Jacob leaned back behind the weapon and squeezed the trigger; the mob had closed to within fifty feet while he was screwing with the gun. He strafed the area to his front, moving left to right and felt the impact as the mob closed and slammed against the HESCO barrier below. They screamed while trying to climb the barriers to get at the men above.
“Frag out,” a soldier yelled, dropping a grenade over the wall, the blast thumping the bunker. More grenades dropped over the side and Jacob saw that an entire case of them was at his feet, the cardboard tubes discarded all over the floor. Jacob continued to fire as Murphy lobbed grenades. He lost his breath and felt fire in his ribs as he was knocked to the bunker floor. Murphy ignored him and jumped on the M240, getting the gun back in action.
Jacob bit the fingers of his glove to remove it and slipped his hand into the front of his vest, wincing with pain. Expecting blood, he pulled out his hand and found it dry. He slapped the front of his tactical vest and found the hole where the round slapped against the plate. Jacob tried to stand but stopped to look at the roof of the museum—it was empty; there was no movement. Searching the museum grounds behind them, he saw the soldiers were pulling back and running toward boats waiting in the harbor.
“Everyone is leaving,” Jacob said, not being heard over the gunfire.
He rolled to a knee, pulling himself up the wall next to Murphy who was frantically working the machine gun, trying to push back the overwhelming mass hoarded around the tower.
“They’re leaving us!” Jacob yelled.
“Get on your weapon!” Murphy screamed, grabbing Jacob by the arm and shoving him toward the firing ports. He stumbled forward, hitting the bag wall and looked down into the faces of the screaming mass. Jacob stepped back and again felt Murphy’s shove. “If you ever want to get out of here, kill them!” he ordered.
Jacob raised his rifle up over the edge and fired at a steep angle down into the mass. No need to aim; they were so close and pressed together that every shot was a hit. The soldier on the radio lifted his head to yell down both sides of the bunker. “I have two birds inbound! Danger close!”
Jacob dropped his magazine, reloaded, and leaned back over the wall, firing at the black eyes of the mob. Rounds penetrated the bags to his left and front.
“Willy Pete out!” Sergeant Cass yelled.
Jacob watched as Cass tossed a grenade into the crowd; it popped and threw white-hot burning shards that ignited clothing and billowed clouds of acrid smoke that blocked the view of the enemy shooters.
A roar ripped through the sky as two long-winged aircraft cut overhead then peeled off, heading north on Michigan Avenue, doing a flyby over Soldier Field.
“Those are our A10s! Here they come!” the radio operator cheered.
The Warthogs looped back around and lined up for a run. The sky roared with the thunder of the planes’ cannons firing rounds that exploded and ripped the earth apart. The sound echoed across the park like the ground was being unzipped as a line of destruction was painted to within fifty meters of the bunker, erasing everything in its path. Jacob was lifted off his feet and tossed to the back wall with the rumble of the earth.
The operator yelled down the bunker, “They are coming in hot with Mark 84s—danger close! Danger close! Get your heads down!”
The A10s cut away and climbed for altitude then dove in, releasing their bombs. The sky flashed white and the earth rolled up like God shaking out a carpet; sandbags buckled and collapsed back onto the parking lot below. Jacob felt the floor give as the shockwave pushed the bunker off the HESCOs. He pulled his arms in and curled into a ball when fragments and bodies fell all around him as they tumbled in a waterfall of wreckage. Jacob landed on his belly, debris covering his back; he crawled away from the bunker and rolled into the street. His ears ringing and his nose bleeding, he coughed dirt and gagged because his mouth was too dry with suet and dust to be able swallow.
Jacob saw a rifle next to him; he grabbed it and used it to push himself up. He then struggled to his feet and staggered ahead, only getting a few steps before falling against a bullet-riddled car. With his left hand, he opened his tactical vest, wincing at what felt like a thousand broken ribs. He turned and sat on the hood of the car, every breath bringing spasms of pain. Fires burned all around him and, having collapsed, the bunker was gone. Nothing moved, and he could find none of his squad.
He stumbled forward only to trip over a man’s legs. Jacob hit the ground with a painful thud but quickly climbed back to a knee as he felt the man’s hand grab his ankle. Jacob looked back into the creature’s black eyes flaring with hatred. Jacob gripped his rifle and thrust, hitting it in the face. The thing’s head snapped back, and then it reared forward to grab at Jacob’s feet again. Gasping, Jacob fell to his knees and rolled to the side. Grabbing a broken piece of concrete and swinging, he bashed it in the face. Jacob felt the skull crush his own fingers between bone and stone as the oily blood splattered on his face.
He turned again and fell to his belly. Taking shallow breaths, trying to avoid the pain his ribs, Jacob crawled back toward the bunker. He pulled himself back to his feet using a post and, one loose step at a time, Jacob made it
