nine, by my count…” He said, shaking his head. “You’re the first group we’ve seen. Otherwise it’s all been single troopers coming in. The last one brought the army with him.”
 

Tyco glanced at the surrounding hills intently, both looking for more of his troopers to arrive and worrying that more locals would come instead.
 

“I’m going to need a few minutes to update the new rally coordinates.” He said at last, turning back to his team in the APC and raising his voice. “Spread out.” He said. “Find some firing angles and – “ he looked at Chip. “- Get up somewhere high.”
 

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 – “

A second explosion went off, nearer by, interrupting him mid-sentence.
 

“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.