last, the wheels caught, locking in place as they dug in beneath the vehicle.
The truck skidded sideways, tires screaming against the pavement until the tortured metal gave way. The screaming suspension crumpled and snapped, folding under the chassis and flipping the vehicle end over end in a brutal roll until it slammed into a pillar and stopped abruptly wheels still spinning as flames licking around its frame.
“Got one.” Chip said, over the comm. Tyco couldn’t help but smile.
“I can see that.” He said, rising to his feet with his battle rifle pressed to his eyes.
The second vehicle never made it past the first. Its driver slowed to avoid the wreckage in front of him, trying to cut around the spreading flames. The split-second of hesitation was all that Chip needed. His rifle sounded with regular, murderous precision. His first shots hobbled its front tires, hobbling the vehicle’s speed and making its steering erratic. His next shot shattered the glass windscreen, blinding the driver and showering glass shards across the hood. The truck slowed to a crawl, its rims weaving pathetically across the rubble. It didn’t take long for the debris to accumulate, and soon the wheels were stuck, spinning freely on the loose gravel and pulverized wood that littered the concrete.
Soldiers leapt from the stopped vehicle, emerging with guns lifted towards Chip’s position, furiously pelting the sniper with everything they had. But Chip was unflappable, sighting in on one soldier, then the next, mechanically going about his business.
Ringo, too, was enjoying himself. He posted against the wall of a shattered storefront window, firing round after round into the remaining truck, shattering its windshield and collapsing its roof, gleefully destroying what cover the rebels had left.
Wary of lingering and attracting further reinforcements, Tyco took the offensive, waving the team forwards quickly to move on the stranded rebels. He alternated with Hog, laying down controlled bursts of covering fire as the others advanced around their flank. Ghost moved quietly in tandem, staying unseen in the shadows of the overhanging buildings, holding his fire until he had flanked the stranded truck’s position. Crouching behind cover, he opened fire, raking the truck and its occupants mercilessly with his submachine gun.
The soldiers fought back desperately, firing in all directions as they tried to regroup. Their bullets flew by harmlessly as Tyco and his men advanced, dodging from cover to cover, sporadically trading bursts and keeping up pressure on the group.
“That’s four.” Chip chirped over the radio.
“Good for you.” Hog muttered sarcastically. She was within shouting distance of the vehicles, spraying fire in a wide arc across both of them, watching the bullets spark and ricochet off the metal. “Real damn brave of you, up on that roof – “ A bullet zipped past her head, stopping her mid-sentence. She whirled to find the shooter, chasing him back behind cover with a vicious burst of gunfire.
“Don’t get petty, dear.” Chip was unbearably smug even on a good day, and today, he was unbearable. Hog kept firing until her magazine ran dry, then dropped to her knees and reloaded with tight, furious precision.
The locals, those that remained, had fallen silent. Expecting an unopposed bloodbath, they had been severely shocked and disappointed by the opposition they had encountered. The advantage had shifted abruptly and unexpectedly away from them, and now, unable to move on their attackers, they were forced to hunker down, holding their fire to save their ammunition. The debris-strewn tarmac fell eerily silent.
“Chip - ?” Tyco asked.
“Negative, they’re still there.” Chip said. “I’m working on a shot.”
“Ringo, how’re you on grenades?”
“Cap, I got this – “ Chip protested.
“We don’t have time.” Tyco was clipped, focused, staring up at the hillside from
The truck skidded sideways, tires screaming against the pavement until the tortured metal gave way. The screaming suspension crumpled and snapped, folding under the chassis and flipping the vehicle end over end in a brutal roll until it slammed into a pillar and stopped abruptly wheels still spinning as flames licking around its frame.
“Got one.” Chip said, over the comm. Tyco couldn’t help but smile.
“I can see that.” He said, rising to his feet with his battle rifle pressed to his eyes.
The second vehicle never made it past the first. Its driver slowed to avoid the wreckage in front of him, trying to cut around the spreading flames. The split-second of hesitation was all that Chip needed. His rifle sounded with regular, murderous precision. His first shots hobbled its front tires, hobbling the vehicle’s speed and making its steering erratic. His next shot shattered the glass windscreen, blinding the driver and showering glass shards across the hood. The truck slowed to a crawl, its rims weaving pathetically across the rubble. It didn’t take long for the debris to accumulate, and soon the wheels were stuck, spinning freely on the loose gravel and pulverized wood that littered the concrete.
Soldiers leapt from the stopped vehicle, emerging with guns lifted towards Chip’s position, furiously pelting the sniper with everything they had. But Chip was unflappable, sighting in on one soldier, then the next, mechanically going about his business.
Ringo, too, was enjoying himself. He posted against the wall of a shattered storefront window, firing round after round into the remaining truck, shattering its windshield and collapsing its roof, gleefully destroying what cover the rebels had left.
Wary of lingering and attracting further reinforcements, Tyco took the offensive, waving the team forwards quickly to move on the stranded rebels. He alternated with Hog, laying down controlled bursts of covering fire as the others advanced around their flank. Ghost moved quietly in tandem, staying unseen in the shadows of the overhanging buildings, holding his fire until he had flanked the stranded truck’s position. Crouching behind cover, he opened fire, raking the truck and its occupants mercilessly with his submachine gun.
The soldiers fought back desperately, firing in all directions as they tried to regroup. Their bullets flew by harmlessly as Tyco and his men advanced, dodging from cover to cover, sporadically trading bursts and keeping up pressure on the group.
“That’s four.” Chip chirped over the radio.
“Good for you.” Hog muttered sarcastically. She was within shouting distance of the vehicles, spraying fire in a wide arc across both of them, watching the bullets spark and ricochet off the metal. “Real damn brave of you, up on that roof – “ A bullet zipped past her head, stopping her mid-sentence. She whirled to find the shooter, chasing him back behind cover with a vicious burst of gunfire.
“Don’t get petty, dear.” Chip was unbearably smug even on a good day, and today, he was unbearable. Hog kept firing until her magazine ran dry, then dropped to her knees and reloaded with tight, furious precision.
The locals, those that remained, had fallen silent. Expecting an unopposed bloodbath, they had been severely shocked and disappointed by the opposition they had encountered. The advantage had shifted abruptly and unexpectedly away from them, and now, unable to move on their attackers, they were forced to hunker down, holding their fire to save their ammunition. The debris-strewn tarmac fell eerily silent.
“Chip - ?” Tyco asked.
“Negative, they’re still there.” Chip said. “I’m working on a shot.”
“Ringo, how’re you on grenades?”
“Cap, I got this – “ Chip protested.
“We don’t have time.” Tyco was clipped, focused, staring up at the hillside from
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