3. Inside the Fire

The explosion engulfed the tanker in a ball of swirling orange and white. Everything went completely haywire. Suddenly Baird couldn't tell which way was up any more. The roof came rushing towards his head, smashing into him and jolting him forward. Stars exploded in front of his eyes. Everything was black and he was floating. But he didn't have time to enjoy the weightlessness before he was slammed back to reality.

He was being dragged over debris and dirt, the sounds of gunfire far off in the distance. Someone started shaking his shoulder, and he could barely hear Cole over the cotton in his ears. "Get up, baby, now's not the time for a nap!"

Baird opened his eyes, but it was a few seconds before his brain could translate what he was seeing. Sam, Carmine, Pad and Rossi were standing on either side of him, Lancers trained at the trees. Rossi's finger was jammed in his ear but Baird couldn't make out what he was saying. Some sound he couldn't hear over the ringing noise in the background made Carmine whip around and squeeze off a couple rounds into the forest.

"Down!"

Baird was in the middle of pushing himself up when Cole shoved him back onto the ground. Something sailed over his head, exploding a few feet away.

God, his head was killing him. There was definitely something in his hair. He rubbed the top of his head, and his hand came away sticky with blood. Oh, good. The smell and heat from the charred tanker were assaulting his already bewildered senses.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, his own voice sounding far off.

"Boomshot." Cole smiled grimly. "First grenade took out the tanker—we're lucky the Pack only flipped."

Groaning, Baird craned his neck. Yeah, Cole was right: they had been lucky. The tanker was a smouldering ruin—there was no way the drivers had walked away from that. Poor bastards. The Packhorse that he had been riding in had completely flipped over, one side blackened and crumpled from the explosion. There was no salvaging it, with its windows blown out and the undercarriage mangled. The second vehicle looked relatively unscathed, which was good seeing as they were all taking cover behind it.

"We're so dead." Baird got shakily to his feet. Cole tossed him his Lancer.

"Sorotki and Mitchell are en route," Rossi cut in. "So let's try to survive another fifteen minutes."

Carmine suddenly threw himself against the Packhorse. "Contact!"

A burst of gunfire peppered the hood of the Pack and everyone dropped to their knees. Baird's heart rate skyrocketed as his foggy brain realized he was in danger. Shit, one month off and his reaction time had slowed right down.

"Somebody find my bloody Longshot!" Pad called as he fired into the trees. "I lost it when we flipped."

No one had the chance to reply before another Boomshot shell came flying towards them. Luckily, whoever was shooting hadn't mastered the grenade launcher, and the projectile landed a few feet to the left. Dirt exploded in a column out of the ground, raining over Baird. Pad seemed to see something, and sighted up his Lancer. He let out a whoop after a short burst of fire.

"Got 'im! Keep that area covered so his pals don't go after his gun."

There was a loud crack! and something heavy pinged off the top of the Pack, close to Pad's head. Baird's gut clenched up. Even after a month, he could still recognize that noise. "Shit, they've got a sniper."

Rossi swore under his breath. "We're not going to last until the Raven gets here. That bastard'll keep us pinned down while his buddies flank us."

"Get me my Longshot," Pad said, "and I'll stop him."

One of the guys in Rossi's squad made a beeline for the destroyed Pack. As he crouched down to search the wreckage, another crack rang out and the Gear fell forward, clutching his arm.

"Martens!" Rossi swore again. "We need to take that sniper out!"

Sam took advantage of the reloading time. She darted towards the wreck and dropped to her knees, brushing debris out of the way. A few seconds later she found the sniper rifle and jumped to her feet. Her face was set in a way that made Baird's stomach churn. She threw herself back into cover as the hidden sniper took a shot at her.

"Cover me." Sam quickly checked the Longshot for damage.

"Whoa, hang on." Baird grabbed her shoulder. "Let Salton do it. Mataki's always going on about how he was one of the best snipers in the Pendulum Wars."

It was definitely the wrong thing to say; Sam's face darkened. "I can do this," she snarled, shrugging off his hand. Without a second's pause, she bolted off towards the trees. A dishevelled man appeared in front of Sam, armed with a Hammerburst. Before Baird could react, Sam smashed the butt of her rifle across the would-be attacker's face, dropping him.

"Shit!" Baird fired at the spot where the man had fallen, making sure he couldn't get up and follow Sam.

"What the bloody hell is she doing?" Pad asked angrily, shooting at two other Stranded attempting to flank left.

Baird ignored the Islander, choosing instead to yell futilely at Sam's slowly disappearing figure. "Get your ass back here! You're leaving us shorthanded! Sam! Sam!"

Sam sprinted through the forest, attempting to ignore her seething anger. But no matter how hard she tried to push it aside, it burned at the edge of her focus, and her chest tightened uncomfortably. Padrick Salton might have been one of the best snipers in the Pendulum Wars, but that age was long past. The man was over fifty: his eyesight couldn't still be in pristine condition. That Baird, of all people, doubted her stung more than she expected.

She could do this. She would do this.

The sounds of the firefight had faded into the background, making it easy to pick out the distinct noise of a sniper rifle discharging. She'd narrowed down the nest to one small area, and was now approaching it from the west. If she could get into a tree a couple hundred yards away, she would be able to take out the sniper effortlessly.

A shot rang out, making Sam wince. She hoped the bastard's aim hadn't improved since she'd left the firefight.

Sam stopped behind a promising-looking tree, the branches of which she should easy be able to lie across. A few nimble moves later, she was off the ground, sighting up her Longshot. As much as it pained her to wait, she could only narrow down the potential hiding places after the sniper fired again. Her eyes swept over the field of vision, trying not to linger on one spot for too long, searching intently for any subtle movement.

Minutes ticked by without a sound, and Sam began to suspect something was wrong. The shots she'd been hearing were much closer together. Unless the sniper had slipped away unnoticed—doubtful—then she was missing something. She got that telltale tightness in the pit of her stomach, a sure sign that shit was about to go down.

Something glinted from the trees in front of her. Instinct, rather than presence of mind, had her rolling slightly to the left. Her brain registered the explosion of pain before she even realized she'd been hit. A split-second later, she felt the impact of the bullet slamming into her left shoulder.

The impact ripped her arm back in her socket, slamming her back onto her side. Blood splattered across her cheek. A cry of agony tore out of her throat. She curled up into a ball, despite her combat training screaming at her to get back up. She had to move. The bastard was reloading as she was curled up like a helpless child, readjusting his aim, getting ready for the kill shot.

Move, damn it. Move!

She had a small window of opportunity now, and the blinding pain couldn't distract her. That glint—she'd seen where the bullet broke through the branches and leaves. Sam forced herself back into sniping position. It was do or die now. She aimed, let out a breath, and squeezed the trigger.

For one heart stopping moment, Sam thought that she'd actually missed, and prepared for the inevitable bullet to pierce her forehead. But nothing came. A few seconds later, the branches of the tree she was still aiming at shook. A body tumbled out, landing face down on the ground with a dull thud. It didn't move. Sam allowed herself a moment of smug satisfaction—she wondered if Pad Salton, with all his renown, could have made that shot.

The adrenaline started to ebb from her body. Her shoulder bloody hurt. She'd never been shot before, not with a heavy calibre round. And she still had to get out of this tree. Sam dropped the Longshot from the branches, because there was no way she was getting down with that thing slung over her shoulder. She wrapped her good arm around a bough and swung her legs down to brace against the tree. Readying herself for more pain, Sam quickly moved both of her arms into a hugging position, pressing her body against the trunk. From there, she began the very slow and graceless process of shimmying towards the ground. The bark dug in to her exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing ache in her shoulder.

Amazingly, she managed to reach the ground without falling. Sam mentally congratulated herself as she picked up her Longshot and stumbled towards the body. She stuck her toe under the man's shoulder and flipped him onto his back. A sniper rifle lie exposed on the ground; it was an older model, one that had stopped production around the time Sam was born. That probably explained why the bullet hadn't completely torn apart her shoulder.

As she stared at the hole in the man's head, Sam realized there was something cold running down her left arm. Gingerly, she pressed her palm against her injured shoulder. When she pulled it away to look, she stomach lurched: there was a lot more blood than she had anticipated. Her training took over instantly. She shoved her hand into one of the pouches on her belt—the one that contained field medical supplies—and pulled out an emergency medical tourniquet. It was little more than a hand pump and an inflatable sleeve, but it would have to do. She wrapped it around her shoulder as best she could and began inflating it. The pressure against her wound was excruciating, but it was better than bleeding to death.

When the sleeve would no longer inflate, Sam stopped her pumping. A sudden burst of light-headedness had her steadying herself against the nearby tree. She waited until the stars faded out of her vision before pressing a finger to her earpiece.

"Byrne to Rossi. You guys still alive?"

There was no sound, not even the static when she was waiting for someone to reply. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sam took the tac-com out of her ear; it was blackened and dented. The damage must have happened when the Packhorse flipped. She cursed herself for not checking earlier. Now she was out in the forest, alone and bleeding, with no way of contacting her comrades. And if her tac-com had blown out, no one would be able to access her GID reading either.

Perfect.

There was only one thing to do: try to make it back to the squad on her own. Maybe someone would be smart and come looking for her, but Sam wasn't going to hold her breath. She trudged off in the direction that she thought the Pack was in.

Baird knew that the sniper had been taken care of when he realized his head should have been blown off.

He'd been out of cover about ten seconds too long—plenty of time for a competent marksman to sight him up and pull the trigger. But he wasn't dead. He glanced around, trying to stifle his giddy relief at the near miss. Cole seemed to have drawn the same conclusion; his face was slowly recovering from an alarmed expression that was probably brought on by expecting to see his buddy's head explode.

"Sam musta got her man," Cole said.

"Lucky for us," Baird answered bitterly. "Sorotki's taking his sweet time."

As if in answer, the rhythmic chopping of a Raven's blades could be heard in the distance. Not a minute later, KR-239 came into view over the treetops. Sorotki's voice erupted in Baird's ear. "Nice to see you guys are still alive."

With the approach of the Raven, the Stranded realized they were seriously out-gunned. Soon the occasional bursts of gunfire stopped and the foliage stopped moving. Baird only lowered his Lancer once he was sure the Stranded had retreated for good. He was almost disappointed in them; the assholes on Vectes at least had guts. Rossi immediately went to the aid of Martens. The wound wasn't too serious; it would have been much worse if the sniper actually had half-decent aim. But then the bastard had steadily improved as the firefight had dragged on.

"Yeah, thanks for showing up," Baird snapped.

Cole raised his eyebrows at the venom in Baird's voice, and gave him a warning look. Baird huffed. So maybe there really wasn't anything Sorotki could have done to get here faster. But that didn't stop his temper from flaring.

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Mitchell answered. "Any casualties?"

Rossi took over. "We've got one injury, T2. And Byrne's tac-com is offline."

Baird's stomach lurched painfully. When Sam showed up he was going to tear her a new one. "I'll go look for her," he volunteered, folding his arms across his chest. Unease and frustration warred inside him.

Rossi nodded. "All right. The rest of you, round up any weapons you can find. No point in leaving firearms lying where the assholes can pick them up later."

The downdraft from the Raven sent dirt flying in all directions. Sorotki set it down nicely, and Mitchell jumped out of the crew bay, heading straight for the injured Gear. Baird set off in the direction Sam had gone; he hadn't walked five feet when Cole jogged up behind him.

"You don't think I'm gonna let you wander off alone, do ya?" Cole smirked and nudged Baird jokingly. "'Sides, I gotta make sure you don't kill Sam."

Baird rolled his eyes, but didn't contradict his friend. Now that his self-preservation instincts weren't controlling his every thought and action, resentment managed to squeeze out from underneath the rock of indifference. Yeah, he was pissed. He might actually need Cole to stop him jumping on Sam when they found her.