“What the fuck are you doing?” Tiger screamed in disbelief. “This ain’t the time to play Wizards and Warriors!”
“Shut up!” Jocko screamed right back at him. “I need to concentrate!”
Tiger wanted to yell something back, but the storm of fire just wasn’t conducive to continuing the conversation. It drove Amber back away from the window. He knew that was exactly what its purpose was. To drive him away, to force him to abandon her. He was taking fire from top and bottom. Much more of this, and the truck’s deflective coating was going to fail, and the trusty ol’ hoss would take a kill shot to one of the engines. Or they would riddle the cockpit with pulse fire and tear him and Jocko to shreds. He needed to get her into the truck. He needed to get them all out of harm’s way. In the hourglass in his head, the sand was slipping away at far too fast a rate.
He looked desperately to Amber, crouched just inside the window. Her eyes were wide and anxious, darting from him to the sky. He knew she desperately wanted to take the chance, to jump the gap. He could see it in her eyes. She was building up the courage to try. He was afraid she would, at any second, be cut in two. Behind him, Jocko cursed and slammed his fist into the dashboard.
He seriously contemplated shooting his useless ass.
Instead, he fought the overwhelming urge to panic.
***
“Echo Tango Two, this is Alpha Actual … do you copy?”
Seven groaned and rolled over onto his back in the cramped little bath of Tiger’s hotel room. Encased in his body armor, he felt like a turtle turned upside down. The tenderness on the back of his head turned out to be a large knot that had arisen when he’d slammed into the lower half of the toilet bowl. His right shoulder was shooting searing bolts of pain down his back. He must’ve landed hard on it. Rotating it gingerly, he winced and gritted his teeth, but as far as he could tell, nothing seemed to be broken or dislocated.
The air around him was filled with dust and swirling smoke. The smell of wood, fabric and burning carpet hung heavy in the air. Scattered around him on the floor were Thomas’ toiletries: a razor, deodorant, toothbrush and shaving cream. Somewhere down a long tunnel, men shouted and shots were being fired. He could barely hear them; it was as if someone had put a set of earmuffs on him.
He reached up and grabbed the edge of the lavatory countertop, pulling himself up into a sitting position, as he leaned back against the tub. The room spun dizzily, and he fought down the nausea that the sudden change in altitude brought on. Possible slight concussion. Blinking his eyes rapidly, trying to focus them, he shook his head, trying to roll all the loose marbles back into place. As he did, the invisible muffs seem to dissipate, the volume of the sounds of combat being turned up gradually, until he realized it was all happening on the other side of the bathroom wall.
“Echo Tango Two this is Alpha Actual ... I repeat … Echo Tango Two, this is Alpha Actual!” Frost’s words in his ears felt like hammer blows against his skull. “Talk to me, boy! You still in one piece?”
He groaned in misery, as he put the mic that had been knocked slightly ajar back to his mouth. He was in a hurry to answer, not so much because he was anxious to confer with his commander, but more to quell the noise reverberating through his skull.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he replied, in no mood for the proper callsign formalities.
“Echo Tango Two, we have the bogey in a crossfire. Do not allow the package to leave the building. I repeat, do not allow her out that window! Apprehend and detain!”
Yeah … right. The bruises and blisters on his chest from where she’d shot him point blank hurt like hell every time he moved. He took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, still trying to clear his head. Reaching up over the counter, he flipped the cold-water faucet on. A washcloth was lying beside the sink basin. He placed it under the running water, soaking it liberally before slapping the sopping wet cloth across his face. That went a long way toward bringing him back to his senses. With his other arm, he gathered up his pulse rifle. Ready or not, it was time to get back in the game.
***
Jocko was still frantically working the hologram in front of him, impervious to both the battle around him and Tiger screaming like a banshee at him. He just hoped he had enough time before Tiger actually made good on his battlefield vow to shoot his dick off.
The man was so emotional sometimes.
In fact, he was so emotional he couldn’t see what Jocko was seeing. That the men they were fighting were trained killers, mercenaries by trade … that meant they probably were on the low end of the spectrum when it came to technology. Oh sure, they would utilize it when it was useful as a tool of their trade. But they weren’t going to waste a lot of time with such things as elaborate passwords or security codes.
At least that was what he was hoping, as he worked feverishly through the codes flashing across the windshield. If he was wrong, he would either be dead soon … or a eunuch. Neither prospect was particularly appealing.
From the running board, Tiger fired off another burst and then dropped to his knee and began to reload. He once again took this very opportunity to berate his old friend.
“You picked a fine time to flake out on me, Jock!” growled Tiger venomously as
