Hard Drop

by Will van Der Vaart

  “Four more.” Chip said, running past him to the end of the platform.

  Hog went to work on the doors, crashing her rifle butt hard against them repeatedly. They didn’t budge.

  Shelley pushed her aside roughly, well-aware of the danger behind him.

  “Violence is such a poor option.” He chided, and set to work searching for the hidden panel by the driver side door. He ran his hand intently across the smooth metal, feeling for the weakness, for the give in the metal that would signify the panel lay beneath.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them, shouting voices in the entrance hall. Tyco crouched by the train’s rear.

  “Hog, Ghost, Chip - !“ he called out “Let’s get some fire back here!”

  Ghost and Hog peeled off on command, but Chip hung back, looking at Shelley skeptically as he frantically traced his hands over the train’s body.

  “It should be here…!” he was muttering to himself, clawing at the sleek metal desperately. “It has to be – “

  His fingers caught suddenly, finding the edge of a small, thin flap of metal. His nails bent backwards, and he groaned in pain and relief, using his other hand to rip the door controls open.

  He keyed in his code as fast as his fingers could fly, pounding the keys one by one with heated precision.

  The first soldier crested the stairs behind them, and Tyco sent a long volley crashing into the walls around him, chasing him back into the stairwell.

  “How’re we looking?” he called back to Shelley. But Shelley didn’t answer.

  He stood rooted to the spot, shaking his head in disbelief. The doors remained sealed, the panel display blinking red, and Shelley, speechless, could not move.

  “What is it, Doc?” Chip asked, but Shelley wouldn’t answer. And then he saw the message on the display.

  “MAJOR E. P. STEVENS PERSONAL OVERRIDE REQUIRED.” It read.

  “You can’t rewire that?” Chip asked pointedly.

  “With what wires?!” Shelley’s reply was frantic and furious.

  Chip stepped back, nodding his head, and pulled the rifle from his shoulder. “Right.” He said. “I get it.”

  “What are you doing?” Shelley asked him, suspiciously. “What the hell are you doing with that rifle? It’s bulletproof - !”

  “You have a better idea?” Chip snapped back, and Shelly fell silent.

  Chip stepped around to the front of the train, finding the narrow glass window of the cockpit. He raised his sniper rifle and fired.

  The first bullet cracked the window, thudding dully into the frame. He fired again and again, continuing until his bullets pierced the cab, cracking the glass into a million razor-sharp slivers. He stepped forwards and slammed the butt of his weapon against the shattered window, sending the glass crumbling into the cabin.

  “Thank God.” He muttered, feeling the lightness of his weapon. His ammunition wasn’t infinite, and he was mindful of how many shots he’d used already on the cockpit. Gingerly, making sure to knock out the jagged remnants of the window, he climbed up the nose of the train and slid through the narrow opening. He landed in the cockpit, mostly unscathed, and disappeared into the cabin.

  The battle on the platform had escalated as the four soldiers they had pinned down had been reinforced. Tyco’s rifle had kept them pinned down in the stairwell, but couldn’t hold him there endlessly. Already, a soldier had chanced the opening, rushing across the platform and taking cover behind a train. The others were taking turns firing blindly around the corner, working to keep Tyco pinned down. They were pesky now, a nuisance, but in short course they would be lethal.

  Ghost responded by holding his rifle below the train car and laying down a burst of fire. The bullets sparked and skidding off the metal tracks and undercarriage, and the soldiers ducked out of sight.

  In the brief reprieve, Tyco looked back towards the cockpit and saw Shelley standing furiously in the middle of the platform – white-faced, defenseless, and alone.

  “Chip? Where the hell are you?” He tapped in, pounding his comm.

  The armored doors shook, groaned, and then slid open, revealing Chip in all of his sneering glory.

  “I don’t know about technology.” He said, grinning. “But applied violence seems to beat it every time.”

  Shelley was in no position to argue. He leapt forwards along the line of the train and leapt headfirst through the open doors. Chip smiled as the man landed heavily on the cabin floor.

  “All aboard, Cap.” He called, over the comm.

  Hog, ducking as she switched magazines yet again, looked back to see Chip waving from the open train doors. She met Tyco’s eyes in weary relief.

  “Hallelujah.” She said, slammed home her magazine, and stood, firing quickly as she backed towards the open door – and escape.

  The train was far from empty. The armoring had not been without reason. Nor had the personal security lock. Where a passenger train would have had empty benches, here there were high stacks of strongboxes, sealed and locked. A lone, rotting corpse, slumped with its pistol in hand, sat propped against the wall, just another casualty of the uprising. His free hand was cuffed to one of the larger metal cases.

  “I assume this our Major E.P. Stevens.” Shelley said with disgust. Chip nodded and grinned from his position by the door.

  “Probably.” He agreed, firing and reloading in one smooth motion. “Got ‘im.” He muttered with understated approval, pleased with the effect his bullet had had on an advancing soldier’s neck.

  Hog appeared in the doorway, ducking under Chip’s gun and sliding into the car. Ghost was quick on her heels.

  “What the hell is this?” Ghost asked, staring at the strongboxes.

  “Haven’t checked yet.” Chip answered. “But he was awful attached to it.”

  “Jesus, Chip.” Hog rolled her eyes, shouldering her way past Shelley and towards the cockpit. “Let me know when Cap’s aboard.” She called over her shoulder.

  Ghost stepped out and crouched low on the platform, spraying fire across the platform.

  “All good, Cap.” He tapped, quickly, between bursts. “Let’s go.”

  Shelley watched as Tyco broke from his position and streaked for the train. Ghost and Chip raked the platform with bullets, giving the chasing soldiers reason to pause as they gave chase. Their returning fire thudded dully off of the train’s armor, smashed into the platform walls and traced Tyco’s every step.

  It was incredible to watch: the sheer matter-of-factness of Tyco’s approach, the unflappable insistence that this had to be done, and the methodical efficiency of Chip’s hypnotic firing rhythm, combined with Ghost’s silent, unshakeable bravery as he stood out on the platform, an unmoving, belligerent target – Shelley had never seen anything like it.

  Tyco’s foot slipped just as he turned for the door, leaving him sliding the last few feet towards the train. He caught himself with both hands, crawling forwards and flinging himself through the door. He landed hard against the strongboxes, groaning and breathing hard.

  “He’s on.” Ghost called, stepping back into cover as Tyco flashed him the thumbs-up.

  The generator shook to life below them, shuddering through the train as it fired its circuits. The gunfire from outside intensified, the bullets pinging and whining harmlessly off of the train armor.

  Tyco rolled to his side and found himself staring out of the still-open train door.

  “Hog, can we close the – “ He started, just as a grenade bounced into view along the platform, close enough to do serious damage to everyone inside.

  Tyco didn’t hesitate. He launched himself from his knees, finding the ticking grenade and flinging it back for all he was worth.

  It exploded high in the air, barely a second after Tyco had released it. He covered his face from the falling shrapnel as the pursuers took cover and the guns fell silent.

  “Cap - !” Chip groaned, and started towards him, but Tyco was back on his knees quickly. He lunged back toward
s the train, scrambling for the open door and extending his hand to the sniper.

  Chip’s hand met his and pulled him aboard, even as Hog released the brakes. The train lurched and rolled forwards, picking up speed quickly as it came alive beneath them.

  Tyco braced himself against the strongboxes and smiled.

  “Hog, let’s close these doors.” He tapped in. They slid closed at last, and the cabin fell silent, filled with the hum of the track below.

  “Sorry Cap,” She tapped back. “I couldn’t find the button.”

  He tapped twice, giving her a quick all-clear, and glanced at the others.

  “Don’t get too comfortable.” He warned, before leaning back against a strongbox. If he was tired, he showed nothing of it. A smile played on his lips as Shelley, still red-faced and sweating from the run, stood uneasily in the passage, hand gripping the guard rail for all he was worth. “Rest up.” He said. “We’ve got that staircase coming.”

  Shelley just nodded. “I’ll be ready, Captain, I assure you.” Tyco didn’t correct him this time. The doctor had done well to make it this far, and better yet – he had proven to be some use.

  Seated on a strongbox to Tyco’s side, Ghost leaned towards him.

  “Sir, I was noticing – “ he started, quietly, over the hum of the train’s engine.

  “Yeah?”

  “The tags.” Ghost explained. “You put most of them in the side pocket, here.” He patted his pants where Tyco had tucked the tags away. “Mac’s too. But Ringo – “ He paused, and tapped his vest pocket instead. “You put him here.”

  “So?” Tyco asked, waiting for the point.

  “So what do I need to do to rate front pocket when I go?”

  Tyco nodded slowly, then looked away, the smile gone from his face.

  “Ask me tomorrow.” He said, with a chill in his tone. It was direct and unsmiling, and Ghost knew he should not have asked. He fell silent, staring out into the dead city, as the train rattled on up the track.

  FOURTEEN: BRINGING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN

  Flip crouched just inside the treeline, staring across 30 yards of open snow towards the chain link fence of the mountain base. Despite the fresh tire tracks through the gate, the camp looked empty. The wooden guard towers were deserted, their roofs piled heavy with the accumulated snow. Long icicles hung low from the wooden beams that groaned under the weight.

  Up close, the base was far from impressive. A handful of low guard buildings, the larger, corrugated metal half-circle of the mess hall, and the some ammunition sheds, and that was it. Flip counted three trucks, a personnel carriers, and an empty heli-pad as well. Even fully staffed, there wouldn’t be more than 30 troops here. There might be half that many here now, and none of them were at their posts.

  She switched her rifle display to thermal, double-checking her suspicions. The outbuildings, the guard towers, even the guard posts by the main gate – all showed on her display as a cold blue. Only the mess hall glowed red, the smoke trail she’d seen earlier rising lazily from its base through a thin metal chimney. The rebels must have holed up there. This high up on this isolated mountain, they had no reason to expect attack. Given the ordeal she’d been through just to get here, she couldn’t argue with that.

  Eyeing the trucks parked by the main gate, she plotted her route through camp. Apart from the low buildings, there wasn't much cover to speak of before her. She could cut around the base the long way, staying low as she looped around the helipad, but that would leave her vulnerable if the infrared was wrong. In these temperatures, she didn't trust it – all it would take was an inopportune snowdrift, and the lone, frozen soldier who would spell her doom might be hidden.

  The other option was the direct route between her and the trucks. It meant cutting across the open space in the center of the facility, and cutting close to the mess hall, but given how little activity was coming from the barracks now, it just might be the safer way. At the very least, she'd be near the trucks if things went wrong, and that counted for something.

  She broke cover and headed towards the fence, cautiously at first, watching the guard towers carefully just in case the thermal readout was wrong about them. Halfway to the fence she broke into a trot, getting as far up to speed as she could in the snow before dropping and sliding across it, stopping just short of the fence. Kneeling just in front of the fence, in the dim shadow of a guard tower, she surveyed the base, watching for movement.

  None came, and she turned her attention the fencing in front of her. Reaching down, she grabbed a handful of snow and flung it at the metal, testing to see if it was charged.

  It was not. The snow flaked through the gaps and floated, unchanged, to the ground. Satisfied, Flip dug down into the snow, clearing it away and searching for the bottom of the chain link. She found it almost an inch above the ice, bent backwards and rusting. Clearly, the base was in excellent repair.

  With a last look around, she took the chain link in both hands and bent it further, opening enough space for her to slide her head through. She wormed her way up through the gap, her tight jump uniform sliding easily against the ice below, and emerged through the powder on the other side, lightly dusted in snow.

  She was on her feet immediately, weaving between the cover of the munitions sheds, heading for the vehicles. Her eyes flitted back and forth between the infrared display on her rifle and the mess hall in front of her.

  She paused at the edge of the clearing to readjust her grip on the rifle, and to shift her rocket launcher across her back. It would need to stay in place if she was going to make it across the clearing.

  She checked the scanner one last time, then moved quickly out from behind her cover, not running but moving purposefully over the snowy ground. Her feet slipped with each step, but she moved insistently, putting one deliberate foot in front of the other to keep her balance as she pushed forwards.

  She was well into the square when she realized the scanner had lied: the front guardposts, at the far end of the base, were far from empty. Inside the enclosed guardhouses overlooking the main road down to the valley, several dark figures sat huddled, vague and shadowy behind the fogged-up glass that shielded them from the cold.

  She did her best not to react. Keeping her head down, she muscled on purposefully through the snow, hoping that they, too, couldn’t make out too much detail from where they sat. Once she reached the truck it wouldn’t matter anyway. She turned away and focused on the waiting trucks, her breath sounding heavy and loud in her own ears. It was, even for her, a little terrifying to know she had been seen, that any strange or alien movement might sound the alert, and that her measly few inches of body armor wouldn’t help if they did decide to investigate.

  Thank god for the weather, she thought, maybe for the first time on this trip. Thank god that coming over to confirm her identity was obviously too much to ask of these guards in this cold, even if she had materialized unannounced from the wilderness.

  The frigid temperatures also made it easier for her to act the part: on another day she might be expected to wave, or make conversation before heading to her destination. But now, the logical thing to do was to get the hell out of the snow as quickly as possible, and that happened to be her precise intention.

  She neared the trucks with merciful rapidity. Soon, she thought, soon she would be gone from this mountain and this base and these watching soldiers, and then she could begin to regain the feeling in her fingers. All she had to do was cross the last few feet to the trucks, wipe the snow from their canvas roofs, and turn the ignition. Gravity – and the snow-packed road – would do the rest.

  The soldier who stepped out into her path seemed to appear from nowhere. The mess hall door had barely moved, barely whispered as she rushed past it, but somehow he had come through it without her noticing. He stood directly in front of her now, staring wide-eyed and uncomprehending at the strange markings on her unfamiliar uniform.

  She moved on instinct, stepping between the man so his
body shielded her from the gaze of his compatriots in the guardhouse, simultaneously swinging her rifle butt upwards hard and fast. It impacted brutally, catching him beneath his jaw before he could react. He slumped immediately, collapsing bodily onto her shoulder before rolling off and down into the snow.

  Flip stood, breathing hard, every muscle tensed as she waited for the reaction from the guards at the gate, unwilling to turn around for fear her tentative guilt might trigger it. But they were silent behind her, unmoving and uninterested. She turned slowly, hardly daring to look their way. And still they did nothing.

  She stared at the guards, heart racing, nodding slowly as she tried to calm herself. She could not believe her luck. The truck – and freedom – was now just five steps away.

  “How long are you going to take out here? “ The voice startled her, sending her pulse racing again. She turned with dread, flicking the safety off her rifle as she did. There would be no easy escape this time.

  The second soldier had seen the body already. He stared at her, at the blood dripping from her rifle butt, his confused mind slowly making the connection.

  His hand flashed towards his pistol.

  It wasn’t nearly fast enough. Flip fired her weapon from the waist, dropping him brutally with half a clip in the chest and shoulder. The gunfire sounded deafening against the silence of the base, sending Flip’s ears ringing as it rattled between the low metal structures.

  She was gone before his body fell, lurching towards the trucks. She lost her balance on the snow and landed heavily on the hood. She was up again immediately, frantically sweeping the snow off the windshield even as the alarm sirens sounded throughout the base. She leapt into the driver’s seat and fired the ignition even as the guards by the gate opened fire, throwing up small tufts of snow in front of the vehicle.

  The barracks door swung open loudly behind her. The camp population poured out of it and set to work raking the truck with gunfire. She plunged her foot down on the gas pedal, sending the jeep's wheels spinning against the deep rut of snow and ice it sat in.