Alessi ducks two close punches, and just when I think she’s run out of fancy moves, Endo leaps from a two-foot-tall boulder and lands on Gordon’s back like he’s a Velcro wall. Gordon flails, but Endo clings on tightly with his legs. Unshakable. With his left hand, Endo stabs the taser into Gordon’s left temple. With the right, he jams the drill-tipped neural whatsamabob into Gordon’s right temple.
Gordon shouts in frustration, but not pain.
Then some part of Gordon’s mind remembers that he, like Endo, is a highly trained soldier who knows how to fight. And when someone is on your back, you don’t reach for them or shake around.
Gordon flings himself backwards toward a tall, brown stone rising up from the beach rocks like a long-lost Easter Island bust. Despite my distaste for Endo, I flinch. The man’s about to die.
As the pair falls back, Endo punches his fist into Gordon’s temple and then leaps away. He falls clear of the rock as Gordon slams into it, but this part of the dance hasn’t been choreographed. Endo hits hard, landing in a field of slippery seaweed-covered boulders. Despite his best effort, there’s no way to slow his fall. He takes a hard hit to the ribs and then rolls away, disappearing into a tide pool with a splash.
To hell with this, I think, and toggle Devine to transmit. “Hawk-one, this is Hudson. I need three birds to my coordinates, ASAP.”
“Our target, sir?” Hawk-One’s voice fills my ear.
“Lance Gordon,” I say. “This is a priority one target. Lethal force authorized. Be aware, there are four friendlies on site. Pick your target carefully, but be quick about it.”
“Copy that,” Hawk-One says. “ETA, ten minutes.”
Shit. This will be done in ten minutes. The only friendlies they’re going to find are smears. I should have never listened to Endo. At least we still have Betty.
“Woodstock, come around for a flyby,” I say. “If we’re clear, light him up.”
While Betty’s rocket pods are empty, she still has a high powered chain gun. It’s nothing compared to the heavy hitting armaments of an Apache attack helicopter, but it should do more than tickle.
“Let’s go,” I say to Collins, raising my weapon again and heading for Gordon. While Endo and Alessi have clearly been training for an up close and personal confrontation with Gordon, Collins and I have been working on coordinated weapons assaults. Granted, we generally have about twenty more men supporting us, but we’re both competent.
“Aim for the eyes,” Collins says. “Won’t do any permanent damage, but if he can’t see, it will slow him down.”
Gordon shoves himself off the rock and looks for Endo. Not seeing him, the traitorous general throws himself at Alessi, who looks a lot less sure of herself, now that the plan has fallen apart. She manages to duck his sweeping arms, but he recovers quickly and reaches out to grab her head. One good squeeze and she’s done.
She stands in between Gordon and me. His hunched body is just a little taller than hers. And they’re both moving. It’s an impossible shot. The odds of my hitting her are—
Crack!
Collins squeezes off a single round. It doesn’t hit Gordon’s eye, but the impact on his cheek is enough to get his attention. Alessi uses the distraction to duck away, running into the maze of rocks lining the ocean. And now Collins and I are Gordon’s only remaining targets.
He lumbers toward us, yellow eyes blazing. “You’re making this too easy for me. You should have stayed away.”
As I depress the trigger and hold it down, emptying my magazine at Gordon, I realize he’s right. The attack in Beverly was all about me. If I really am what’s keeping Gordon and Nemesis from having a mental pow-wow, the results could be catastrophic, especially if he’s able to influence her the way he is these other Kaiju.
As Collins and I both run out of ammo and move to reload, Gordon breaks into a run. I quickly move my hand to the weapon’s second trigger and pop off a grenade. It hits Gordon head on, stumbling him, but nothing more. While I unload another magazine at his head, Collins fires her grenade. The fragmentation device strikes Gordon’s forehead, exploding with enough concussive force to knock the wind out of me. The shards of metal sprayed by the grenade have no effect on his thick skin, but there’s enough of the stuff flying around that his eyes both take hits. His approach grinds to a halt as he rubs at his face, growling in frustration.
It’s just a momentary delay. But it’s enough.
When Gordon opens his eyes again, fully healed, Collins and I are gone, hiding behind a granite block inscribed with information about the park. In our place is Betty, chain gun already spinning.