“Book! Where are you? God damn it.”
“No Book?” Gant asked.
“Not yet,” Schofield said. He and Gant were still crouched
in their alcove on C-deck, on the eastern side of the station. They
were waiting tensely for Rebound, Mother, and Legs to come out from
the western tunnel of B-deck.
Rebound emerged first. Quickly but cautiously, gun up, eyes looking
down his gun sights, sweeping his MP-5 in a brisk 180-degree arc,
searching for any sign of trouble.
As soon as he saw Rebound emerge, Schofield immediately opened fire on
A-deck, forcing whoever was up there to take cover. Gant came up five
seconds later and did the same.
Schofield pulled back behind the alcove's wall to reload. As he
did so, he watched as Gant fired off three short bursts.
It was then that he saw something strange happen.
The yellow tongue of fire that flashed out from the muzzle of
Gant's gun suddenly leaped forward a full two meters. It was only
for a second, but it looked incredible. For a short moment, Gant's
compact MP-5 machine pistol had looked like a flamethrower.
Schofield was momentarily confused. What the hell had caused
that? Then, suddenly, it hit him, and he spun and looked back at
the—
All of a sudden, Gant yelled, “I'm dry!” and Schofield
snapped back to the present. He immediately opened fire on the A-deck
catwalk while she reloaded.
As he lay down a suppressing fire on A-deck, Schofield saw Legs and
Mother hurry out onto the B-deck catwalk behind Rebound. They were
firing for all they were worth back into the tunnel from which they
had come.
Legs went dry. Schofield watched as Legs popped his clip and let it
drop to the catwalk and then grabbed a fresh magazine. No sooner had
he jammed it into the lower receiver of his gun than he was hit in the
neck by some unseen opponent inside the western tunnel.
Legs flailed backward, losing his balance for a second, before turning
his gun back toward the enemy and letting loose with an extended burst
of gunfire that would have woken the dead. In 2.2 seconds thirty
rounds were spent and that clip was dry, too. Mother grabbed him and
yanked him out onto the catwalk, away from the tunnel.
Now wounded and dripping with blood, Legs began to fumble with a new
clip. The clip slipped through his bloody fingers and fell out over
the railing, dropping fifty feet through the air until it splashed
into the pool at the bottom of the station. At that point, Legs cut
his losses, tossed his MP-5, and pulled out his Colt .45. Single fire
from here.
Schofield and Gant continued to sweep the uppermost deck with their
fire. Gant had watched as Legs's clip dropped all the way down
into the pool, had watched as one of the killer whales banked upward
to see what it was that had fallen into its domain.
Mother went dry. She cut the empty clip and reloaded fast.
Schofield watched anxiously as the three of them— Mother,
Rebound, and Legs—moved along the catwalk between the west and
the north tunnels of B-deck, heading toward the north tunnel.
They were almost there when suddenly Buck Riley burst out from the
north tunnel with four civilians in tow behind him.
Right in front of Mother, Rebound, and Legs!
Schofield saw it as it happened and his jaw dropped.
“Oh, Jesus” he breathed.
This was a disaster. Now four of his people were out in the
open, with four innocent civilians! And any second now the French
would appear and cut them to ribbons.
“Book! Book!” Schofield yelled into his helmet mike.
“Get out of there! Get off the
catwa—”
And then it happened and Schofield's horror was complete.
In perfect synchronization, five French commandos burst out onto the
B-deck catwalk.
Three from the west tunnel. Two from the east.
They opened fire without the slightest hesitation.
What happened next happened almost too fast for
Schofield to comprehend.
The five French commandos on B-deck had just
“No Book?” Gant asked.
“Not yet,” Schofield said. He and Gant were still crouched
in their alcove on C-deck, on the eastern side of the station. They
were waiting tensely for Rebound, Mother, and Legs to come out from
the western tunnel of B-deck.
Rebound emerged first. Quickly but cautiously, gun up, eyes looking
down his gun sights, sweeping his MP-5 in a brisk 180-degree arc,
searching for any sign of trouble.
As soon as he saw Rebound emerge, Schofield immediately opened fire on
A-deck, forcing whoever was up there to take cover. Gant came up five
seconds later and did the same.
Schofield pulled back behind the alcove's wall to reload. As he
did so, he watched as Gant fired off three short bursts.
It was then that he saw something strange happen.
The yellow tongue of fire that flashed out from the muzzle of
Gant's gun suddenly leaped forward a full two meters. It was only
for a second, but it looked incredible. For a short moment, Gant's
compact MP-5 machine pistol had looked like a flamethrower.
Schofield was momentarily confused. What the hell had caused
that? Then, suddenly, it hit him, and he spun and looked back at
the—
All of a sudden, Gant yelled, “I'm dry!” and Schofield
snapped back to the present. He immediately opened fire on the A-deck
catwalk while she reloaded.
As he lay down a suppressing fire on A-deck, Schofield saw Legs and
Mother hurry out onto the B-deck catwalk behind Rebound. They were
firing for all they were worth back into the tunnel from which they
had come.
Legs went dry. Schofield watched as Legs popped his clip and let it
drop to the catwalk and then grabbed a fresh magazine. No sooner had
he jammed it into the lower receiver of his gun than he was hit in the
neck by some unseen opponent inside the western tunnel.
Legs flailed backward, losing his balance for a second, before turning
his gun back toward the enemy and letting loose with an extended burst
of gunfire that would have woken the dead. In 2.2 seconds thirty
rounds were spent and that clip was dry, too. Mother grabbed him and
yanked him out onto the catwalk, away from the tunnel.
Now wounded and dripping with blood, Legs began to fumble with a new
clip. The clip slipped through his bloody fingers and fell out over
the railing, dropping fifty feet through the air until it splashed
into the pool at the bottom of the station. At that point, Legs cut
his losses, tossed his MP-5, and pulled out his Colt .45. Single fire
from here.
Schofield and Gant continued to sweep the uppermost deck with their
fire. Gant had watched as Legs's clip dropped all the way down
into the pool, had watched as one of the killer whales banked upward
to see what it was that had fallen into its domain.
Mother went dry. She cut the empty clip and reloaded fast.
Schofield watched anxiously as the three of them— Mother,
Rebound, and Legs—moved along the catwalk between the west and
the north tunnels of B-deck, heading toward the north tunnel.
They were almost there when suddenly Buck Riley burst out from the
north tunnel with four civilians in tow behind him.
Right in front of Mother, Rebound, and Legs!
Schofield saw it as it happened and his jaw dropped.
“Oh, Jesus” he breathed.
This was a disaster. Now four of his people were out in the
open, with four innocent civilians! And any second now the French
would appear and cut them to ribbons.
“Book! Book!” Schofield yelled into his helmet mike.
“Get out of there! Get off the
catwa—”
And then it happened and Schofield's horror was complete.
In perfect synchronization, five French commandos burst out onto the
B-deck catwalk.
Three from the west tunnel. Two from the east.
They opened fire without the slightest hesitation.
What happened next happened almost too fast for
Schofield to comprehend.
The five French commandos on B-deck had just
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