James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“I’m up, ready on your go,” Bill said. He flipped off his safety, and took up the slack on his Geissele SSA trigger. It would take less than three additional pounds of pressure to break the shot.

Seattle fired, his rifle making a hissing crack that sounded as much like Indiana Jones’ bullwhip as a gunshot. Trigger prepped, Bill fired half a second later. His scope moved, but he saw his bullet impact, an inch to the right of where he was aiming, hitting the soldier in his cheek instead of his nose. The soldier’s head snapped back as the bullet blew through the man’s skull and hit the inside of his helmet sideways.

As Seattle fired beside him, and fired again, Bill moved his reticle down to the presumed officer behind and to the side of the IMP. He was sideways, gesturing once again, having missed both the sound of the gunshot and the impact, and Bill took him under his arm. Then he began firing at the numerous Tabs visible tending to wounded. Between the weight of the rifle itself, and the suppressor, and the well-tuned gas system, his rifle had very little recoil. It took another two seconds before the Tabs on the ground figured out what was happening, then they all ran for cover. However, because of the noise of the idling diesel engines and the echoing nature of the buildings surrounding them, they had no idea from which direction the shots were coming.

Bill shot a soldier crouching beside a twisted Growler in the thigh, the man next to him in the upper arm. A row of wounded Tabs was sitting on the pavement inside the vehicle perimeter, and they were too slow. He shot a head here, a leg there, an arm, a foot, a hand, a running Tab in the legs, several men in the face as they popped up to fire in his general direction and didn’t duck down fast enough.

He didn’t know if the row of bodies on the pavement in the center of the encampment were dead or just seriously wounded, but he fired his last five shots at them. “I’m out!” he shouted, jumping out of his chair. Seattle fired one last shot and then he was dry as well.

The two men shrugged on their backpacks, grabbed their rifles, then headed for the stairwell on the north side of the building. Bill knelt down with a grunt and grabbed the grenade with which they’d boobytrapped the door to the stairs. He was just hooking the handle onto his vest when the Toad fired its 120mm main gun. The high-explosive round was angling up and detonated in the middle of the ceiling behind them, the blast wave throwing both men through the open stairwell door.

“You’ve gotta keep moving or we’re going to die,” Robbie gasped. He had Brooke’s good arm around his shoulders and was half carrying her. She was weaving and nearly incoherent, but she was still on her feet. Even if she hadn’t been wearing fifty pounds of gear Robbie knew he wasn’t strong enough to carry her more than fifty or one hundred feet, and they had a lot further to go than that. Through the entire length of the hotel, then across New Center One.

He was pretty sure he’d put the tourniquet on right, but she was such a mess it was hard to tell. Her skin was deathly white where it wasn’t smeared with half-dried blood. The lower half of her left arm hung useless, only a few strips of skin and sinew connecting it.

Luckily the walkway from the New Center One building was on the same level as the walkway connecting the hotel, so he didn’t have to worry about climbing any steps with her. He struggled along with Brooke, both of them gasping. One foot in front of the other, one step, then another, then another, that’s all he could focus on. Then he heard a shout and looked up blearily, wondering if Tabs were about to shoot him, and saw a dogsoldier running to help him.

Barker actually fell backward onto his ass in surprise as the soldier burst through the doorway in front of him, screaming and on fire. Petal and Royce downed the man with a volley of shots.

“Motherfucker,” Barker swore.

There was a pause, then a shout down the stairwell. “Barker?”

“Chan, you fucker, you weren’t supposed to set this building on fire,” Barker shouted back from the floor. He struggled to his feet. The air inside the big office building had been starting to haze with smoke even before the Human Torch had made an appearance.

Chan appeared above them on the stairs, rifle up, just in case. Then he moved down the stairs, the remaining members of Yosemite behind him. “It seemed the thing to do at the time,” he panted, and the sweaty men smiled at each other.

There was chatter on the radio, and then the men heard, “Virginia, Virginia, Virginia.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chan said.

Barker nodded. “Down!” he called out to everyone there. He did a quick head count. Kermit and Yosemite had suffered twenty-five percent casualties. “To the tunnel. We’re heading back, getting the fuck out of here while the getting’s still good.” He waved his people past him and they began stampeding down the stairs.

“Let’s hope the Tabs clear the building one floor at a time up to the roof before they head through the tunnel,” Chan said.

“After the beating we just gave them they should be moving slow and careful, but who knows?” Barker replied. He nodded after Lydia who passed them heading down the stairs. She smelled of smoke and blood. “Go, I’ll be rear security.” He grabbed his radio. “All squads, SkyBox is abandoning ship, heading to Nakatomi. Repeat, SkyBox en route to Nakatomi underground. Don’t shoot us.”

“They’re not stupid. They’re going to hide out there and wait for their reinforcements,” Hannibal said, peering out the north entrance of the Fisher Building. Whatever Tabs were left after the IMP had been taken out and Quigley chewed them up had found good cover to hide behind. They weren’t moving on Nakatomi, but they weren’t leaving, either.

“Yeah,” Ed muttered.

The radio lit up with chatter between the IED team south of their position and Almighty, then Morris gave them an update on the enemy. “Almighty to all squads, be advised enemy ground units three hundred meters east our position, approaching on foot while armor is in overwatch. Repeat, enemy dismounts numbering approximately eighty, three hundred meters east our position and approaching our location and SkyBox under cover of armor. Large enemy armor column also now at West Grand and the Lodge Freeway near Quigley. Repeat, large enemy armor presence just west of Quigley. They do not seem to be approaching as yet, have assumed a defensive position.” There was a pause, then the Lieutenant Colonel said, “You’ve all done a hell of a job, but I’m calling it. Virginia, Virginia, Virginia. Good luck, and God speed. Almighty is displacing. Over and out.”

“Time to go,” Hannibal said. He looked at Ed. “I can’t believe this worked as well as it did. Not that we did much of anything other than distract them.”

Ed shrugged. “Suckering them in was the important part.

Barker’s voice popped over the radio. “All squads, SkyBox is abandoning ship, heading to Nakatomi. Repeat, SkyBox en route to Nakatomi underground. Don’t shoot us.”

Hannibal smiled. “Excellent.” He grabbed his radio. “Nakatomi, time to go. Make your way back to the tunnel.” He checked his watch. “You have ten minutes, that is one-zero minutes, then we are blowing the end and you’ve got to find your own way home.” That had been the agreed-upon plan.

The radio clicked to life again. “Quigley to all squads, do not wait for us. Repeat, do not wait. We’re currently blocked from our exfil route. Good luck, it’s been fun.” Ed recognized the voice of Harris, who’d driven up from the aircraft hangar attack.

“What do they have, a hundred feet to cover to the sewer opening?” Hannibal asked. “If that?” Instead of crawling three hundred yards through the narrow pipe with everyone else, Weasel, Renny, and Carrells had exited the large trunk line, crawling up a short dirt ramp to find themselves north of the apartment building, just off the service drive of the Lodge. The opening was concealed by a bush, and had worked just fine for them in the dark when no satellites were overhead.