Bloodfire

“Again!” Hawk commanded, approving of the tactic. If there was anybody hidden behind those dunes, they had a hundred holes in them now and were in a lot worse shape than Jones.

As the sergeant sent another gren airborne, Hawk grabbed a rib from the horse skeleton, jabbed it into the base of the dead man’s head and lifted it up. As the force of the explosion dissipated, there was no response.

“We got the fucker!” Hawk shouted, casting away the ghastly prop. “Okay, saddle up and let’s ride him into the ground!”

The remaining sec men cheered at that and scrambled for their horses, just as a thick plume of gray smoke puffed up from a dune, and a section of the sand seemed to avalanche away in a clump. It took a moment for Hawk to realize it was a disguised vehicle draped with sand covered cloth, but even at this range he could clearly spot the long ventilated barrel of a .50-cal sticking through the covering.

“Gaza!” Hawk cried, leveling his blaster blowing flame at the approaching APC. “Get the 25 mm mounted, and ready more pipe bombs!”

“Fuck that, we gotta run!” Mikel roared in reply, then flew sideways off the dune to roll down the sand slope, leaving a grisly trail of entrails and organs.

Reloading, Hawk glanced up in time to see a thin puff of smoke disperse from the fifty. Nuking hell, they had a scope on the fifty and were using it as a longblaster? Was that possible? Guess so, because here he was splattered with the blood of dead men who said that idea worked just fragging fine. Then Hawk gave a grim smile. If Gaza was using the fifty as a longblaster, then he had to be shit low on ammo. Perfect!

Dashing for the cart, Hawk ripped off the canvas sheeting over the 25 mm cannon and hauled the big blaster to the edge of the dune.

“Ammo!” he commanded, awkwardly opening the breech of the deadly rapidfire. The recoil might break his arms, but this was the best chance to get Gaza so he’d pay that price.

A sec man rushed to the cart and used a knife to force open the wooden box where the oily linked shells were stored. Grabbing the top coil, the sec man ran to Hawk and they started to insert the fat shells into the cannon.

Suddenly, a growl shook the air. The horses screamed and sec men fell as the big fifty began to spit flame, the heavy combat rounds hitting flesh and sand with wet smacks as the hot lead chewed a path of destruction through the massed troops.

The sec man carrying the ammo belt cried out and clutched the ruin of his face. Dropping the useless cannon, Hawk looked around frantically for the sergeant with the pipe bombs, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Had the cowardly son of a bitch run away?

Then a hot sledgehammer slammed Hawk in the right thigh, and he went down in confusion and pain. Shitfire, shot by Gaza again! Crawling backward from the others, Hawk pulled off the sweaty cloth from around his neck and tied it tight just above the wound in his leg. The hole was clean and tight. It had to have been an armor piercing round to leave this little damage. And his toes still curled, so it hadn’t hit the bone. As long as Hawk was still sucking air, this fight wasn’t over! Gotta find those grens…

Rummaging among the dead and the dying, Hawk discovered the canvas satchel of homemade explosives trapped underneath a dead horse. Straining with all of his might, the man couldn’t free the pinned bag, and started to dig with both hands, frantically scooping away the loose sand when a rumbling shook the world and something large blotted out the burning sun.

“Freeze right there, asshole,” a familiar voice commanded. “Move and I ace ya on the spot.”

Filled with the conflicting urges to keep fighting or surrender and try for a deal, Hawk fought a silent battle within himself for several long seconds. Then he slumped and turned from the traitorous corpse to raise both of his hands.

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