down here. We’re going.”
The city lay in the distance, as the personnel carrier shuddered to life. The new navigation beacon blinked on Tyco’s rifle, guiding them down the hill and directly into the clouds of smoke ahead.
And then, shimmering in bright contrast against the distant black clouds that dominated the sky, a helicopter gunship rose from the valley floor, turning in a wide arc towards their position. And Tyco, slumped in exhaustion against the still-warm turret, groaned inwardly, knowing: their day had only just started.
EIGHT: AN EARLY GOODBYE
Ringo awoke with a groan, thirty minutes and eighteen miles later. The APC had entered a long, wide highway underpass, hiding it from the gunship overhead as it rolled into the city. A particularly heavy jolt had shaken the wounded man awake. He clutched his leg immediately and groaned, rolling onto his good side with tears in his eyes.
“Welcome back.” Tyco smiled thinly, kneeling down at Ringo’s side. He nodded at the wounded leg. “How do you feel?”
Ringo shook his head slowly, head swimming as he gained his bearings. “I…don’t know.”
Tyco frowned, then reached down and punched Ringo in his good leg.
“…the fuck, Cap?!” Ringo, roared, his face flushing a deep, angry red.
“Congratulations.” Tyco responded with a smile. “You’re not in shock.” Satisfied, he turned back to Ringo’s wound, holding the man’s machete in his hand. “Lighter.” He demanded. Chip hesitated before handing it to him unwillingly. Tyco let it play over the knife, sterilizing it for the work ahead.
“You couldn’t do that while I was out?” Ringo groaned.
“Trust me, with those roads, you wouldn’t have wanted that.” Tyco answered, and handed him a thin metal flask. “You’ll need that, though.”
Ringo eyed it warily, glancing up at Tyco with suspicion. “That yours, Cap?” he asked. Tyco shook his head.
“Hog’s. She says knock yourself out.”
“Tell her I said thanks.” Ringo growled, and took a very healthy swig. Tyco waited until he had it tilted fully up before digging the tip of the machete blade into his leg.
Ringo grimaced, tightened his grip against the cold metal seat, but did nothing more, bearing the pain until the blade was out and a dark, thin piece of shrapnel lay in Tyco’s hand.
“You were right,” said Tyco, considering the blade. “It does come in handy.” He patted Ringo on the shoulder admiringly. He really was a tough bastard.
“Huh.” Ringo smiled back weakly, taking another large swig from the flask. Tyco bent down to examine the wound, mopping up the blood around the cut carefully with a gauze pad, cleaning it as well as he could. Satisfied, he stood tall in the cramped APC, wiping his hands on his uniform.
“That’s a start, at least.” He said. “Chip, want to handle the leg?”
“…No.” Chip answered. Tyco turned to stare at him.
“Wasn’t asking.” Chip’s face fell as Tyco pushed past him and made for the front of the vehicle.
“Ringo says thanks.” He said as Hog looked up.
She nodded calmly, turning back to the road in front of her. “We getting anywhere close to this facility?” She asked.
“Let’s hope.” Tyco said darkly. He put a hand up to the roof of the vehicle and looked away.
Thirty minutes later, they had reached an impasse. The tunnel was monitored by large security doors, massive metal gates that marked the highway at intervals. At some stage in the fighting, they had triggered, and had come crashing shut across the asphalt. Or rather, they would have, if the highway had not been so jammed with debris. The security gate now facing the APC was wedged open, but barely. Its thick metal doors were held apart only a few feet by the mound of debris piled in their path. The gap between them was narrow – wide enough for a man to walk through, but not nearly wide enough for the personnel carrier. The pile of
The city lay in the distance, as the personnel carrier shuddered to life. The new navigation beacon blinked on Tyco’s rifle, guiding them down the hill and directly into the clouds of smoke ahead.
And then, shimmering in bright contrast against the distant black clouds that dominated the sky, a helicopter gunship rose from the valley floor, turning in a wide arc towards their position. And Tyco, slumped in exhaustion against the still-warm turret, groaned inwardly, knowing: their day had only just started.
EIGHT: AN EARLY GOODBYE
Ringo awoke with a groan, thirty minutes and eighteen miles later. The APC had entered a long, wide highway underpass, hiding it from the gunship overhead as it rolled into the city. A particularly heavy jolt had shaken the wounded man awake. He clutched his leg immediately and groaned, rolling onto his good side with tears in his eyes.
“Welcome back.” Tyco smiled thinly, kneeling down at Ringo’s side. He nodded at the wounded leg. “How do you feel?”
Ringo shook his head slowly, head swimming as he gained his bearings. “I…don’t know.”
Tyco frowned, then reached down and punched Ringo in his good leg.
“…the fuck, Cap?!” Ringo, roared, his face flushing a deep, angry red.
“Congratulations.” Tyco responded with a smile. “You’re not in shock.” Satisfied, he turned back to Ringo’s wound, holding the man’s machete in his hand. “Lighter.” He demanded. Chip hesitated before handing it to him unwillingly. Tyco let it play over the knife, sterilizing it for the work ahead.
“You couldn’t do that while I was out?” Ringo groaned.
“Trust me, with those roads, you wouldn’t have wanted that.” Tyco answered, and handed him a thin metal flask. “You’ll need that, though.”
Ringo eyed it warily, glancing up at Tyco with suspicion. “That yours, Cap?” he asked. Tyco shook his head.
“Hog’s. She says knock yourself out.”
“Tell her I said thanks.” Ringo growled, and took a very healthy swig. Tyco waited until he had it tilted fully up before digging the tip of the machete blade into his leg.
Ringo grimaced, tightened his grip against the cold metal seat, but did nothing more, bearing the pain until the blade was out and a dark, thin piece of shrapnel lay in Tyco’s hand.
“You were right,” said Tyco, considering the blade. “It does come in handy.” He patted Ringo on the shoulder admiringly. He really was a tough bastard.
“Huh.” Ringo smiled back weakly, taking another large swig from the flask. Tyco bent down to examine the wound, mopping up the blood around the cut carefully with a gauze pad, cleaning it as well as he could. Satisfied, he stood tall in the cramped APC, wiping his hands on his uniform.
“That’s a start, at least.” He said. “Chip, want to handle the leg?”
“…No.” Chip answered. Tyco turned to stare at him.
“Wasn’t asking.” Chip’s face fell as Tyco pushed past him and made for the front of the vehicle.
“Ringo says thanks.” He said as Hog looked up.
She nodded calmly, turning back to the road in front of her. “We getting anywhere close to this facility?” She asked.
“Let’s hope.” Tyco said darkly. He put a hand up to the roof of the vehicle and looked away.
Thirty minutes later, they had reached an impasse. The tunnel was monitored by large security doors, massive metal gates that marked the highway at intervals. At some stage in the fighting, they had triggered, and had come crashing shut across the asphalt. Or rather, they would have, if the highway had not been so jammed with debris. The security gate now facing the APC was wedged open, but barely. Its thick metal doors were held apart only a few feet by the mound of debris piled in their path. The gap between them was narrow – wide enough for a man to walk through, but not nearly wide enough for the personnel carrier. The pile of
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