Hard Drop (16 page)

But now there was movement on his streets, on the wide avenue below. He came to life, uncoiling from his perch like a snake and lowering himself into a kneeling position, training his sights along the main avenue, waiting for a confirmation his suspicions were correct.
 

It came soon enough, the sudden, fleeting flash of movement catching the bright sunlight as a group of maybe a half-dozen intruders rushed across a wide cross street below him

The sniper slid forwards, resting the rifle against the low concrete ledge, gripping the butt a little tighter. Target acquired.

Tyco was past the idling soldiers before they knew it. One second, the street had lain empty before him; the next, two large, muscled sentries had appeared in the alley, startled by the passing troopers. Tyco had seized the element of surprise, accelerating up the street before they could react and turning to warn the others.
 

“Heads up - !” He called quickly over his shoulder, even as two neat shots rang out from Chip’s pistol. The two soldiers fell immediately, dead on their feet, their heads sinking in on their massive necks as they collapsed onto the street below.
 

Hog nodded with grudging respect as she sprinted past their bodies. “Not bad.” She muttered. Chip snorted in response.

“Tighten up.” Tyco called from up ahead, and Ghost pushed Shelley forward to close the gap. Shelley nearly lost his footing, but regained his balance, angrily refusing Ghost’s outstretched hand. He ran faster, breathing hard, moving ahead on his own power.

Sobered by the unexpected encounter, Tyco stared up the empty boulevard ahead of them and could not shake the feeling that their luck, what little they had had of it so far, was about to run out. He unlatched his safety and slowed his sprint to a cautious run. There was trouble, he was certain, waiting for them just ahead.
 

The sniper continued to follow the group’s progress, saw them sweep through the patrol, watched them disappear from view behind the next block of buildings. He would have his shot, he knew, and sooner rather than later. Their route would take them directly perpendicular to his rooftop position, across the same avenue that bordered the entrance to his building below. They would have to cross a good thirty yards of open space where their boulevard intersected his, and he did not miss, not given such a wide window.
 

 
He moved his rifle sight deliberately ahead, adjusting his focus with meticulous precision. He would be ready when they arrived.
 

Tyco’s worries were well-founded. Not three streets distant, a full platoon had emerged from a side street, moving slowly across the intersection. They turned in alarm as the team approached, their footsteps loud against the hard concrete. The soldiers scattered quickly, ducking into the small side street and behind cover, ambushed and taking up defensive positions. Tyco opened fire as he ran, his bullets raking across the intersection unsteadily, almost wildly, chasing the rebels without striking anyone.
 

Ghost ran fully upright, keeping his eyes on the road ahead as he muscled the wheezing doctor through the intersection. Chip held his fire; the soldiers had taken cover and it was pointless to waste bullets on them. They peered out as Hog sprinted through the passage, taking a few stray potshots as she disappeared up the hill. The team was past them in a matter of seconds, continuing their headlong sprint up the sloping streets. The platoon re-emerged quickly in their wake, swarming into the intersection and opening fire on the troopers from the base of the small hill before giving chase.
 

“Cap – “ Hog warned as the bullets started flying from below.
 

He nodded without looking back. “You got Ringo’s grenades?”

Hog looked down at Ringo’s ammo belt, still coiled around her shoulder.
 

She nodded and smiled cruelly, delighted by the idea. Ripping a grenade from the belt, she pulled the pin and dropped it neatly between her legs. It bounced once and rolled quickly down the slope towards the soldiers below.
 

It went off with a dull thump, shaking the ground underfoot, rattling what was left of the surrounding buildings. Shelley looked back in alarm, just in time to see the soldiers stagger and fall to the ground. Their firing had stopped completely. Hog smiled widely at the well-timed destruction behind her.
 

“That’s a party trick.” She muttered gleefully, and ran a little faster.
 

The wide boulevard approached rapidly ahead. From Tyco’s position, the street looked endless, bathed in brilliant sunlight and completely devoid of shadow or cover. Tyco glanced back at his group nervously. The faster they crossed, the better. He bore down and picked up the pace.
 

The sniper clutched his rifle in anticipation. The grenade had been an unexpected boon, punctuating the silence and helping to pinpoint the group’s progress. He leaned forwards and let his finger curl on the trigger, carefully tracing the last few yards up to the intersection – his chosen battleground.

The lead figure burst into the sunlight, slightly ahead of the sniper’s estimation. He adjusted quickly, zeroing in on him, then slid his sight ahead, trying to account for his speed. He had found the range and was already starting to squeeze when it happened.
 

The sunlight hit Tyco like a wave as he broke from cover. Despite seeing it come, it was brighter than he had expected, and he slowed involuntarily as his eyes adjusted. He felt the debris covering the street shifting underfoot, felt the brittle, ungiving hardness of the concrete below it, and struggled to stay on his feet. He heard the team approaching from behind him and resolutely regained his footing, forcing himself back up to speed, running faster now than before. He had reached the concrete pedestrian island in the center of the street when he heard the engine. It came quickly, bursting down towards the street in a sudden explosion of angry noise.
 

He turned, tearing his rifle from around his shoulder just as a heavily armored motorcycle roared from the shadows of a side alley, swinging wildly on its axis as turned down on the boulevard and righted itself. Its driver was just visible over the front wheel, perched in a cockpit seat and enclosed nearly completely by a glass shell. He stared down at Tyco with hungry malevolence as his wheels caught the concrete, swinging the heavy chassis around behind it.
 

The front-mounted machine guns opened up even as Tyco dove to the ground, rolling to evade the flying bullets. The team behind him flattened themselves against the side street walls. Ghost and Hog opened up, quickly, peppering the motorcycle with quick bursts of suppressing fire.

Tyco wormed his way along the ground; as long as he stayed low the guns couldn’t reach him, blocked by the slope of the road and the limitations of their firing angles, but he knew he wasn’t safe.
 

The driver responded by revving the engine, trying to run him down and crush him under the motorcycle’s wheels, firing blindly with his machine guns. Tyco rolled, dove, and slithered over the broken glass on the street, feeling it tear and grind against the exposed fabric of his uniform. It was all he could do to stay out of the guns’ range and ahead of the growling engine. He ducked quickly as the vehicle roared past, rising quickly to his feet as it swept by. He fired once, testing the glass, and watched as his shots thudded around it harmlessly. He cursed; if it was bulletproof, he was in serious trouble.
 

He dove again as the motorcycle swung around, sliding in a tight arc around its front wheel. He slid sideways, keeping an eye on the approaching engine while working his way back towards the concrete island. The motorcycle roared and charged again, its wheels spinning furiously, slipping over the loose surface as it bore towards him. He rolled at the last instant, looking up as the front wheel flashed by inches away from his head, the hum of the revolving spokes singing in his ears even after it had passed.
 

Tyco rolled to his knees just as the motorcycle tried to turn, wobbling on its wheels and stopping briefly. He saw the driver distinctly through a small ventilation gap in the side of the glass, fumbling with the controls. For the briefest of instants, he had an open shot. But the bike moved even as he fired, roaring out of its turn, and the bullets pinged harmlessly off its metal frame. Tyco cursed, reloading quickly while he had the chance. He was going to have to do better than that if he wanted to survive. The driver brought the motorcycle around again, faster and tighter this time, and Tyco steeled himself for another round.

The sniper on the rooftop had stopped, his finger frozen in place on the trigger, staring down at the intersection in furious disbelief.

“Fucking cavalry.” He said to himself, shaking his head. The arrogant, unwieldy motorcycle was messy and inefficient, a complete waste of resources. Unable to deal with the lone, stranded trooper, its driver was now tearing up the buildings with its machine gun. It was loud, wasteful, and stupid – and it interfered with the sniper’s work. He had a good mind to shoot the driver from here and get it over with.
 

He contented himself instead with scanning the street downhill, searching for the rest of the team. He found them just inside the shade, guns blazing.
 

Hog watched Tyco intently as the motorcycle roared towards him again. She had tried to distract the driver with gunfire, but her shots had proven ineffective against his glass shell. Any effort to come to Tyco’s rescue had been driven back furiously as the motorcycle’s guns carved great chunks out of the walls around her. So she had held her position in the shadows, watching as Tyco danced with the brute machine, whipping aside at the last moment time and again like an ancient bullfighter. His movements were considered and calculated: from the calm purpose in his steps, it was clear to her he had a plan in mind, a method to his maneuvers. With a triumphant smile, she realized what he was playing at: with every pass, Tyco was edging back towards the concrete island in the center of the boulevard, forcing the vehicle into tighter and tighter turns around it. She watched breathlessly as he danced and dodged out of the motorcycle’s way, preparing to pounce.
 

Finally, he had reached the edge of the concrete, stepping completely through it and rising to his feet as the motorcycle tore past. It slipped and skidded, trying to make the tight turn, fighting its own momentum as it wrapped its chassis around its front wheel. Unable to make the turn, it ended up stranded on each end of the concrete, its wheels spinning on the loose rubble.
 

Tyco was up in a flash, pressing his advantage and advancing on the vehicle, firing down on the driver from full height. He stepped carefully and quickly, staying just a half-step ahead of its blazing machine guns. From this close range, the glass dome was vulnerable, and he loosed a concentrated volley across it. The bullets smacked into the glass, cracking the screen into long, spindly slivers that left the driver half-blind behind it. Tyco went in for the kill, spraying bullets into the cracked glass in a tight arc.
 

The motorcycle’s wheels caught suddenly against the bare concrete, gaining just enough purchase to jolt it free. It lurched abruptly, screeching across the road and leaving a dark trail of burning rubber behind. The driver ripped the throttle wide open and roared away, bringing the motorcycle around at a safe distance to regroup and lick his wounds.
 

More gunfire sounded on the hill below the others. Reinforcements had found the wounded patrol and were advancing from below, driving the team slowly forwards and up into the intersection. Ghost flung Shelley roughly into a doorway and returned fire, pinning down the pursuers as best he could.
 

Hog saw the opportunity as the motorcycle idled, the driver’s attention focused solely on Tyco. She stepped into the sunlight, opening up with her submachine gun, determined to finish this engagement quickly.
 

Chip saw the flash above, the sudden shift of metal under sunlight drawing his attention. In an instant, he knew it for what it was, recognizing the threat that lay behind it. He looked from Hog to Tyco, sizing up the situation with a shooter’s eye, knowing instinctively which target the shooter above would choose. He broke from cover, sprinting across the street and launching himself through the air just as a loud crack sounded from above.
 

He collided with Hog, knocking her to the ground, and looked up anxiously, worried for a split-second that he might have been wrong in his assessment.
 

But Tyco was still standing, rifle at his shoulder, taking advantage of the sudden interruption to flank the motorcycle. He moved quickly, side-stepping to find a clear shot through the broken glass. He found it and mashed the trigger, flooding the cockpit with bullets.
 

The driver slumped immediately. Blood splattered across the inside the fractured windshield.

Tyco wheeled immediately, scanning the rooftops for the sniper he now knew was there. There was no sign of him through his scope as he raced it across the empty city above.

“Chip?”
 

“Hotel garden, 3 o’clock. I’m on it – “ Chip started, but Tyco knew his time was running out. He ducked behind a small bus shelter even as the next shot rang out. Just in time, too: the glass above him shattered loudly, showering him in thick shards that cut him across the face and ear.
 

He grimaced in pain, immediately putting a hand to his wounds, the blood seeping into his sleeve and around his bracelet. It was not the first time his talisman had soaked in his blood.
 

“Chip?!!” He said again, more anxiously.
 

Chip kept his rifle propped over Hog’s back, adjusting the focus slightly, shifting his aim by millimeters.