I wiped out as I hit the parking lot. It was ringed by a “decorative” chain fence about thirty centimeters high. I ran into it at a sprint, which made my shin scream. I stumbled and rolled, and that’s when I did the rest of it. I tried to land weapon-butt first and roll, but missed the timing and landed on my little finger. Let me say that again: I put close to one hundred kilos down on one little finger, second knuckle, at a dead run.
I thought I’d pass out from the pain. Not only was it certainly broken, I skinned it to the bone and then some. Then my head slammed down, as I’d not tucked enough. I lost skin and hair and jarred my neck. The pain between those three was so great that I saw spots, blotches and streaks, and just managed to divert a heave from becoming vomit which I would have aspirated. I Boosted, swallowed, clenched my teeth, went into recovery breathing, and let the tears flow as I keened as quietly as I could. I staggered two steps and threw myself alongside what looked like one of a pair of public restrooms to catch some breaths and deal with shock, sitting with my tortured skull gingerly resting on the bricks. My ribs started hurting, too, from the strain and tumble.
I realized I was in light, not shadow, and moved sideways quickly. When you do something stupid, it’s time to stop and regroup, only I couldn’t. I heard steps, knew one of the thugs was approaching, and stood ready. As he came around the corner, I shoved the muzzle up under his ribs to increase the suppression, and fired a shot straight through his inferior vena cava, liver, lungs and spine. There was a whump!, his exhale, and a thud as he hit the ground. I scooped up his pistol and jammed it into the other pocket. My finger was on fire, aching and throbbing, and had gotten dinged again as I shot. I ignored it, turned, and ran around the building, hearing his buddy approach.
I cleared the building with my back to the wall, saw one guy disappear between the buildings. He gasped, swore, and knelt to check his buddy. I came around behind him and fired a load right up his ass, balls and spine. He squealed slightly and dropped. I dodged around him and then cleared the other building, low and slow. As I snuck around the corner, I saw two more of them bringing up the rear, then a third behind them, as they spread out to look for me.
I reloaded gingerly, using only two fingers. Carefully then, I eased the muzzle past the corner, shot number five, and waited. The sound echoed between the buildings and the concrete walk. This combined with the sound when the previous victim dropped, caused their attention to be diverted toward him. Not being chivalrous, I shot two more in the back post haste, and departed the field at a low run.
Shots cracked past, a couple of them frighteningly close, but I was alive and they had seven down of sixteen.
As I ran, I reloaded with the fresh magazine. The depleted one went into a pocket, and I reached in to slide five more shells into it with my good hand. The damaged hand could support the weapon and would have to fire while my left did most of the heavy and fine work.
Silver whispered in my earbuds, “Approaching,” and I took a moment to figure out she meant herself. I saw a hand wave behind the gate cairn, and I angled that way. I low-pitched a pistol, dodged the other way and took cover.
She didn’t hesitate, but scooped it up, glanced it over, raised it plane over the stones and shot. She got one, who staggered and snarled and tumbled to his ass. Then she winged another, as I got one in the face, pointshooting as I stood.
This caused them to reassess, and they seemed to have some training. They pulled into a group while unloading suppressing fire.
I wondered how long it would be before the cops showed up. We were rather remote, but someone had to have heard by now.
Silver sprawled prone and low around the rock, fired twice more, and another one dropped. I think she got him in the leg, but he didn’t like it. Dirt kicked up around her, and she flinched, then I stopped watching as I whipped around and fired two more quick shots for a wound.
It really hadn’t taken long. I’d killed five and wounded two, she’d killed at least one and wounded two. That left five functional, and they’d retreated in a group into one of the cars. They ripped out throwing gravel and I let them go.
There were five wiggling wounded here, though, and they varied from critical and alive to barely scratched. It wasn’t over yet.
Once again, my training proved useful. Some of the most ridiculous exercises have real world applications.
My survival course was much like that which pilots and combat rescue teams got, with one difference. I had to survive, and I had to keep four of them quiet for ten days. They’d get recovered as soon as they could signal a search party. My task was to stop them from doing so, keep control of them, and keep them alive, then get us all out together. I’d been given a uniform stripped of fasteners, and my wits and viciousness.