April 27th, 2004
Characters:Warne and peoples
I pulled up my visor, running the tips of my fingers between my helmet and forehead, wiping off sweat. Flicking it off of my hand and turning my upper body and neck to look back out the window. Bringing my head back in as another volley ate up the walls. "Shit...goddamned shooting gallery..." Pushing myself back up and firing again at the indig's position. Going back down as return fire hissed and whined it's way back at me. Catching my breath, and doing it all over again, and again, and again. Sure, I wasn't hitting much with the little time I had up at the window. This was getting us there, but it was slow and ammo consuming. "What happened to all our rockets?" I asked the Marine to my right. "Used 'em all already!" I shook my head, leaned back up and pelted a thirty-cal technical before going back down again. "What about on the ship?" The Marine shook his head in the negative. "Fuck, us..." Rolling under the window, and coming up from the other side. Pelting the furthest right technical, and going back down again.
My right arm for air support, or at least some naval bombardment. "Mortars?" I asked again after coming down from another fire. "Out of that, too!" "Might as well be throwing rocks, if they got any armor." The Marine on my left with the bandaged arm added. I wasn't about to give Murphy any ideas. "Convoy'll be here soon! They'll have some stuff!" Leaning back up and hitting the middle technical in the windshield and hood. "I heard that one a half-hour ago!" The right Marine popped up and fired again before going back down. "And the half-hour before that!" "RPG!" Covering my head along with the others as the rocket propelled grenade detonated against the side of the building, rocking us where we sat. "Any heavy weapons, like a Fifty?" I asked, switching to my Bulldog to save on ammo. "Shit, I wish!"
"How about on the Madison?" I leaned up and pelted a technical with a Vietnam-era M-sixty before going back down. "No! We brought our entire armory with us!" "No...I mean, on the ship? AA guns, Fifty for close-in defense, anything?" The Marine on my left stopped to think for a moment, and then nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! She had two on the sides, and one up front! The AA's are huge, though!" He went back up, fired, and came back down in a hurry. "They'll cut right through those technicals! How do we get them?" I thought about it for a moment, looked over my comm channels, and realized I had no link to the guys running medevac. "Call the guys evacing our casualties! Get them to take Madison's Fifties and ammo!" "Captain won't like that! Real asshole!" I went back up and chased a pair of indigs trying to get inside the burning vehicles for cover. Hitting none of them. "Fuck the Captain! He ain't getting shot at!" The Marine on my left grinned and went back down with his back against the wall to switch comm channels.
"Gray, Baker, respond, over?" I moved over a window to my left to cover his spot as he tried to raise the medevac crew. Ripping of a gout of flame from my bastard rifle's muzzle at the same two I spotted earlier. Driving them back to the safety of the indig firing line. Hearing a smart crack as I went down, and assuming that one of them didn't make it. "Half-track! Three-zero-zero meters and closing!" The observer came back into the net, warning us of a new vehicle. The Marine on my far right looked up, and went back down in a hurry. "Damn! Haven't seen one of those since the World War Two movies!" I risked a glance back up, and saw what looked like a old, nineteen-fourties-era German half-track coming up from the rear of the indig firing group. They didn't even have the idea to paint over the German cross on it's side as it lumbered and rolled towards us. "That's not good!"
"M-G-forty-two!" The observer called out, just as the unearthly rip of the ancient machine-gun sprayed us down, sending a sheet of dust and plaster down on us, making a line of bullets in the wall behind us, and then tracking on someone else. "I'm surprised it still works!" I said, waving the dust away and leaning back up to look. The indig behind the machine-gun had turned on the other building, and it was still moving towards us. "Brave fucker! Gonna be a shame to destroy that antique!" The Marine on my left leaned to the opposite side of his window, and fired almost parallal to the building to attack the half-track. I went up and fired at the indig crewing the machine-gun, hitting the armor plating that protected him from incoming fire, and forcing him to go back down in his hole for cover. Had to give it to the Nazis...they made good vehicles.
"I ain't got a shot!" The observer called. I looked out again, and saw that the half-track was making for the space between our two buildings. "Shit! They're coming in!" Turning back to the Marine on my far left, who was still on the comms. "Warn your door crews! We're gonna have visitors!" Queueing up my fire team channel. "Hakens, Hall, get down to the ground floor and help out. Capture that half-track, if you can." Not waiting for their response as I leaned back up and fired, hitting the sides of a technical that was moving to my right. I went back down, curious to why they were moving, went under the window, and came back up the other side to look. Seeing that the technical firing crews were advancing towards us. New vehicles coming over the incline. The observer hurriedly warning about their presence. Shit plus fan equals, not good.
I whistled to get the other Marine's attention, and pointed back towards the ground between us and the other building. "That side! See what you can do!" The rumbling of the half-track was upon us, and already I could hear Bulldog fire chattering away downstairs. The two Marines on my right went back down from their window, and skulked over to the windows facing the other office building. They immediatly started firing back down, and I had to lean back up to fire down at the technicals coming up to reinforce the half-track. They were close now, and I managed to clothesline a gunner out of the back of his vehicle before getting forced back down by a strafing volley. The machine-gun crew in the stairwell opened up with a maddening roar that sounded like it was one consistent noise, then a bunch of bullets getting fired at a extreme cyclic rate. I hoped those trigger-happy Marines were pleased to be able to finally shoot something.
I stood back up to fire down at the technicals massing below, but something caught my eye just before I fired. I swung my bastard rifle around to follow my eyes, stepping back in for cover, and seeing what had caught my eye. "Twenty-mike! Get down!" A second later, it fired. I covered my head as chunks of wall the size of softballs were forced out and flung about like paper. Our share of the heavy weapon was only a second, but it was enough to expose the fact that we had no protection against that. "That's it! We're fucked!" The Marine behind me, laying as flat on the floor as possible, hollered out. The twenty-mike crew apperantly heard us, because more chunks of plaster and wood rained down around us. Putting my head down and keeping it down. We might as well be taking cover behind thin air.
"Down! Down!" I waved back to the guys behind me, and waved them forward. It was safer on the ground floor. The barricading was better, since nothing had to be dragged up stairs to be used. "We can't go down! We'd be giving up this position!" I looked up to the ceiling. A layer of wood, cement and plaster between us and the guys on the third floor and roof. "We can't stay here, either! It's a turkey shoot with that thing out there!" Waving for the Marines ahead of me to get moving as the Twenty-mike raked us again, sending rounds so large, that you could physically feel them tearing through the air as they passed overhead. "The convoys?" The Lance Corporal that had crawled up beside me asked. "They'll be able to handle whatever's left when these guys get through with us." I said quietly so the others wouldn't hear. "That's nice, man, real nice." I just shrugged in response. What could you do? "Bring your guys down. We're falling back to Madison. Have the medevac team meet us halfway with the Fifties." I pushed the guy forward to get him going.
"Hakens, Hall, Willis, Gregor, Tucker, Savin..." I commed, rolling into the stairwell after the Lance Corporal. Relativly safe from the Twenty-mike...for now. "We're falling back to the ship. We're gonna try to mount a last-ditch defense with Fifties from Madison at the docks, or somewhere close. Get your friends, get to the ground floor, and try to make this as orderly as possible. Bottleneck the two office buildings, if possible." "Hakens, got it." "Tucker, coming down." They'd take care of the others underneath them. Waiting in the stairwell for them as first the Marines came down, and then Tucker, Savin and Gregor right behind them. "Stay low!" Waving them down into a crawl. It was the least riskiest way to get across, and if we didn't offer resistance from the windows, they might not fire on us...might. Lots of stuff was riding on risk today. Idly wondering how many Risk points this'd rack up on some officer's Risk Assessment form. Wondering how I was gonna debrief all this shit, if I did make it through.
Nodding as the first Marine passed by me, and pulled himself up enough to get his legs underneath him to go down the stairs. Waving in the second, third, fourth, fifth behind them, and then the marksmen team behind them. Waving at the guy with the Barret as he passed, and his spotter. "Come on. Come on." Grabbing Gregor by the shoulder armor, and pulling him on in. "Not dead yet?" I smirked while asking. Gregor shooting me a humored glance as he pulled himself up and went downstairs. Nodding to Tucker and Savin, my two well-experienced soldiers on this side. Getting a nod and a blank face from each of them as they passed by. "Clear, this building. See ya'll outside." I announced for my squad's benefit. Looking back for straggler's for a moment before heading down myself. Black smoke from the burning half-track had filtered in through the windows and doors, entangling itself with the smoke grenades we had popped to conceal our movement.
I looked down and to my left, expecting to see the two hair-trigger Marines, but they had gone already. The only people left inside, was myself, Savin, and Tucker. "Waiting on you, boss." Tucker announced flatly. Nodding back outside and putting his weapon out the window to cover. "Don't be far behind." Leaning out the door, checking for targets in the gray and white smoke. Able to see the sillhoutte of the half-track, wedged inbetween the two buildings, and providing cover that i'm sure the indigs hadn't intended it to. "Use the vehicle for cover on the way out." I pointed to it to let Tucker and Savin know, and did what I had said. Running out the door, referencing myself off the front bumper of the half-track as Tucker opened up. One last look behind me, and I was moving.
I turned to stop at the corner, putting my back to it to assess the situation behind me for a moment before turning back to cover Tucker and Savin. Pulling my head in further as a stray round shaved a millimeter of cement off the corner of the office building. Waving away the dust, I saw the Marines and my soldiers hustling something up near where sand met the docks. Some of them were scrambling around to take care of whatever they had up their sleaves, and there were unrecognizeable figures laying flat in the prone, weapons up, pointing back my way for cover. Whatever they were doing, they'd best hurry.
I turned back around, raised my rifle around the corner, and fired off a pair of shots. "Come on, come on. Got ya covered." I called them out of the office building, firing high enough over their heads that I didn't have to worry about hitting them through the shroud. Quickly finishing off my magazine to keep the indigs honest as first Tucker, then Savin hopped across the small opening between door and half-track, and then started to head towards me. I grabbed Tucker and pulled him into the cover of the building, using myself as a axis to turn his inertia. Grabbing Savin the same and pulling him around as well where Tucker caught him. "Getting too young for this." Tucker murmured, his back to the wall of the office.
I put my head around one more time, and saw the half-track through the smoke. "Did we get the machine-gun?" Having to pull my head back as a indig salvo tore through the mist. "You got me." Tucker responded, keying his own mike. "Hakens, get the M-G-fourty-two, over?" I thumbed the release, and dropped my empty mag to the ground. Slamming in a fresh one as Hakens responded to the negative. "Shit...we can't let that be used again." M-G-fourty-two, even on top of a dead vehicle was bad news. Dammit, I completely forgot about it.
"Savin, if me and Tucker cover you, can you disable that weapon?" Savin brought his weapon up, checking his bandolier of ammo. "Range?" I glanced around. "Twenty-five meters, give or take. Elevation..." Pulling my head back as another salvo came through. "Three...four meters, dead-center. There's a arm-" I stopped myself as Savin came around me to replace me on the corner in a crouch. "I know." Holding his rifle muzzle up so not to expose it around the corner. I kinda half-nodded, half shook my head, waving for Tucker to come in low. "Suppressive fire, on three."
"Three!" I stepped out and behind Savin, bringing my rifle up over his head. Thumbing my selector switch to automatic as I tried to expose myself as little as possible. Tucker crouching down lower then Savin, hanging his machine-gun out in front of him, almost touching the ground. Neither of us fired for accuracy. We just fired for shock and surprise. Buying the Russian enough time to lean out, take aim, and fire off one shot with a silent clack, drowned out in all the eardrum-wrecking noise of battle. Savin ducked back in, and so did myself and Tucker. "Got it?" I asked as I waved away the smoke that was rising up from my overheating weapon. Tucker's own must be at it's melting point by now, or past it.
"Put a hole right through the bolt...I hope..." I shot him a glance and asked. "You hope?" The Russian sniper just shrugged. "Fine..." Waving for Tucker to go back. I looked at the Russian for one long moment before finally saying it. "They ain't letting you off easy for helping us, you know?" Savin grinned half-heartedly and nodded. "You could have cut and run at any time." He coulda shot me in the back while I was hitting the mortars, picked off Gregor all too easily, and ran off with our technical. Yes, it was a accusation. "Why?" Tucker well out of hearing range by now. "Honestly...I haven't thought that far ahead. I'm just surviving until I figure out how to get myself and Ilin back home."
"Fair enough." I conceded, looking around the corners for the inevitable indig surge that still hadn't arrived. Prolly too confused about the lack of fire from the buildings to come after us. I know i'd be concerned about booby-traps, myself. Having set the C-bomb one on them already. Fool me once..."Why'd you blow up the storage depot? We would have never known you were out there if you hadn't." "How'd you know it was me?" I turned to stare back at him. "After that stunt you pulled up there on the mortars. Who else could it be?" I nodded. "Point. And if you must really know why..." I shrugged, glancing around the corner again. "I guess I was just trying to survive and get my guys home, too. Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"You call that a good idea?" Savin asked, disbelieving. "Yeah...we should get moving..." Looking back to where Marines and my guys were pushing together crates, barrels and sacks from this undamaged side of the warehouse for a defensive line. Smart...I like it. "I'm under the temporary command of a madman..." I smirked, snickered, and pushed him off with my right arm. "Move it, comrade."
We bounded back to the new line as fast as we could. Keeping the office building between us and them. Glancing out of the side of my eyes at the Claymore directional mine that was all that was protecting the area we couldn't cut off from the indigs with fire, or broken obstacles. I got onto the opposite side of a large crate that a group of three Marines and Gregor were pushing over. Helping to push it into place along side the other ones that had been lined up. Waving Savin off as he tried to help. "We need you spotting with the other marksman, aboard ship. We'll take care of it down here." Pointing him up to the deck a good seventy-five meters away, and six up, where the Marine team was setting up around the forward Fifty.
So far, they had managed to grab three crates of about the same size, including the one I had just helped to drag and push into place. Lining them up side-by-side to provide a defensive wall. Bags of flour and cement were stacked on top of those to provide stand-up 'sandbags' to prop weapons up on. Lighter, non-explosive barrels, were filling in the gaps, adding onto the wall, and being used on the flanks, just in case. There must have been enough concrete bags inside these warehouses to build another three-story office building. Running over to help grab one of the heavy bags over my back, haul it over, and either stack it on top of a crate, or over the barrels, or even leaned up against the barrels for added protection.
We did what we could in the surprised lull that had run over the indigs since our withdrawal. It wouldn't be long before they figured out that we hadn't even bothered to secure the offices before we left. That could be turned against us, the same way we used it against them, but that'd be up to their officers to figure out, and I hoped they didn't. Besides...the lull bought the convoys more time. I don't even know how much time we have left, but that wasn't really important in the here and now. A two-man team of Marines slamming down a heavy Fifty onto the rightmost crate. A chain of ammo that was at least ten times the length of a man, drooping down and compounded back over the loader's shoulder.
"Where's the other?" I asked. Getting my answer as the second team brought the Fifty down from the ship. A Marine Corporal, I don't even know if he was in charge now, hustling them up. Feeling a hard slap against my armored shoulder, and turning around hurriedly to smack my assaulter. Stopping short as I saw who it was. "Han? The fuck?" He shot me a weary grin, and held up a mottled green bandolier. "From Gregor. Says you might need it." I looked, saw Gregor busy with the right flank setup, and nodded. "Thanks, both of ya." Removing the near-empty bandolier on my Bulldog, and sliding the new one onto the rail. "Good luck." Han said, before turning back to help out. "You too..."
I flipped up the top of the Bulldog, extracted the used links, and draped in the new belt. Laying the Bulldog down on the concrete bag in front of me. Involuntarily taking up the left-center, without even realizing it. A Marine Private First Class on my left, and Hakens coming up on my right. I looked at Hakens out of the corner of my eye, hoping to catch his attention, but he didn't even bother giving it. Busying himself topping off his own weapons, laying out his grenades, and getting ready for the melee that was about to commence. Reaverting my eyes away from him, since he never seemed to want a word with me. Ah well...
"We got a fallback plan?" Someone asked. "This is the fallback plan!" Someone else answered sarcastically. "Cover team, get back here!" A Marine Staff Sergeant, the guy in command now, I guess, waved the prone team up. "Fifties fire only on vehicles." The Staff Sergeant turned to address us all. Turning his head back and forth so we could all hear as he bounded back behind the line with the returning cover team. "Machine-guns and rifles for the infantry, windows, and tires. If ya got launch grenades, use 'em only on large gatherings of indigs. If you got bayonets, fix 'em. If ya don't, keep knives handy, or get ready to use your hands, feet, shoelaces, teeth, or whatever you feel like. Convoy will be here soon. Survive this next half-hour, and we'll be home, hoorah?" Hoo-fuckin'-rah.
"Warne!" I looked over as the Staff Sergeant singled me out. "Staff Sergeant?" I answered cautiously. "A word?" Waving me back to the docks. I turned back to the defensive line for a moment, looked up at the sky for some sign from Karma, and went along. "Just reaping the rewards of command, here." I said quietly over fireteam comms. Someone snickered. "What can I do for ya, boss?" I asked again, a little less formally, now that we were out of hearing range. "That Russian of yours..." Bobbing his head up and down lightly in a manner I knew for dislike. "I don't know what Gunny was planning, but I don't like that turncoat bastard watching my Marine's back." I glanced out of the corner of my eye up at where Savin was laying on his stomach behind his rifle.
"He'll do his job, Staff Sergeant." Just keep my professionalism in the face of ignorance. Quickly coming to the realization that I was defending the same guy who had once been my enemy, and had been quite hostile to before. "What about, after?" I gave him as flat a look as possible. "If he survives, and if any of us survives, i'm sure he ain't gonna cut and run, Staff Sergeant. He's got nowhere to go. The indigs hate him as much as us." The Marine leader finally turned back to look up at where Savin was positioned. "Make sure he doesn't, or I will. That's all." Dismissing me by walking away after saying it.
I looked up at the sky, raised a brow to both my deities of choice, and turned back to the line. "Just some bullshit." I lied as I made my way back. Didn't need any dissention amongst the ranks, or amongst the branches. This was some stupid shit. "Stay loose." Almost ten minutes late...we needed to...because all hell broke loose. "Half-track!" Someone called out further along the line. The smoking vehicle lumbering slowly towards us. But...didn't we kill that? Or, at least I thought we did. "Hold fire!" The now easily recognizeable voice of the observer broke in suddenly. I glanced up towards where he was stationed up on the deck. "No driver!" What. The. Fuck?
The back of the half-track suddenly started to turn towards us in a unnatural manner. "It's being pushed!" "Fifties up!" The half-track swung around with it's back overtaking it's front, grinding a trench in the ground with it's tracks being pushed across the ground. A vehicle just slightly larger then the half-track, pushing it forward and out of the way. It's box-like shape automatically giving it away. "APC! Light it up!" Both Fifties opened up in a roar, pounding inside my head in a sweet, metallic symphony. Holes the size of baseballs appearing in the front of the APC as it pushed the half-track out of the way. The shipboard Fifty opening up on it as well, not even sending up sparks of fire as the large caliber rounds punctured easily through the light steel armor, and very likely right through flesh, too.
"Engine! Engine! Stop that fucking thing before it gets clear!" The Staff Sergeant barked out, trying to get over the roar of the Fifties through comms. Holding my fire was a bitch. The first thing on my mind when someone else shoots, is to shoot with them. Mass your fire on a target, but what could my weaponry do against armor like that, no matter how light? There was a certain limit of how far armor-penetrating ammunition went. All I could do was watch the APC get chewed through like Swiss cheese, and for any infantry to try to come around it, or out of it. But the damned thing just. Didn't. Stop! Deadman pedal, fuck our luck.
The front of the APC started smoking as it's engine took some heat, tearing and vibrating itself apart. It'd shutdown, eventually, but not before it got clear of the path between the two office buildings. A gap for the indig infantry to clear through. This wasn't going to be easy. At least they couldn't force a technical through...yet. I started to scan along the sides for the infantry, but after a extended minute:Nothing. "That was anti-climactic..." Willis cracked over fireteam comms. "Savin, see anything?" He had a higher vantage point then me. "No activity." Shittt...got my adrenaline going for nothing.
Silencefell over us again. Five, maybe ten seconds of violence, and nothing. No more gunfire from either sides. The indigs had apperantly thought better of that tactic. Driving a APC in to unblock the gap between the two buildings was smart...if it hadn't been countered by the Fifties in good time. Infantry could get through, but it'd take a heavier vehicle to push that one out of the way. These things had a way of compounding upon themselves, and it was refreshing to see it compounding against someone else for a change. Karma was a good girl, today, and they were Murphy's bitch for once.
Now, to figure out how to get back in at us. What would I do if I were a indig? Now...this is taking into account that I was A:Stupid, B:Lacking in tactical, strategic and battle smarts, and C:Noticeable lack of experience or skill. Hrmm...recipe for impending disaster? I'm thinking so. Wait...wasn't item B and C the same? Ahh...why quivel? I know i'd be probing the perimeter for something i'd have looked over. A weakness of expediency, like warehouse four. "Fuck..." I grumbled, apperantly too loud. "What?" Hakens turned to look at me. I reached up and pointed to where the Claymore was set up. "We ain't got but a one-shot dee over there." Hakens just shrugged. Right-t-t...
"Staff Sergeant!" I shouted and waved to get the guy's attention. "Watch your sector, Warne!" He snapped back. I felt my shoulders sag automatically, and cocked my head slighty in a stumped manner. Switching my comms over to the Marine channel. "Han?" I asked. "I know, Warne, I know. Watch our flank." "Yeah, but does he?" "Warne, this isn't a your channel for social chatter. Stay off it unless it's important." But this is important, you insignificant ass! Jeez...how do people like him make it into the military, much less the Marines. I thought they were supposed to weed out the dickheads?
I switched back channels. "Remember the LT?" "Yeah?" "It's like that." "That's nice to know." Sarcasm. As lethal as a bullet through the chest. Waiting another minute or so before an explosion rocked the warehouses to our left. "What the fuck was that?" I brought my aim over to the left, scanning over the area between warehouse four and the office building. There was our weakest weak point, and it just folded. I'm just hoping it took a few guys out, but there was no way to tell. The Claymore was in open sight. Only a blind man coulda missed it, or not known what it was by the way it just sits there. "Claymore. Savin, watch our sides." Gray smoke rushed out of the narrow corridor between the two buildings, followed quickly by a hot-running technical. "Fuck 'em up!" Fifty caliber rounds shattering through glass and aluminum chassis. Focusing on the shapes that followed.
Infantry streamed in through the cleared gap, and were immediatly met by every. Single. Fucking. Weapon. We. Had. In between the eardrum-rattling roar of the combined weaponry, the orange and gold tracer rounds, and the concussive force the sheer wall of lead made;you could almost see the way they were cut through, and cut down like the Reaper's scythe right through the charge. The walls of the office building had gone from orange to red in the short burst from indig blood and body parts. The technical that followed behind it, bouncing and lurching as it's tires ran over the bodies of the infantry that had came before it. The Fifties immediatly opening on it, tearing through aluminum and steel easily. The heavy rounds passing right on through, and knocking off baseball-sized chunks of concrete and plaster from the office building behind it. The waylaid technical went out of control, slamming into the back end of the first technical, and threw the gunner up against the back of the cab where he was promptly ventilated himself.
I brought my Bulldog back down, and behind the technical. Catching the next wave as they tried to disperse. Catching the third guy in line, killing him instantly in the massed fire, going through him, hitting the next guy, and the next, and the one after that, and the one after him. They fell like they had hit a brick wall. Gawds, what a turkey shoot..."Watch those barrels!" I don't know who warned about overheating the barrels of the machine-guns, and I don't really give a damn. I was too busy emptying my bastard rifle's bandolier into the group that had tried to slip around the old German APC. Trying to be sneaky while we were slaughtering their comrades, the fuckin' idiots. Clotheslining a helmeted indig as he tried to run around into warehouse one. Bringing my aim back to the left as indigs ran out from behind the front of the elden APC. Trying to get some cover behind the technicals and APC's we had already busted up. Every one out of five or so would make it out of sheer Murphy, but the rest dropped on the run like sacks of rock.
I led and dropped another pair, just by the virtue of holding my aiming point steady, and letting them run right into it. Looking to score more, when I felt my weapon's bolt kick back at me, and the bandolier's weight dropping to virtually nothing on my right arm. "Reloading!" Dropping back down behind the crate fortification, dropping out the empty bandolier, fishing around for the used one-"RPG!" I put my free hand over my head at the warning. Getting knocked forward by the impact a little. My back to the crates while reloading. A wave of dust and powder washing up and over us from the propelled grenade's impact. I coughed, waved at my face to clear it from the concrete dry mix, and pulled my filter up onto my face to keep most of it out. Not really thinking about what concrete mix would do to your nose and mouth, but not really wanting to think about that, either. Racking the Bulldog's bandolier, even as our own fire slacked for a moment to mask up. Draping the belt over, jacking the bolt forward, and bouncing back up to reengage.
Green tracer rounds arced in at us as I came up. The M-G-fourty-two on top of the older APC had suddenly, in contradiction to Savin's assurances, sprung back to life. It's muzzle flash was a long gout of flame as the indig swept it over our position. Going down to lower my exposure, aiming up to fire at the gunner, and finding myself in need of a new target. The Barret's heavy rifle round easily clipping through the steel of the turret armor, and through the indig gunner. The round must have glanced up off the armor, because the indig's blood sprayed up into the air like a fuckin' fountain. I swear, if I don't die from this, i'll prolly never forget that spectacle. Glad i'm on the right side as I pull myself back up enough to fire again. Firing off a burst, hitting the hood of the first technical, adjusting, and hitting the indig behind it with five or six shots. I readjusted my aim, slightly, and chopped his friend's head off beside him before this bandolier thumped empty as well.