Nothing moves inside of the room. Glancing at the scene of destruction quickly, I close the door, glad to feel the click of it latching.
The noise and tumult from the floors above faintly reach the corridor and increases in volume as we stealthily approach the opening on the right where stairs hopefully lie. My heart pounds in my chest as we edge down the hall. The flow of adrenaline has sharpened my senses — smell, sight, and hearing — with increased clarity. I would open up to pinpoint where the nearest night runners are but I don’t want to alert them to our presence just yet. They’ll know we are here soon enough.
Gonzalez signals Bri to the middle and slightly behind her and McCafferty. This is to give Bri room to fire if needed and Gonzalez can back up if needed. Robert steps in beside me. His lips are compressed but his eyes unreadable beneath the NVGs. His M-4 is aimed at the ground in front of him, ready to provide assistance to those in front if needed. There’s really not a line of fire ahead, but we’ll be able to rush forward and form a solid line if we need to.
A burst from the .50 cal guarding the front door startles me. With the sound, I wonder if we are about to come under an assault of night runners from outside. If the large caliber gun isn’t able to keep them away, then this operation is over almost before it started. However, it’s a quick burst of gunfire which doesn’t repeat.
“Caught a couple of night runners coming around the corner. It’s clear now,” the gunner reports.
The report settles my thoughts and I wave Gonzalez and McCafferty, who had halted with the noise, to continue forward. We creep down the hall. Arriving at the corner just before the opening, we stack against the wall. Gonzalez peers around the edge.
“Stairs upward,” she whispers.
“Copy,” I reply quietly.
Once she’s assured it’s clear, Gonzalez sends McCafferty across the opening to the far side so she’ll be able to get a clearer picture up the stairs. The sounds of night runners shrieking above filters down the stairs and I hear feet running on a hard surface. From the sound of it, we’ll have to fight our way up a floor to reach Reynolds. Although time is of the essence in order to reach her before her ammo runs out, we also have to do this right in order to assure that we can even get there. A rescue’s chances increase significantly if the rescuers actually reach their destination.
“We’re climbing to the second floor,” I radio Reynolds and Greg. “Reynolds, we’re on the stairs to the south of you.”
“We’ll be watching for you. The stairs in both directions appear full of night runners and they are only entering our hall occasionally now,” Reynolds replies.
That statement is verified by the decrease in gunfire I hear two floors up. There are still shots ringing out, but it’s not at the intensity we heard upon entering the hall. I really hope that means the night runners have dramatically decreased in number. What I hope it doesn’t mean is that they are on their way down to meet us.
“Let’s do this,” I say softly.
Gonzalez moves to the stairs, covering the area to the extent that she can see upward. The stairway ascends to an intermediate landing before doubling back in the other direction and is wide enough to accommodate a heavy flow of traffic. McCafferty folds around the corner to join on her heels with Bri following. Gonzalez slinks up one step at a time, pressed against the outer wall. Her laser beam tracks her line of sight as she eases upward. In the glow of our goggles, dust motes float through the air, stirred up by the horde above.
I join behind Bri with Robert. Each step we take brings us closer to the waiting mass of night runners. In the chill, my breath leaves a small plume as I exhale. My heart thuds with solid beats and I take a deep breath to steel myself. Our lasers are moving points of light against the opposite wall. Gonzalez freezes. The rest of us halt with her, our weapons at the ready, expecting a torrent of night runners to pour down upon us. She points to her eyes and then upward. She then indicates ‘many’ with her hand.
“Stay here,” I whisper to Robert behind me. He nods.
Crouching by Gonzalez near the first half-landing, I see what brought her up short — night runners in abundance. Above, they pack the first set of steps leading from the second to the third floor. Several mill about in the stairwell opening behind them. I watch as some peel off and run down the second floor hall, vanishing behind the corner. Others come from around the turn to join the ones crammed on the stairs or the ones milling about. Their screams and snarls fill the enclosed area.
None of them have turned in our direction. I can’t believe they haven’t noticed us as of yet, but perhaps they can’t smell us through their own reek or hear us over their shrieks. The stench reaching us is foul. Looking at the scene just a few feet away, I wish we had more teams. We seem so inadequate compared to the number of night runners. There’s only one way up at this point and that’s through them. I crouch silently planning how we can get through them and then keep our backsides clear if we do manage to.
My very skin feels like an electrical current is running across it and every hair is raised. I’m not sure that we brought enough ammo, even loaded down as we are.
“On my nod, Gonzalez, take McCafferty and Bri to the far wall across the landing as quietly as you can. You three will be firing into the crowd on the stair above. Henderson, Denton, and Robert, we’ll be on the landing and keep the stairs clear, firing into the stragglers or anyone else who decides they want to join the show. Watch your lanes of fire and remember, controlled bursts but keep the fire up. When we open fire, they aren’t going to like us much, so if anyone senses that we can’t hold our position, speak up immediately and we’ll conduct a fighting retreat back to the Stryker. I’ll toss a flash bang up to start the performance so prepare yourselves. Heads turned toward the wall and cover your ears. Wait for the bang and then commence shooting. Clear?” I quietly radio.
I look around at each Red Team member and receive an okay. We each check our selector switches and, turning to Gonzalez, I give a quick head nod. She, McCafferty, and Bri rise silently and head to the opposite wall keeping to the outside of the stairwell. You can cut through the tension each of us exudes as we soundlessly take our positions.
I pull a flash bang and wiggle the pin out. I would like to toss a few hand grenades up but our close proximity precludes that. I toss the canister up, aiming for a clear spot within the group of milling night runners. The last thing I want is to actually hit one of them and have it roll back down the stairs into our position.
The can arcs up over the stairs and hits the floor. It bounces a couple of times with metallic clinks and comes to rest against the far hallway wall. We bury our faces against the wall in order not to white out our NVGs, rendering them useless, and cover our ears. The explosion shakes the walls. Looking around quickly, night runners stagger about disoriented.
Our suppressed bursts are lost in the overwhelming shrieks, but the effects are not. Night runners crumple immediately on the stairs, with some rolling or sliding down their length, as Gonzalez’, McCafferty’s, and Bri’s bullets slam into them. The first row nearest us falls as if a taken down by a huge machete. Blood splashes outward as tissue is torn apart by the speeding projectiles. Henderson’s, Denton’s, Robert’s, and my rounds join nanoseconds later, sweeping the milling night runners off their feet. The walls light up in an endless barrage of strobe lights.
The night runners surviving the first horrific volley look around in confusion before slowly regaining their senses and pinpointing where the destruction is coming from. With shrieks that seem to erupt from a single source, they change directions, seeking to get to their newfound prey — us. In their effort, they trample over bodies lying in contorted positions on the stairs. Most of the efforts are short-lived as our continuous fire pours into their midst. More tumble down the steps or fall where they are. Screams of agony and pain mix with the shrieks of the eager hunters. Rivulets of blood make their way down the side of the stairs, a few become thicker and begin to stream, running or dripping, to the steps below.
The milling night runners are quickly taken down. The four of us on the landing take care of the ones who rush in from the side hall. The ranks on the stairs thin. The ones above are impeded and having problems negotiating the ranks of dead and wounded lying on the steps. However hindered they might be, there is still a mass of them between us and the soldiers and kids above, but, for now, we have a small opening.
“Now! Push upward. Gonzalez, you three have the hall. Make sure you watch out for any injured. Cover us and keep our backsides clear. We’ll take the stairs and push up. Denton, deal with the wounded,” I shout.
