Theodore could hear the muffled Pop-pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop sound of semi-automatic weapons somewhere in the bunker. He adjusted his belt. The weight of his nine-millimeter pistol felt strange yet familiar to the old veteran. The door opened and Swann leaned in.
“Sir, the control room is under assault. Thompson’s team is under heavy fire.”
Theodore understood. “We need to move. Our flanking plan.”
“Yes, sir.”
Theodore looked at the bulletproof vest. “Take your team now. I’ll follow in a minute.”
The agent’s expression showed that he strongly disagreed with that.
“I’ll be fine, Swann.” He still didn’t move. “That’s an order, Swann. Go help Thompson.”
Swann nodded. “I’m leaving one guy.” With that, he shut the door. Theodore could hear him calling his team out in the hallway.
Theodore lifted the bulletproof vest and started strapping it on. His hands betrayed his nervousness as they fumbled with the straps.
He walked to his door but pulled up short. Quickly turning around, he walked back to his desk to pick up his rifle. That second of hesitation probably saved him from walking out into a killing field. He jerked as he heard shots in the hallway. Somebody outside his door collapsed onto the ground with a groan.
He quickly circled his desk, his rifle aimed at the door. He heard the footsteps running towards his location. Theodore knelt behind the desk just as the door opened and several weapons discharged bullets blindly into his office. He waited for the burst to end, popped up and shot a controlled burst into the neck and head of the first man, before taking cover behind the metal desk again. Bullets peppered the desk.
The remaining two assailants had him dead to rights. However, they had no fire control and their mags ran empty almost at the same time. Theodore popped up once more and got at least one hit as the two men dove out of the doorway. He heard a man screaming in the hall.
Nothing happened for a few moments. Theodore heard some noises, including the click of a magazine being inserted. It was mostly drowned out by the swearing and screaming of the wounded man.
The third man threw something into the room before Theodore could take a shot, then slammed the door shut. Theodore looked beside him to see a grenade roll to a stop less than a foot away.
Most people thought a grenade would explode after three seconds. That was not true. It was more like five seconds, and Theodore knew this.
Instead of running like hell and diving for cover, he scooped up the grenade, opened his desk drawer, threw it in and shut the drawer.
Then he ran like hell and dove for cover.
If that grenade had been left in the middle of the room, he would have been a dead man.
Guaranteed.
The shrapnel would have torn him to shreds, and the concussive blast would have scrambled his brain, collapsed his lungs, and stopped his heart. Putting the grenade into a container gave him a chance. Not a big chance, but a chance, nonetheless.
Theodore dove for the only thing that provided cover in his new office — a little couch. For once, his exuberance cost him. He dove too far, leaving his head and shoulder exposed past the end of the couch. He drew back his arm and tried to pull himself back behind the couch.
The explosion was deafeningly loud. The desk blew apart into hundreds of pieces, sending jagged bits of metal flying everywhere.
Theodore literally saw his death flying at him in the form of shards of metal. His shoulder and head thudded with the impact. One shard went through his eye to embed itself in his skull, where his brow met his nose. Theodore blacked out immediately.
For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the door opened. Slowly and loudly on its bent hinges. Somebody outside was still moaning. It was enough to rouse Theodore. His military training and a hefty dose of adrenaline took over, and he forgot about his injuries.
Somebody walked into the room, looking for him. In the mess and dust, the man could not see Theodore where he lay. As he stepped into view, he turned to look the other way. Theodore’s hand was resting on his hip, on his handgun. He drew the gun and tried to aim, but his shoulder was messed up and he couldn’t raise his arm. So, he shot the assailant in the ankle. Then, when the man fell, he followed up with five more shots.
It was overkill. But Theodore was pissed off.
Theodore slowly got to his feet. Seeing the world with one eye was disorienting. Oddly, he felt very little pain. The dead man was one of the security contractors. He had figured they were part of the conspiracy.
Keeping the nine-mill pointed out in front of him, he stepped out into the hallway. A mortally wounded man lay beside the door, his legs splayed out, his shoulder and head against the wall. He saw Theodore and whimpered.
Theodore saw the other man he’d shot lying a couple of feet further down the hall, and the body of his man — the national guardsman — on the other side of the door. He turned back to the wounded man. He’d been shot in the guts, at least twice.
His one eye met the upturned face of the man, who for the first time went silent.
“That looks painful.” Theodore croaked. The contractor’s eyes grew wide at the terrifying visage of the general.
Then, without another word, he turned away towards the distant sounds of the battle.
AT THE CONTROL CENTER, things were going poorly. Thompson lay in a pool of his own blood next to one of the radio operators. They had gone down fighting, as an unknown man lay a few feet away. The last two defenders had backed up to positions inside the room.
Swann showed up just in time with his two
