Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

“You can thank us later,” a voice called down.

I ducked around the door. “We know all about Genesis Alliance and that you might have been recruited against your will. Let us go and we won’t say a word.”

“Show yourselves, and we won’t shoot,” another higher-pitched voice added.

Jack shook his head. “We can’t negotiate with these people.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Brett said. “I think I recognize one of the voices.”

“Not an option, Brett. They’ll have your guts for garters.”

“We’ve got three options,” I said. “Win the firefight and carry out a tactical withdrawal. Wait here and hope their radios aren’t in range, or go up and take them out.”

“Option one,” Jack said. “Pepper-pot out of here and get cover behind the buildings. Find a boat at the far end of the marina.”

I heard a hiss of radio static above and quickly made up my mind. “Okay, let’s do it. Brett, follow my lead and stay behind me.”

Pepper-potting was a fire and movement technique we’d learned in the Army. One part of the team would give covering fire to suppress the enemy, while the other would move. This would happen in small alternating stages until reaching the required ground. It’s all well and good being accurate on a range with a rifle, but facing a person who is shooting back is a completely different story. The people at the top of the monument would have to hold their nerve and risk their lives if they wanted a chance of taking us out. The buildings were around a hundred yards away. From there we would have cover to make it to the other end of the marina.

Jack aimed up and prepared to move. “Ready?”

Brett nodded and licked his lips. Anxiety had probably given him a dry mouth.

“I’ll throw the buggers off track first.” I leaned inside the doorway. “We’re coming up. Don’t shoot—we just want to talk.”

“Take it nice and slow, with your hands up,” a voice replied.

Jack ran out ten yards toward the marina buildings and took up a crouching position, aiming at the observation deck. He took his left hand off the rifle stock and held up his thumb.

I grabbed a fistful of Brett’s jacket, pulled him twenty yards past Jack, skidded to one knee and aimed. Brett ducked behind me, panting against the back of my neck. No men visible on the platform. They must have been waiting for us by the upper entrance.

“Move,” I said.

Jack sprinted past me. A loud boom emanated from monument, which confirmed the goons had no intention of negotiation. Shortly afterward, they appeared at the observation deck. I squeezed my trigger and fired. The bullet smacked against the stone between them. They both ducked.

“Move,” Jack said.

I directed Brett to the left of Jack, ensuring we had some width between our positions, thus avoiding being in the same line of sight. Jack fired two more shots.

Twenty yards past Jack, I spun around and aimed. A red spatter sprayed up the deck wall.

“Move,” I said.

Jack darted past. “Got one in the shoulder.”

A rifle appeared over the top of the wall and fired a few rounds aimlessly in our general direction. A pointless waste of ammo.

“Move,” Jack said.

I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Brett, who must have started to feel like a rag doll, and sprinted past Jack to a couple of large trees.

“Move.”

Jack hurried past. “I’m going for the building.”

A rifle appeared over the wall again and fired another burst. I fired at the arms on the platform, but the men kept their heads down. They’d lost the firefight, and we both knew it. Cool, aimed shots had done the trick. We were fighting amateurs.

Brett and I both rushed behind what was no more than a glorified shed, painted dark red with a white door. Jack bent double behind it, catching his breath.

I felt confident that the goons on the roof would not suddenly grow a pair of balls and start peppering us with accurate fire. They’d wasted their ammo on pointless sprays.

“More could be on the way,” I said, not wanting to break our momentum. “Head straight for the boats.”

I charged ahead, along thin strips of grass and pavement, between boat sheds, shops, and houses. Three shots rang out from the monument in quick succession just before we reached the trees surrounding the marina. The spring canopy overhead did its job, allowing us to jog slowly between the trunks. From here, they would have to move from their perch to catch us.

Keeping my bearings by using a straight road running parallel to my right, I wondered if the GA guards would follow. Attempting to start a boat might leave us exposed to gunfire, and chugging away from the shore would present an easy target for a marksman.

Jack stopped and checked behind, most likely thinking the same thing.

“Ambush, here—they won’t be expecting it,” I said.

If they did follow, they had little choice but to directly pursue, based on the land around us being openly exposed. I gestured with two fingers for Jack to cover the arc to our rear.

“We’ll cover the left flank, Brett,” I said and led him to two large trees. “If they appear, wait for my signal to fire.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

He leaned around a tree and aimed at our killing ground. I decided to give the goons five minutes to show.

Calming my breathing, I practiced the technique of firing I had almost forgotten: exhaling, relaxing my body, and taking a dummy shot. I half-expected the men to come clumsily crashing through the trees like wild boar running after their prey. Jack looked over to me in expectation.

“That man back at the monument,” Brett said. “I think he came to help us.”

“Don’t think about it,” I said. “You’re gonna face a lot more of it in the next few days, so try to block things out. That’s all you can do.”

I realized we’d probably played a part in his death. But who could blame us for a lack of trust after what both Jack and I had been through? If I stewed over every incorrect decision or loss of life we encountered along the way, I would turn into a gibbering wreck. The only solution was to push things to the back of my mind, among all of the other horror Genesis Alliance had imposed on me.

A gentle breeze blew through the woodland, rustling leaves. A wasp landed on my knuckle. I tilted my hand away from the rifle to encourage it away.

A twig snapped in the distance.

Jack peered down his sights and slowly nodded. A figure darted from a building into the woodland and hid behind a tree. He advanced slowly toward us, stopping intermittently to aim forward and observe the area ahead. I had him in my sights, and he presented an easy hundred-yard shot, but I wanted his partner too.

I searched through my sights for his accomplice. He appeared to the rear of the first man, carrying a rifle in his left hand. His right arm hung limply by his side.

I took aim, breathed out, and fired into the chest of the second man. He yelped and collapsed to the ground. Jack fired a split second later. The first man’s shoulder jerked backward and he tumbled over, crying out in agony. Brett fired. The man instantly clutched his left thigh. He writhed on the ground and screamed a garbled insult.

Jack sprang up and sprinted toward him. The man shakily held up his bloodstained right hand.

“Let’s go,” I said to Brett.

We ran to the second man. He lay motionless on the forest floor. I kicked his rifle away from his limp hand. He appeared deathly still and didn’t react when I crushed his fingers under my boot.

“Nice shooting, Brett,” I said. “We’ll make a solider of you yet.”

He turned and looked at Jack, who grabbed the other man by his jacket and pulled him to a sitting position. He scrunched his face and took rapid, shallow breaths. I removed the man’s weapon sling from around his shoulder and patted him down, finding one full and two empty magazines.