Ann Aguirre - Havoc

He hit the deck and whipped out his rifle. “How doesn’t matter. Get to cover!”

A bolt came in close enough to singe the hair atop his head, keeping him pinned down. He crawled forward on elbows and belly until he reached a better position to return fire. There was no time to see how Dred was faring, but it bothered him a bit that he wanted to. The mercs used the corner by the bay doors as cover, and they were doing a stellar job of keeping Jael’s crew away from the salvage.

“You can’t win this fight,” Vost shouted. “You’re outgunned.”

Jael laughed. “Don’t ever tell a desperate man that he’s got no hope!”

Trusting the others to cover him, he pushed up on hands and knees and sprinted for the rifles and dead mercs in armor, the center of the room. The mercs popped out to unload on him, but Martine and Dred drove them back with a tight barrage of shots. Laser fire burst all around him, bolts narrowly missing as he sped along a random path, swooping low, grabbing some gear, then whirling for the retreat. The asshole in the body armor was heavier than he expected, so his escape took longer than he’d calculated.

A merc nailed him in the back, full on, and the pain sent him tumbling forward. The equipment—and the body—bounced toward the Queenslanders, at least. Hands reached for him and hauled him back behind a broken-down lifter. He was grateful that they didn’t roll him over. His back blazed as the nerves died, then there was just this sweet numbness. When Dred touched his head, he recognized the feel of her fingers stealing through his hair.

“He’s dying,” Ali said softly.

“Give him a minute. He’ll shake it off.”

“That’s impossible,” said the Ithtorian.

Death was getting a bit closer, a little less impossible, all the time. One of these days, he’d push it too far, miscalculate how much he could heal. I’m still taking risks according to how I used to be. Before Dred. With a groan, he rolled over on his own, but he couldn’t feel either of his arms well enough to shoot.

“Someone else have a go.” He nudged his rifle and the one he’d grabbed toward the others.

There were still two bodies in armor, and a couple of rifles, but Vost’s men had their helmets down and rushed, just as Jael had done. One man grabbed his fallen comrade; another followed suit. Dred and Martine opened fire while Brahm and Ali snatched up the extra weapons. Dred hit one of the mercs, but it wasn’t a kill shot, not through the plating. It singed the back, but one of his mates shoved him forward and took the next shot. The polymer smoked, but they didn’t go down. As a unit, they moved their comrades out of the line of sight.

“They probably didn’t even feel that,” Martine bitched.

“We need to fall back,” Dred answered.

Jael tended to agree. Now that the mercs had secured the rest of the gear, they’d push to finish the fight. He yanked the helmet off the dead man, seeing the bruises on his pale face. His eyes were open and staring; the aliens took a step back, but Tam and Martine set to work, helping him. He thought they probably knew what he had in mind. As they removed each segment, Dred scrambled into it.

Not squeamish, love? That’s my girl.

Quickly, Dred snapped on each piece as Jael heard Vost calling orders regarding the gear they’d kept from enemy hands. Jael was waiting for the order to charge, and the rest of his team must have been, too. They had more rifles now, but without more sets of armor, they would be at a disadvantage. It’s not time to make this a stand-up fight.

Once she was geared up, she motioned for the others to move. “Get behind the blast doors. I’ll cover you.”

“You can’t—” Martine started to say, but Dred sliced the air with an armored hand.

The other woman seemed to grasp that she wouldn’t change Dred’s mind, so she turned to Jael instead. “Can you walk?”

“I can run, bright eyes.” That might have been overstating the case, actually, but with Tam and Martine each under an arm, he managed a speedy stumble.

The mercs responded at once, but Dred stood between them and the rest. Her bottom half was hidden by the lifter and the rifle spat red light at their enemies. Jael watched until Tam jerked him forward, out of sight around the corner. He heard the heavy tread of Ali following and the chitinous click of Brahm’s retreat.

“We’re clear,” Jael called.

That was apparently what she had been waiting for. Dred backed up, firing the whole time. She took a solid shot to the chest, but her armor caught it. She ducked and spun low, narrowly avoiding a shot to the faceplate. Jael knew from experience how quick those cracked. Tam went to work on the lock, hacking to seal it so the mercs had no choice but to circle the long way. With luck, that would be long enough to get back to Queensland.

“It wasn’t a complete success, but I’ll take it.” Dred’s voice sounded strange, coming from the merc helmet, touched with tinny reverb.

“Nobody died,” Martine put in. “That’s more than I expected.”

Ali was staring at Jael. “Why didn’t you? What you did should’ve been suicide.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” he said lightly.

Dred moved toward the stairs. “We don’t have time to chat. Each second we stand here, the more time we give Vost to catch up.”

“She’s right,” Tam said.

Martine pushed past everyone else to take point. She handled the rifle with near-military precision. Jael was curious about her background; she’d said a few things that made him think she had been a thief, but she also fought like a former soldier, a unique combination to say the least. He leashed his curiosity with the understanding that she wouldn’t question him about why he could take a laser in the back and stagger away.

The climb was exhausting, but at least this time it wasn’t a race. Now that they had the rifles, and Dred had the armor, it didn’t matter how long it took them to get back. With some quiet, remote part of his mind, he wondered if the repeated injuries to his back would be enough to create a scar. At what point does the damage grow so great that I can’t heal it? It was the mark of a disturbed mind, he supposed, that he wanted to find the line.

He heard something, a ping, a whir. Jael threw up a hand, listening. Everyone stilled. Though he spun in a slow circle, he couldn’t find whatever it was. Now there was nothing but the station noises and the sound of other people’s breathing.

Inside the Warren passages, Ali took the lead, and the return went smoothly enough. Nobody spoke, remembering Brahm’s caution from before. But when they stepped out of the wall to make the last jog, where they would emerge safe behind Queensland lines, Vost was waiting. Beside him, a drone cam hovered, and Jael bit out a curse. That’s what I heard. He was spying on us, tracking our movements.

The merc commander opened with grenades this time; and then he pulled out the heavy weapons. When the gun emitted a low hum and started to vibrate, Jael ran. Energy exploded outward, scoring the floor in a smoking circle. The metal softened and exploded, shards of synth shrapnel raining down.

“What I wouldn’t give for a rocket launcher,” Brahm muttered.

Again, Jael and Tam deployed laser shots, then ran like hell before the weapon could vaporize them. It slanted over Jael’s head, so he felt the buzz of the energy on his skull. Close call. Too close. Never seen anything like this. It was small enough to be used by one man with two hands, but it was powerful enough to qualify as antipersonnel. If Vost wasn’t careful, he’d blow a hole clean through the station.

Vost’s men went with grenades, too. Three exploded in quick succession. Then Dred shouted, “Dammit, my clip’s running low on juice. Push past them.”