The Chop Shop (22 page)

“Affirmative,
moving up now.”

“All right,
we'll link up with Hill's section outside and take it from there,” Harris said.

They returned to
the corridor, and the dormitory exploded. A flash of fire escaped through the
doorway, snuffed out by smoke, dust and rubble scattering across the floor. The
last two policemen fell down.

“What the fuck
was that? Where did they get rockets from?” somebody said.

They dragged the
men to their feet and stormed down the staircase, and the floor vibrated as
Michael heard one of the tanks firing its cannon. Corporal Hill's section met
them as they came out the entrance, but the infantry fighting vehicle remained
in position at the fence.

“They're going
to hang back and watch the perimeter for anyone trying to escape,” Hill said.

A rocket trailed
orange fire and struck the lead tank, engulfing it in smoke and debris. The
haze began to clear, revealing a warped barrel.

“They just took
out our main gun, but everything else is still operational. They're are spread
over multiple floors in the office block,” Tango One said on the radio.

“We can't stay
here all night. They'll grind us down if we give them enough time,” Harris
said.

“I hear you,
sir, but that's a lot of open ground to cover. We won't even make it five
meters before they get out range. You hear that? That's a fifty they're
firing,” Hill said.

“This is Alpha
Three to all units, we've got multiple casualties and our IFV has been
disabled. We are pulling back to the CP with our wounded, I repeat, we are
pulling back to the CP,” the section commander said over the radio.

“Shit,” Harris
said.

Hill took his
section down to the other end of the building. He leaned around the corner, and
bullets pinged off the asphalt. Another took a chunk out of the building. He
backed away.

“For fuck sake,
they're escaping out the back. Come on, this way,” Hill said. He paused just
long enough to order their vehicle forward, and then sprinted across the open
ground to the shipping container on their left.

Michael followed
after the corporal with the rest of two section, leaving Harris and the others
behind. More gunfire came their way, and the crack of near misses filled his
ears. He ran faster, slipping on a patch of water and slamming into the
shipping container. The sound of his impact echoed through the interior.

“Still with me?
What the fuck is Harris doing? Don't answer that; he's doing his usual trick of
sticking his nose in everything, and now we're going to have to clean up his
mess,” Hill said.

The IFV rolled
towards them. Caterpillar tracks creaked and groaned.

“One section,
you lot, over here,” Hill shouted, beckoning to them with his hand. He tossed a
smoke grenade into the open.

They waited
several moments for the white haze to appear, and then sprinted across to the
shipping containers. Harris walked out after them, still clutching his radio in
one hand and the magnum in the other.

“Corporal, what
the hell are you doing? I'm giving the or--”

A stray bullet
blew the back of his calf open. His face contorted in pain, and he dropped
right where he stood. He landed on his side, letting out a cry of agony as he
writhed about, clutching at the bleeding. More bullets struck the asphalt
around him and ricocheted into the air. He crawled back behind the building,
and then slumped against the wall.

Hill jabbed
Michael in the arm. “Forget him, he'll live. Somebody can pick him up later. We
need to keep moving; once they get out of this compound, they're gone, and
we'll never find them again.”

“For once, I
agree with you,” Michael.

“All right then,
let's move. Stick with the vehicle, but don't get close. It's a bullet magnet.
If you see them, shoot them. Fuck prisoners, I don't want police fatalities.”

They left their
cover. Muzzle flashes appeared on the other side of the compound, and the
deafening sound of automatic fire filled his ears. He grimaced, clenching his
jaw tight as he squeezed a trio of rounds from his rifle. Pale silhouettes
drifted across the asphalt like ghosts.

“Corp, Corporal,
to the right. They're going for the van,” the policeman beside him said. He
pulled the trigger on his rifle, but the bolt locked.

A rumble came
from behind, and Michael felt tremors running through his bones. The vehicle
stopped right beside them. Its barrel elevated several inches higher with the
whine of the motor, and orange flame escaped from the muzzle, as it spat 40mm
tracer rounds.

They arced
forward, ripping holes through the van and setting it on fire. The rounds came
out the other side, struck the asphalt and bounced back into the air, wobbling
like red squiggly lines. 

One of the
occupants fell out of the passenger seat, missing the lower half of his body.
He slumped on the ground in a pool of his own blood, twitching for a moment
before finally ceasing to move.

The IFV
continued to shoot, turning its cannon on the other vehicle. Orange flame and
black smoke filled the air. 

“They're pulling
back; I'm going to try and cut them off down the left before they can reach
that fence,” Michael said.

Hill nodded. “Go
with one section. I'll get that tank up here and any left overs at the CP, and
then we'll be right behind you. The lads here will keep you covered. Try not to
get yourself killed; there's already enough brains waiting to be scraped off
the ground.”

Michael stepped
over two wounded policemen and darted across to the warehouse. The crackle and
pop of gunfire followed him and the others, but they kept moving, running
faster now the building was between them and the enemy.

He blew the
hinges off the fire exit with his shotgun and kicked it down. Rows of rusted
shipping containers stretched from one end of the warehouse to the next. They
advanced to the front of the building, where he lifted up both shutters, and
then fell over as a hail of bullets pierced the wall beside him.

Dead bodies lay
scattered across the asphalt besides the factory building. A long figure stood
amongst them, letting off long bursts of machine gun fire. His upper body shook
from the recoil, and he noticed Michael then, turning the weapon on him. An
explosion erupted at his feet.

The smoke
obscured him for an instant and then faded, and his limbless body twitched and
spasmed about like a fish out of water. One of the policemen dragged Michael
behind the corrugated metal of a container door. Bullets pinged off the side,
clipping the edge of the policeman's helmet.

“Keep shooting!”
somebody shouted.

Michael went
down on a knee and edged around the corner. He trained the reflex sight on a
muzzle flash, feeling the stock kick back into his shoulder as he squeezed off
a round. He fired four more times, and then the muzzle flash vanished.

A 40mm grenade
detonated just short of their position. Hot pieces of shrapnel whizzed past his
head and struck another of the containers. The IFV rolled into view again just
past the shutters, hosing the area with its co-axial machine gun.

“We've got two
casualties bleeding bad. I need some help to get them back to the CP,” the
point man said.

“It's fine, just
go,” Michael said.

They lifted up
the wounded and dragged them back the way they'd come, as Corporal Hill and a
fire team sprinted after the IFV. They hurled themselves forward and went prone
beside the vehicle, letting off a torrent of fire at the factory building.

“Ward,” the
corporal shouted, waving to him. “Get over here. You're clear to move; the
tank's coming.”

Michael ran
towards him, and the remnants of one section followed as the tank rolled to a
stop beside the burning vehicles. It spat a HESH round out of its main gun and
left a jagged hole in the factory wall. Part of the roof caved in, blocking the
hole up again in an eruption of shrapnel.

“We took some
casualties. They're taking them back to the CP,” Michael said.

“Dead?” Hill
said.

“Not yet.”

“Three section
has fatalities. Somebody put a 40mm grenade in their position, but they've still
got two men covering the side over there. Nobody is getting out of here without
us knowing.”

Michael swapped
the magazine in his rifle. “There's a lot of bodies. These numbers weren't in
the briefing.”

“Right, and now
we're going to have to go in there and rat the survivors out.”

A violent
hissing filled the air, and Michael pushed Hill down on the ground, scraping
the plastic rim of his visor. Smoke and fire trailed the rocket, as it left the
third floor of the office block and struck the rear of the tank in the engine
block.

Michael picked
up Hill's radio. “We've still got hostile forces in the office. Get it locked
down.”

The tank started
to burn. A hatch popped open, and one by one the three crewmen climbed out,
dodging bullets that clipped the turret. They ran towards the IFV, followed by
the driver as he clambered out of the hull.

“Corporal, we're
outmatched here. We need to back off, secure the perimeter and get some backup
in here,” Michael said.

Hill stared at
the vehicle, and its reflection burned in his visor.

“Corporal?”
Michael slapped him on the side of the helmet. “Corporal.”

“What? I heard
you,” Hill said.

“Look, lock this
area down. I'll go back to the command post and get us some back up. If I can
pick up any stragglers, then we'll try and clear that office block, okay?”

“Fine, grab me
on the radio if something comes up.”

Michael ran past
the tank, and the stench of burning diesel filled his nostrils. The shooting
had died down now, only sporadic shots and the sound of ammunition cooking off
inside one of the vans punctuating the air. A single bullet struck the ground
in front of him, and he changed course as Hill fired a dozen rounds into the
window it had come from.

To his right, a
lone policeman lay slumped against the side of the dormitories, his visor
cracked and splattered with blood. Michael continued on. His shoe clipped an
empty shell casing, sending it tumbling and jingling away from him. The command
post was just ahead, beyond the gates.

A row of injured
policeman stretched away from the infantry fighting vehicle. Medics tended to
their injuries, but most crowded around a single officer, trying to plug a
sucking chest wound. He found Harris leaning against the vehicle with a bloody
bandage wrapped around his leg, and his face had turned pale.

Michael shook
him by the arm. “Major, you need get on the radio and get us some bloody help.
We're getting shot up out there. Ambulances, we need those as well.”

Harris gave a
grunt as he looked up. “It's already done. Help is on the way, but God knows
when it's going to get here.”

“You really
fucked up.”

“Leave it,
Detective, you won't get anything out of him; he's doped up on morphine,” one
of the medics said.

“What's going
on?” Richard said.

Michael clenched
his jaw tight for a moment and shook his head. “We're getting cut up. They just
put the other tank out of action with a rocket from that office block. There's
still survivors in there. Corporal Hill and whoever is left have the factory
locked down, so nobody is getting out, but we don't have the manpower to do
anything else. We've still got casualties down by the warehouse, but good luck
getting a stretcher in there.”

“What do you
need to get the medics down there safely?” Archibald said.

Michael pointed
to the office block. “That needs to be cleared. What's left of it.”

“Then let's go
in and clear it. Backup could be an hour away for all we know, and those
casualties will bleed to death.”

“Fuck it, let's
clear the place out,” Richard said. “Don't give me that look, Mike. We all know
how to shoot, and we all know how to clear rooms.”

“You've got two
more for back up. We can't do anything more from here,” Lieutenant Anderson
said, gesturing to himself and the platoon sergeant.

Michael looked
back at the burning tank and nodded. They scurried towards the office block in
a staggered column, and he paused, thinking he could hear distant sirens for a
moment, only for the air to be filled with the sound of machine gun fire again.

Chunks of
concrete, metal and glass piled up around the base of the office block. Michael
glanced up. He saw jagged holes pockmarking the structure, leaving the ruined
interior exposed to the open air.

They stacked up
outside the remains of the front entrance. Burning fires inside caused long,
dancing shadows to stretch out across the asphalt. Michael shivered, as
Anderson raised a hand over his shoulder and gave a thumbs up. He moved in with
his rifle raised, and they followed one at a time.

A piece of
shrapnel had torn the reception desk in two, and somebody lay slumped dead in
the corner, dressed in a shirt and trousers. Michael knelt beside the man,
slipped a hand under his chin and lifted his head up. Thin metal extended out
from one of the corpse's eyeballs. He sucked in a breath as the others moved
on.

“Still fresh,”
he said.

“Support
personnel? Just like when we raided that flat,” Richard said.

“Right. There's
enough dead bodies lying about.”

“We're clear
down here. Where did the rocket come from?” Anderson said.

“The top floor.”

“Then let's
clear it out. The lifts aren't working, so nobody is getting past us.”

The group moved
into the stairwell.

“Just take it
easy, sir. These people are fast; you hesitate for a second and they'll waste
you,” Michael said, keeping his voice low.

Anderson
advanced up the stairs. “Watch that corner. That one there, don't let it out
your sight.”