in the hole!”
Another explosion shook the house, perhaps the whole row of terraced houses, reminding her of the time a mud brick house in Damascus had come down on top her just like this.
“Go, go, go!”
The fire team rushed forward and leapt through the hole they’d blown in the wall dividing this house from the next. A brief burst of gunfire, and then the familiar call.
“Clear!”
She swung around the door frame where she’d been sheltering, automatically checking to make sure the battery indicator for her Sonycam was still showing blue. A time hack in the corner of her heads-up display told her there was just over an hour’s worth of storage left on this stick. Her last.
Moving toward the smoking fissure, Julia forced herself not to look at the spot where Gil Amundson had bled out on the floor, waiting for evac. They’d covered him with a rug.
She bent and stepped quickly through into the next house, the muzzle of her own Colt sweeping the room as she did.
A three-round burst sounded upstairs, immediately followed by the
thud
of something heavy hitting the floor. Plaster chips and fine white dust floated down, coating her goggles.
“Clear!”
A windowpane shattered and sprayed her face with shards of glass. She felt the sting of lacerated flesh, and the warmth of blood that was beginning to flow freely. Julia whipped off her glove and ran her fingers over the skin of her neck. Nothing cut there. Just more facial scars to add to her collection. She cleaned herself up with a couple of medicated wipes and a small tube of spray-on skin.
“You okay, Ms. Duffy?”
It was Steve Murphy, the trooper who was now an acting corporal, in charge of twelve men from two other remnant platoons. With Amundson dead, nobody from their original chalk was left.
“I’m fine, Murph,” she said, wiping the last of the blood away. “Just making myself beautiful.”
A pair of boots came thundering down the stairwell in the narrow, darkened hallway outside what looked like a dining room.
“Alcones coming through!”
Another cav trooper, one of Murphy’s strays, came back into the room, being careful to stay out of the line of sight provided by the broken window.
“There was a kraut upstairs, Corporal. He was saving this for company.”
Alcones flipped a potato masher grenade in the air and caught it with the same hand.
Murphy nodded. “Good work. Let’s take five and wait for the others to catch up. This is the last house in the row, if I’m not mistaken. Anyone think different? Alcones, could you see anything from up there?”
The trooper nodded. “We’re at the end of this block of houses, or what’s left of it. We got ruins on all three sides. The next stretch of buildings is a block to the west, maybe fifty yards or so to reach them.”
Murphy risked a quick glance across the cobbled street. It was coming up on midnight, but there were hundreds of fires burning all over this part of Calais, and they lit the night. Besides Duffy and himself, there were four others in the room. The rest of the platoon had taken up defensive positions throughout the ruined house.
“Okay. Ammo check?”
Prufrock checked his pouches. “Two mags, two frags, Corporal.”
“Three mags and the LAW,” Chalese reported from his covering position by a door.
Juarez, by the window, had “one mag and fuck-all else.”
Murphy pulled one of his own magazines and tossed it to Juarez. “That leaves me with three. What about you, Al? Ms. Duffy?”
Alcones had two and some spare change.
Duffy didn’t need to check. “I got three full reloads and four grenades. Plus an hour’s worth of video left, if anyone’s planning on doing something dramatic.”
Murphy sighed and took off his helmet. “Ms. Duffy, can you tell where we are or where Reynolds’s squad is? They should be across the street by now. But I can’t see shit with these goggles.”
He tapped his Starlites with a bloodied fist.
She shrugged. “Dunno. Let’s
Another explosion shook the house, perhaps the whole row of terraced houses, reminding her of the time a mud brick house in Damascus had come down on top her just like this.
“Go, go, go!”
The fire team rushed forward and leapt through the hole they’d blown in the wall dividing this house from the next. A brief burst of gunfire, and then the familiar call.
“Clear!”
She swung around the door frame where she’d been sheltering, automatically checking to make sure the battery indicator for her Sonycam was still showing blue. A time hack in the corner of her heads-up display told her there was just over an hour’s worth of storage left on this stick. Her last.
Moving toward the smoking fissure, Julia forced herself not to look at the spot where Gil Amundson had bled out on the floor, waiting for evac. They’d covered him with a rug.
She bent and stepped quickly through into the next house, the muzzle of her own Colt sweeping the room as she did.
A three-round burst sounded upstairs, immediately followed by the
thud
of something heavy hitting the floor. Plaster chips and fine white dust floated down, coating her goggles.
“Clear!”
A windowpane shattered and sprayed her face with shards of glass. She felt the sting of lacerated flesh, and the warmth of blood that was beginning to flow freely. Julia whipped off her glove and ran her fingers over the skin of her neck. Nothing cut there. Just more facial scars to add to her collection. She cleaned herself up with a couple of medicated wipes and a small tube of spray-on skin.
“You okay, Ms. Duffy?”
It was Steve Murphy, the trooper who was now an acting corporal, in charge of twelve men from two other remnant platoons. With Amundson dead, nobody from their original chalk was left.
“I’m fine, Murph,” she said, wiping the last of the blood away. “Just making myself beautiful.”
A pair of boots came thundering down the stairwell in the narrow, darkened hallway outside what looked like a dining room.
“Alcones coming through!”
Another cav trooper, one of Murphy’s strays, came back into the room, being careful to stay out of the line of sight provided by the broken window.
“There was a kraut upstairs, Corporal. He was saving this for company.”
Alcones flipped a potato masher grenade in the air and caught it with the same hand.
Murphy nodded. “Good work. Let’s take five and wait for the others to catch up. This is the last house in the row, if I’m not mistaken. Anyone think different? Alcones, could you see anything from up there?”
The trooper nodded. “We’re at the end of this block of houses, or what’s left of it. We got ruins on all three sides. The next stretch of buildings is a block to the west, maybe fifty yards or so to reach them.”
Murphy risked a quick glance across the cobbled street. It was coming up on midnight, but there were hundreds of fires burning all over this part of Calais, and they lit the night. Besides Duffy and himself, there were four others in the room. The rest of the platoon had taken up defensive positions throughout the ruined house.
“Okay. Ammo check?”
Prufrock checked his pouches. “Two mags, two frags, Corporal.”
“Three mags and the LAW,” Chalese reported from his covering position by a door.
Juarez, by the window, had “one mag and fuck-all else.”
Murphy pulled one of his own magazines and tossed it to Juarez. “That leaves me with three. What about you, Al? Ms. Duffy?”
Alcones had two and some spare change.
Duffy didn’t need to check. “I got three full reloads and four grenades. Plus an hour’s worth of video left, if anyone’s planning on doing something dramatic.”
Murphy sighed and took off his helmet. “Ms. Duffy, can you tell where we are or where Reynolds’s squad is? They should be across the street by now. But I can’t see shit with these goggles.”
He tapped his Starlites with a bloodied fist.
She shrugged. “Dunno. Let’s
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