“Hey, watch yourself,” a soldier said, looking up from a radio handset. “We haven’t been able to get them out. The living have priority on evac.”
Jacob shuddered and quickly walked away to the far side of the bunker. He dropped against the sandbag wall and looked back at the museum. Exhausted, he sat back in the dark, pulling his knees to his chest before leaning his head against the bags. Gunfire rang out from the reinforced line on the other side. Men screamed, and machine guns ripped off long bursts. When a flare was launched somewhere over Grant Park, he could see the backlit silhouettes of people moving along the roof of the museum. Helicopters dropped in from high altitude, quickly loading passengers before lifting away and flying back out toward the freighters. Jacob stared at the people in line, imagining that he saw Laura with Katy in her arms.
She looked down at him and smiled. He raised a hand to wave then watched her turn away to head toward the door of a waiting helicopter. Jacob felt comfort knowing that his family would make it out, even if he didn’t.
“Come on, man; wake up,” Cass said, slapping him on the cheek.
Jacob looked up at Cass, not realizing he’d drifted asleep. “Sorry,” he said.
“Come here, I need to show you something,” Cass said.
He dragged Jacob to the furthermost right corner of the bunker. The floor was covered with expended brass, and green boxes of ammunition were stacked against the wall. A machine gun, with a large scope attached to the top, rested on a bi-pod overlooking the approach.
“This is an M240 machine gun. You are now a machine gunner,” Cass said, sliding Jacob behind the gun.
“Really easy: pull the handle back, lock it, and let it ride forward. Tray opens like this,” Cass explained as he pushed a tab, causing a tray to pop open.
“Grab a belt from a can over here and drop it into the feeder tray—brass to the grass—then close the tray; too easy, right?” Cass said, performing the actions and charging the weapon. “You got that, hero?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Jacob answered.
“Good, get it figured. This here is your basic night scope; it pretty much sucks, but I need you to keep eyes on the park and kill anything that comes at us. If it gets crazy and you can’t see through the scope, look over it and walk your rounds in with the tracers.”
Cass made a fist, slugged Jacob on the chest, and waited for him to put the weapon’s stock into his shoulder before walking away to position the rest of the squad. Jacob tried to get comfortable. The weapon was at just below his armpits when standing. If he stood with his legs apart and leaned forward, then the scope lined right up with his eye.
Jacob looked through the cupped eyepiece and saw a grainy image flecked in green and white. He blinked his eye and moved his head away, trying to focus. Moving closer to the eyecup, he clenched his eyes tight then slowly opened them, trying to adjust to the image. He swung the weapon left and right and was slowly able to make out objects. He saw a flash far off from an exploding mine and moved the barrel in that direction.
Burning debris flickered in the scope—the remains of a taxi cab. Jacob swung to the left then paused to stare at what looked like the hulk of a tree trunk. He tried to focus on the grainy image when he detected movement from the corner of his sight picture. A single man lit in tones of black and green was walking in the direction of the bunker.
“I see something!” Jacob yelled over the sounds of the fighting behind them.
The man continued walking toward him and as he drew closer, more walking figures materialized into the image of the scope.
“Sergeant Cass, I see them!” Jacob yelled again, not getting an answer.
In the scope, he watched the man transition from a walk to a jog; the group behind began running as well and soon the scope was filled with a mass of running figures. Mines began exploding, and the machine gun on the opposite end opened up. Jacob watched tracers cut through the image and when his own finger finally found the trigger, he pulled. He fired a long burst, losing the enemy group as the weapon jumped under its recoil. Jacob looked over the machine gun’s scope just before someone in the bunker launched a flare.
The light under the parachute now exposed the hidden creatures. The field was full of them; Jacob pulled the trigger again, walking the tracers through the ranks of charging men. Jacob watched a man in the mass pause and raise a rifle. Before the thing could fire, he was cut down.
“Focus on the runners; we got the shooters!” Murphy yelled, standing beside Jacob and firing his rifle while searching the crowd. “Get back on the trigger, keep pouring it on!”
Jacob swept the gun left and right, the 7.62 rounds chewing through the charging mass. Incoming rounds splattered the sand in front of and next to the gun; even through heavy fire, the mass was closing on them. Jacob pulled the trigger. Getting no response, he looked to the left and found the belt had been expended and the gun was empty. He popped open the tray as instructed, fumbled with the belted ammunition, slapped the tray closed, and racked the bolt. Leveling his aim on a group closing the distance on him, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Jacob felt panic burning. He pulled the handle and racked the bolt again.
“Get that gun up!” a soldier yelled from down the line.
Murphy looked over at Jacob and jumped to the weapon, knocking Jacob out
