“Whoa! Gwen! Building! Building!”
“Huh Oh.” She corrected, coming back around the gently curve of the road, then slapped the dash again.
“Stop beating up the car!” Anselm snapped from beside her, noting that in the back seat of the squad car the SAS Major and Interpol Lieutenant were both holding tight to the door with white knuckles and pained expressions. “And for Christ’s sake, slow down! We’re losing the others!”
Gwen glanced in the OLED screen built over the windshield, currently set for rearview, and grimaced as she reluctantly let up on the accelerator. “Where’d they learn to drive anyway”
“They didn’t learn on a rally track, I assure you.” Major Malcolm growled from behind them, “So if you’d be so kind as to avoid losing them, because we might have a use for their guns when we get where we’re going.”
“Yeah yeah.” Gwen muttered, still thumping the dash.
“Why do you keep hitting the dash!” Anselm finally yelled, throwing up one arm and rolling his eyes.
“I miss my network.” She replied sullenly.
“Oh Christ.” Malcolm shook his head, “Damn tech-heads. Can’t live without a high speed connection piped right between their eyes, where their brains ought to be.”
“Hey!” She snarled, turning to look at him while still driving, “Do you mind If my network was up we could warn the Fire department, coordinate with your soldier friends, exchange data with the government.”
“Why do you think the bad guys JAMMED the network!” Malcolm snapped back, then pointed out the windshield, “And for God’s sake, watch the road!!”
Gwen turned back, calmly correcting the drift in the wheel before they ran up on the sidewalk, and shook her head. “What is it with you guys anyway”
“We’re used to driving in cities where the cops don’t drive like maniacs unless they’re chasing someone!”
“Oh relax,” She rolled her eyes, “It’s not like there’s anyone else on the road.”
“I can’t believe that you actually have the nerve to give other people tickets.” Anselm told her flatly, shaking his head.
Gwen just snorted in response, glancing up ahead as the curling smoke came into sight. “We’re almost there. You think you babies can handle that”
“Lady, just because I can handle anything you could possibly dish out doesn’t mean I WANT to handle it,” Malcolm replied dryly from the back seat, “I’m in the Special Air Service, Inspector. That makes me CRAZY, not stupid.”
Anselm snickered, drawing an irate glare from Gwen as they sped up on the fire trucks flashing their red lights. “Shut up, Interpol!”
Lieutenant Greene chose that moment to point wildly ahead of them and start yelling, “Fire fighters! Fire fighters! Don’t hit the fire fighters!”
“Here come the police, Johnny.”
John Mann nodded absently, looking up at the flashing lights coming their way, then narrowed his eyes. “Uhh.”
The car didn’t slow down as it approached, and his narrowed eyes widened double quick.
“Holy hell! That’s Gwen!”
Realization came too late as both firefighters put their hands out in a futile attempt to stop the oncoming vehicle by sheer force of will alone. The police car pulled to the right and broke into a skid as it kept on coming, and both men froze as they yelled in fear. The police Eliica slid smoothly to a stop, its side door just out of reach when the car rocked to a final stop and the doors slid open.
“Jesus Christ, Gwen!” John gasped out, “Are you trying to scare ten years off my life!”
“Sorry, Johnny,” Gwen Dougal said sweetly as she climbed out of the vehicle, escorted by three men. “We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
“Well, yeah, I guessed as much. These fires are bad, Gwen.”
“Not the fires, Johnny. We’ve got bigger problems.” Gwen told him grimly as she turned to survey the flames pouring from the building. “You have people inside”
“Yeah, course. The Captain went in, looking for anyone alive.”
Gwen nodded, then motioned to the people beside her. “Johnny, this is Major Malcolm, SAS. Agent Gunnar, Interpol. And Lieutenant Greene, Interpol.”
The firefighter blinked, “Ok, I get the SAS guy, but what’s Interpol got to do with the helicopter crash”
“It’s bigger than one chopper, Johnny. We’ve got major problems in the Tower. Terrorists.”
The Firefighter blinked, his expression becoming incredulous. “Here No offence, Gwen, but you been drinking”
She scowled at him, “I wish. This is deadly serious, Johnny. How many guys do you have in the building”
He looked over his shoulder at the smoke and flames that were pouring from the building, then looked back, his expression now uncertain as a hint of genuine worry began to filter through. “Six now. Why”
“Because the people who shot that bird out of the sky might come around to make sure they finished the job,” Major Malcolm put in grimly, lifting his hand to wave over some of his people. “Inspector, we can’t stay here. We have a mission.”
Gwen grimaced, looking around at the flames and smoke pouring from her city. She grimaced, running her hand through her hair as she kept a pained look on her face.
“Shot Hey, wait a second!” The firefighter held up his hands, “What do you think this is Beirut The only guns in the entire place, other than a few shotguns, are in the police station!”
“Sir, even if that was true once, it’s not anymore.” Anselm Gunnar stepped in, waving to Greene and the Interpol Tactical Team to go with the soldiers, “So what we need to do is clear that building fast and get your people out of there so we can move you on to damage control in other areas.”
“Look, pal, those men are going as fast as they possibly can,” John told Anselm, gesturing in the air with his index figure, “And even if they weren’t, we’ve got no radio to talk with them anyway.”
Gwen cursed, grimacing, “Damned jamming!”
“What”
“Never mind,” Anselm interjected, “Look, we’ve got a lot of shit coming down on us, so we can’t stay. There’s more people in trouble here.just watch your ass, alright”
“Yeah.yeah.” John muttered, waving his head, “Whatever. Look, I’ve got shit to do.”
Anselm looked over at Gwen, sympathizing with her obvious desire to stay and do what she could locally. “You don’t have to come, Gwen. We can handle the tower without you.”
The Australian police inspector grimaced, instantly shaking ehr head. “No. No. I’m coming damn it. I’m coming.”
“Then let’s move already!” Malcolm growled out.
The smell of smoke was acrid with Flight Engineer Samuel `Sammy’ Canning started to come too, filling his nose and eyes with the burning scent of plastics and metals that had been heated way past their point of useful tolerances.
He groaned as he felt in the dark for his helmet, trying to push it off his head, but wound up crying out in pain instead as a spike of agony shot through his chest.
He couldn’t move much without invoking a repeat of that, but he could tell that his helmet had actually been twisted around his skull by the impact, mashing his nose hard into the side of it. If he looked at just the right angle, there was a flickering light out of the corner of his right eye.
Impact!
That word was a real pale substitute for what he felt just then, but he remembered when the Black Hawk went down. The seat had pitched wildly, the ground twisting under them, and when the rotors had intersected with the building, it was all over. The crash was just a blur to him, but he could only wonder if anyone else had made it through.
Only meters away from the trapped soldier, the lead firefighter was already hammering his way through a cheap office door with the blunted edge of his axe, splintering the wood into thousands of shards as the frame and catch gave way to let the wrecked wood swing open. He stepped over the wreckage, his heavy boot crushing part of the door underfoot as the smoke poured out of the room and into the hallway behind him.