The Chop Shop

by Heffernan, Christopher

  “Ward,” the corporal shouted, waving to him. “Get over here. You're clear to move; the tank's coming.”

  Michael ran towards him, and the remnants of one section followed as the tank rolled to a stop beside the burning vehicles. It spat a HESH round out of its main gun and left a jagged hole in the factory wall. Part of the roof caved in, blocking the hole up again in an eruption of shrapnel.

  “We took some casualties. They're taking them back to the CP,” Michael said.

  “Dead?” Hill said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Three section has fatalities. Somebody put a 40mm grenade in their position, but they've still got two men covering the side over there. Nobody is getting out of here without us knowing.”

  Michael swapped the magazine in his rifle. “There's a lot of bodies. These numbers weren't in the briefing.”

  “Right, and now we're going to have to go in there and rat the survivors out.”

  A violent hissing filled the air, and Michael pushed Hill down on the ground, scraping the plastic rim of his visor. Smoke and fire trailed the rocket, as it left the third floor of the office block and struck the rear of the tank in the engine block.

  Michael picked up Hill's radio. “We've still got hostile forces in the office. Get it locked down.”

  The tank started to burn. A hatch popped open, and one by one the three crewmen climbed out, dodging bullets that clipped the turret. They ran towards the IFV, followed by the driver as he clambered out of the hull.

  “Corporal, we're outmatched here. We need to back off, secure the perimeter and get some backup in here,” Michael said.

  Hill stared at the vehicle, and its reflection burned in his visor.

  “Corporal?” Michael slapped him on the side of the helmet. “Corporal.”

  “What? I heard you,” Hill said.

  “Look, lock this area down. I'll go back to the command post and get us some back up. If I can pick up any stragglers, then we'll try and clear that office block, okay?”

  “Fine, grab me on the radio if something comes up.”

  Michael ran past the tank, and the stench of burning diesel filled his nostrils. The shooting had died down now, only sporadic shots and the sound of ammunition cooking off inside one of the vans punctuating the air. A single bullet struck the ground in front of him, and he changed course as Hill fired a dozen rounds into the window it had come from.

  To his right, a lone policeman lay slumped against the side of the dormitories, his visor cracked and splattered with blood. Michael continued on. His shoe clipped an empty shell casing, sending it tumbling and jingling away from him. The command post was just ahead, beyond the gates.

  A row of injured policeman stretched away from the infantry fighting vehicle. Medics tended to their injuries, but most crowded around a single officer, trying to plug a sucking chest wound. He found Harris leaning against the vehicle with a bloody bandage wrapped around his leg, and his face had turned pale.

  Michael shook him by the arm. “Major, you need get on the radio and get us some bloody help. We're getting shot up out there. Ambulances, we need those as well.”

  Harris gave a grunt as he looked up. “It's already done. Help is on the way, but God knows when it's going to get here.”

  “You really fucked up.”

  “Leave it, Detective, you won't get anything out of him; he's doped up on morphine,” one of the medics said.

  “What's going on?” Richard said.

  Michael clenched his jaw tight for a moment and shook his head. “We're getting cut up. They just put the other tank out of action with a rocket from that office block. There's still survivors in there. Corporal Hill and whoever is left have the factory locked down, so nobody is getting out, but we don't have the manpower to do anything else. We've still got casualties down by the warehouse, but good luck getting a stretcher in there.”

  “What do you need to get the medics down there safely?” Archibald said.

  Michael pointed to the office block. “That needs to be cleared. What's left of it.”

  “Then let's go in and clear it. Backup could be an hour away for all we know, and those casualties will bleed to death.”

  “Fuck it, let's clear the place out,” Richard said. “Don't give me that look, Mike. We all know how to shoot, and we all know how to clear rooms.”

  “You've got two more for back up. We can't do anything more from here,” Lieutenant Anderson said, gesturing to himself and the platoon sergeant.

  Michael looked back at the burning tank and nodded. They scurried towards the office block in a staggered column, and he paused, thinking he could hear distant sirens for a moment, only for the air to be filled with the sound of machine gun fire again.

  Chunks of concrete, metal and glass piled up around the base of the office block. Michael glanced up. He saw jagged holes pockmarking the structure, leaving the ruined interior exposed to the open air.

  They stacked up outside the remains of the front entrance. Burning fires inside caused long, dancing shadows to stretch out across the asphalt. Michael shivered, as Anderson raised a hand over his shoulder and gave a thumbs up. He moved in with his rifle raised, and they followed one at a time.

  A piece of shrapnel had torn the reception desk in two, and somebody lay slumped dead in the corner, dressed in a shirt and trousers. Michael knelt beside the man, slipped a hand under his chin and lifted his head up. Thin metal extended out from one of the corpse's eyeballs. He sucked in a breath as the others moved on.

  “Still fresh,” he said.

  “Support personnel? Just like when we raided that flat,” Richard said.

  “Right. There's enough dead bodies lying about.”

  “We're clear down here. Where did the rocket come from?” Anderson said.

  “The top floor.”

  “Then let's clear it out. The lifts aren't working, so nobody is getting past us.”

  The group moved into the stairwell.

  “Just take it easy, sir. These people are fast; you hesitate for a second and they'll waste you,” Michael said, keeping his voice low.

  Anderson advanced up the stairs. “Watch that corner. That one there, don't let it out your sight.”

  He heard Anderson's ragged breathing. A trail of footsteps followed in their wake. Anderson stopped on the landing, and he looked at Michael and nodded to the doorway.

  They stepped into the corridor. A trail of blood led away from one of the windows, past the lifts and around the corner. Glass cracked under his shoes, and he gritted his teeth, finger grazing the edge of the rifle's trigger.

  Anderson leaned around the corner. “Another body. Armed.”

  “Is he one of them?”

  “I don't think so. Just security. I think we're good to move on.”

  They returned to the stairwell and continued their ascent. Something exploded outside, and a fiery flash of light came through the windows momentarily.

  “What was that?” Richard said.

  “Ammunition cooking off. Keep going,” Michael said.

  Anderson stopped partway between the second and third floors. He pressed up against the wall, trying to see a little more of the landing above. He raised his rifle again.

  “What is it?” Michael whispered. He held up a hand to stop the others behind him.

  “God damn it,” Anderson muttered to himself. “I heard something. I think he's waiting up there for us.”

  A metallic click echoed from somewhere above, and Michael tensed. Something struck the wall. It bounced off and rolled down the stairs.

  “Fuck, grenade. It's a fucking grenade,” Anderson said.

  The grenade stopped at David's feet. He kicked it down onto the landing below. Michael turned away, huddling against the stairs, and the grenade detonated with a deafening bang. Pain filled his ears, and he grimaced at the sound of a female scream. Archibald was groaning, as dark patches appeared on his suit, expanding outwards from the wounds.

  Helen
tried to crawl up the stairs. Her right foot dangled by a string of muscle, and her trouser leg was in bloody tatters. She reached out, clawing at the hand rail and then slumped against the step. Blood dripped from her chin onto the concrete.

  “She's gone,” Archibald said.

  “Taylor, stay with him. Make sure he doesn't bleed out,” Anderson said. He moved up to the top stair, plucked a grenade from one of his pouches and removed the pin, counting to three before tossing it into the corridor. Lumps of shrapnel burst through the wall as it detonated.

  Michael flexed his trigger finger. They took up positions either side of the doorway, and the others remained on the stairs, aiming their guns through the railings. He listened, but only heard Archibald groaning from the pain of his injuries.

  Anderson readied a stun grenade. “Don't hesitate.”

  He pulled the pin, counted again and rolled it around the corner. They entered the corridor a second after the explosion. The window blinds caught fire, burning bright as they gave off a strong haze that filled the corridor and his lungs.

  A hand reached around the corner, and Michael saw the gun. The muzzle flash flared bright, as the weapon spat a hail of bullets at them. He fell sideways, striking the wall with his shoulder. Pain ran through the bone, but he ignored it and fired back.

  Hot brass tumbled free from the ejection port on his rifle, and holes appeared in the wall, blasting chunks of plaster everywhere. The crack of gunfire left a ringing in his ears, as the sergeant cried out, going down on one knee and then finally collapsing. His carbine clattered on the floor amongst the debris.

  “I'm moving up, watch your fire,” Anderson said. He edged forward along the left side of the corridor, blocking Michael's line of sight.

  Richard pulled the downed officer back into the stairwell. The smoke grew quicker, and Michael gripped the handle on the back of Anderson's body armoured as he followed. His shoes sent shell casings jingling across the floor. The corridor was silent, save for the wailing of the wounded.

  Anderson peeked around the corner. He backed away a millisecond later, as another hail of bullets tore up the walls. “He's down there on the left, but I can't see him properly.”

  “Just one guy?” Michael said.

  “Yeah, funny eyes. Looks like he's packing a carbine. Dave, grab the grenade off Walker's vest. I need it.”

  David tossed it down the corridor, and the lieutenant snatched it from the air and pulled the ring free. “As soon as it blows, you back me up down there, okay? Don't stop.”

  Michael nodded. Anderson let the safety pin pop free, and then reached around the doorway and rolled it forward. The corridor lit up with a bright flash and filled with black smoke.

  “Go, go, keep moving,” Anderson said.

  He felt his eyes water and burn from the smoke, and a stabbing pain formed in his lungs as he broke into a coughing fit. Up ahead a blinding muzzle flash pierced the darkness and smoke. Searing heat burned past his cheek. Anderson cursed, as he pressed down on the trigger and sprayed off the entire magazine. He drew his pistol from its holster and continued forward.

  The lieutenant paused to check the next corridor, and then moved on into the office. Spent casings rolled about the floor beside an empty magazine and chunks of plaster.

  “He's not stupid; he's trying to wear us down,” Michael said.

  David knelt down at the corner, squinting through the rifle's reflex sight. “Multiple rooms both sides. Probably offices. Somebody is going to have to make sure he doesn't double back on us.”

  “I need to sit down a minute,” Anderson said. He put a hand to his neck, managing to stay up right for another moment before he slumped into the corner.

  “Shit, he's been hit in the neck,” Michael said.

  “Richard, go. Help him. I've got this covered,” David said.

  They laid the lieutenant down on the ground and removed his helmet and balaclava. Blood oozed out of a gash that ran along the side of his neck.

  “How bad is it?” David said.

  “The shot missed his artery, but he's bleeding bad. We need to get him back downstairs with the others,” Michael said.

  “We've got two others wounded and one dead; it's going to be a really bad night for the rest of us if we get shot while we're trying to carry them down the stairs,” David said.

  Anderson shifted his position on the floor. He left a puddle of blood where his head had been resting. “He's right. Finish him off and collect me later.”

  Bullets impacted the corner, and David fell backwards as a round took a fist-sized chunk out of the wall where his head had been. Wailing sirens approached in the distance.

  “Just go. I'll be fine,” Anderson said.

  Michael frowned to himself. He wiped the blood and sweat off his hands.

  David returned fire. “He's in the last office down there. You see it?”

  Michael leaned out. “Yeah. We'll move down on the left. Keep his head down or both of us are going to be pasted everywhere.”

  “Then keep out of my fucking line of fire, or it'll be your own bloody fault. Move,” David said. He fired two rounds down the corridor.

  Michael felt his throat tighten as he stepped out of the office. He moved forward, shimmying against the wall and struggling to breathe as he clutched the rifle with a death grip. The fear seemed like it would freeze his muscles solid.

  The gunman leaned out of the office, only to vanish back inside again when David put a dozen holes in the wall. Michael slowed, aligning the reflex sight with the doorway. The gunman's hand reached around the corner, clutching a pistol, and he fired.

  Michael recoiled at the sight of the weapon. His finger tensed against the trigger, discharging half the magazine before he realised what was happening. The gunman's arm separated from his body at the elbow, and it flopped on the floor still clutching the pistol. Smoke rose from the muzzle.

  Michael surged forward. “Go, go, go, he's down.”

  He swept into the office as the gunman rolled away, left hand rising with a knife between two fingers. It whistled through the air past his head, and Richard screamed. He recognised the gunman's face in that split second, remembered the grainy CCTV shots and those eyes.

  The man was dressed in a plain shirt, tie and black trousers, with his body armour thrown over the top, as though they'd interrupted him on his way to a business meeting. He reached for the other pistol holstered on the front of his vest, unconcerned with the sight of his bloody arm on the floor.

  Michael shot him just below the throat. He kept his finger on the trigger, letting the recoil walk the barrel upwards. The next round struck the throat, and the third took his jaw and teeth apart. A bloody hole replaced his nose as his head snapped backwards and struck the wall.

  David pushed his way into the room. They riddled the body with more bullets, blowing off the other arm and one of the legs at the knee.

  “I think he's dead,” David said.

  Michael unholstered his pistol and jabbed the barrel into an eye socket. “I'll make sure of it.”

  He fired. The skull broke apart into several chunks, popping the other eyeball free of its socket and leaving only the neck and a lump of bloody spinal cord sticking upwards.

  Chapter 20.

  The dead were lined up along the asphalt, as blue police lights flashed silently. Ambulances waited nearby, and a line of tanks and armoured vehicles stretched down the road. Michael watched a paramedic cleaning out the wound to Richard's shoulder. He lost count of the time, found himself apathetic and numb, smelling only cordite in the air.

  “Still alive?” Corporal Hill said.

  “Just about. What's the body count?”

  “Eight of ours dead, just about everyone else injured. No survivors from Eratech's group.”

  “What a bloodbath.”

  Corporal Hill pulled off his helmet and balaclava, running a hand through the mess of his sweat-soaked hair. “I know. I tried to tell Harris, but he never listens; Harris alwa
ys knows best. Well, Harris isn't going to be walking any time soon, if he even has a job left.”

  Hill handed him a water bottle. He took a long sip and nodded. “Assurer are pissed.”

  “Extremely. It's been a bad few weeks. I'm hoping it'll get better, but you know what it's like around here. Fuck it, I've got to go and sort this mess out. See you when I see you.”

  “Too bad about Helen,” Michael said.

  “David shrugged. “I never liked her.”

  “She was your partner.”

  “Yeah, and now that she's dead, they'll give me a new one. Hopefully the new model will be better than the last, or least not a dyke. By the way, I heard you were tapping Sam. Be careful you don't catch anything; she's been around the block a few times by now.”

  “Fuck off, Dave. Is there ever a time when you're not a complete and utter cunt?”

  “No. I might be a cunt, but I'm still alive. More than you can say for these sorry fucks. I'm out of here.” David strolled past the bodies towards a waiting patrol vehicle, stopping momentarily to relieve a female Eratech corpse of its jewellery.

  Michael clenched his teeth. The cold was starting to get to him again, and he buttoned up his coat, but he didn't feel any warmer for it. He walked towards the ambulance. “How you holding up?”

  Richard exhaled, and his breath turned to vapour. “I'll live. It hurts, but the blade hit the bone. Good enough for me.”

  “What about Archibald?”

  “He'll live, probably, but he's going to need a lot of surgery,” Maria said, frowning.

  “I'll tell you one thing,” Michael said. “I didn't think it was going to blow up in our faces like this. Maybe we should have just let this one slide.”

  “They started it, we finished it. Eratech had it coming; bombs, hits on police units, assassinating people in the streets. This was payback. Start turning a blind eye and everyone will want to get in on the act. We're always outnumbered on the streets, right? It's not a good precedent to set,” Maria said.

  “Who's that?” Richard said. He pointed with his good arm.