[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
thigh.
"You Milice," Owensford called. Some of them were still on their feet, and
they had all abandoned the useless riot gear for the guns on their backs. "Get
the wounded in here under cover. You, Sergeant, get me ten, we've got to
secure the building across the way."
The police-militia noncom turned, a look of grateful relief on his face that
someone was taking charge.
His mouth opened; then he staggered, a red splotch opening on the front of his
jacket, and dropped bonelessly to the ground.
"Cover, cover!" Owensford called.
"I'll clear the building," Lysander said. He dashed forward, diving and
rolling as bullets chipped the pavement at his feet, Harv skipping sideways
behind him and snapping off covering shots at the windows. The Milice rallied
and followed, driving into the dead ground at the base of the building across
the street. The prince kicked in a door and dove through, the militia of the
Brotherhoods at his heels.
Ace Barton was firing controlled three-round bursts from behind a pillar.
"Fifth floor, second from the right," he shouted as he ducked back behind the
stone to reload. Return fire pocked the column; he dodged down and to the
other side, snapping off another burst.
"Where the hell is the battalion?"
"Coming."
* * *
"¡Mierda!" Skilly said, dropping down behind the window ledge.
Light pistol-caliber bullets hammered at the stone below; she rose and
squeezed off the five rounds left in the clip, phut-phut-phut-phut-phut.
"Somebody down there too good a shot," she said with respect, slapping another
magazine into the well in the pistol grip of the carbine and stepping back out
of the line of fire. "That enough, everyone out!"
The dark-clad Meijian at the com unit snapped it closed, picked up his
personal weapon and darted to the door. "Niles!"
The young Englishman squeezed off another round and turned. "Got one, by god!"
he said.
"Good," Skilly replied impatiently. "Doan matter, we gots nice pictures,
cameras knocked out just before the first rocket. Papers will tell, but people
we interested in doan read, is all. Hoped we'd get the kings . . . you take
rear, my mon. Go, go, go."
The corridor outside was cool white silence, insanely distant from the fire
and blood outside. Niles crouched, his weapon covering the long hallway as the
Page 55
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
others dashed toward the staircase; the corridors were shaped like a capital
"I," with elevators in the middle and stairs at either end. He skipped
backward crabwise, conscious of the steadiness of his hands and the bright
concentration in his mind. Read about this, Grand-Uncle, he thought. Tell me
I'm a useless playboy now, father.
They were to the stairs; he could hear the thunder of feet on the metal slats.
And the door at the other end of the corridor was opening.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...Falkenberg%203%20-%20Go%
20Tell%20the%20Spartans.txt (52 of 159)20-2-2006 23:17:51
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruiswijk/Mijn%20d...lle%20-%20%
20Falkenberg%203%20-%20Go%20Tell%20the%20Spartans.txt
"Hostiles!" Niles shouted, dropping into prone position. Elbows on the ground,
and the stock smacked into his shoulder, squeeze off two rounds. Star-shaped
holes in the frosted glass, and a scream of pain.
Then the door opened again, just enough to let a muzzle through. Shots blazed,
a military automatic rifle, ugly crack sounds above his head, hammering into
the plasterwork and leaving stinging dust in the air.
"Come on, mon, we leaving," Skilly said behind him.
Niles shook his head, fired again. "Got to give them something to think
about," he said. "Grenade, please?"
She handed one forward to him, a standard plastic concussion-model egg. He
waited until the opposite door began to open, then pulled the tab and lobbed
it with a cricketer's expert overarm snap; it bounced into the narrow gap
between door and wall and exploded, tearing the door from the hinges.
"Another, fragmentation," Niles said. Skilly handed it to him as they scuttled
backward into the stairwell; there was something of a surprised look on her
face.
Niles let the door close, pulling a roll of electrical tape from a pocket of
his new hidehunter leather costume. The door was a simple rectangle of pressed
metal, with a frosted glass window and a U-shaped aluminum handle. Moving with
careful speed, he taped the grenade inside the metal loop, then ran a strip of
the tape from the pin to the top of the stair railing. Finally he drew his
knife and used the point to straighten the split ends of the pin, where they
bent back on the other side of the grenade's lever; the slightest pressure
would strip it out, now.
"Hoo, Skilly like that," she said, with new-found respect, slapping him on the
shoulder. He found himself smiling back.
A bellow from below. "Skilly! ¡Vamonos!"
They turned, taking the stairs a dozen at a time and whooping like children.
* * *
"They didn't cut the line, sir," the Legion electronics tech said, looking up
from her equipment. The glowstrips blinked back on. "Something with the
central power control computer; I'd say." They had flown her in in one of the
RSMP tiltrotors, along with the reaction company who were securing the area,
and Fifth Battalion medics to help with the wounded.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]