Wentworth would have traded his motorcycle for a few grenades at this point.
His mind was whirring, thinking up and discarding plans as they came to him. “We need to start some fires. Get some light in here. Anything that’ll burn.” He vaulted back over one of the turnstile, back towards the entrance, to a newspaper box. He tried pulling it, then stomped down on its door, breaking the hinges. He held his lighter up to the contents and waited for them to catch. Sweat was pouring down his brow and he kept glancing over at the entrance, expecting Phillips’ Section to enter at any moment. Raxx was still standing by the turnstiles, his flashlight was pointed downwards and all that could be seen were his feet. “Head down to the tracks and see if you can find anything,” he said, “Garbage cans, whatever. I’ll just be a sec.”
They’d gathered by the subway entrance. Mathews, one of the gunners, was crouched down behind some rubble on the right, covering the stairwell. The rest of them were stacked up on the left. Steele was covering the rear with her sniper rifle while Phillips stood next to her. The other six were stacked up against the building ready to breach the entrance. Phillips gave the nod. The rear man in the stack squeezed the next man’s shoulder and so on up the line until it reached the one in front. A split second later he started moving and the rest followed. Like a single organism they glided in smooth, their black coats merging into the shadows, cones of light shining from the flashlights at the ends of their rifles. Each moved to their corners in the small foyer and yelled up “Clear!” Phillips gathered the remaining three on the surface and they started down the stairs while the group below took the next room.
The subway was a nightmare for close combat. The main room they entered would have been wide and open but for benches, support columns, and magazine stands filling the space. They stuck to the walls as they entered, circling and training their weapons back and forth. There were numerous places that the two might be hiding but Phillips was confident that Wentworth wouldn’t be that stupid. An ambush at this point might take out a couple of them, but Wentworth would die in the process. No, he’d be going deeper. He’d keep running. But they still needed to clear the area.
There were a bunch of fires lit, in garbage cans and newspaper kiosks. His Section had the sense to stick to the darker corners, away from the smoke. The flames made shadows dance against the walls and ceiling, but were useless for seeing. He kept his own flashlight pointed down the long corridors.
Moving leap-frog, they went further along. Past the turnstiles was another set of steps. He could make out the light from several different fires reflecting off the roof of the lower level. Wentworth was leaving a path for them to follow.
With hand signals he grouped his Section on either side of the stairs. It was quiet. When they moved their footsteps echoed and their trench coats swished. Their weapons made greasy clacking sounds as they adjusted their grips. The fires crackled softly while in the distance a moan almost too low to be heard resonated through the long tunnels. He grabbed the shoulder in front of him, not caring who it was. “Prep smoke,” he whispered in their ear.
Wentworth was leaning against the wall in sitting position, canted to his right so that his point of aim would be at the distant subway platform. His weapon’s sling was wrapped around his right arm, his hand was on the pistol grip, while the weapons magazine was cradled in the crook of his left elbow. His arms were crossed and the weapon was nestled snugly between the two. Taking deep breaths he tried to slow his heart rate. This shot needed to be on target.
Running was not an option. This time, it was a question of resources. If he and Raxx were to attempt flight it would be a pyrrhic victory. Without their vehicles and supplies Phillips would eventually catch up with them and it would be the same fight, only they’d be exhausted and hungry. Better to make their stand now. Phillips had screwed up by not killing him immediately, and now they were both flying by the seat of their pants.
Except Wentworth had already explored these tunnels.
He could barely make out the distant subway platform. The fire Raxx had lit had been in a garbage can. It was projecting its light upwards towards the ceiling, not onto the platform itself. But Wentworth could remember what it looked like and the few things reflecting the light were enough of a guide for him to take up a point of aim.
A metal canister bounced down the stairs, Wentworth recognized its sound. It started spewing out purple smoke and within seconds the platform was covered.
That was okay. He still had his point of aim. Time for the eyes to go glassy, and the heart to beat steady.
Ears straining, he made out the sounds of footfalls. They were coming down the stairs, planning to immediately bypass the platform because it was lit up, and go straight for the tunnels. He waited a moment, guessed at the timing, and squeezed the trigger.
His rifle cracked and struck his eardrum, the cement tunnels echoing viciously, followed by a loud blast from the platform. Its echoes interplayed with the echoes from his rifle for a second. Then the screams started.
Wentworth was already running. He’d used the recoil of his weapon to roll backwards, onto his feet. The next platform was close at hand, he could make out the red glow of another of Raxx’s fires. He ran blind, not risking a flashlight, trusting the reflections off the two rails. Everything was glints of silver and red. The sound of machinegun fire started up just as he reached the platform. His rifle was raised up in one hand while his other grasped the side of the platform. Invisible in the shadows, Raxx grabbed the hand guards on Wentworth’s rifle and pulled him up. Something bit into the back of Wentworth’s calf and he gasped in pain, sagging for a second — goddamnit, the same fucking leg! — but his grip on the rifle only tightened as Raxx finished hauling him.
They were safe for the moment. The back of his leg felt wet, but aside from the initial bite he felt no pain. Time to come up with another idea.
Phillips had noticed the fire extinguisher bolted to the wall immediately upon entering the platform. As soon as he saw it things clicked; he knew what Wentworth was planning, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything before the man’s round had screamed through the smoke and into the container of pressurized gas. It had been all Phillips could do to dive for cover as it exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere.
Now two of his men were dead, a third dying. He’d grabbed the machine gun off the dying one and vaulted down to the tracks. He’d fired for a good five or six seconds, raking it back and forth across the tunnel, before releasing the trigger. Exposed as he was he didn’t dare turn on the flashlight to see if he’d hit anyone. They’d need to regroup and keep going.
Steele had dragged the dying gunner to cover and was administering first aid, while the other three took up covering positions. Phillips could already see that the first aid would be useless; one of the dead had been their medic. To their credit, none of his troops looked phased. Two, soon to be three, of their brothers were dead, but they’d deal with their emotions later. Right now there was work to be done.
They regrouped quickly, though it took longer than Phillips would have liked, then arrayed themselves along the tunnel and started moving. Ahead the next platform glowed, a garbage can fire had been kicked over and the chamber was easily visible. They jogged, not wanting to waste time, trying to deny any advantage to Wentworth and his cohort.
At the last platform there’d been had tracks running along either side; here, the tracks came together and there were two platforms. The kicked-over barrel was on their left, but he decided to hedge his bet and split their force — three on the left, three on the right. They climbed up while he covered them. They were still cautious and sharp, fluid, taking the area in stages, staying behind whatever cover they could find. The boarding-area was clear. Their quarry would be above, by the ticket booths.