If this sucker tried anything, he was going to blast his sorry ass to kingdom come!
The tasered gunman didn’t seem too interested in doing much of anything just at the moment.
Michaels exhaled out his held breath.
Damn-Howard looked at the man and woman who had opened up on him and Fernandez. Oddly enough, what he found himself thinking was: Tracers. Huh.
Probably one every fifth or tenth round. What had they been doing out in the barn? Why hadn’t somebody picked up their heat sigs?
Next to him, Julio turned and leveled his HandK sub gun at the shooters.
Howard swung his own heavy weapon around– “Shit!” Julio said. He dropped to one knee, his return fire chewing up the ground five meters in front of him.
“I’m hit,” he said. His voice was calm, as if he was talking about what he was going to have for breakfast.
One of the shooters must have armor-piercing rounds-But they weren’t using concealment or cover, just standing there hosing, so Howard V-stepped hard to his left, brought the Thompson up to a quick-kill point, and triggered a five round burst at the man. Braap!
Orange tongues lanced from the tommy gun, and the Cutts compensator on the end of the barrel took part of the flaming orange and spewed it upward, forming a fiery letter “I” in the darkness that helped keep the recoil down and the barrel from climbing too much.
Without waiting to see the effect on the man, he shifted his index to the woman. Braap!
The shooters collapsed, and the man beat the woman to the ground by maybe a half second.
Howard spun three-sixty, looking for more attackers. Clear.
His heads-up showed him a strike-team suit signature as one of the sappers moved in toward the two downed terrorists. The sapper waved an “I-got-“em” at the colonel, who turned away.
“Julio?” “I’m okay, John,” he said.
“Took it just above the knee, to the inside. I don’t think it hit the bone. Of course, I could be wrong.” “We have the objective,” Alpha’s team leader said over the LO SIR.
“Eight terries down. Alpha Team secure, no casualties.” Howard blew out a big breath. Thank God.
He said, “Copy, Alpha, good work. Doc, Julio took one in the leg. We’re at the southwest corner of the chicken coop, get over here PDQ.” He couldn’t see them, but the term LO SIR was not strictly accurate–there was always a little bleed, enough to keep com ms working when somebody ducked behind a tree or wandered off center.
Doc, the medic, rode with Delta.
“On the way, sir. Let me drop my passengers. Forty-five seconds. Go!
Out, out!” Thirty seconds later. Delta Team’s vehicle, empty except for the driver. Doc, plowed right through a section of fence, slapped it flat, and skidded to a stop ten feet away. Doc bailed and ran to where Julio sat, both hands pressed against the hole in his armor.
Doc clicked his helmet spotlight on and used a suit cutter to open a big flap in the leg of the wounded sergeant’s armor.
He sliced away the pants leg to reveal the hole in the flesh.
He bent the leg up and looked at the exit wound.
“Looks like twenty-caliber high-velocity hardball,” Doc said.
“Through-and-through, missed the bone, no expansion.
Neat little hole about the size of a drinking straw, bullet hot enough to cauterize the wound. We’ll have to clean out fibers.
Otherwise, I don’t see any problem.” Doc grinned, leaned away from the leg, and looked at Fernandez.
“Jesus, some people will do anything to get a few days off.” Fernandez said, “You do what you have to do to get a break.” Howard nodded, relieved.
“Let’s hear it, people,” he said into the LO SIR.
The reports came in.
“A walk in the park, sir,” Alpha’s team leader said.
“We make it six terries KIA, in the house, two wounded but still alive, two undamaged and in restraints. Objective is patent, no leaks, b.g. radiation levels normal. Send Doc on in when he gets a minute.” “Nobody came out this way,” Delta’s team leader said.
“Three terry guards down, one KIA, two slightly damaged,” the head of the sapper team said.
“They didn’t lay a glove on our guys.” “Hell, we’ve been watching paint dry back here,” Beta’s team leader said.
“We coulda stayed home and seen it on TV for all we had to do. We won’t even have to clean our weapons.” He sounded disgusted.
The sapper who had gone to check out the shooters in the barn came out carrying a big bunched sheet of heavy material, black on one side and silvered on the other.
“Found this in the barn. Colonel,” he said.
Howard looked at the sensor shroud and nodded. That was why nobody picked up a heat sig on the terrorists who’d been hiding in the barn.
They’d been shielded. He’d thought about radar, but not about heat-sink camo. A mistake on his part, but fortunately not a fatal one.
Howard blew out a sigh. They had the stolen nuclear material and Julio was going to be okay.
It could have been a lot worse.
Time to call Michaels.
“Commander?” “Colonel. Everything okay?” “Yes, sir. Objective achieved, terrorists neutralized, we have one minor injury on our side. Sergeant Fernandez picked up a little scratch.” Sitting on the ground with his leg bandaged and an amp of dorph injected to kill his pain, Fernandez said, “Bet you wouldn’t call it that if it was your leg.” Howard grinned.
“Outstanding, Colonel! Congratulations. Please pass it on to your team.” “Thank you, sir, I will. We’ll see you at field HQ soon as we get things cleaned up here.” “I’m on my way there now,” Michaels said.
Howard frowned.
“Sir? You aren’t there yet?” “I, uh, took a little ride in the country,” Michaels said.
“I picked up a… hitchhiker you might find it inter esting to talk to when you get back.” “Sir?” “Never mind. Colonel, I’ll explain it when I see you. You got us out of a nasty spot and I appreciate it. I’ll make sure the whole country appreciates it.” “Sir. Discom.” After he signed off, Howard considered his relationship with Commander Alexander Michaels. The man wasn’t bad, for a civilian. Not bad at all.
“Can we hurry this up and go home, sir?” Fernandez said.
“I have an early tango lesson I don’t want to miss.” Howard laughed.
Chapter 19 Monday, December 27th, 1:30 P.m.
Washington, D.c.
Tyrone Howard thought he might just go nova, might just shatter into a million billion pieces.
He sat on Bella’s bed, his arms around her, and they kissed.
Everything he knew about kissing she had taught him in the last couple of months, and he thought he was starting to get the hang of it. Her back felt hot under his hands, even through her shirt, and there wasn’t a strap across her smooth skin…. She broke the kiss and let out a big sigh.
“You have to leave now, Tyrone. I’m supposed to go to my aunt’s house and we have to lift in like ten minutes. I have to change clothes.” “Uh-huh,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her again. That went on for another minute or two.
She leaned back.
“Really, Tyrone. I have to go.” “Uh-huh.” He kissed her some more. It wasn’t as if she was trying real hard to get away, given as how she had her hands on the back of his head pulling him closer.
Finally, she pulled away again and said, “I’ll see you at the mall tomorrow, you duplicate?” “Uh-huh. I doop that.” He reached for her, but this time she put one hand on his chest and held him off.
“Come on, Ty.” “Okay.” He blew out a breath.
“Okay. But it’s hard to leave.” “I bet it is,” she said, smiling.
“Here, let me make it easier for you.” She took his hand in both hers, kissed it on the palm, then pressed it against her left breast.
His mouth fell open, his brain went into vapor lock, he forgot how to breathe. His bug eyes must make him look like a giant frog.
It was the most exciting moment of his life.
She moved his hand away from her warmth and gave it back to him. She grinned real big and stood.
“Shoo. G.” She waved at him with both hands in a sweeping motion.
He stood, knowing what a zombie must feel like.
He would jump off the top of a tall building if she wanted.
Explode. He was going to just… blow up and splatter all over the room. It would make a big, gooey mess. How could he not? He couldn’t stand it!
Monday, December 27th, 2:00 P.m.
Quantico, Virginia Julio Fernandez was in what passed for the infirmary at HQ.
It wasn’t much, just a few beds in a small ward, and he was the only patient. He lay on the bed flipping through the commercial entcom channels on the TV, looking for some thing that would keep his attention. He didn’t need to be here. Doc had swabbed out the little hole in his leg and patched it with synskin, then given him a tetanus shot and told him to avoid heavy squats or marathon running for a few days. But Net Force policy was that certain injuries required compulsory treatment, which in the case of gunshot wounds meant at least a twenty-four-hour medical observation period. It had to do was with liability and insurance and crap like that.