James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

Parker was chewing at his lip. “We all should have known better,” he admitted. “Couldn’t take our eyes off the TV station, and they pulled us in too close and RPG’ed us from the rooftops. Fuck.”

“Sir, there were some reports the guerrillas weren’t just using RPGs, they had rockets of some kind.”

“I doubt that, not that it matters. And I can’t imagine they have too many RPGs left, I bet they’ve blown their load.” He pointed at the map. “We seem to have them boxed in. South, west, north, east. But we’re stretched thin, real thin.” He looked at Cooper, and Chamberlain. “Send in two more platoons.”

“Sir,” Cooper said, cautioning.

“What, you want them here, pulling security? Didn’t seem to make much of a difference here, the fucking ARF grounded my whole air wing minus one. I can walk on dead soldiers from this building to the hangars. And then they just sneak out a tunnel like the Viet Cong? Leave two tanks here, send the rest, and every IMP we’ve got not pulling guard duty at a gate, and at least ten more Growlers full of troops. We’ve got that many left, right? They want a fight, let’s give it to them. We know where they are, that they’re in the buildings.” He stabbed at the map with his finger. “Let’s surround them, and kill them. I don’t care if you have to level every building there, I want to wipe out these vermin for once and for all.”

His S2 and S3 exchanged a look. “Yes sir.”

“And get that goddamned Kestrel in the air!” he roared.

George spotted the Toad as it emerged from the railroad tunnel on 2 ndAvenue. It was roaring up the incline, straight at them, and he only had eyes for its huge main gun. “Oh shit. Toad! Displace, displace, displace!” He ran out of the office and hooked right, heading down the hallway at a full sprint, Kelly right behind him, both of them passing Quentin as he charged out the doorway of his conference room.

The building exploded around them and George found himself on the carpeted floor, coughing in the dust-laden air. He’d run nearly to the end of the hallway, where he’d told the men to stash their heavy packs. Quentin was on top of Kelly and rolled off, spitting and groaning.

George got to his feet and investigated to see if he was bleeding anywhere, then checked on his men. “You alive? Everybody got all their limbs?” They were safe where they were, probably, and George took his time checking for wounds and catching his breath. Satisfied they were whole George walked past them and stopped. Twenty feet further the outside hallway wall was sagging, and past that, out toward the street, appeared to be… nothing. No office. No more desk, or chairs, or windows, and half the office floor was gone. He could see down into the floor below and the office there. George stayed back in the hallway, behind cover, so he wasn’t visible to the Toad.

In the center of the blast damage the hallway floor tilted downward. Mark was in the hallway on the far side of the blast zone. He’d been a little slower carrying the SAW, and George saw one of his legs below the shorts was bloody. He was standing, but seemed to be favoring the leg.

“Is it bad?” George called out through the swirling dust.

“I’ll live,” the big man shouted back. He pointed at the listing floor between them. “I don’t trust that.”

“Right. Meet you down on six. Move before that fucker decides to fire another round up here.” George turned and ran back to Quentin and Kelly, who’d gotten to their feet. “Grab your packs and let’s go. Where’s the nearest stairs?” He grabbed his bouncing radio as he jogged down the carpeted hallway. “Tower is displacing, heading down to six.”

“Holy shit, Tower is still alive?” Seattle said in wonder at the transmission, staring at the big crater in the face of the Fisher Building. Morris joined him in his corner of the building, and looked down at the burning and wrecked vehicles on the west side of Cadillac Place. “Sir? Is it time?” he asked the Colonel.

“Looks like it,” Morris said. “Follow me.” He jogged to the other end of the building. Bill was at the northeast corner. From that position Morris believed he could see all the vehicles on Cass Avenue Skybox East had destroyed except for the IMP, which was out of sight beyond the corner of the building. Everything he could see was on fire, the street was still a kaleidoscope of flame, with the vehicles merrily ablaze. The burning tires were sending columns of coal black smoke high into the air.

“Secondary?” Bill asked. He traded a look with Seattle. They’d worked together as a scout/sniper team for two years assigned to Morris’ unit. That meant, more often than not, infiltration and clandestine intelligence gathering, but when they had to pull the trigger they were damn good at it. This mission had promised to be a little bit of everything.

Morris nodded. “Secondary. Good luck, gentlemen. Call out when you’re in place.” Bill shrugged into his pack, grabbed his long rifle, and then headed for the stairs with Seattle at a fast walk.

“All Skybox units, all Skybox units, this is Almighty Actual,” Morris said into his radio, staring at Cadillac Place. “You’re blown, your position is blown, displace to your fallback positions if possible.” He paused, then added. “Good work. All units, all units, we are putting up eyes in the sky. Repeat, we are putting up the eyes in the sky, and will keep you updated on any enemy reinforcements spotted.”

Morris jogged through the building to the southeast corner. Conrad was there. “I heard you,” he said to his CO. He had the controllers for the two drones booted up and began punching in commands. The drones were on the roof, having been placed there before the party started, but Morris hadn’t wanted to put them airborne until the fighting commenced. Even though their feeds were encrypted, they were still detectable by the Army. At this point, though, that hardly mattered. “You send them out to the secondary?”

“Yeah.”

Conrad finished punching in the coordinates and hit the Auto-Pilot. The drones took off within a few seconds of each other and proceeded to their preprogrammed coordinates. One headed half a mile southwest, one half a mile southeast, and they both climbed to one thousand feet. It took them just over a minute to get into position. Between their positions and their elevation, they should spot any incoming military vehicles within a mile of the New Center area. The drones would stay on station, using their GPS for positioning, until given new commands or until their batteries died, which shouldn’t be for at least ninety minutes.

Morris pointed at the tablet, which currently showed a splitscreen view of the feeds from both drones. The 1080p image-stabilized cameras had more than enough resolution for their needs. “That’s your job, right there, you’re early warning. Call out anything you see.”

“You think Parker’s going to send more troops? We kicked his fucking ass.”

Morris nodded. With most of the Army’s helicopters and half this initial ground force destroyed, the mission was already a qualified success, but Morris firmly believed in kicking a man when he was down. Besides, even with their immediate losses, the Tabs still had enough armor and men to run the city, and the war wouldn’t be over until the enemy was defeated or destroyed, everywhere. “That’s exactly why he will. And it’s not like he can let us be and give up the only part of this city that doesn’t look like it’s been nuked. But he’s not going to let the next wave of armor get anywhere near buildings that haven’t been cleared. His drones are probably already overhead.”

Conrad shrugged. “We’re in the buildings, which they already knew. So they’ve got to drive in close to drop soldiers off to clear the buildings. Or they drop them off a quarter mile out and they advance on foot. Either way sucks for them if we’re still above them.”