“Depends on how patient you are. I’ll radio over and tell ya when we’re good to fire. I’ve been through too much for you, of all people, to kill me, El!”
“The War and the Force … seems to me we’ve been cheating death for far too long.”
I got a laugh from Sinclair at that last comment. We dipped down again. The sinking feeling lurched through me once more. Anticipation and excitement kept my feet pinned and my knuckles white as I gripped the rifle with sweaty palms.
“This would be considered excessive force, Elias. Is it really necessary for us to use a weapon of this calibre? No pun intended.”
I could barely pick up its rattling voice through the howls of the wind and the engines, but I’d heard it call me Elias, not Detective Roche. I smiled. Either it had been a slip of the tongue, or Allen was growing more confident.
“Firstly: we were given free ROE from Robins, and I plan on exercising those rules however I choose. Secondly: I’m glad you’re finally learning some humour. Trust me when I say that it helps to cope with a job like this.” I laughed, and Allen looked more uncomfortable than usual.
“Detective, this could be extremely dangerous for your well-being. The percentage of your body that is exposed while you operate the weapon carries a high risk of fatality, or at least injury.”
“High risk, high reward, Allen. Keep your head down until we need to disembark.” It planted itself back into the seat, gripping the handles tighter. “And I promise I won’t try to kill anyone. I really will try.” I meant it, but if anyone got in the way of a blind shot, it was their own fault. “Fly me over to the side of the warehouse, Paddy! No reason to use the front door.”
“Detective!” Allen nearly stood in its little seat. “You can’t possibly be thinking about firing a rifle of this size for the arbitrary reason of making an entrance.”
I gestured to the weapon. “You expect me not to use the big goddamn gun? What other suggestions do you have?”
“We can have Sergeant Sinclair bring us near the docks, then disembark and use the front door.”
Toby and I looked at each other, letting a silence hang in the air. “Load the gun, Roche,” Toby said.
I pulled back the bolt and loaded three 30mm solid rods into the rifle’s breech. A thunk followed, along with the sharp whine of electric energy.
“Mark to fire in thirty seconds, El,” Sinclair barked over the amplifier.
“And what if we fire at the wrong warehouse, Detective?” Allen asked again.
“I guess we’ll pop the top off every one until we get it right,” I said with a smirk.
“Now I remember why I never went on raids with you,” Sinclair said.
“I mean, they’re all connected,” I said, quoting him. “If this one doesn’t have what we need, the others will!”
The Rotorbird’s propellers caused water to splash up across the bottom of the open door, soaking my shoes and slacks. Mist covered the floor by the door, and my shoes lost some traction, but thankfully the anchors kept me from falling into the bay.
The aircraft hung in the air outside the edge of the southernmost warehouse, adjacent to the river. To the right was 11th Avenue, full of cars minding their own business. The last thing those drivers would want to trouble themselves with was why a Rotorbird was aiming an onboard weapon at a supposedly abandoned warehouse. We were so close that I could see through the dirty glass panes of the building. I spotted at least a dozen people moving about inside. The faces turned toward the window, indicating that they’d either seen or heard us.
Sinclair called to me on the loudspeaker, “Don’t kill us, Roche. Fire!”
I leaned into the weapon as I placed both index fingers on the red triggers. The Rotorbird jerked as the rifle shot shells at the glass panes.
Normal rifle rounds would have passed through glass, cracking the surface but leaving the glass mostly intact. Not these rounds. Three solid cylinders of metal flew forward with barely a whisper. The brick wall and attached windows shattered and flew into the warehouse. The rods went through the concrete floor, burying themselves deep into the earth.
No doubt Allen had been appalled that I was willing to fire such a weapon without being 100 percent sure there were criminals on the other side of the wall. But now that the inside of the warehouse was visible, the sight of wooden crates and metal bits strewn about gave weight to my decision, no matter how reckless it was. I couldn’t imagine how the metal man would have reacted to all the other shit I’d done over the past four years. At least there were no civilians in the way this time. I had enough time to load another triplet of rounds in preparation to fire.
Inside, dozens of bodies began to stir and recover from the sudden attack. Many were Automatics, Blue-eyes probably stacking and moving boxes for some extra cash. They all ran the moment they recovered from having their wires scrambled. Dealing with fewer attackers certainly made my life a lot easier. One of the bodies, however, was a Red-eye who drew a pistol to fire in my direction. Toby stepped up beside me, holding the Thompson by its waist, and pulled the trigger, emptying the magazine of heated thermite rounds and thus turning the Red-eye into swiss cheese. The husk flopped over before it had even pulled the trigger of its own weapon.
“After you.” I gestured to the hole in the wall. Toby leaped across and landed on the splintered wooden planks.
I pushed the Suppression Rifle to the side, pulling my feet from the hooks on the floor, backed up, and made the leap myself. I felt my left foot catch the edge of the floor, but it wasn’t enough to make me tumble into
