- infie
Recap: (Sunday)
494 closed his eyes, feeling fatigue racing in overcome the adrenaline high and slow him down. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the cabinet. {Couldn't have waited one more day, Ashkovich, you asshole. I could have handled this single handedly tomorrow.} He filled himself with resolve, then moved.
511 hit the first of the outbuildings at 50 kilometres per hour, crushing the mud brick structure like a child's sand castle. He laughed out loud at the blizzard of dust that clouded the tank, and gunned the throttle again. As he cleared the debris, he caught sight of the black outline marking the entrance to the cave structure. He chuckled again, grabbed the joystick for the turret, and aimed carefully just above the door. {Wouldn't want any of the little bugs to escape before I have a chance to step on them.} He pressed the trigger, and watched the entrance disappear in an avalanche of rock and sand. He turned his attention to the next outbuilding. "One down. Eleven more to go."
[One down. Eleven more to go.]
Lydecker's thin lips twitched at the satisfaction in 511's voice. Sandoval entered the room in time to overhear and frowned. "Is he attacking Ashkovich's compound?"
"Yes, he certainly is."
"Stop him!" Sandoval was furious. "We need that virus."
"I can't stop him. We have no com link." Lydecker turned and glared at Sandoval coldly enough that the other man stepped away. "And, with all due respect, I wouldn't if I could. It's time to get my kids out of there." The last word was punctuated with a reverberating boom as the next building fell.
[Ten more to go.]
"Uh, sir?" The operator raised his hand tentatively, and Lydecker resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why isn't X5-511 going straight to X5-494's position, sir?"
"He's clearing out his back." The operator just looked at him, still uncertain. Lydecker sighed. "It's a basic rule of combat, private. If you leave an enemy at your rear, he'll bite you in the ass."
494 launched himself from behind the steel cold storage cabinet just as another explosion rocked the complex, sending the guards staggering and buying him another second. He hit the closest guard with a stiffened elbow to the jaw, stripping him of his gun and tossing it behind 529's table with a single smooth motion. He was on the second guard an instant later, twisting his head savagely. He held the dead guard in front of him long enough to grab his pistol, then dove over the top of 529's table to land beside his squadmate as the remaining guards regained their balance and sent a storm of bullets at him.
"Fuck!" 494 touched his stinging side, and his fingers came away wet with blood. 529 stared at him, wide-eyed, SKS at the ready. "Don't worry. Flesh wound." 494 assured him. He twisted around carefully so that his back was to the wall and his feet were braced against the table, then leaned forward and grasped 529's trapped ankle in both hands. The newest wound along his ribs complained fiercely, and 494's sight dimmed briefly. He gritted his teeth and pushed the weakness away. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked at 529. "Ready?" 529 nodded. "Pull!"
Both transgenics put all their weight and power into pulling free 529's ankle from the table. It didn't budge. "What the fuck did they weld this one on with, titanium?" 529 asked tiredly, slumping, though still careful to stay behind the protection of the table.
"Dunno. But we don't have time for this." 494 leveled the Viking at the iron encircling 529's leg. "Stay still."
Just then a fresh hail of gunfire hammered into the wall over their heads, and 529 crouched lower. 494 gave him a dark look. "Stay. Still." he repeated, slowly and clearly. 529 nodded sheepishly. 494 aimed again, and fired. 529 glared at him.
"That would be... 'OW.'" he said grimly, withdrawing his bleeding leg from the table, which was now sporting a large hole where the weld used to be.
"That's nothing, man. Give it twelve hours and you're gonna be wishing I'd shoot you again just to give you something else to think about."
"Sweet Jesus!" 529 stared at him, paling underneath caramel skin. "I hope that wan't meant to be comforting."
"Eleven guards left." 494 told him, ignoring the comment. "There's no way we're gonna get out of here without taking more damage. But," 494 bared his teeth. "I'm pretty sure that all that noise is 511 making a mess for us outside." 529 nodded his understanding. "Unfortunately, all of the guards are in here, and we need to deal with them before they rush us." 494 took a deep breath and held it as his vision greyed out again. "I'm going to head back over to the cabinets. Push the table over to that corner, " he gestured at a nearby grotto, "And then spray the room." He paused. "Miss me, of course."
"Of course." 529 rolled his eyes sarcastically, checking the magazine on the SKS. "A full clip! How considerate."
"You're welcome." The gunfire stopped, and 494 poked his head out to see four of the remaining guards, including Manatov, preparing to rush the table. He reached down and wrenched a piece of jagged metal free from the place that had held 529's left wrist. "Perfect." he said with a cruel grin. He looked at 529 and nodded, then sprang from behind the table. 529 came up on one knee and began firing.
494 raced for the safety of the cabinets, firing the Viking as he moved. He picked his targets carefully, hitting three of the oncoming guards with four shots. He barrelled straight into Manatov, bowling him over and ending up riding him the rest of the way behind the cabinet. An over-confident guard rushed the opening, and 494 spun in place and blew the top of his head off. Still pinning the struggling Manatov with a knee in his groin and an elbow in his windpipe, he looked at the Viking with new respect. He dragged Manatov to his feet, spinning him so that his left arm was across the man's throat, and pulled him to the edge of their refuge, using him for cover. A quick look around the corner revealed another guard down thanks to 529, and one sneaking up along the line of cabinets. 494 aimed and squeezed the trigger, taking down the lurker. The Viking's slide clicked open. Out of bullets. {Shit. Five left. No bullets.} Mentally he reviewed the number of shots 529 had expended covering him. {Twelve rounds left over there.} He risked another look, but the remaining resistance had wisely taken cover. {Damn.} He looked down at his captive, but Manatov had dropped his gun when 494 tackled him. {Yep. Damn.}
A sudden flurry of SKS fire jerked his attention back to the table. Two of the remaining guards had rushed 529's position, drawing his remaining ammo. One of them fell, but the other managed to make the edge of table and fired. 494 heard 529 grunt, then the guard disappeard over the edge of the table in a movement so fast it looked like he'd been eaten. A distinctive crack signalled the end of the guard. Blood seeped from under the edge of the table. 529 had definitely been hit. They were running out of time.
511 patted the Black Eagle's instrument panel fondly as they plowed through the last of the outbuildings. This was more fun than he'd had in ages. "All right, baby. This next one will be a bit more of an effort, but I believe in you." He angled the tank's nose towards the cliff face, and stopped for a moment to strap himself into the five point collision harness. He flexed his fingers, then gently wrapped his hand around the throttle. He took a deep breath, then rammed the throttle full open and, engine screaming, headed for the wall.
494 pulled Manatov in front of him and stepped out from behind the cover of the cabinet. He held the jagged piece of metal from 529's table against Manatov's throat so tightly he could feel his pulse, and edged his way back towards 529's position. He glanced over the edge of the barrier. 529 looked up, clutching his shoulder, and mouthed, "I'm out." 494's lips compressed, and he looked at the room. There were firearms with the dead guards, three metres away, but he would need to crouch to pick one up and that would make him vulnerable. They could not stay in their current positions without weapons, though. He weighed the options.
Ashkovich staggered through the door to his left, blood streaming from a cut over his eye. He stopped and stared at the tableau in front of him, then gave an inarticulate scream of rage and scooped up Zane's Browning from inside the doorway. He started firing before he even brought it level, hitting the ground, dead guards, the table, and Manatov before clicking empty. He looked at 494, still standing unscathed, and howled before diving for one of the SKS.
Manatov screamed and tried to double up over the gunshot penetrating his gut. 494 wrenched him back upright, then realized his screen was useless. He moved his mouth beside Manatov's ear. "Say hi to Sasha for me." He pushed Manatov's head forward and drew the makeshift knife across his throat, severing his jugular. He propelled Manatov's body forward, throwing him into Ashkovich just as the other man reached the rifle. Ashkovich went down, and 494 moved to leap headfirst behind the shelter of the table. {Too late, too late!} One of the four remaining guards swiveled out from the door frame and fired his ROMAK on full auto, catching 494 twice in his already abused left leg. "Argh!" 494 curled up, clenching his fists and trying desperately to push the pain down into the depths where he could control it. 529 stared at him, blood trickling from between his fingers, face already starting to turn red with fever. 494 straightened his leg, cursed, punched the ground. He looked at 529 and shook his head. {That's it,} he thought despairingly. {We're done.} He heard movement in the room and braced himself for the final rush.
The room exploded around them.
For a moment, 494 thought that they'd set off grenades, then his ears stopped ringing and he felt, more than heard, a a deep rumbling vibrating him to his bones. "What the fuck?" He peeked over the edge of the table, eyes wide with disbelief. He blinked. He blinked again, but the sight in front of his eyes didn't change. He turned his head and looked at 529, who was also peering over the edge. 529 looked back at him wide eyed, and shrugged.
There, sticking half-in and half-out of the wall, was an enormous, tan, Russian Black Eagle tank.
Sunshine could just been seen dimly all around the outside of the tank, and 494 could just make out a foot sticking out from under one of the treads. An arm extended from under the other. {Three bad guys left.} 494 thought in some tiny part of his mind still capable of rational thought. The hatch's lock wheel spun, and the hatch clanked open. 511 popped his head up and gave them a big, happy grin. "Hey guys. Need a lift?" Gunfire converged on him from two positions, and he ducked back into the safety of the tank. The Eagle's machine guns swiveled around to target the guards, and fired in two short bursts. The guards slumped. 511 popped back up, grinning.
494 dragged himself out from behind the table, pulling 529 to his feet. He stopped a few metres away from the Black Eagle and whistled softly. His eyebrows rose, and he pursed his lips in appreciation. "Now that is what I call a rescue."
511 widened his eyes at the sight his naked friend, and disappeared back into the tank. A black burnous came sailing out of the hatch, followed by another. 494 shrugged it on and belted it in place, then helped 529 on with his. His leg threatened to buckle, and he staggered the rest of the way to the tank, leaning heavily against the chassis. A scraping noise made them both turn, and 511 vaulted out of the hatch and took up a defensive position in front of his wounded squadmates.
Ashkovich pulled himself upright out of the rubble, blood streaked face and matted hair making him look demonic through the thick dust. 511 narrowed his eyes at him, and suddenly all of the humour drained out of his face, leaving a cold, expressionless mask. His voice was low and full of menace. "Ashkovich. I've been wanting to meet you. Very much."
Ashkovich brought up his gun, much too slowly for a healthy transgenic. 511 blurred forward and struck him in the face with a forearm, taking him down hard, though not hard enough to knock him out. He planted a foot against Ashkovich's spine, holding him in place.
A phone began to ring.
The three transgenics exhanged looks, then 494 limped heavily to Ashkovich and frisked him, coming up with a Nokia 9300 cell phone. He looked at the incoming number, and snorted. He flipped open the phone. "Yeah." Pause. "Yeah." Pause. "Yeah, got that." Pause. "All right." He crouched down beside Ashkovich, pressed the volume up on the phone, then held it so that Ashkovich could hear. The other two transgenics listened in.
[Ashkovich!] Lydecker sounded jovial. [I understand you're in a bit of a pickle.]
Ashkovich blubbered through broken teeth.
[I suppose you're thinking that now would be a good time for me to tell these guys to back off and let you go, right] Lydecker continued.
"Yes! Yes! Tell them to let me go."
[You know, I don't think that's going to happen.] Lydecker's voice abruptly dropped, became rage filled, chilling. [You didn't really think I was just going to let you torture two of my kids and just walk away, did you?] He hung up.
Ashkovich closed his eyes.
494 leaned close over him, whispering. "Do you remember what I told you, Mikhail?" He stood in slow, painful movements. 511 withdrew his Glock from it's hiding place at the small of his back and took steady, unflinching aim. 494 moved to stand wearily beside him, one hand on his friend's shoulder for balance. "Tick, tick, asshole. Tick, tick, tick." He stopped.
511 squeezed the trigger.