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6
The sound of gunfire echoed through the hall as Raptor and Tank ran toward the fray. They burst through the doors to see a small knot of TECH Ops soldiers surrounding the stage where half a dozen Secret Service agents tried frantically to evacuate their charges, with nowhere to take them. They were pinned to the side wall of the room, surrounded on three sides by men with guns and taking heavy fire.
“Tank, make a hole!” Raptor shouted. She leapt into the air and snapped her wings into place, rocketing toward the stage. Tank ran along below her, drawing a six-foot broadsword from his back and sweeping it in front of him in big arcs.
The armaments team realized very early on that Tank was a terrible shot, and no amount of training was going to make him able to hit the broad side of a barn from anything outside ten feet. But he was fast, and ridiculously strong, so they fabricated a titanium-bladed broadsword with an electrical current generator built into the handle, so when he hit something with it, if it didn’t slice through it instantly, it electrocuted the enemy. Tank loved it, and he trained with it relentlessly. With his power, and the strength of the blade, he could slice through cinderblock and plate armor like butter.
He used it now to slice through a trio of gun-wielding attackers who kept a pair of Bravo Team Ops pinned down. One stroke of his huge sword, and the men’s torsos separated from their legs in a fountain of blood and gore.
“Follow me!” Raptor called from above to the Secret Service agents, who hustled the candidates and their wives in a running crouch after her. Raptor flew above the agents, laying down cover fire as they ran to the back corridor. Tank covered their rear with his sword, and the Bravo Team Ops turned their attention to the four shooters on the other side of the stage.
Raptor set down in front of the open double doors she and Tank had just come through. The lead agent ran up to her and said “Is it clear back here?”
“It was two minutes ago, but keep your head down.”
“Will do.” The agent stood shoulder to shoulder with Raptor, his submachine gun sweeping the room as the other surviving agents hustled their charges into the back hall. Tank slapped Raptor on the shoulder as he went past, and she shoved the last agent through the doors.
Raptor gave one last glance to the stage, where the two remaining members of Bravo Team fought against at least a dozen shooters. She shook her head, offered up a quick prayer for their safety, then ducked into the hallway and pulled the doors shut behind her. The civilians had to be her top priority now, no matter how much she wanted to go help her fellow operatives.
Raptor flew point ahead of the Secret Service agents, with the men from Bravo Team, a Close Quarters Battle specialist named Breaker and a former SEAL named Blackout, leading the group of unaugmented humans in a sprint down the corridor. Tank fast-walked backward at the rear of the group, keeping their backs covered with his sword sheathed and minigun out. Despite his limitations as a marksman, he subscribed to the philosophy of “throw enough lead at something, eventually it will die.”
They made it to the loading dock in moments to find Viper and Lone Star waiting. The sniper was atop an abandoned passenger van, nestled in a blind made of dumpster debris, while Viper took cover behind a stack of pallets. Lone Star just nodded to the new arrivals, but Viper walked over to meet them.
“Where is our exfil, Sergeant?” Breaker asked.
Raptor set down in front of him as Viper broke out laughing. “Exfil? Jesus, son, you sound like a bad Call of Duty sequel! There’s no exfil. There’s just ex-fucked. And that’s what we are.”
“Quiet, Viper,” Raptor snapped. “We need to secure these civilians, reinforce the area, and then redeploy to the ballroom to help the rest of Bravo Team.”
“If there is any rest of Bravo,” Blackout muttered.
“I hated leaving them behind, too,” Raptor said. “But the civilians are our number one priority.” She turned to the Secret Service agents. “Were either of you part of the advance team?”
They shook their heads. Raptor looked around the empty dock. “Lone Star!” She called out. “How secure are we?”
“The dock is empty, I raised the barricade at the entrance and exit, lowered the man-gate, so it’s tough, but not impossible, to get back here. They’re going to have to want to, and I don’t think any vehicle short of a tank can manage it.”
“So pretty good. Alright, Blackout, Viper, go check the dock master’s office, make sure it’s clear. Tank, Breaker and I will cover the civilians until you get back.” It was a testament to how messed up the situation was that Viper didn’t even bitch about going to investigate the office.
As the two men jogged off to check the viability of the dock office as a hiding spot, one of the candidates, a white-haired man with a trim beard, stepped up to her. “Ma’am? My wife needs medical attention.”
Raptor turned to look at the woman, but didn’t see any bullet wounds. “What happened?”
The woman, a pretty blonde some twenty years her husband’s junior, looked up at her. “I twisted my ankle running. I need someone to carry me if we go any further.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tank raise his hand to volunteer, but Raptor shook her head. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to move on your on power, or get your husband to help you. I don’t have anyone to carry you right now.”
“But it huuuuuurts!” The woman whined.
“She’s obviously in excruciating pain,” her husband said. “I demand that you help her!” He stepped up to Raptor, looking over her with his face turning red. A wisp of white hair escaped his combover to flip down over his eyes. “You listen to me, young lady, you will—“
Raptor put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. He leaned into her, but she moved the man without any noticeable effort. “I will keep you alive. I will work diligently to keep your wife alive. I will do everything in my power to keep everyone alive, but if it comes down to one of these men carrying your wife because she got a fucking boo-boo on her ankle in a firefight where men and women died to keep you people alive, or carrying a gun that will help keep all of us alive, you’d better damn believe that man is going to carry a gun and leave your wife to limp along on her sore ankle. Do you understand me?”
“What is your name, soldier? I am going to report you to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.” The man was quivering in anger, obviously unaccustomed to “subordinates” ignoring his demands.
Raptor didn’t say a word, she just walked over to the metal door leading back into the convention center. She held up her right hand, and flicked one gleaming titanium talon from her index finger. Using the hooked claw, she scratched “RAPTOR” into the metal surface, her writing accompanied by the shriek of metal-on-metal. She turned back to the man, then pointed to the name on the door.
“There you go. I even spelled it for you.” She turned to look over the man’s shoulder. “What’s the situation?”
Blackout called back. “Dock office looked good. One door, one window. Easily defensible. I left your man Viper in there trying to establish an internet connection.”
“Sounds good. Lone Star, you stay here and keep this area clear. Tank, move something in front of that office window, then get these civilians in there and make sure nothing comes through that door that isn’t me. Breaker, Blackout, let’s go get the rest of your team.” The team nodded, and Raptor pulled open the door leading back into the dock.
As she started through, one of the Secret Service agents grabbed her arm. Raptor looked up at him, a burly bald man in his fifties. “Thank you, Raptor,” he said. “If it weren’t for you guys, we’d all be dead.”
“That’s the job, right?” Raptor shook his hand and stepped through the door, launching herself into the air in the narrow corridor and firing her jets as Breaker and Blackout filed through the door and sprinted behind her back to the fight.
