Hard Drop (11 page)

“He’s down.” Chip tapped in. “Clark too.”
 

“Bring the tags.” Tyco tapped back grimly.

“Copy that.” Ghost said, already moving towards the bodies with calm efficiency.
 

“Any word on Mac - ?” Tyco asked, staring blankly across the concrete square.
 

“Behind you, sir.” Tyco turned to find Mac behind him, looking as sheepish as his 6-foot-5 frame would allow. “Sorry, my comm quit on me. Hell of a job though.” Tyco nodded.
 

“Yes it was.” Tyco answered distractedly. There would be time for that when they were safely on their way. He tapped back in nervously. “Chip, you ready to roll?”
 

And then Ringo appeared, bracing himself against the rusting car frames, and Tyco’s face fell. Covered in blood, limping, and nursing an ugly shrapnel burn in his leg, he was definitely far from
alright
.
 

“Jesus man, what happened to you?” Hog asked, shaking her head in dismay.
 

Ringo looked down in shocked surprise, as if only just seeing the extent of his wounds. “I’m sorry, Cap,” he said, gritting his teeth through the pain as he leaned on his wounded leg. “I fucked up – “

His leg gave way without warning, and he collapsed, falling violently onto the hard pavement. Hog and Tyco ran to catch him as he fell, reaching him just before his head could smash against the ground.
 

“Any chance you’re a medic, Private?” Tyco asked, struggling to raise Ringo to his feet as he glanced up at Mac.

The open-mouthed, nauseous expression on Mac’s face as he stared at Ringo’s bleeding leg answered his question.
 

“Pretty sure that’s a no, Cap.” Hog groaned they raised Ringo between them. Tyco nodded, grimacing as he caught sight of the bone through the open wound.
 

“Let’s just get him in the APC.” He said, shifting Ringo’s dead weight across his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out from there.” He tapped in with effort, using his free hand to reach the link. “Chip, get your ass down here. We’re going.”

The city lay in the distance, as the personnel carrier shuddered to life. The new navigation beacon blinked on Tyco’s rifle, guiding them down the hill and directly into the clouds of smoke ahead.
 

And then, shimmering in bright contrast against the distant black clouds that dominated the sky, a helicopter gunship rose from the valley floor, turning in a wide arc towards their position. And Tyco, slumped in exhaustion against the still-warm turret, groaned inwardly, knowing: their day had only just started.

EIGHT: AN EARLY GOODBYE

Ringo awoke with a groan, thirty minutes and eighteen miles later. The APC had entered a long, wide highway underpass, hiding it from the gunship overhead as it rolled into the city. A particularly heavy jolt had shaken the wounded man awake. He clutched his leg immediately and groaned, rolling onto his good side with tears in his eyes.
 

“Welcome back.” Tyco smiled thinly, kneeling down at Ringo’s side. He nodded at the wounded leg. “How do you feel?”
 

Ringo shook his head slowly, head swimming as he gained his bearings. “I…don’t know.”
 

Tyco frowned, then reached down and punched Ringo in his good leg.
 

“…the fuck, Cap?!” Ringo, roared, his face flushing a deep, angry red.
 

“Congratulations.” Tyco responded with a smile. “You’re not in shock.” Satisfied, he turned back to Ringo’s wound, holding the man’s machete in his hand. “Lighter.” He demanded. Chip hesitated before handing it to him unwillingly. Tyco let it play over the knife, sterilizing it for the work ahead.

“You couldn’t do that while I was out?” Ringo groaned.
 

“Trust me, with those roads, you wouldn’t have wanted that.” Tyco answered, and handed him a thin metal flask. “You’ll need that, though.”

Ringo eyed it warily, glancing up at Tyco with suspicion. “That yours, Cap?” he asked. Tyco shook his head.
 

“Hog’s. She says knock yourself out.”

“Tell her I said thanks.” Ringo growled, and took a very healthy swig. Tyco waited until he had it tilted fully up before digging the tip of the machete blade into his leg.
 

Ringo grimaced, tightened his grip against the cold metal seat, but did nothing more, bearing the pain until the blade was out and a dark, thin piece of shrapnel lay in Tyco’s hand.
 

“You were right,” said Tyco, considering the blade. “It does come in handy.” He patted Ringo on the shoulder admiringly. He really was a tough bastard.

“Huh.” Ringo smiled back weakly, taking another large swig from the flask. Tyco bent down to examine the wound, mopping up the blood around the cut carefully with a gauze pad, cleaning it as well as he could. Satisfied, he stood tall in the cramped APC, wiping his hands on his uniform.
 

“That’s a start, at least.” He said. “Chip, want to handle the leg?”
 

“…No.” Chip answered. Tyco turned to stare at him.

“Wasn’t asking.” Chip’s face fell as Tyco pushed past him and made for the front of the vehicle.
 

“Ringo says thanks.” He said as Hog looked up.
 

She nodded calmly, turning back to the road in front of her. “We getting anywhere close to this facility?” She asked.
 

“Let’s hope.” Tyco said darkly. He put a hand up to the roof of the vehicle and looked away.
 

Thirty minutes later, they had reached an impasse. The tunnel was monitored by large security doors, massive metal gates that marked the highway at intervals. At some stage in the fighting, they had triggered, and had come crashing shut across the asphalt. Or rather, they would have, if the highway had not been so jammed with debris. The security gate now facing the APC was wedged open, but barely. Its thick metal doors were held apart only a few feet by the mound of debris piled in their path. The gap between them was narrow – wide enough for a man to walk through, but not nearly wide enough for the personnel carrier. The pile of garbage, filth, and wreckage reached upwards, cresting between the gates a foot above Tyco’s head height. Tracks – human and otherwise – led up this filthy ramp, reaching up to the top of the pile and disappearing down the other side.
 

Tyco’s face had fallen as soon as the roadblock had come into view. He knew what it meant, not only for their vehicle, but also for Ringo. Had he been wounded anywhere else, had he lost his hearing, or even an arm, Tyco might have held out hope he could make it through. But he had seen Ringo’s leg, knew how deep the shrapnel had gone, and knew that walking more than a few hundred yards would be impossible for him. As tough as he was, Ringo’s leg would not bear his weight. There was no way he could continue.
 

Hog, seated at the wheel, let out a heavy sigh as she brought the personnel carrier to a stop. “We could go around…?” She offered quietly, after a long silence, staring up at the thick metal doors. But Tyco shook his head.
 

“Not with that chopper in the air.” He sighed. “And there’s no way we can force that gate.”

“Cap.” Ringo groaned, from the back. Tyco ignored him.
 

“…Evac?” Hog asked, though she already knew the answer.
 

“Not from here.” Tyco said. “Pick up’s on the far side of the city…” Tyco let his voice trail off, knowing the hard choice in front of him, trying to ignore it.
 

“Cap.” Ringo repeated, and Tyco turned at last, unwillingly. “It’s ok, I get it.” The look in his eyes was steady and calm, his gaze unwavering. The burly trooper reached up around his neck without hesitation and pulled off his dog tags, holding them out to Tyco. “Just leave me a gun.”
 

The team stared in silence, waiting on Tyco’s word. No one wanted to be the first to acknowledge what they all now knew to be inevitable – they would have to leave Ringo here. Orbital, by definition, did not have the option of recovering the bodies of fallen troopers, but it was rare that they had to choose to leave a living trooper to his fate. It was more than the loss of a soldier that bothered them – it was the fact that the Legion lived and died by a code of mutual reliance and trust. A unit that deployed routinely without support and off the radar had to; each soldier knew the others were all that stood between them and certain, painful death. Choosing to leave Ringo behind was a heavy decision, one that flew in the face of their creed. Not one of them wanted to accept that it had to be made.
 

Tyco nodded, at last, forcing himself to move, to make the choice he knew he had to. Had Ringo not offered himself freely and unprompted, it would have been impossible.
 

He stepped forwards, taking the dog tags from Ringo’s outstretched hand. He stowed them slowly, securely in his front vest pocket and paused, trying to find the words. He might not have understood Ringo completely, might not have liked him particularly, but on the battlefield, he had trusted him with his life. Losing him hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“I’m sorry, Daniel.” He said, at last.
 

Chip glanced at Hog, mouthing ‘Daniel?’ quietly. She shrugged and shook her head. It was news to her as well.

Ringo bit his lip as wave of pain went through him. It wore off slowly, and he was smiling as he looked up, relieved by the temporary reprieve.
 

“If anyone’s got some poppers.” He said quietly. “It might be nice to have them on the way out.”
 

After another hesitation, Chip sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He flipped the box upside down, tapping its base until two shiny white pills fell out into his hand. He extended his hand begrudgingly, offering the meds without saying a word.
 

Ringo stared up at him gratefully. He took the pills and swallowed them dry immediately.
 

“You bitch.” He said, chasing the pills down with another swig from Hog’s flask. “You’ve been holding out on me.” He coughed, slapping his chest as the alcohol chased down his throat, and turned back to Tyco. “While I’m still here, you gonna tell me what I cashed it in for?”

Tyco considered the request momentarily. “I’ll tell you what the scan said.” He said, at last. “And what I could piece together from my briefing.”
 

Ringo nodded quietly, saying nothing as he waited for him to continue.

“The Admiralty fucked up.” Tyco began, simply, hesitating as he considered how best to explain what little he knew.

“Big surprise there.” Ringo snorted.
 

“There’s a classified research facility here, in the city. Top-cover, high-importance, no known budget.” Chip nodded along quietly. Ghost just looked away, shaking his head as if he had expected it all along. “Three weeks ago, Command gets word their latest project is a go. Full marks, total success, send the brass.”

“Too bad they didn’t…” Hog growled. Ringo nodded along emphatically, in grim agreement.
 

“From the report I saw, they were en route when this place went up in flames. No confirmed reports on how or why.”
 

“What was the project?” Ringo asked.
 

“Classified.” Tyco answered. “Intel said it was some kind of superweapon, the next big thing. Called it MAP-11.”
 

“Shitty name.” Ringo coughed.
 

“Weapons Protocol MAP-11.” Tyco repeated. “We’re here to find the weapon and neutralize it before the locals get their hands on it.”

“Basic fire drill.” Chip coughed.
 

Tyco nodded evenly. “That’s right. Get in, neutralize, get out.” He turned back to Ringo, sighing. “That’s all I know.”
 

“That’s all…” Ringo said, and shook his head. Tyco grimaced.
 

“That’s the job.” Tyco offered a thin smile.
 

“Ain’t that the truth…” Chip muttered behind him, hands growing twitchy as the nicotine left him.

Ringo took a deep breath and sat up straighter, wincing as he shifted in his seat. “Gonna be awful hard to do without me.” He said, grimacing as another wave of pain rocked through him. Tyco waited until it had passed, then stepped forward and extended his hand. Ringo took it gratefully.
 

“Thank you.” He said. “Sir.”
 

Tyco nodded and went, moving out of the tank quickly and purposefully, leaving the others to say their goodbyes. Chip followed closely on his heels, quietly tipping his hat and sliding through the door, looking away uncomfortably as he passed. Ghost paused, looking down at Ringo compassionately, and removed his pistol from its holster. Ringo took it, weighing it instinctively in his hand, and shook his head, making a face. He pulled out the magazine and stared at the two cartridges remaining, then glowered at Ghost accusingly.
 

“In case you miss.” Ghost shrugged. But Ringo shook his head.
 

“I won’t.”
 

Ghost nodded coolly and took out another cartridge, leaving just one bullet in the magazine. He slotted it back into the gun and returned it to Ringo. The wounded man nodded approvingly.

“Thanks.” He said, simply, letting the weapon rest in his hand. Ghost nodded calmly and went, stepping out and down onto the hard road outside.
 

Mac glided past with a mumbled goodbye and ducked out, leaving just Hog and Ringo in the APC. She waited until Mac had gone, then looked down at Ringo, sadness and affection welling up through her weather-beaten face.

“You idiot.” She said, shaking her head with a thin smile on her face. “What did you do that for?”

Ringo shook his head and looked away, sighing heavily. “It just happened.” He said, taking a deep breath to fight the pain. Hog nodded and looked away, biting her lip. Bitter silence filled the cramped vehicle.

“How about a kiss goodbye?” Ringo asked, finally, smiling at her with the shy sincerity of a teenager. Hog broke into a smile.