John O'Brien - Dissension

She hears Jack’s sigh as he hangs up the mic. She knows he must be tired as well and feels his exasperation. As if the night runners aren’t enough, they have to deal with others. The chill settles deeper into her bones and the mental tiredness seems even more pronounced. The conversation made it clear that they are going into yet another battle. She shakes her head wondering what it is about human nature that creates these situations. Can’t they just see they have to be pulling together rather than isolating themselves. She can almost understand the marauder mentality more than this situation. They’re just bullies who take what they want and always have. Here, the two groups aren’t that much different from one another and have much of the same ideas and goals. Mentally, she hopes that Jack will decide to take the other route mentioned. She’s just doesn’t want to be involved in yet another firefight. They are bucking the odds as it is and every engagement lowers those odds even more.

McCafferty ducks her head inside as Jack climbs in and relays the plan. She feels her heart beat faster but it’s inside a tired body and the familiar adrenaline surge doesn’t appear. They’ll be through this quickly , she tells herself knowing the surge of adrenaline will come soon. Rising back through the opening, she checks to ensure her weapon is ready to go. They’ll be paralleling the Stryker on the left bridge and she’ll throw her rounds into the fray once they start. She feels exposed sitting up here but understands the need to gain fire superiority at the outset. That has been drilled into her head during countless other engagements. It still feels strange here but she trusts those around her and won’t hesitate. She keeps her eye out as Jack mentioned they would be bugging out if there were any signs that the other group had rockets or some form of anti-armor.

The throaty growl of the Stryker diesels increases as the engines rev up and the big vehicles move online. Two Strykers move to the lanes leading up to the bridge on the right. The third moves to the middle of the left hand bridge. McCafferty grips the M-240 as the Humvee lurches and moves alongside. There’s the adrenaline , she thinks as the chill of the day fades into the background. It’s go time .

They begin to move forward. Her grip tightens as her entire focus is on the terrain slowly appearing as they near the crest. Inch by inch the trees and hills on the far side make their appearance. The line of cars she glimpsed seemingly hours ago will appear as her line of sight passes the top and begins to track downward. Her vision takes in the barrel pointing ahead and aligns it with the top of the roadway and the slowly appearing terrain beyond. The rumble of the engine next to her drowns out any other sounds although she thinks the thumping of her heart gives it competition. The tops of the vehicles on the far side come into view. Her breath quickens.

With a squeal, the Stryker next to her lurches as it pulls to a stop. McCafferty braces herself as Jack brings her Humvee to a stop as well and she sits staring along the dark gray lanes stretching ahead, arching downward to the cars and trucks across the roadway ahead. Small figures crouch behind trunks, hoods, and roof tops with their guns pointed her way. Feeling exposed, she swivels the gun back and forth watching and waiting for the first blink of light from beyond that signals gunfire. Glancing to the side, she sees the two Strykers adjacent on the other bridge. The smell of diesel exhaust drifts on the moist air and she can almost taste its acridness. Stillness descends as the two sides stare across the open space between them… waiting.

Movement below draws her attention as she sees Jack grab for the radio mic. Amid the rumble of the vehicles next to her sending tremors across the bridge and up through her feet, she barely hears Jack say, “Last chance, Sam?”

Looking back to the front, she sees a miniscule flash of light from behind the cover of a car directly in front of her. Instinctively ducking, she catches sight of a spark flashing off the hull of the Stryker next to her. The whine of a bullet streaking off into the air behind causes her to flinch. Crouched, she hears Jack issue a “Stupid Motherfuckers” almost under his breath. Rising back to her weapon, her ear piece crackles.

“I guess we have our answer. Let them have it,” Jack says.

Loud, sharp, staccato bursts erupt next to her and from across the narrow expanse leading to the other bridge as the Strykers send their.50 caliber rounds streaking down the wide lanes. McCafferty swings her weapon and adds her 7.62mm rounds into the fray. Spurts of smoke leave the Stryker barrels as each round departs. Tracers stream above the dark gray asphalt and impact the glass and metal of the blockade vehicles attempting to halt their progress forward. Heavy thumps and the sight of glass shattering fill the far end of the ramp. Sparks fly where the heavy caliber rounds hit and punch through the thin metal. The dim light of the gray morning catches the shattered glass sending sparkles as the pieces launch outward and tumble through the air. The stuffing from seat cushions puffs into the air where they are torn apart.

The rounds crash through the vehicles like butter. Large holes appear in the sides of the cars and trucks. Shards of metal are thrown outward from the collision of the heavy rounds and thin steel. Doors fly off their hinges, some falling straight to the ground. Stryker turrets whine as the guns track across the line of vehicles. Bullets crash through, impacting with bodies in their firing positions and strike the pavement beyond in a flash of sparks. A faint pink mist fills the air where rounds meet soft flesh and bones. Bodies are flung backwards heavily crashing onto the pavement. Arms are severed or nearly severed from the heavy impacts. Heads explode spreading chunks of brain, flesh, and bone into the air.

The stillness of the morning is now broken by the staccato bursts of the heavy guns and the crash of impacting rounds. Feeling the vibration of the M-240 in her hands, McCafferty watches the devastation below. Faint sounds of metal screeching as if in agony reach her ears between bursts of fire. Those below scream as the violence is visited upon them and mix in with the vehicles being hammered. The back end of one car rears up from an explosion as rounds find the gas tank. It flips into the air and crashes down on top of a blue sedan next to it. Flames and smoke pour from the undercarriage. In mere seconds, the ground on the far side of the bridge is turned into a mass of torn metal, glass, and bodies. McCafferty watches as those still alive from the onslaught turn and flee to the sides. She lets up on the trigger as it’s obvious those that made it through the few seconds of carnage are giving up and fleeing for their lives.

I watch the carnage and destruction on the ramp below. The screech of torn metal drifts into the Humvee above the sharp firing of the.50 cals and the chattering of the M-240 under McCafferty’s care. The tracers of the larger caliber guns seem to hang in the air as they drift downward to impact with tremendous force. The tracers of the 7.62mm rounds mingle with the others. Metal is torn and thrown about to my front as the rounds tear their way through. I watch as a body leaning over one of the car roofs is picked up and thrown backward with force leaving just a pinkish mist floating where the body was. Those remaining behind the cars flee. The guns cease firing and, with the last of the shell casings tinkling on the metal floor of the Humvee, silence descends.

I barely hear the engines idling. My ears ring due to the din of the guns firing. I look down at the shredded vehicles ahead. A door falls from one of the cars to the ground, the sound lost. Except for the small flames licking the undercarriage of the flipped car and the smoke rising on the still air, nothing is moving. In just a matter of moments, the destruction is complete. I make out a couple of bodies lying on the pavement beyond the blockade. One person struggles to rise from the cold asphalt but gives up and slumps to the ground.