John O'Brien - Reckoning

There is movement at the fourth doorway as it swings open. Several people peek out from behind the door and into the bay. By what she observes of their clothing, they are civilians. She can’t determine if they are maintenance folks or operations room technicians. Who they are doesn’t really matter. She needs to keep the equipment bay clear. A volley of gunfire sparking off the metal door sends them scrambling back inside.

Lynn briefs Jack on the situation and their need to keep the opposing forces off balance before their four-to-one numbers start making a difference.

“Are you sure you need to go in?” Jack asks.

“We need to do something. We don’t have a limitless supply of ammo,” Lynn answers.

“Okay, you’re there and I’m not. Do what you see fit.”

Walking down the line, Lynn briefs the other team leads on her plan to commence a room clearing operation, cautioning them to conserve their ammo. She briefs Mullins to gather as much .50 cal ammo as he can find and begin to use it sparingly. It may be the only thing that keeps the opposing forces at bay.

Taking Black Team, she approaches the first hallway, keeping to the side out of the line of fire. Waving the team covering the door to hold their fire, Lynn steps into the hallway. It’s filled with a lingering odor of gunpowder and the stench that accompanies death. The walls are pock-marked from the numerous rounds that smacked into them. Deep gouges show where the .50 cal rounds slammed into the concrete. Chunks of concrete are scattered across the floor, with concrete powder coating the bodies.

Making sure the ones in the hall have passed the boundary of life, she steps over the shredded bodies. Cautiously and warily, trying to avoid the pools of blood gathered around the still forms, she edges to the first door, keeping her attention on all of the exits.

She directs three of her team to cover the hall farther down. Readying a grenade, she nods to one of her teammates at the doorway. He opens it just enough so that she can toss the grenade in and they fold back against the wall. She gets ready to follow it up with a flash bang and they’ll sweep inside. The door shakes as the grenade goes off.

Ready to flash and enter, Lynn’s attention is caught by a different kind of flash. Strobe-like flashes light up the hall from the three she posted to cover the corridor. Turning sharply, she catches the last hints of sparks off one of the doors. Looking to the three, they are intent on a doorway several doors down.

“What is it?” Lynn calls, bothered that those inside the room might get a chance to recover.

“Someone opened the door and poked their head out,” one of the soldiers says without taking his eye from the doorway.

“Did you get them?” she asks.

“No, we’ve been made,” the soldier answers.

“Everyone out! Now!” Lynn shouts.

The team begins backpedaling quickly while keeping a watchful eye on the doors. One them opens suddenly with a flash of movement. In the dimness of the hallway, Lynn hears something metallic bouncing across the concrete floor.

“Grenade,” she yells.

The team turns and dives for the entrance. In mid-air, Lynn hears a tremendous explosion and feels a concussive wave roll over her. Above the blast, she hears a scream of pain. She lands hard on the unyielding surface, banging her chin which momentarily stuns her. Recovering, she notes three of her teammates on the ground.

Rising, she and her two remaining team memebers drag their comrades a short distance away from the hallway opening. Seeing what happened, the other teams direct a flurry of fire which envelopes the corridor. Under the covering fire, using the drag handles, they pull their wounded to safety.

Looking at her teammates, Lynn sees that two have been peppered across their backs and the rear of their legs. The two are covered in blood from many small wounds. One is moaning while the second is out cold. The third has superficial wounds along one arm.

“See to them,” Lynn directs her two remaining team members. “Stop the bleeding and dress the wounds as best as you can.”

The two immediately begin taking care of their own. Black Team, with the exception of Lynn, is out of the fight.

The grenade goes off, decimating several of the remaining survivors of his squad. Sergeant Montore’s ears are ringing from the tremendous concussion. Recovering, he quickly checks himself and looks around the room. It’s barely recognizable. The few pictures remaining on the wall hang askew, their glass coverings shattered. Mattresses are half on and half off the bunks with chairs thrown about. Hanging in the air is the smell of gunpowder. Several of his squad are screaming in pain. Some of the others aren’t moving at all. The door opened and closed so quickly that they didn’t have a chance to react.

Montore and a couple of others are the only survivors. Directing those still on their feet to help the wounded, he knows that they are out of the fight, regardless of what transpires. He has one of his teammates watch the door but knows that they will be hard-pressed to stop a mouse from entering, let alone armed combatants. He resigns himself that this won’t end well and becomes absorbed in helping the injured.

Seeing the wounded being taken care of, Lynn proceeds down the line checking on the teams’ ammo supply.

“Are you okay?” Cressman asks as she checks on his team.

It’s then that Lynn feels a burning sensation across her forehead near her temple. Rubbing her hand across it, her glove comes away smeared with blood. Removing her glove, she tenderly pokes at the cut to find that it’s just that, a cut, but bleeding like scalp wounds will.

“Let me see to that,” Cressman says.

“No, I’m fine,” Lynn says, moving on down the line.

Lights flare on the floors and walls in the hallways from multiple doors opening. Silhouettes form in the light like a multitude of shadow puppets. Grenades are lofted from the open doorways. Some land in the corridor but a few make it a ways out of the hall forcing the teams to take cover behind the Humvees. A series of explosions rocks the end of the bay. Shrapnel is hurled into the vehicles and walls with heavy thuds and pings.

Lynn, crouched behind the hood of a Humvee, her ears hurting from the blasts, hears the .50 cals behind start chattering. Rising quickly after the explosions cease, she sees soldiers trying to make it out of the hallway, only to be thrown back by the three heavy machine guns. Lynn adds her own fire to the fray and the forced rush is beaten back. Two more are wounded but are still in the fight, only marginally hampered.

The teams continue to pepper the hallways at intervals with bursts of fire to keep any curious heads down. In front, Lynn observes the carnage from the attempt of the security forces to sweep out of their quarters. More bodies lie within the hall with several on the concrete floor in the bay. Some are attempting to crawl to the sides, trying to get away from their pain. Moans can be heard coming from several who are lying still. Rivulets of blood seep out from the bodies, following the uneven contours of the floor.

“Should we do something about them?” Jordan asks.

Lynn looks at the devastation and really doesn’t have an answer. The humanity aspect of her says that they should help any wounded, but that would involve depleting her forces further and they are barely holding their own. She knows the opposing companies have been hit hard but doesn’t know exactly how badly. Right now, the safety of the teams is paramount.

With a sigh, she answers, “There’s not much we can really do except listen to their pain from a closer angle. We just don’t have the personnel to treat them without depleting our own firepower. I hate to say it, but we’ll just have to leave them where they lie. Afterwards, we can treat them. Until then, we’ll just have to suffer their moans and screams.”