The Seraphim Sequence: The Fifth Column 2 (20 page)

Damien heard a crunch from his left, in the distance. Someone was trying to circle around, stepping over the discarded Koko Krunch. Another soldier appeared in front of him, five aisles ahead. Damien took cover in the aisle on his left, pausing for a moment to check himself over. Adrenaline masked pain, so he needed to run a free hand over his body for anything sticky or wet. No injuries, just the soldiers’ blood. He ran to the rear of the supermarket. Subcarbine in one hand, he scooped up a large rectangular tin of oil and windmilled it, still running. He heard someone slip on the broken eggs, a weapon clattering to the floor.

There were footsteps ahead. Two pairs.

Damien kept his movements light and fast, the tin of oil swinging and the subcarbine aiming from the hip. It wouldn’t be accurate, but he needed to close this gap as quickly as he could. Inside of twenty meters, a rifle or pistol wasn’t particularly effective.

The operator on the left appeared, barrel just visible. Damien released the oil tin and watched it fly toward the firearm. By the time the tin reached the end of the aisle, the soldier had walked into range. The tin caught him in the shoulder and rolled into the side of his helmet. He recoiled from the blow, falling against the glass display of cold meats with a satisfying smack.

Damien grabbed whatever was to hand—a bottle of vinegar—and smashed it across a second soldier as he appeared on the right. The bottle struck him in the chest, not the head as Damien had hoped. He brought his boot into the side of the soldier’s leg. The operator slipped and, covered in vinegar, fell into a display of frypans.

Damien snatched a frypan as they tumbled and brought it around to the soldier on his left, who was now coated in egg and cocoa shells. But before he could strike with the frypan, they both slipped and fell together on the egg-slicked floor.

‘Fuck,’ Damien said.

He shoved the cocoa-egg soldier’s muzzle away from his face and scrambled into the fruit and vegetable aisle. He’d left his subcarbine behind and it was too late to go back for it. The other soldiers would be advancing to catch him.

Now that he was clear of the vinegar soldier, he could deal with the cocoa-egg soldier. He got to his knees as the guy snapped his rifle up. It dripped with raw egg. Damien grabbed whatever was behind his head—an upo, a baseball-bat-sized vegetable that resembled a radioactive zucchini. Sidestepping the muzzle, he slapped the upo over it. The rifle touched the floor and Damien stomped down on its side, pinning it to the floor along with the soldier’s hand. Upo in both hands, Damien shoved it hard across the soldier’s neck, pressing into his carotid arteries. This was short-lived, however, as the soldier sliced the upo in two with a knife Damien hadn’t seen until now.

Damien leaped back, and just in time as the vinegar soldier made an encore appearance. Damien twisted and ducked to avoid him. He grabbed the water spray hose from the vegetable display and shot a jet of water into the soldier’s goggles. He was running out of weapons.

He freed a durian—a spiky football-shaped fruit—from its display and drop-kicked it into the vinegar soldier’s face, then ducked as the cocoa-egg soldier lunged toward him, double-edged knife gleaming. Damien pulled the spray hose taut. The knife arm bounced off the hose and into the vinegar soldier. The blade went straight through the durian. An inch more and it would’ve impaled the vinegar soldier’s stomach.

Damien squirted water at the cocoa-egg soldier’s face, then ducked suddenly. He caught the hose low before the heavy nozzle could fall on him and, using the weight of the nozzle on the end, he snapped it like a whip. The nozzle struck the soldier in the face. Blood flowed from his nose. Damien snapped the nozzle sideways, striking vinegar soldier in the neck. He spluttered, reaching down to fetch a fallen pistol.

The Jango Fett figurine was right in front of Damien. He snatched it and closed on the vinegar soldier, who now stank more of durian fruit than vinegar. Damien wasn’t sure which was worse. He elbowed the soldier’s pistol aside, clamping over it with one hand, and punched Jango headfirst into the side of his neck, hard into the subclavian artery. Blood squirted around the figurine and the soldier collapsed and fell still. His eyes were wide and lifeless.

Leaving Jango embedded in the dead soldier’s neck, blood still shooting from the wound, Damien redirected the pistol to cocoa-egg and fired. The shot went wide as cocoa-egg came under his line of fire, blade aimed at Damien’s inner thigh. Damien saw the danger and bent his leg inward. The knife missed the back of his knee by an inch. He straightened his leg out again, knocking cocoa-egg’s arm to one side.

Moving quickly, Damien brought his leg around and stepped on the knife, pinning the hand to the floor again. Cocoa-egg kicked out, catching Damien in the thigh and spreading his legs wide. The knife arm came free, swinging back across Damien’s shin. Damien fell back flat, his legs straightening out just in time. Cocoa-egg lunged on top of him, knife hunting for his neck.

The soldier was well-trained: a knife in the upper body was hit or miss with ribs in the way. But a well-planned slice across particular parts of the neck almost assured a kill.

Damien scooped up the durian beside him and clonked the cocoa-egg soldier in the face. The fruit bounced harmlessly off his goggles. Damien withdrew his knee and caught the knife arm from the outside, then steered the blade wide, rolling with it. Before he knew it, he was on top of the soldier, his knee pressed on the outside of the soldier’s elbow. He took the knife and … stopped. The thought of sinking that blade into the soldier’s neck was repulsive.

The Fifth Column had, directly or indirectly, sent a team of innocent men to subdue him. These men had families, friends, hopes and aspirations, and he’d slaughtered them. As Jay would say: wrong place, wrong time. They just happened to be on the wrong side.

The soldier’s free hand struggled for his pistol holster. His fingers found the pistol grip.

Damien drove the knife into the man’s neck, past the spinal cord, then withdrew it so he would bleed out. The man’s body trembled, his pistol tapping against the floor.

Damien heard crunching. Without looking, he flung the combat knife in that direction. When he turned, a soldier was slumped on top of the Jango Fett-ed operator, his neck spurting blood from the exit wound. Damien’s knife bounced off the glass display, too late to do any harm.

Grace appeared, butterfly sword in hand, forehead shiny with sweat. ‘Clean-up on aisle six,’ she said, unsmiling.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

She surveyed the dead operators. ‘Did you just kill a counter-terrorist soldier with a
Star Wars
figurine?’

The vortex ring grenade knocked the wind from Sophia and sent her tumbling through the bank aisle, through the rope and metal poles, and into the wall beneath the teller windows. She wasn’t sure how long she was out, seconds or minutes, but when she came to, Big Dog was advancing to the front of the store, the glass before him blown out and offering him barely a corner to shoot from.

Her body screamed pain at every inch. She gasped for air, felt it burn into her lungs. She tried to move her arms. She’d been hit by the shocktrooper’s vortex ring grenade. He was here.

‘Benito!’ she yelled. Her voice rasped, hopefully loud enough—it was hard to tell over the ringing in her ears. ‘Hit the button!’

She rolled on her side, away from the wall. Her arms flopped with her. She came to rest on her back and looked over at the teller windows. There was a short, shrill beep. A thick metal barrier slid upward, sealing the interior. The metal barrier was stenciled with the words:
SECURITY ALARM ACTIVATED. STAFF CANNOT COMMUNICATE. POLICE WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY
.

Yeah, they arrived some time ago, she thought.

Big Dog had disappeared from the bank. She could hear the cracks and pops of gunfire outside. That wasn’t good.

Her arms were working—sort of. She reached for her MP7. It wasn’t in arm’s reach. She didn’t know where it was. Instead, she went for her P99 pistol tucked in her waistband, only to remember she wasn’t packing a pistol. Damien was carrying it now. She should’ve taken Benito’s.

Someone entered the bank carrying Big Dog’s L22, and it wasn’t Big Dog. It was the same shocktrooper she’d crossed paths with earlier, in the jeep. She lay there as he strode past. He paused at the keypad and aimed the L22 at her head.

‘What’s the combination?’ he said, his voice even and measured.

She shifted her fingers an inch. She could move now, but she wanted him to think she was immobile.

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

She heard him punch in a combination, and then another. The door clicked. Probably used the same UV trick as Jay.

He stepped back to open the door. Sophia seized an aisle post next to her and swung it low, into the back of his knees. He didn’t see it coming and fell backward, rolling over his shoulder. The bullpup carbine slipped from his grasp. He pulled a Glock 17 pistol as he moved into a crouch.

She was planning on his quick recovery and was already on her feet. As he drew the pistol, she gripped the barrel and turned it outward, bending his wrist. The Glock was hers now. She was quite pleased with that maneuver.

The shocktrooper clamped down on the barrel with one hand and the trigger guard with the other, peeling her aim to one side and pulling the slide from the pistol completely, leaving her with nothing but the pistol frame.

OK, Plan B, she thought.

Something struck her in the ribs—the shocktrooper’s boot—knocking the air from her lungs. She was lifted off her feet and tossed sideways through the air, entangling with more aisle rope until she hit a computer and tumbled onto the floor. She felt like she’d been kicked by a horse. A horse made from steel. She drew breath and her ribs felt ablaze. She breathed in short, sharp bursts. If any ribs were broken this was going to be a very short fight.

She got to her knees and searched for her next weapon. Big Dog’s bullpup carbine wasn’t in her field of vision, but she spotted her own MP7 inside a half-enclosed office. Problem was, the office was on the other side of the bank. The shocktrooper was blocking her path now, watching her carefully. After a moment’s consideration, he strode toward her. She kicked his leading foot out, forcing his stance too wide. She brought her heel down on his kneecap with a satisfying crack. The shocktrooper barely made a sound. He rolled away, injured leg outstretched. It wouldn’t deter him for long.

She ran for the office. Made it inside, scooped up the MP7 and aimed over the desk. The shocktrooper was gone.

‘Shit,’ she breathed.

She rushed out of the office, not wanting to be blocked in, and moved for the rear of the bank. The shocktrooper could already be inside, executing Freeman and stealing Schlosser. She was pretty sure she’d broken his knee though. That would at least slow—

Metal blurred. Something moved for her. She held the MP7 out. A metal post lined up with her chest. Her MP7 took the blow. Better it than her. The shocktrooper was beside her now. She telescoped the MP7’s stock and thrust it into his neck. He ducked and tripped her. She fell forward. Rolled off her shoulder. Aimed the MP7. Half its receiver was hanging from one side, the recoil spring exposed. Great.

She closed on him, MP7 still in one hand. Against her better judgment, she realized as he swung the metal pole again. She slipped under it, redirected his wrist and sent the pole into a glass wall.

The shocktrooper reached for his knife and stabbed for her leg. She caught the blade with the shattered MP7, twisted the blade over and disarmed him. She shoved the stubby barrel of the MP7 into his neck. He spluttered, then turned the MP7 over. Her wrist turned on itself and she was forced to drop the weapon. Instead, she released the magazine and, gripping it tightly, smashed it on his fractured kneecap. This time he cried in pain. The edge of the magazine caught his pants and ripped downward, revealing a thin metal brace across his calf.

Exoskeleton. That explained the powerful kick.

She sank her fist into his stomach and let the kinetic energy corkscrew its way through his internal organs. He was stunned for a moment, then his working leg shot forward, catching her in the chest. The blow lifted her clear and sent her reeling across the bank floor again. She couldn’t do anything about it once she was in the air. She braced herself and tried to relax her muscles, arching forward so she wouldn’t damage anything internally. She landed on her back. The momentum carried her into a rough tumble that sent her sprawling across the tiled floor outside. She came to rest in the middle of a contact between her team and the encroaching counter-terrorist soldiers.

Big Dog was lying beside her. He was watching her with an empty stare. Not breathing. Beside him, the shocktrooper’s UMP and attached grenade launcher—discarded and traded in for Big Dog’s.

Lying on her back, she reached out and touched the grip, pulled the UMP closer. She wrapped her hand around it and drew it in. She tucked her chin to her chest. Inside the bank, the shocktrooper was staggering to his feet. He didn’t seem all that interested in killing her and instead approached the open door. He leaned over and scooped up Big Dog’s bullpup.

She rolled over onto her stomach. Her body screamed in protest. She brought her other hand over to the vertical grip and steadied the weapon in both hands. They trembled. The tiles were cold against her arms. She lined up the iron sights with the shocktrooper’s center of mass. Rounds cracked over her head. She ignored them and squeezed the trigger. A single round smacked into the security barrier next to the shocktrooper and then the slide on her submachine gun locked to the rear.

‘No,’ she whispered, peering into the mag.

Empty. The extra mags would be on his person. Just her luck.

The shocktrooper turned to face the three most important people in her world. He raised the L22 bullpup and aimed carefully.

Sophia shifted her fingers down past the magazine well and squeezed the secondary trigger. The bank rippled before her. Glass exploded from every wall. The vector ring grenade caught the shocktrooper in the hip and pitched him into the far wall.

She exhaled. ‘Fuck you.’

***

Damien cracked open an Etch A Sketch and poured the tiny aluminum balls and powder onto one of the trays he’d taken from the supermarket. He cracked open another Etch A Sketch and poured its contents onto a second tray.

‘You’re not making thermite, are you?’ Grace said.

‘No, not this time. Add the coffee creamer. And the other ingredients.’

Grace ripped open a packet of flour first. ‘In all the trays?’

Damien nodded, and cracked open the last Etch A Sketch. Still kneeling, he shuffled the trays toward the balcony. ‘OK, guys,’ he said, talking to the rest of their team. ‘Get ready.’

He lifted the industrial fan and, using the extension cord Grace had found, positioned it behind the trays. All six were loaded with Damien’s particular recipe. He plucked a box of matches from his pocket and waited for Grace to move back. She turned the fan to low, then waited for his word. He was amazed she’d trusted him this far.

He nodded and she hit the switch. The fan blades hummed to life, kicking the powder mixture under the balcony and out over the atrium into a cloud. Grace coughed and shielded her eyes.

‘Get back,’ he said, match in hand.

She retreated, but not far.

The soldiers below would be looking up now, so Damien didn’t want to make himself a target for any longer than necessary. He leaned toward the fan, lit a match, ignited a roll of toilet paper and hurled it over the balcony. He dived, stolen subcarbine in one hand, hit the ground and waited. Nothing happened.

‘Dude, we need to move now,’ Jay said in his earpiece. ‘Is it clear?’

Damien lit another roll of toilet paper. He dived clear again.

The explosion ripped through the atrium, sending him rolling across the floor. He gathered himself up and ran for the balcony.

‘Go! Go!’ he yelled.

The particle cloud ignited into a giant fireball, rippling explosions as it plunged through the atrium. Level by level, glass windows and balustrades disintegrated.

Holy crap, it worked.

‘Now’s your chance!’ Damien yelled. ‘Get—’

An explosion twenty times the size of the previous ones tore through the atrium, picking him up and hurling him backward. He landed on his upper back and slid a short distance further. He breathed desperately to draw oxygen back into his lungs, then crawled to his feet. Grace was on his right, similarly tossed to the ground from the secondary dust explosion.

‘I asked for a distraction!’ she yelled. ‘I didn’t expect you to blow up the shopping mall.’

‘What the shit was that?’ Jay’s voice crackled in Damien’s ear. ‘Godzilla?’

‘I’ll take that as our signal to move,’ Sophia said.

Damien was on his feet, scooping up his G36C subcarbine and running for the now completely glassless balcony. He passed the fan, which lay on its side, blades skewed and distorted. He reached the balustrade in time to notice a shocktrooper at the other end.

‘Shocktrooper, moving from second to third level,’ Grace said, calling it before he had a chance.

‘What level are you guys on?’ Damien said, throwing himself onto his belly and lining up a new shot.

‘Third,’ Sophia said.

‘Get to fourth!’ Damien yelled, probably a little too loud for their earpieces.

‘Not an option, too far back,’ Sophia said.

‘We have CT on our six, in range,’ DC said. ‘If we double back now, we’ll walk right into them.’

Grace was on her stomach beside him. The shocktrooper was concealed, running up the stairs to the third level.

Damien peered down his iron sights. ‘Can’t get a shot.’

Then he realized that if this shocktrooper was on their side, on the third level, then the other shocktrooper would probably be doing the same—right below them.

‘I have him,’ Grace said, peering through the holographic sight of her Vector. ‘Wait, wait.’

Damien spun around on his back, subcarbine aimed. Something rippled in the distance, past the broken fan. He could hear footsteps. Shocktroopers—Grace included—possessed the same sight enhancements as Jay. And without Jay around to help, Grace was the only person who would be able to spot the shocktroopers in their fancy chameleon suits.

‘Grace, on our six! I need your vision!’ he yelled.

‘I have the shot,’ Grace said, ignoring him.

Damien saw the ripple again, approaching from the right-hand side. Almost in range.

‘I’ll take it,’ he said, turning around onto his stomach. ‘You get Invisible Man on the right.’

Damien deliberately shot the wall near the shocktrooper, making him spring for cover, forcing Grace to switch targets. She cursed, turned onto her back and searched for the shocktrooper behind them. He left her to it and hunted for another shot, but he wasn’t counting on it.

Grace opened fire, almost destroying his eardrum.

‘Shocktrooper on our side is down,’ she said. ‘Shocktrooper on your side is foxtrot.’

Now he was out of immediate mortal danger, Damien launched himself to his feet and ran the balcony’s circular perimeter, careful to keep clear of the edge to avoid being seen.

‘We’re at the atrium,’ Sophia said. ‘Coming in hot. No sign of that shocktrooper.’

Damien dropped down, forty-five degrees from Grace. There was a lingering mist as undetonated powder floated past the stairs. He peered through it, hoping to catch the shocktrooper at a better angle. On his left, he saw Grace doing the same. Between them, he hoped they could spot the shocktrooper.

‘I have nothing,’ he said. Maybe he was cloaked again. ‘Grace?’

‘Negative,’ she said.

He could hear the crack of gunfire ahead. That meant Sophia and the others were fast approaching. Then he saw them. Sophia and DC advanced, dropped to one knee and watched for movement. Chickenhead and Nasira sprinted past them to the atrium, then dropped to one knee. Between the two pairs, Jay, followed closely by Schlosser and Freeman. Sophia and DC sprang to their feet and covered them from behind. Jay led their precious civilian cargo across the right-hand side, behind the elevator and directly beneath Damien. DC trailed a few steps behind Sophia. He reached a shop corner and sent a few rounds back at the pursuing CT. Damien watched him catch up with Sophia and—

The explosion rippled upward, throwing Damien into a wall. When he got back on his feet, he looked across the atrium at Grace. She was fine, still in position on the other side. One of their rounds must’ve ignited a lingering cloud, setting off a small explosion nearby. He checked himself for damage and then his subcarbine.