Floodlights shone down from the platform above, shifting focus now and then to light up a different area. It was open ground all the way to the first building, with nothing to hide behind. He kept waiting for a shot to ring out, but it never did. They pressed up against the brickwork.
He shivered from the cold, as the section stacked up at the door. The point man fed a fibrescope beneath the door. He glanced at Harris and shook his head. Another eased the door open with a click of the handle, edging forward inside with his rifle raised.
Michael held his breath, still expecting the shot, still hearing nothing but the sound of footsteps. The next in line followed, and then the next. He stepped into the darkness, and they turned on their torches.
The pale blue paint had flaked away from the walls and collected along the skirting boards. There was a cork notice board mounted on the wall, but everything pinned to it had crumbled and decayed, leaving only scraps and the drawing pins stuck in.
The entrance led into a T-junction, where rows of identical doors ran in both directions, and health and safety regulations hung from the walls in plastic frames.
“Dormitories for the workers when this plant was still operational,” Harris said.
“We'll be here all night clearing them, and there are four other buildings to do,” said the point man.
“Then we'll be here all night. Everything needs to be checked. Okay, I want two man teams. One team to two rooms. When you've cleared your sector, rally at the staircase down there. Understood? Good. Go.”
Michael moved to the end of the hallway and stopped at the last door. Harris took the other side.
“Ready?”
Michael nodded. Harris turned the handle and thrust the door wide open. The hinges creaked, and then there was a bang as it swung back far enough to strike the wall. Michael pressed the shotgun against his shoulder, squinting down the sights. He advanced into the room.
He held his breath, hands trembling, wobbling the torch attached to his weapon, and the shadows moved back and forth like they were alive. His finger inched closer to the trigger.
Bunk beds lined the walls, and beyond them a bare living room, a kitchen and a communal bathroom. He swept the weapon back and forth. The floorboards were bare, and each step sent an echo through the dorm. Harris followed after him. He sniffed the air, smelling damp and rot.
“Clear,” Michael said.
Harris opened a wardrobe. “Clean clothes.”
“There's fresh food in the kitchen as well. Did we miss them? Maybe they've abandoned the place already.”
“I'm not ready to make that judgement,” Harris said.
They checked the next room. Empty. The section rallied at the staircase, and Harris checked his watch. “Okay, let's keep it moving.”
A voice cut in on their radios. “Tango One, all units, we just caught a possible thermal signature on the third floor of building two. I've lost visual.”
The major keyed his radio. “This is Harris, copy. East side of the building?”
“Affirmative. Looked like somebody moved one of the curtains. It glowed hot, but I couldn't get a proper look. Request permission to put a round into the building.”
“Denied, Tango One. Stay alert; Alpha One has just cleared the ground floor. We've got three more floors to hit before we move onto the next building.”
He waved the point man on. The officer took each step with a cautious gait, pausing briefly to peer through the vision slit on his ballistic shield. He stopped again.
“Up there, on the underside. See it?” he said, training his sidearm on an object nestled in the corner, where the flight of stairs above them met the wall.
More torches illuminated the spot. It was grey and shaped like a brick, stuck down with strips of black masking tape. Faint red letters were printed on the side, and three small boxes had been stuck next to it.
“That's plastic explosive. Those little boxes are probably filled with shrapnel. Nobody move. Not one step,” Michael said.
The policeman beside him let out an anxious breath that steamed up his visor.
“What's the trigger?” Harris said.
“There'll be a wire or laser somewhere. Trip it and it'll send a wireless signal to that detonator sticking out of it. I'd bet on it being a wire; lasers are too sensitive. We should have brought a ladder with us,” Michael said.
“Shit,” Harris muttered. “Okay, everyone back off. Ward, find that trigger and disable it.”
The section hurried past him, their footsteps echoing off the concrete stairs. Michael wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“I haven't done this since the war. I don't even have the right equipment.”
“Just get it done. This mission is scrubbed unless we can proceed, and we'll never get another chance. Call us when it's safe,” Harris said.
Michael grabbed the last policeman by the arm. “Give me your laser pen. And take these. I need my hands free.”
He made the trade, and then waited until everybody else was clear of the danger zone. An officer leaned around the corner, gave him a thumbs up and returned to cover. The world had gone silent.
Michael took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty hands on his body armour. The tremble in him worsened. He flicked his pocket torch and laser pen on, going down low as he inched up the stairs. The red beam picked up specks of dust floating in the air. He reached the landing.
Something flashed and cut the beam in half for an instant, and Michael froze. A drop of sweat ran from his palm and splattered on the concrete. One of the floodlights shifted position outside, white light piercing through the window like dawn had come. He shivered from the cold and retraced the line he'd cut with the laser.
The trip wire blocked the beam again just above ankle height, stretching across the landing from baluster to a slender nail protruding from the wall. Black electrical tape secured the trigger to the baluster. He removed his coat, dumped it on the stairs below him and held the torch closer to the device.
Michael put the laser pen on the step. He reached out with his free hand, one finger extending forward towards the switch, only to stop an inch from it. His gaze drifted up to the underside of the handrail, where he saw another black shape the size of a matchstick box pointing down at the primary trigger. An acidic taste filled the back of his mouth.
A tiny glass bulb was set inside a dip in the plastic. He stood up, taking another breath, and touched the switch with a trembling finger. A green LED lit up on the box, and Michael knocked the switch on the primary trigger. Another green light appeared, and then on the detonator attached to the explosives as well.
He clenched his jaw tight and tugged the wire free of the nail. Nothing happened. His body alternated between exhausting heat and a shivering chill so cold that it made his teeth chatter.
“Clear,” he said. The section moved up. He put his coat back on and retrieved his weapons.
Harris nodded to him. “Good. Keep moving.”
They stacked up at the entrance to the first floor, peeking around the corner with the fiberscope. Harris keyed his radio. “This is Harris, Alpha One just cleared a booby trap in the stairwell. Now moving to clear the first floor. What's your status out there?”
“It's dead, sir. Nothing on the thermal sight,” came the response.
“Copy, stay alert.”
“Careful on the corners. There'll be more traps,” Michael said.
The point man flexed his fingers and nodded. “Moving?”
“Move,” Harris said.
He stepped out into the corridor, looking through the vision slot on his ballistic shield as he walked forward. The others followed in single file. A draft blew through the shattered window at the end of the corridor, and old newspapers drifted towards them, baring headlines of flu pandemic, hysteria and death.
“Same drill as before,” Harris said.
They took up positions outside each dormitory. A single nod later and they cleared the rooms. Empty.
“Jesus Christ, maybe they bailed on us,” Michael said.
“Keep it together. Nobody else has pussied out. Do you want to be the first? I'll make sure there's a commemorative sign in the station lobby, just to remind everybody that you didn't have the balls the follow through,” Harris said.
They stared at each other for a moment, until Michael looked away and moved to the window. He brushed the curtain aside. The floodlights shone down from above and bathed the compound in harsh light. Long shadows stretched across the concrete.
He could make out three section and the front of their infantry fighting vehicle. The policemen lay on their bellies, weapons trained on the building ahead of them.
“Is there another way out of here? A tunnel?” Michael said.
“No tunnels, not in any of the records we turned up. They'll be here somewhere, we just need to flush them out.”
They moved up to the second floor, and another trip wire crossed the corridor. The block of plastic explosive was attached to the ceiling. Michael removed the trigger, and more empty dormitories awaited them.
The third floor was empty, too. They gathered in the last dormitory and looked out the window.
“Shit,” the point man muttered. “Three other buildings to clear?”
“The factory and storage warehouse won't take long to check. They picked up thermals in the office block, so that'll be their most likely position. Just keep it together, and we'll get this done before morning,” Harris said.
“Hey, I see something,” said one of the policemen. He leaned closer to the window.
A jagged hole appeared in the centre, and the glass fractured as the bullet shattered his visor, snapping his head back. It ricocheted off the rim of his helmet and lodged in the wall, and the shot rang out through the compound. Michael threw himself to the ground.
The police units outside opened fire. Michael knelt beside the officer, and he turned the man's head towards the light. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
The policeman prodded at his balaclava and then blinked. His chest heaved up and down. “I'm good, I think I'm good.”
Michael propped him up against the wall.
“This is Harris, we just took sniper fire from the office block, no casualties. We're going to move back down to the ground floor. I want a status update.”
“Alpha Three taking heavy fire from the office block,” a voice said.
“Alpha Two does not have a clear line of sight; the dorms are blocking our view. Requesting permission to move up on the left so we can put some heat on them,” Corporal Hill said.
Harris pressed the transmit button, but he didn't say a word. He peeked out the window. A rocket streaked from the office block and landed short of the tanks. “Do what you need to do to get a clear line of fire, but I don't want you getting decisively engaged. Hang back, you hear me?”
“Affirmative, moving up now.”
“All right, we'll link up with Hill's section outside and take it from there,” Harris said.
They returned to the corridor, and the dormitory exploded. A flash of fire escaped through the doorway, snuffed out by smoke, dust and rubble scattering across the floor. The last two policemen fell down.
“What the fuck was that? Where did they get rockets from?” somebody said.
They dragged the men to their feet and stormed down the staircase, and the floor vibrated as Michael heard one of the tanks firing its cannon. Corporal Hill's section met them as they came out the entrance, but the infantry fighting vehicle remained in position at the fence.
“They're going to hang back and watch the perimeter for anyone trying to escape,” Hill said.
A rocket trailed orange fire and struck the lead tank, engulfing it in smoke and debris. The haze began to clear, revealing a warped barrel.
“They just took out our main gun, but everything else is still operational. They're are spread over multiple floors in the office block,” Tango One said on the radio.
“We can't stay here all night. They'll grind us down if we give them enough time,” Harris said.
“I hear you, sir, but that's a lot of open ground to cover. We won't even make it five meters before they get out range. You hear that? That's a fifty they're firing,” Hill said.
“This is Alpha Three to all units, we've got multiple casualties and our IFV has been disabled. We are pulling back to the CP with our wounded, I repeat, we are pulling back to the CP,” the section commander said over the radio.
“Shit,” Harris said.
Hill took his section down to the other end of the building. He leaned around the corner, and bullets pinged off the asphalt. Another took a chunk out of the building. He backed away.
“For fuck sake, they're escaping out the back. Come on, this way,” Hill said. He paused just long enough to order their vehicle forward, and then sprinted across the open ground to the shipping container on their left.
Michael followed after the corporal with the rest of two section, leaving Harris and the others behind. More gunfire came their way, and the crack of near misses filled his ears. He ran faster, slipping on a patch of water and slamming into the shipping container. The sound of his impact echoed through the interior.
“Still with me? What the fuck is Harris doing? Don't answer that; he's doing his usual trick of sticking his nose in everything, and now we're going to have to clean up his mess,” Hill said.
The IFV rolled towards them. Caterpillar tracks creaked and groaned.
“One section, you lot, over here,” Hill shouted, beckoning to them with his hand. He tossed a smoke grenade into the open.
They waited several moments for the white haze to appear, and then sprinted across to the shipping containers. Harris walked out after them, still clutching his radio in one hand and the magnum in the other.
“Corporal, what the hell are you doing? I'm giving the or--”
A stray bullet blew the back of his calf open. His face contorted in pain, and he dropped right where he stood. He landed on his side, letting out a cry of agony as he writhed about, clutching at the bleeding. More bullets struck the asphalt around him and ricocheted into the air. He crawled back behind the building, and then slumped against the wall.
Hill jabbed Michael in the arm. “Forget him, he'll live. Somebody can pick him up later. We need to keep moving; once they get out of this compound, they're gone, and we'll never find them again.”
“For once, I agree with you,” Michael.
“All right then, let's move. Stick with the vehicle, but don't get close. It's a bullet magnet. If you see them, shoot them. Fuck prisoners, I don't want police fatalities.”
They left their cover. Muzzle flashes appeared on the other side of the compound, and the deafening sound of automatic fire filled his ears. He grimaced, clenching his jaw tight as he squeezed a trio of rounds from his rifle. Pale silhouettes drifted across the asphalt like ghosts.
“Corp, Corporal, to the right. They're going for the van,” the policeman beside him said. He pulled the trigger on his rifle, but the bolt locked.
A rumble came from behind, and Michael felt tremors running through his bones. The vehicle stopped right beside them. Its barrel elevated several inches higher with the whine of the motor, and orange flame escaped from the muzzle, as it spat 40mm tracer rounds.
They arced forward, ripping holes through the van and setting it on fire. The rounds came out the other side, struck the asphalt and bounced back into the air, wobbling like red squiggly lines.
One of the occupants fell out of the passenger seat, missing the lower half of his body. He slumped on the ground in a pool of his own blood, twitching for a moment before finally ceasing to move.
The IFV continued to shoot, turning its cannon on the other vehicle. Orange flame and black smoke filled the air.
“They're pulling back; I'm going to try and cut them off down the left before they can reach that fence,” Michael said.
Hill nodded. “Go with one section.
I'll get that tank up here and any left overs at the CP, and then we'll be right behind you. The lads here will keep you covered. Try not to get yourself killed; there's already enough brains waiting to be scraped off the ground.”
Michael stepped over two wounded policemen and darted across to the warehouse. The crackle and pop of gunfire followed him and the others, but they kept moving, running faster now the building was between them and the enemy.
He blew the hinges off the fire exit with his shotgun and kicked it down. Rows of rusted shipping containers stretched from one end of the warehouse to the next. They advanced to the front of the building, where he lifted up both shutters, and then fell over as a hail of bullets pierced the wall beside him.
Dead bodies lay scattered across the asphalt besides the factory building. A long figure stood amongst them, letting off long bursts of machine gun fire. His upper body shook from the recoil, and he noticed Michael then, turning the weapon on him. An explosion erupted at his feet.
The smoke obscured him for an instant and then faded, and his limbless body twitched and spasmed about like a fish out of water. One of the policemen dragged Michael behind the corrugated metal of a container door. Bullets pinged off the side, clipping the edge of the policeman's helmet.
“Keep shooting!” somebody shouted.
Michael went down on a knee and edged around the corner. He trained the reflex sight on a muzzle flash, feeling the stock kick back into his shoulder as he squeezed off a round. He fired four more times, and then the muzzle flash vanished.
A 40mm grenade detonated just short of their position. Hot pieces of shrapnel whizzed past his head and struck another of the containers. The IFV rolled into view again just past the shutters, hosing the area with its co-axial machine gun.
“We've got two casualties bleeding bad. I need some help to get them back to the CP,” the point man said.
“It's fine, just go,” Michael said.
They lifted up the wounded and dragged them back the way they'd come, as Corporal Hill and a fire team sprinted after the IFV. They hurled themselves forward and went prone beside the vehicle, letting off a torrent of fire at the factory building.
The Chop Shop Page 23