Just about to administer a good old fashioned ass chewing, he ducks as a bullet passes close enough to crease what little there is of his hair.
Tacoma totters, but manages to keep his balance. Ignoring the agony that is his body, he breaks into a shambling run, yelling for his men to take cover even as he helps two corpsmen lift Donaldson and hurry him around to the back of the one remaining APC. He can sense the confusion; smell the fear in those around him—young men and women all. Taking a deep breath, he wills the pain to the back of his mind, making it unimportant, making it gone.
Lifting his head the smallest of fractions, he peers through the window of the APC. As if materialized from thin air, a squad of thirty androids—he can tell this by the sunlight winking from the leader’s collar—stands forty yards distant. All are heavily armed and peering at them through emotionless dolls’ eyes. “Manny!”
“Yeah?”
Tacoma glances over at his cousin, then looks again, more carefully this time. Manny’s head is cocked and his shoulder hangs strangely. “What—?”
“It’s not broken. I don’t think.” He flushes faintly. “I had to use it to lift the shit outta the way so you could pull Donaldson out. I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are.” Tacoma reaches up, but Manny hisses and pulls away.
“It’s just dislocated, alright? We’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”
Tacoma looks as if he’s given in, but just as Manny relaxes, his cousin, quick as lightening, runs his fingers over the collarbone, determines it’s not broken, grabs his arm and levers it in a smooth, strong motion. A loud pop heralds the return of the joint to its socket and Manny sees a whole galaxy’s worth of stars. His world greys out for a second, but comes back quickly as a heavy gun is pushed hard against his chest. “Now you’ve got two hands to shoot,” Tacoma grunts, grabbing his own weapon with hands that sting like a swarm of hornets. “Anyone who can hold a gun, grab one!” he orders. “Keep under cover until I give the word.”
Easing the door open, he grabs the minicomp that lies on the dashboard, silently thanking his sister for pressing it into his hand before he left that morning. She knew. Somehow, she knew. This doesn’t surprise him, however. It is simply her way. It’s why the whole family looks at her sometimes as something more than human. He knows the truth of the matter, and suspects that his father does as well.
Laying his gun down on the seat, he gingerly palms the comp open and studies the layout. Standard. The power button is a bold red. Whispering a prayer to Wakan Thanka, he depresses the button.
“Here we go,” he mutters. “Fire! Now!!”
The first line of droids go down like tenpins, dropping where they stand.
“Bless you, Kirsten! Keep firing!!!”
The second and third rows drop silently.
“Shit, cuz!” Manny shouts, laughing. “Like shooting fish in a barrel!” Whooping, he continues pressing the trigger, mowing down the remaining androids as if they were practice targets on a shooting range.
“Cease fire!” Tacoma shouts when the last droid is down. “Load up the wounded and be quick about it! We need to go, now!”
Tacoma turns to help the others with Donaldson, but is stopped by a soft oath from his cousin. Turning back, he watches as thirty more androids appear, stepping over their fallen comrades as they begin their approach.
“Shit! Everybody keep loading those wounded! Now! Hurry!” Grabbing the minicomp, Tacoma presses the button again.
The androids continue their advance, completely unaffected.
“What the fuck?” Manny demands. “You sure you’re doin’ it right, cuz?”
“Of course I’m doing it right!”
“Maybe you broke it.”
“I didn’t—fuck.” Repeated pressing of the power button has no effect and he throws it back into the truck in frustration.
“Maybe they’re human?”
To test the theory, Tacoma fires off several rounds, hitting the leader in the chest and belly with several rounds.
“Or maybe not,” Manny exhales as the droid remains on his feet and continues forward. “Ok. What now? And where the fuck are they coming from?”
“Pull the locker out of the back seat, thanhanshi. Let’s give them some metal to munch on.”
“You got it, cuz.”
The heavy footlocker comes to the ground with a thud, and Manny quickly snaps it open. It’s filled to the brim with fragmentation grenades. He pulls several out and hands two to his cousin.
“Thanks. Let’s just keep throwing these things till they’re gone.”
“The grenades or the droids?” Manny asks with a grin.
“Both. NOW!!”
The androids only now begin to return fire as grenade explosions surround them, taking down many of their number with the first blows. A young mechanic, Tasha Kim, cries out as a bullet finds the crease between her shoulder and neck. She manages to keep hold of the injured airman she’s helping, however, and eases him into the back of the APC just as another round misses her by less than an inch. She drops to the ground and reaches for her weapon, a service pistol that will do less than nothing against the androids firing at them.
“Is everybody in?” Tacoma shouts down at her.
From her vantage point, she can’t see much. “I…think so, sir!”
“Don’t think, Corporal! Know!”
“Y-yes, sir!” The air, thick with smoke and the stench of exploded charges, crackles around her as she struggles to her feet. Keeping as low as possible, she sprints toward the demolished APC, throwing herself to the ground once she’s behind the wreckage. Corporal Talbot is pinned down by heavy fire and is completely out of ammunition. “Are you okay?” she asks, shouting to be heard over the roar of the fighting.
“My leg! I think it’s broken!”
Kim looks down, but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, for which she is silently grateful. “Is everybody else secured?” she asks, eyes darting from one position to the next like a hummingbird in a field of Honeysuckle.
“Yeah,” Talbot gasps, trying not to writhe from the pain in his leg. “Menendez just got the last of them in his rig.”
“Alright, then. We need to get back to the Sergeant so we can get outta here.”
“I—I don’t think I can.”
“Sure you can. C’mon, Talbot. You can do it. We’ll go together, alright?”
With a wincing nod, he reaches up and grasps the small, strong hand reaching out for him. Using it, and his now useless gun, he manages to struggle to his feet. Flinging an arm around Kim’s narrow shoulders, he half-hops, half-stumbles back to the APC, white faced, sweating and praying like he’s never prayed before.
An open door suddenly appears before him, and he’s unceremoniously thrust through it, landing half on-half off the lap of a singed airman who’s none-too-thrilled with his rather abrupt presence. The others settle him more or less comfortably, then hold on tight as the truck lurches away at roughly the speed of a rocket launch.
In the cab, Manny hangs on for dear life as Tacoma puts the truck through its paces, his burned hands swathed in bandages from the meager first aid kit they’d found. “Are they following us?” Tacoma shouts over the roar of the over-stressed engine.
“Fucked if I know!” Manny shouts back, twisting his hurting body like a contortionist in an attempt to see behind him. “Does it matter? They’re on foot!”
“The ones we know about, maybe!”
Manny shoots his cousin a withering glare. “You had to say that, didn’t you. You just had to say that.”
*
Still seven miles out and hauling hell bent for leather, Tacoma stiffens at the wheel as he spies several vehicles heading his way at a high rate of speed.
“Aww fuck,” Manny grunts, slumping against the backrest. He turns his head to the side. “What are you grinnin’ at?”