Hard Drop (15 page)

Shelley nodded slowly, considering Tyco’s position. “It’s not safe.” He said, at last, with the thin, creeping edge of fear in his voice.
 

Tyco smiled. “That’s why they sent us.” He answered. “We’ve got a job to do here, and we aim to finish it.”
 

“You’ll die.” Shelley said, staring from one trooper to the next. “All of you.”
 

“With all due respect, you’re not doing all that well in here.” Tyco said, eyeing the man’s dirty, disheveled clothes. “How much longer will your supplies hold out?”
 

Shelley sighed, conceding the point unhappily. “I was hoping you’d show up a little earlier.” He grumbled unhappily.
 

“We apologize.” Tyco said, with a weary smile on his face. “But we’re going after that weapon, doc, and you’re taking us to it.”
 

“With all due respect, Captain.” Shelley began. “I am not doing anything of the sort.”
 

Tyco considered the man’s words carefully. The tone of superiority that their subject had adopted, that he could ignore. But the hesitation, the refusal to help, that was beyond him.
 

“Now listen up.” He said, at last, glaring across the room at the doctor. “We’ve come a long way today. We’ve lost three-quarters of our unit. We’re tired, we’re bloodied, and we’re angry.” He paused, picking his next words carefully. “But we were sent here for that weapon. And we are not about to stop looking for it because it’s unsafe. Now, you can help us with that, and we can get you off this rock when we’re done, or you can take your chances down here alone, but I’m not interested in discussing this any further.

Having said his piece, he turned on his heel and headed towards the open hallway, leaving Shelley with the unhappy, sneering troopers.

“You peasants.” He growled, shaking his head in fury. “You ignorant grunts.” He trembled in anger, his face flushing a deep, indignant red, but he said no more. With a last venomous stare at the troopers before him, he followed Tyco out into the hallway.

Chip turned to Hog, his eyes sparkling with anger and excitement. “He won’t last ten minutes.” He said, quietly, but loud enough for Shelley to hear.
 

Hog spit. “Optimistic, Chip?” She asked, lips parted in a wide smile that showed all of her teeth. “That’s not like you.”
 

“Mac, Ghost, you’re his escorts.” Tyco called from the hallway. “Keep him safe.”
 

Ghost nodded evenly, as if he’d expected it, but Mac hesitated, looking up at Hog and Chip, unwilling to lose face by babysitting the doctor.
 

Chip smiled back at him, watching the white lab coat disappear down the darkened hallway.

“Go on Sugar, you’re on the clock.” He said, and chuckled as Mac turned to follow.

TWELVE: THE EXTRA MILE

The elevator slid open to reveal the decimated lobby as they had left it. Chip was first out through the broken outer elevator doors, cautiously sweeping the open floor. Hog followed him, smiling as she made a show of rubbing her hands.
 

“Sure beat the ride down, didn’t it?” She laughed. Chip nodded gruffly in response.
 

“Don’t mention it.” Shelley said smugly, and patted him on the back, pocketing his access card.
 

Chip scowled and turned away. “I won’t.”
 

“Well, Doc,” Tyco said, scanning the open square through the broken lobby windows. “Thanks for coming out.” He glanced at the doctor quickly, sizing up his physical conditioning. “How quick can you move?”

“I can keep up.” Shelley said stiffly.
 

“Do that.” Tyco nodded, pushing past him towards the stairs leading out of the building with new urgency in his step. Hog fell into step, following closely on his heels.
 

Shelley, wedged firmly between Mac and Ghost, jogged down the steps in time. The heat that hit him as they stepped into the sunlight brought an immediate, deep flush to his cheeks, but he barely noticed. The heads impaled on the flagpoles above him had caught his attention.
 

“Charming.” He said, and shuddered. He turned away with a grimace and moved on down the stairs.

Chip stopped short at the top of the staircase, waiting inside the overhanging shade and staring cautiously up at the surrounding rooftops with a suspicious eye.
 

“Cap – “ he said, warningly.
 

“You see something?” Tyco asked, stepping cautiously behind cover.
 

Chip nodded uncertainly, pausing as he made up his mind. “Not sure…” he said quietly, running his eyes along the roofs of the facing buildings.

The group froze in place, staring at Chip, waiting for his final word as he looked out towards the rooftops. The flag flapped loudly overhead, punctuating the tense silence of the empty square.
 

“How far is the objective?” Mac asked quietly, tension telling in his voice.
 

Before Tyco could answer, a flash came from high above, followed immediately by an angry buzz. Something knifed through Mac’s cheek, exploding through the back of his head and dropping him hard to the pavement. He was down before anyone could move, thrown violently to the ground by the force of impact.

“Cover!” Tyco shouted, and the team broke immediately. Ghost pulled Shelley bodily with him, pushing him face-first into the dirt behind a small stone ledge.
 

Chip stayed where he was, crouching low in the shadows, searching the rooftops calmly and methodically for the source of the shot.
 

Hog dropped to the floor and crawled towards Mac, keeping herself as flat as possible to stay out of the firing line. She raised her head cautiously as she approached, checking the extent of the Mac’s wound, hoping for the best.
 

“Mac, buddy, you there - ?” She asked, but the words caught in her throat as she saw the wide puddle of blood underneath his motionless head. Without stopping, she crawled towards him, taking cover tentatively behind his fallen body. She reached over him quickly, stripping his rifle and ammunition from his grasp before reaching up to his neck for his dog tags.

She scrambled back to cover quickly, holding Mac’s gun and ammunition. Expecting a shot at any second, she slid the last few feet, coming to a stop breathlessly next to Tyco.
 

“He gone?” Tyco asked as she landed next to him. It was more of a statement than a question. Hog wordlessly handed him the tags in mute answer, nodding calmly. Tyco took them with a heavy sigh, stowing the tags in his side pocket with the others. He looked up across the square and found Ghost watching him. Meeting his eyes, he shook his head in grim commiseration. This was not how he wanted to start their advance through the city, and he turned to look back at Chip, checking on his progress –
 

Just as his rifle cracked loudly from the lobby. A figure detached itself from the roof of the facing building falling through the air with the grotesque, rag-doll grace of a corpse. The rebel sniper was dead long before he hit the ground with a satisfying thump.
 

Chip stood and reloaded. “We’re clear.” He announced, striding easily past Mac’s body and out into the square.

Tyco stood slowly, dusting himself off. “Safe to say that’s not the only one around.” He said. “We better move.”
 

“Where to, Cap?” Hog asked.
 

Tyco stopped and turned to look for Shelley. His eyes settled on Ghost, who was still lying physically over the doctor, protecting him from gunfire. “Let him up.” Tyco said. “We need him.”
 

Shelley stood with effort, dusting himself in frustration.
 

“You alright, Doc?” Tyco asked.
 

“Of course.” Shelley answered. “Why wouldn’t I be? I have the finest escort in the system. One of them is dead.” He glanced down and glared at Mac’s body, snorting derisively. “It’s all so inefficient…”

“Doctor, if you don’t want to join him, give us a destination.” Tyco’s tone was steady, but pointed. It brought Shelley back to life.
 

“Of course.” He said, shrugging off his disgust and regaining his composure. He pointed towards the massive stone structure carved high into the rocky mountain overlooking the city with a detached, matter-of-fact air. “That’s the research facility, up there.”
 

“Some hidden facility.” Chip snorted.
 

“Did you think it was there?” Shelley shot back immediately, and Chip fell silent.
 

Tyco stared up at the facility, mapping out an approach in his head. The hillside was steep, high above the city, and isolated. The highway was no good; uncovered and flat, with open firing angles from halfway across the city, it would be suicide. The relatively modern, built-up business district, with its wide boulevards and near-unlimited sniper perches on rooftops and through windows, wouldn’t be much better.
 

“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.