From what Beckham could tell, the second position was about to get hit hard.
He lifted his binoculars to scan the choppy water of the bay. The pale flesh of Variants broke the surface of the opaque waters as the beasts swam toward the shore.
And it wasn’t just monsters headed their direction.
Two Black Hawks descended to the other side of the bay to pick up stranded collaborators. Once they pulled back into the sky, they raced over the water toward where Horn and Timothy had taken refuge.
“We’ve got incoming birds,” Beckham said through the tower door to Jacobs. “Do we have anything down there left to take them out?”
Commander Jacobs stepped out and shook his head. “The aerial-defenses were either destroyed or expended during the bat attack.”
“Shit,” Ruckley muttered.
“If they breach that, the Variants coming in from the west will flood downtown and command,” Jacobs said.
“Then we need to stop those choppers,” Beckham said. “Permission to take the M72 LAW rocket launchers and a Humvee.”
Jacobs thought on it a moment, but then nodded. “Take out those birds, but be careful, Captain.”
Beckham started down a set of stairs with the weapons as Ruckley hobbled after him. He lost sight of the choppers when he reached the street under the wall. They loaded up into the Humvee and took off, Beckham navigating around a few stubborn fires and craters from the bat attacks.
After driving with the pedal pressed against the floor, the inner gate with its two watchtowers came into view beyond a screen of smoke. He estimated he was only a quarter mile from the inner gate when he saw the two choppers that had been racing across the bay again.
This time, they had made it over where Horn and Timothy were supposed to be.
Muzzle fire flashed from the birds as door gunners swept their machine guns over the walls and the two watchtowers beside the gate.
With each passing second, the gout of gunfire over the defensive positions grew thicker, and Beckham feared soon it would be too late for Horn and Timothy.
He couldn’t lose them. Not now. Not after all they had been through.
You’re not going to lose them. You’re going to save them.
“See if you can get Horn on the radio,” Beckham said to Ruckley. “Tell him to meet us at the bottom of the gate and look for our Humvee.”
“On it,” Ruckley said.
While she tried to contact Horn, tracer fire pounded the first helicopter. The pilot banked hard to strafe the machine gun nest. The turning bird gave Beckham a clear view into the troop hold that was filled with Chimeras.
The beasts positioned in the open troop hold joined in with the door gunner to rain hell on the troops stationed in the towers and along the catwalks lining the walls inside the gate. As both choppers began to lower over the gate, the Chimeras pulled out their cutlasses, to prepare for hand-to-hand combat on the walls.
Beckham drove faster, but then slammed on the brakes around the next corner. The Humvee squealed to a stop behind the wreckage of an overturned semi-trailer.
“Out!” he shouted.
Ruckley opened the passenger side, and he jumped out and opened the back door to retrieve the launchers. As he grabbed one and threw the other over his back, Chimeras leapt from the two choppers, landing in the ranks of soldiers while swinging their swords. The crack of gunfire echoed over the cries of soldiers clashing with the Chimeras.
“Horn!” Beckham shouted. “Timothy!”
He scanned the soldiers now engaged in hand-to-hand combat across the walls and towers, but didn’t see either of his friends.
“Look out!” Ruckley said.
One of the Black Hawks suddenly swooped low, forcing them to take cover behind the Humvee as the door gunner let loose a spray of fire. Bullets cracked against the hood and windshield, peppering the side of their vehicle.
Beckham hunched down with Ruckley until the torrent was over.
The bird flew away and strafed the wall again, tracer fire lancing out in a violent spray. Rounds punched into soldiers fleeing for cover. Dead bodies tumbled back off the catwalks and smacked against the ground with sickening thuds.
The other Black Hawk was turning now too, coming back in for a second attack.
“Fuck, we have to hurry,” Beckham said. “We need a distraction.”
“I’ll do it,” Ruckley said. “You take them out.”
“How?”
“I’ll drive, you fire,” she said.
Ruckley got into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. It groaned but turned over and she drove away.
Beckham pulled out the arming pin of the LAW rocket launcher, extended the weapon, and shouldered it. One of the choppers took Ruckley’s bait and turned away from the wall, giving chase. He lost sight of her and focused on the bird.
Beckham aimed, leading the cockpit, then squeezed the trigger bar. The rocket blazed from the tube. For a fleeting second, he feared he had missed, but the shriek of tearing metal sounded, followed by a low explosion. The rocket had punched right into the top of the troop hold.
With the screech of protesting metal, the bird plummeted sideways before bursting into a fireball against the pavement.
The second Black Hawk began to turn, but instead of going after Ruckley, it started toward his location.
“Oh, shit,” Beckham said.
He ducked for cover behind the overturned trailer.
Bullets pounded the sides, piercing the thin metal. He waited for the right moment before bolting away for the wreckage of a pickup truck with flames sputtering from under its hood.
Beckham had hoped the smoke would obscure the pilot’s vision, but the door gunner continued to pound his new location. Glass rained down on him as he flattened his body to the pavement and crawled under the back bumper.
The front wheels both exploded.
He had to move or he was going to die, pinned under a burning truck.
As he prepared to make his move, the bark of a second machine gun joined the fight. He clenched up, anticipating the fire, but the bullets weren’t intended for him. He slid out from the truck and watched as the door
