Arisen : Nemesis (53 page)

He triggered a rolling twelve-round burst. Then fifteen. Then six.

There were figures running in all directions – alive, dead, being pulled down and eaten, being infected and turned. Here and there one of the new manic ones leaping across twenty feet of open ground to pull down a panicked al-Shabaab guy.

There were rounds still flecking off the truck body, the occasional streaking RPG. The odd explosion on the ground, or on the walls, with no obvious cause.

Through all the madness and chaos, Jake kept firing. And he kept scanning to the front. And, finally, there he was – Brendan. Still on his feet and running.

But now he was looking up toward one of the guard towers.

His whole body convulsed as he took a hit of some kind.

And Brendan went down like a falling sandbag.

Jake stared open-mouthed over his sight.

And he willed the truck to go faster.

* * *

As they reached Brendan, face-down in the mud, Baxter braked them into a sliding, dirt-spraying stop and Jake raced out to recover him.

Baxter stayed at the wheel, hunched over, hearing and feeling incoming rounds all over the place, staring forward through slitted eyes. And that’s when he saw it.

“Jake! Twelve o’clock!”

He felt more than saw Jake straighten up and follow his gaze. Fifty meters ahead, in front of a building that abutted the eastern wall, a knot of jihadis was bursting out the door, laying down covering fire in all directions.

They pushed out and two of them raced down into some kind of depression – and lifted out what looked to Baxter like a very familiar PVC body bag. And, as they each hefted an end, it was wriggling.

This was where Brendan had been heading. But they had been beaten to the prize.

“Zack!”
he heard Jake shout.
“Minigun! Twelve o’clock!”

But they could all hear the minigun was down.

“I’m out! Changing cans!”

In peripheral, Baxter could see Jake swing back around and get on the 240. He opened up at the group retreating with Zulu Zero, and he went cyclic, firing full out and non-stop. He took down two covering the rear.

But it was too late. The two pall bearers with their undead burden dropped down into one of those damned spider holes, disappearing into the subterranean bowels of this cursed place.

Along with Zulu Zero.

They’d been so damned close – and now it was gone. Their prize was back down inside that sprawling warren again, probably good and deep. And there was now no way of getting it out again. Not with what was left of them, not in the shape they were in.

The remainder of the jihadis retreated back to the above-ground door. And the last thing Baxter saw in there before it shut… was a flash of Godane in his black robes, directing the whole operation. Somehow he got the sense that the Emir had been hurt, maybe shot.

But the son of a bitch was alive, on his feet – and still in command.

* * *

Hauling for all he was worth on what looked like the very last can of ammo for the minigun, Zack saw Jake pull Brendan into the back seat by his elbows.

The team captain wasn’t moving.

Zack moved to help – but Jake shouted at him. “
Get the fucking fifty up!
”

Zack complied. As he leveled out the weapon, the first thing he saw was the closed front door of the building to their front, fifty yards out. It suddenly cracked open and a bearded face peeked out. Zack couldn't even believe it. It was fucking Godane.

The two locked gazes across the open expanse. As each recognized the other, both men’s eyes went wide.

The door instantly slammed shut again. Zack laughed out loud as he spun up the minigun and engaged. The door, the doorway around it, whatever was behind it, and probably a wide tunnel all the way to the back of the building – all of it turned to sparking mulch as Zack unleashed his longest burst of the entire battle, putting more than ten kilograms of lead, all of it moving at nearly three thousand feet per second, straight into Godane’s face.

He was still laughing as the truck spun out and took off again.

But with the whole world still shooting at them.

Zack suddenly realized he had no idea where they were going. They were completely enclosed by a twenty-foot wall – and a giant timber gate that he doubted anyone was going to be real anxious to open again for them to drive out of.

But then Jake shouted at him again, over the radio this time.
“Zack! You’ve gotta get on the Mk 47 – you’re going to have to blast us a hole out of here!”

Zack blinked once, hard. “What, with the grenade launcher on this truck? I can’t! It’s destroyed!”

Zack felt strong hands on his belt – and was yanked down out of the turret. Jake popped out and looked for himself. In part because it had been rotated to the back, in part because he’d had a lot of other shit on his mind, Jake had never seen the half-melted Mk 47, from that RPG volley that had nearly taken out Zack. But now he could see the weapon was no longer fit for purpose. It didn’t even look like you could have the bad idea of trying to fire it.

“Son of a bitch!”

Jake hesitated, then climbed down again – to Zack, it looked like standing was agony for the team sergeant, and he crawled back into the front and into a sitting position and got on the 240 again. Zack climbed back up – and started burning through his very last can of ammo.

Much good may it do them.

* * *

Baxter battled panic as he also battled the wheel of the truck. They were now the lost convoy of one. They were trapped inside this dying place, doomed, Sisyphus on his hill. The lurching, ramping, hurtling vehicle ran down running bodies – live ones, dead ones – swerving only to dodge holes in the ground that might stop or cripple it.

Baxter knew if they stopped, they were all dead.

Then again, even if they kept moving, death was only a matter of time.

Baxter remembered a line from one of the guys in the lost convoy in
Black Hawk Down
: “We’re going to keep driving around until we’re all fucking dead.”

And that was how they were going to end up now.

But then a series of rippling explosions in the south wall caused his neck to snap in that direction. Leaning forward and looking up through the cracked windshield, he could just make out the arc of incoming 40mm rounds that terminated in these explosions, and he followed it to its origin.

It was the other gun truck, sitting mostly destroyed in the center of the courtyard.

Somehow, its Mk 47 was back up – and engaging.

And it was systematically knocking down a whole section of south wall.

Switching to Guns

The Stronghold - Center Gun Truck
[Three Minutes Ago]

Todd tried to open his eyes.

It kind of worked – for one of them.

The other had been completely closed by swelling. Through the narrow slit of the other, he could see where he was – down on the floor of the truck, wedged between the rear bench seat and the driver’s seat. He’d been knocked down there.

Or rather blown down there.

He tried to move and to assess his injuries. Pretty much everything hurt. And he wasn’t sure he could even move at all. He wasn’t even totally sure he was going to survive these wounds.

But he was alive for right now.

And then he remembered Kate. And he felt sure she was still alive, too – because of what he’d done. Because he had kept firing to protect her, because he had refused to leave his station.

Even when the RPG rain of death was falling on his head.

And he regretted absolutely nothing.

Now, he managed to turn his head. And on the floor just beside him, he saw his radio earpiece. It had been knocked out but looked intact. That was some good luck. And a good place to start.

He’d just take it from there.

He found his right arm also basically obeying instructions. It was shaking, and weak as a kitten, but it moved. He used it to grasp the earpiece and get it seated. His ear didn’t feel too good. Most of his face didn’t feel great. But feeling was slowly coming back.

And only a few seconds after he got the earpiece in, he learned the radio was still functioning. The first exchange of traffic he heard was all he needed.

“Zack! You gotta get on the Mk 47 – you’re going to have to blast us a hole out of here!”

“What, with the grenade launcher on this truck? I can’t! It’s destroyed!”

And now Todd knew what he had to do. He had to make the rest of his body work. Maybe only one last time.

But he had to do it.

Looking around again, he saw another object on the floor – his blue and gold
Cal
hat. Heh. That would do very nicely.

With trembling hands he pulled it on his head. He thought some of his scalp came away. Didn’t matter. He was smiling.

And he battled to pull himself back up into the turret.

* * *

Baxter’s hope soared at the sight of the south wall coming down, in a section maybe ten meters wide. He’d have to wait for the grenade fire to stop, and the explosions to settle, before he could try driving through it.

But he wasn’t going to be able to wait long.

They had to get the fuck out of there. Now that it looked like there was some hope of this, every one of Baxter’s nerves fired with urgency and panic. Hope, the possibility of escape and survival, somehow caused this reaction even more than being shot at from a hundred directions did.

He turned the wheel and pointed their nose toward the exploding section of wall. He had some evasive driving to do before he got there.

But they might, in theory, miracle of miracles, maybe just make it.

He could hear the 240 still going crazy practically by his right ear. And the minigun was still putting out short bursts and raining down gigantic shell casings, some hitting the roof and cascading over the windshield, others falling into the cabin and creating a hazard with their roly-poly shape and burning heat.

Baxter kept one eye on the wall ahead, one on the hazards all around them, and one on the other gun truck.

The explosions finally wound down.

And he heard a voice in his ear, which he recognized as Todd’s.

It said:
“Yahoo! You’re all clear, kid!”

And he could see running figures converging on the other truck.

“Mayday, mayday, Mav’s in trouble! He’s in a flat spin, he’s heading out to sea!”

Baxter gunned the shit out of the engine.

* * *

The bolt on the 47 locked back and Todd reviewed his handiwork. As the explosions cleared, he could see daylight through the dust. That wall was down in a big-ass section. There was enough space to drive through.

He was still in a daze, in shock really, with much of his body not responding to commands. But he was vaguely aware that incoming rounds were flecking off the truck and turret around him. And when he took one in the shoulder, he didn’t feel any pain – just the force and tug as it knocked and spun him.

Looking down, he could see guys running toward him on the ground. Some of them were firing. Some had their arms out and were slavering. Hundreds of rounds and the odd RPG still rained down from the walls. And the dead were pouring in from two directions now.

Todd laughed out loud, hardly believing it. Here he was, at the exact epicenter of the battle for the al-Shabaab Stronghold, deep in the black bush of Somalia, being shot at from all sides, surrounded by the largest herd ever seen, the dead running in every direction and dragging down and devouring the living.

It was the most glorious, hellish, unlikely scene he’d ever imagined.

Whatever else, this sure as hell wasn’t going to be an ordinary way to die. It was a completely extraordinary way to go – all the way down.

He tugged the bill of his cap, drew his side arm with a hand that didn’t quite close, and he started making shots on the ones below who were shooting back. As he did so, he managed to find his radio button with the other hand.

“Too close for missiles, switching to guns…”

He hoped Kate heard that.

He knew she would get a huge kick out of it.

* * *

Jake didn’t bother giving a command to Baxter. Instead he just reached over and hauled the steering wheel to the right. The truck veered away from that hole in the wall. And it lined up on a heading straight toward the other gun truck.

Baxter looked over at him, his eyes saucers.

“We’re going back for Todd,” Jake managed. He was lolling in his seat, and looked like he might not be conscious for much longer.

Baxter tried to breathe. “He’s dead, Jake! I just saw him shot to death by like five guys with AKs!”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t give a shit if he’s vaporized into atoms. If there’s a toenail left, we’re going to pick it up and bring him home.”

Baxter got it. Jake was not leaving anyone else behind.

And while it had looked for a second like they all might live, by a hair’s breadth, now Baxter accepted it. They were in fact all going to die. No one was getting out of there. Once he let the cells of his body sink down into that hopeless certainty, he felt better. Life was easier without hope.

But somehow they were still alive and rolling when they lurched up beside the other truck – driver’s side to driver’s side again, cross-decking, just like when they first rolled in here, fifty minutes and a thousand lifetimes ago.

Baxter looked over at Jake – and he didn’t think the man was going anywhere. He could barely sit up now.

Fuck it
. Baxter opened his door, ducked his head, and leapt out. At least he was sheltered between the two trucks – but only from incoming rounds, he realized, as a dead guy stormed in there after him. Unarmed, he timed the Zulu’s approach – then slammed him in the face with the truck door, and left it open, counting on the walking corpse not being able to figure out a way around.

In a flash, he opened the back door of the other truck and grabbed Todd under the arms. He wasn’t moving, and he was heavy as a son of a bitch, and it seemed to take hours to drag him into the back of the other truck. But he did it.