he heard a trooper mention patrols near Marcus Garvey Park. Miller shook his head. “Fuck,” he muttered.
Du Trieux’s eyes narrowed. “Time to go.”
The team followed Miller down the stairwell. They paused for just a minute near the bottom floor, waiting for Doyle and Morland to finish pasting another IR sensor to the wall and wiring it to a set of claymore mines they wedged into the stairwell corners. They were leaving the device alone for just a few minutes, but Miller wasn’t taking chances.
Heads down, weapons low and camouflaged against their bodies, they shuffled around a corner a block up and ran directly into a band of troopers.
There were three soldiers in all: one in the driver’s seat of the Bravo, twisted in his chair, talking to someone behind him, the third perched on the side of the vehicle, ripped fungus spores out of the fuel line.
Just as the driver’s eyes squinted in confusion at the sight of them, the one at the fuel line shouted, “What were you doing in—?”
Then the twelfth floor windows blew out behind them.
In a flash Miller and the rest ducked down an alleyway, sprinting from the echoing shots as the troops’ bullets popped from behind them.
No time for delay. The last thing they needed was a firefight in the heart of Infected territory.
Racing down another alley, and cutting across the street at breakneck speed, the group stopped short at an abandoned store front to catch their breath.
Once satisfied they had shaken the patrol, du Trieux checked her radio. It had fallen almost silent.
The EMP explosion, on the surface, didn’t seem to have done much. There was no flash of thunder, no electrical sparking, no errors making the phablets crash. The wave guide had focussed the beam across the park alone. But if all had worked according to design, every piece of electronic equipment in the forward operating base, from wrist watches to Bravo control circuits, were now dead.
The only voices on the military airwaves now were a few scattered patrols screaming bloody murder, demanding to know what had happened, and where everyone had gone.
Du Trieux yanked the batteries and stuffed the radio into one of her pockets with a satisfied nod.
Miller fingered his earpiece as he followed the others back into the alley outside the shop. “Northwind, Wild Tarpan primary target burnt.”
“ Understood and congratulations. Return to base and await orders. ”
“En route,” he replied, jogging to catch up.
Morland, just in front of him, held open a chain fence gate, and Miller ducked through.
After another block they paused to blend into the background, staring like worried civilians as several Bravos rushed back to Marcus Garvey Park.
They then crossed the avenues towards the river.
Before they reached the shoreline a shooting star appeared in the midmorning sky, searing white as it streaked by. It exploded in a black spear of fire-dappled smoke, and another star appeared. A third, a fourth, all tumbling overhead and to the east, towards the Astoria Peninsula. They all blew apart, the blast-echoes reaching the team moments later.
“What the…” Hsiung shaded her eyes.
Morland stared gormlessly up like a child watching fireworks. Doyle knew what it was, so did du Trieux—it was up to Miller to break the news, as artillery shells tracked fire across the sky.
“Antiballistic DEW-CIWS.” He said it the way his father, an Air Force man before retirement, always had. Dewsie-Whiz . Directed energy weapon/close in weapon system. Miller shut his eyes, and saw white spots dancing, burnt into his retina. “Defence lasers. They’re burning artillery shells out of the air. Stockman’s shelling the compound.”
“But that’s okay, right?” Morland gaped. “They’re knocking them out of the air?”
“We only see what’s the lasers are hitting. Not what gets through,” Miller said, pointing at the horizon.
Dirty smoke rose from the direction of home.
5
I T WAS
Du Trieux’s eyes narrowed. “Time to go.”
The team followed Miller down the stairwell. They paused for just a minute near the bottom floor, waiting for Doyle and Morland to finish pasting another IR sensor to the wall and wiring it to a set of claymore mines they wedged into the stairwell corners. They were leaving the device alone for just a few minutes, but Miller wasn’t taking chances.
Heads down, weapons low and camouflaged against their bodies, they shuffled around a corner a block up and ran directly into a band of troopers.
There were three soldiers in all: one in the driver’s seat of the Bravo, twisted in his chair, talking to someone behind him, the third perched on the side of the vehicle, ripped fungus spores out of the fuel line.
Just as the driver’s eyes squinted in confusion at the sight of them, the one at the fuel line shouted, “What were you doing in—?”
Then the twelfth floor windows blew out behind them.
In a flash Miller and the rest ducked down an alleyway, sprinting from the echoing shots as the troops’ bullets popped from behind them.
No time for delay. The last thing they needed was a firefight in the heart of Infected territory.
Racing down another alley, and cutting across the street at breakneck speed, the group stopped short at an abandoned store front to catch their breath.
Once satisfied they had shaken the patrol, du Trieux checked her radio. It had fallen almost silent.
The EMP explosion, on the surface, didn’t seem to have done much. There was no flash of thunder, no electrical sparking, no errors making the phablets crash. The wave guide had focussed the beam across the park alone. But if all had worked according to design, every piece of electronic equipment in the forward operating base, from wrist watches to Bravo control circuits, were now dead.
The only voices on the military airwaves now were a few scattered patrols screaming bloody murder, demanding to know what had happened, and where everyone had gone.
Du Trieux yanked the batteries and stuffed the radio into one of her pockets with a satisfied nod.
Miller fingered his earpiece as he followed the others back into the alley outside the shop. “Northwind, Wild Tarpan primary target burnt.”
“ Understood and congratulations. Return to base and await orders. ”
“En route,” he replied, jogging to catch up.
Morland, just in front of him, held open a chain fence gate, and Miller ducked through.
After another block they paused to blend into the background, staring like worried civilians as several Bravos rushed back to Marcus Garvey Park.
They then crossed the avenues towards the river.
Before they reached the shoreline a shooting star appeared in the midmorning sky, searing white as it streaked by. It exploded in a black spear of fire-dappled smoke, and another star appeared. A third, a fourth, all tumbling overhead and to the east, towards the Astoria Peninsula. They all blew apart, the blast-echoes reaching the team moments later.
“What the…” Hsiung shaded her eyes.
Morland stared gormlessly up like a child watching fireworks. Doyle knew what it was, so did du Trieux—it was up to Miller to break the news, as artillery shells tracked fire across the sky.
“Antiballistic DEW-CIWS.” He said it the way his father, an Air Force man before retirement, always had. Dewsie-Whiz . Directed energy weapon/close in weapon system. Miller shut his eyes, and saw white spots dancing, burnt into his retina. “Defence lasers. They’re burning artillery shells out of the air. Stockman’s shelling the compound.”
“But that’s okay, right?” Morland gaped. “They’re knocking them out of the air?”
“We only see what’s the lasers are hitting. Not what gets through,” Miller said, pointing at the horizon.
Dirty smoke rose from the direction of home.
5
I T WAS
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