wasn’t a lot of distance, and it didn’t buy them a lot of time.
Ryan and J.B. swung out from their cover in unison, J.B. clutching the M-4000 and Ryan holding the Steyr SSG-70. They would provide covering fire as Jak and Dean, followed by Mildred and Krysty, and finally Doc moved around them and into the empty rooms. Jak and Dean provided cover while Ryan and J.B. moved forward to join them.
The unseen enemy force was stealthy, but was gaining ground. The first group tentatively rounded the bend, risking the blind corner.
J.B. raised the M-4000 and fired into the middle of the group of three. They consisted of two men and a woman, all of whom were moving low, trying to present as small a target as possible. Two of them had blasters that looked from this distance to be Heckler & Koch G-12 caseless rifles, of the type that were sometimes found in the redoubts. The woman was carrying a 12-gauge, double-barreled shotgun. The Armorer took it in at a glance and wondered, at the back of his mind, how she had come across what appeared to be a Purdey, a rare and beautiful thing to J.B., and something that he had thought never to see, though he had read of them.
This thought stayed in his mind as the approaching enemy raised their blasters. He let fly with a cartridge from the M-4000, the explosion of the scattergun sounding large off the low ceiling of the redoubt tunnel. The air was filled with the heat and smell of the charge, and the load of barbed metal fléchettes found its target with ease, spreading out over the hundred or so yards to the target.
The three approaching people were hit by hot, barbed metal that tore into exposed flesh and ripped through the motley collection of clothing they wore. The man in the center took the majority of the charge. His scream of agony as the metal hit his face and chest was choked off by the blood that flooded into his throat and lungs as arteries were ripped and torn by the metallic onslaught. The force of the impact threw him backward, the H&K flying away from him.
Instinctively, the woman threw up her arms to protect her face, the Purdey raised above her head as she did so. Fléchettes bit into the area of her chest and stomach exposed by the movement, the thin material of her shirt and undershirt providing no protection as they were shredded to ribbons by the hot metal, ripping into her flesh and scoring the breastbone and ribs beneath. She crumpled, gasping for breath in lungs that had been lacerated by the barbs, unable to draw any air into her shattered rib cage.
The man on the far side was slightly quicker. He managed to loose off one shot from the H&K that hit the ceiling above J.B.’s head, dislodging chips of concrete and making the Armorer duck his head as the concrete dust rained down. But there was no chance for a second chance, as the fléchettes again found their target, taking out the man at the shoulder, ripping into flesh and severing tendons, causing him to drop the H&K and stumble in agony into the wall. Sliding down, he used his free arm to try to staunch the flow of blood from his shattered arm and shoulder.
J.B. pulled back into the cover of the dorm as the next wave followed. The enemy had dropped lower, using their fallen comrades as cover, loosing off shots that were intended to drive J.B. back rather than hit him.
Looking ahead, Ryan squinted, trying to count the number of the opposition. Three were down, and four had come into play behind them. He caught the glimpse of movement from the angle of the tunnel and felt sure there were at least two more in reserve.
So they had been outnumbered to begin with. J.B.’s opening volley had leveled the field a little, but the number of people lurking around the corner was an unknown quantity.
With ammunition running low and the possible numbers unknown, there was only one move that Ryan could see as viable at this point. He turned to Jak and Krysty.
“I’m going to try and close the sec door,” he said softly. “It leaves us trapped behind here, but at least those coldhearts will have to be the ones opening the door again, making them vulnerable.”
“We’ll cover you,” Krysty replied in an equally low tone. “But what about the others? We can’t tell them without making those bastards out there aware of what we’re doing.”
Ryan grinned. It was mirthless and almost vulpine. “Just cover me, lover. J.B.’ll soon pick up on it.”
With that, Ryan shouldered the Steyr and unleathered the SIG-Sauer. He would need a blaster for his own cover and safety while he was out there, and as he planned to punch in the sec code, a handblaster represented the best option.
“Okay?” Jak said, standing ready at the doorway. Across the hall, through the open door of the dorms, Ryan could see J.B. and Dean. He gestured with his blaster, and the Armorer gave him the briefest nod of understanding.
In the corridor, all was quiet. Uncannily so, given that there were seven people in the two side rooms, and at least nine people at the bend of the tunnel—although two of those were chilled, and the only sound that broke the silence was the low moan from the survivor of the first wave, now almost delirious and drifting close to unconsciousness from loss of blood.
The silence was about to be broken. Ryan, standing where he could be seen from the opposing door, indicated with a slight inclination of his head that he was about to leave the shower room.
J.B. and Jak swung into place at the edge of the door, and on a mental count of three both men swung out and laid down a covering fire as the one-eyed man darted from the doorway, under Jak, and headed for the sec door panel.
The sudden movement caught the opposition off guard, and there was a second of silence before the opening fire was returned. The enemy was torn between firing at Jak and J.B., or trying to pick off Ryan as he moved rapidly along the wall. He had twenty yards to make, and only a couple of seconds in which to do it.
“Dammit, he’s going for the door. Concentrate on One-eye!”
The voice had been low and drawling, but had carried a steely authority that cut through the noise of the blasterfire. Ryan mentally marked that down as the voice of the opposition leader as he reached the panel.
“Try to take out the panel,” the voice called over the fire, and suddenly Ryan found that the only threat he faced was that of ricochets and flying concrete chips as the fire became less heavy, and concentrated solely on taking out the panel on the other side of the sec door.
Fireblast, the one-eyed warrior thought, the man’s smarter than I thought. For Ryan knew that the closed door put the opposition at a disadvantage, and the best way to stop the door closing, at that distance, was to try to disable the mechanism rather than chill him. If the panel on the other side was shot up, then the door’s closing mechanism would jam.
By this time, Ryan had reached the panel and was tapping in the sec code, hoping that his luck would hold and that some sharpshooter on the opposing side wouldn’t get lucky. J.B. and Jak were doing their best to tilt the odds by laying down a covering fire that was preventing the opposing marksmen from being able to take full aim.
Sweat dripped down the one-eyed man’s forehead as he punched the last digit of the code, stinging his good eye and running into the empty socket behind the eye patch.
“Work, dammit, work,” he gritted as the last digit was entered, and the door began to creak into action, moving from its housing in the wall. Ryan flattened himself against the wall, sheltered from any real danger by the pillar housing the control panel. He had the SIG-Sauer leveled, barrel pointing slightly downward, ready to blast anyone who may be so foolish as to try to spring into action before the door closed. He just hoped it would close fully; otherwise it would leave a gap someone could fire through, and would make it
