Orson Card - Empire

Something in between. He had instant reflexes—the moment he felt Reuben’s hands on him, he started to move. But he hadn’t spotted Reuben coming. A killing-machine soldier would never have left so much of his field of view unattended for so long.

Because by the time Reuben’s hands were on him, it was already too late for the guy. He turned to the right, so Reuben turned his head sharply to the left and he dropped like a rock.

But inside that helmet, he might have said, “Hey.” Or something.

Or maybe not. Because the other guys didn’t show any alarm. Cole also got his man silently.

Not so lucky with the next guy. Reuben didn’t know whether it was his guy or Cole’s who gave the alarm, or maybe just a chance observation, but nobody was standing still to get their neck broken. But they weren’t shooting yet, either. Reuben still needed a silent weapon. The Uniball pen he always carried.

Reuben got his man down on the ground and put a knife into his throat under the jaw of the helmet faceplate. It took some wiggling to get the artery. The two remaining guards were shooting now. No doubt calling for reinforcements.

Reuben called to Willis and the cops. “Fill your hands, you sons of bitches!”

Whether they got the movie reference or not, they understood the order and began firing. The bad guys’ body armor was good, but it wasn’t perfect. Reuben wasn’t sure that any of the cops’ bullets felled either of the remaining tunnel guards—he knew that he got one of them with his M-240 and Cole was certainly firing the Minimi, so he probably got the other.

Before the firing even stopped, Reuben had one of the helmets off a dead enemy soldier, and was stripping the body armor. “Go ahead!” he shouted to Willis. “If it’s our guys on the other end, identify yourselves and for pete’s sake tell them we’re coming!”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then hide if you can and wait for us and our weapons.”

Cole was also stripping material off another soldier. “Cole!” shouted Reuben. “Take a thumb! We want to know who these guys are, not just what they’re wearing!”

It was grisly work. But they had to know what they were up against. Criminals? Ordinary civilians? The FBI needed a chance to make an ID.

Reuben knew they were done scavenging when they could hear the thud, thud of approaching mechs.

The cops were already out of sight down the tunnel. “I wonder if they’ll come down the tunnel after us,” said Cole.

“I’ve got a helmet and vest,” said Reuben. “You drop the ones you got. Keep the pants and the weapon.”

They each dropped their version of what the other was keeping, and ran on, that much lighter.

The cops just weren’t in Special Ops shape. They caught up with them before they reached the midpoint of the tunnel.

“Don’t leave us behind!” one of the uniforms shouted.

“Shut up,” said Willis.

“Not leaving you,” shouted Reuben. “Setting up a rear guard.”

There were no cars in the tunnel. Reuben and Cole set up in recesses in the tunnel wall, one well behind the other, on the opposite side. As the cops jogged and panted past them, Reuben called out. “Leave a relay chain to tell us when you get to the end so we know when to pull back!”

Willis gave a thumbs-up and kept jogging. Up the slope now. Steeper and steeper.

“There’s a lot of water over our heads,” called Cole.

“Shut up and keep bailing,” said Reuben.

After the cops had had enough time to get well up the tunnel, Reuben left his position and moved back to one farther up than Cole’s. He was just turning to get in place when they heard the thuds. Lots of them. The mechs were in the tunnel.

“What did we decide our bullets were worth against those mechs?” called Cole.

“Get back here,” called Reuben. “No stopping now!” The rear guard only made sense if they could slow down the enemy. If it was all mechs, then Reuben and Cole would die for no purpose. The mechs were fast. But for a few moments, the curvature of the tunnel would protect them.

When they got to the end of the tunnel, they were met by National Guardsmen who obviously expected them. Thanks, Willis.

“Commander?” asked Reuben.

Twenty steps on, Reuben was greeted by a young captain. “You know what you’re doing?” Reuben asked.

“Two tours in Iraq,” said the captain. “I’ve been under fire and gave back.”

“You have any artillery?”

“Tanks are almost here.”

“Don’t do anything till they get here unless you got AT-4s or SMAWs.”

“AT-4s, sir. Never used them under fire, though,” said the captain. “Didn’t face many tanks when I was in Iraq, and the actual teams are raw.”

“Now the training pays off,” said Reuben. He pointed left and right. “They got armored walker things, mechanicals. Might be manned, might not. They can’t be hurt by small arms fire. Minimis and M-240s can get through the body armor on the soldiers, though.” He held up the pieces to show. “Don’t expose yourselves. The mechs shoot at uniforms.”

“Here they come,” said the captain, pulling him along toward cover.

Not that they could see anything. But the sound was deafening. How many mechs were down there?

As the mechs came toward the mouth of the tunnel, Reuben checked out their assets. Two AT-4s, one on each side of the roadway. The National Guard had placed themselves well. They might never have been under fire, but they weren’t untrained and their leader knew what he was doing.

Meanwhile, Cole was getting Willis and his men to move back farther, completely out of the way. They were useless now, an asset for later that needed to be protected. Cole obviously understood that even if everybody here at the tunnel mouth was killed, the New York cops still had to survive and tell what they’d seen. Cole had even given Willis the body-armor pieces he had scavenged.

Reuben needed to get rid of his own. “Can you spare a guy?” Reuben asked the captain. “These armor pieces need to get back to somebody who can study them and figure out who the hell made them and what we can do against them.”

In a moment he was handing the pieces to a young corporal. “Wait,” said Reuben. He dug the bloody thumb out of his pocket and handed it to the kid. “Don’t puke, just get this to the FBI for fingerprinting. Think of it as spent ammunition that needs ballistics done on it.”

The corporal gulped once, pocketed the thumb, and took off running, carrying the armor pieces.

The mechs were emerging from the tunnel now, still in shadow but clearly visible.

“Any time now,” Reuben said to the captain.

“Any points of vulnerability?”

“These ain’t death stars,” said Reuben. “Just hit square on the body. If you get lucky, they blow up real well. They’re full of ammunition.”

They got lucky.

The first two rockets hit. The two mechs blew up.

I have to tell Mingo what he needs to put in his next arsenal, thought Reuben.

The National Guardsmen were cheering. But the captain was yelling at them. “Keep firing, you boneheads, there could be a hundred of them!” There were already four more visible.

“How many MT-4s you got?” asked Reuben.

“We’re National Guard stationed in Jersey,” said the captain, “what do you think ?”

“Does that mean less than ten?”

“That means two more.”

“Then fire them as if you had a hundred,” said Reuben.

The captain signaled again for them to shoot. Two more hits. Two more scores, though one of the mechs did not blow up completely, but fell over and did not try to get up.

The other mechs turned around and ran back down the tunnel.

This time the captain didn’t try to stop the cheering.