January 6th, 2001
Paterson
No, no, no! First the lighting failed, then the steady hammer from the southern barricade fell silent. I bark, "Go, go, go!" and fully open my stride.
The troops holding the south wall are too busy trying and failing to keep the nearly a score of dements off our machine-gunners to acknowledge our arrival. The same goes for the dements. Too bad. M60 cocked back to club I lead my depleted reserve into a headlong charge.
The first of them falls, dead or near to, with a cracked skull. The second, straddling Sgt Ross, takes the back swing full in the chest. To my right, Doc stabs again and again with her knife. On my left, Torress falls as a stray round sneaks past the barricades clutching at his gut. Damn! A snarling, barely human face, turns away from J-boy to me, only to fall as his squad mate thrusts with a bayoneted M-16. Malcolm falls as a heavy pipe leaves his lower leg flopping at the wrong angle. I step past Ross; rolling over his attacker with a knife, and thrust with all my strength. The butt of the M60 folds Malcolm's attacker at the waist. Back, overhead, and down into his exposed neck. He crumples as Malcolm tries to choke back the screams.
Reaching the barricades I slide in beside the MG loader and set the 60 into one of the abandoned fire ports. Shapes, real and imaginary, move in the smoke. This old gun isn't supposed to be used as a battering ram. With a brief prayer I chamber a round and stroke the trigger.
She fires true, bucking right to left as I walk her across the parking lot. Over the hammering of the 60, J-boy orders the able to ready grenades. "Hold fire!" Count one, two, three. "Frags out!" Damaged ears can't hear them bounce out, but I can here the shouts of alarm in the silence, the sharp explosions, and the cries of the not yet dead.
"Jay! Fall back with wounded to Bravo." I return my 60 to her port. "We'll follow ASAP." I make quick eye contact with Freeman and Smith on the 50. "Let's make some noise!"
Alphabit
The air in the generator room is chocked with concrete dust and the harsh ammonia stink of C4. Breathing into the crook of my arm I shuffle towards the wall of generators. Please, please, let it be the switch. Blink back tears. Stifle my cough. Find the controls more by feel then sight.
Yes, the master's been thrown open. There's a comforting snick as the circuit closes. The fuel line is still locked open. I prime the pump and, with a prayer to the Saint, turn it over. The generator coughs on the polluted air. For a heart seizing moment it sputters and chokes, before sparking awake. Above the lights flare and dim back to their normal levels.
Leo
Smoke and thick dust swirl behind Alpha's disappearing form as he heads off to the generators. I keep time with our new friend.
A solid boot rolls it's bulk over. Keening cries and thick blood seep from ruptures and tears across the torso. More like road-rash than sausage. Ten shells of 00 buck. It should be sausage split all open.
I "think" at it as hard as I can. Ugly, it is your unlucky day. Yellow, pain-filled eyes blink trying to focus on my. I can only hope it heard. Try anything, I will take your eyes...
One of my American comrades approaches with chains, padlocks, and a box of dusk masks from storage. Good. I grab on of the arms, be thankful it is not your hose, and drag it towards a floor to ceiling support. The lights come on as I make our guest secure. Good, very good.
Closing the door into our improvised cell I detail two of the men to guard the door. "If that door opens, regardless of what you see, shoot. If you even think that door is about to open, shoot. Understood? Good!"
Coughing, Alphabit returns. I hand him a mask, "Cover-up, comrade." Slip one over my own face hiding my grin, "There's more inside. I can feel it."
He nods while adjusting his own own to place.
"Let's find them."
Paterson
Bravo's been reenforced by Lt Sanya Belski's men from the east side. He reports they've set their traps and deadfalls before falling back. J-boy and two others are on the second floor manning the murder holes. I lay the 60 down the long hall to reception. Smith and Beebe knock together and set the 50 up facing down to ER.
Doc's shouting for supplies as she works on Torres. I need to work to close her out and focus. Sharp gunfire and muffled thuds mark the approach of our enemy. Bleed them the whole way. The first survivor staggers into view. I pick up the trigger slack.
Leonid
Mud and bare wet prints darken the falling concrete dust. I lead Alpha, Ballard, and Shriver into the maze of maintenance tunnels. The Zver and their beasts ran. We can't move as blindly. We can feel the assault gaining speed above and we're stumbling in the fucking dust.
Alpha finds the bootprint, clear as day, under the emergency lighting at the rearmost stairwell. He spits to the side, "Witch."
Da, our friend Jones, I know it. Couldn't resist, could you? Ah, Nikita said it, "We will bury you!"
Paterson
We hold them at Bravo and chop them to pieces. They can't get past, but by the sounds of our traps, they'll eventually work their way around. We're being flanked. Doc's stabilized Torress and the other wounded have been pulled up a story and back. We can move.
A stretcher team shifts Torress. Doc nestles in beside me. "Head back."
"Not letting you have all the fun!"
Right, fun. "Take the belt. Belski!"
"Da!"
"Cease fire."
We let the fire slacken and stop. A passing moment of silence, then another that stretches. In the dark and smoke a shape approaches. A muffled shout brings out another. We let them come close, just feet away, before emptying rest of the belt down the hall.
Doc, Belski, and I fall back, undisturbed.
Leonid
We find a spilled duffel with small arms and shells scattered across the landing. They were ours, captured arms, what are they doing here? Never the mind. The sound of gunfire draws us.
Third floor, riverside, by the fire escapes. We left our civilian laborers here, safe to the rear. I recognize the sharp stutter of Ed's Papasha. Alpha curses and leads at a sprint. I bite back the order to stay him. Wouldn't be obeyed and just give us away. Don't get killed.
Paterson
Back and up. The first floor is theirs.
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