The Great Takeover of the Place.

38. Violence Rises Unbidden.

Trueman's habitual repression of his own physical condition had allowed his fever to run unchecked for several days now. The effort required to ignore the symptoms had sapped his awareness and dulled his attention, without him being fully aware of these consequences.

Coupled with that, the rapidity with which events can unfold should never be underestimated. No matter how careful observation and preparation may be, the intrusion of a single random piece can throw the best laid plans in a tangled heap in a mere instant; such is what some people call fate. So too with the three Amazons, who had done their utmost to protect an INCO who they could not quite fathom, who, to them, seemed at least partially incapacitated.

They had not travelled much further through the shattered rubble when Jodi's voice sounded in their helmets.

“Something is about to happen,” she said, a cold, simple statement.

Trueman froze stiffly, the others sank slowly to the ground. There was only a slight pause before a crack resounded from above, starting a shower of plaster then larger pieces of rubble followed by a heavy crunch, from directly behind him. Trueman, startled, jumped then turned to find himself an arms length away from a man in dark camouflage who'd landed awkwardly in the rubble and gone down on one knee. He was partially covered in a muddy coloured armour; looks like ballistic nylon, Trueman found himself thinking as time slowed down and noted the rather bulky looking shoulder pads, visored helmet, lower face concealed behind a mask that was clearly designed to look fierce. The man began to rise and turn towards him.

A flurry of lights started to blink in Trueman's internal HUD, most of them red, a series of arrows flickering towards the weapon the man carried. A scroll of text in his lower field of vision offered an identification, a Select-Fire Amough carbine, short range, cartridge 5.56×30mm MINSAS, 700 round per minute, cyclic; is that really useful, Trueman wondered?

Time appeared to slow down further. he found himself looking into the man’s eyes behind the visor, a deep, olive brown, almost green, that jittered. Skittered? like a frightened rabbit? or perhaps the goat, the instant before Annest shot it. In that frozen moment he was somehow aware of Nonna and Jodi, in line with both him and this fighter, weapons raised but unable to get a clear shot.

“Take him out”, came a soft voice in his helmet, Nonna’s, to Jodi?

Trueman continued to stare at the apparition. The armed man moved slightly, shedding a slow billow of dust, blinked once.

“Take him out!” came another, harsher whisper, this time Jodi, to Nonna?

They should get their act together, Trueman found himself thinking, mildly. The armoured man's eyes seemed to swivel lazily, left then right before fixing upon Trueman. The barrel of the weapon began to move, in very slow motion, turning towards him.

He’s so young, thought Trueman, going by the eyes alone. And why is he so frightened, I don’t even have a weapon? The end of the barrel continued to rotate towards him, revealing itself first as a black ellipse that swelling towards a circle, the dark entrance to a black tube. Trueman realised he was going to look down it.

“Fucking take him!” Jodi again. Command voice.

And now he was looking directly into the barrel of the gun. He could even make out the spirals of its rifling. It wavered slightly. Trueman observed his own head and helmet reflected in the soldier's visor through a thin coating of dust.. On the inside of his eyes, the HUD flashed Danger! Immediate!

“You! INCO!” Jodi again. “Do it!”

What was she so angry about? Then Trueman realised with horror that they meant him! What were they thinking of? He didn’t even have a weapon! The soldier’s eyes partially closed, the trigger finger tightened. Trueman took a sudden gulp of air, then he moved.

Immediately there came a huge explosion and he was lying face down in the dirt, clutching at stones, hugging the ground, trying to haul himself into it.

Around him, so loud as to be in his head, a cacophony of sound as more explosions, cracks, bangs, whistles, screams rent the air, filled it, filled him; He shook constantly as the thunderous detonations merged into one continuous rumbling blast. His eyes, like his arse, were screwed shut, clenched tight; he could feel the hot breath of ordnance, across his neck, the back of his hands, his shoulders; the smell of burning, brimstone, flesh. He became aware of a wretched shrieking emanating from between his own grinding teeth.

Then, either the hail of fire lessened or he became (impossible) used to it. In the darkness of his head, the image of a face, fluttered before him.

Open my eyes! He was thinking again, commanding. Have a look around, maybe there’s somewhere safer?

He couldn't open his eyes. Am I dead, he asked himself?

He realised there was a body beneath him. Was it his body? Was he disembodied, about to leave this time, this world, for another or the next? His focus of attention seemed to rise up.

On his left, although he did not use eyes to see it, he was aware that something like a tube, the opening to a tube had manifested by the base of the wall against which he had been crouching. Was it beckoning, inviting him somehow?

It was impossible. He shook his head, realising that at least he still had a head. Voices, the women talking dispassionately.

“Manson's heavies,” that was Annest. “two more at three twenty.”

“Got them,”Jodi acknowledged, then more sharp cracks.

As the gunfire crackled, Trueman managed to force his eyes open, blearey with tears and smoke. What could he see? The remnant corner of the building was hidden, revealed, hidden, revealed by writhing smoke. More plaster had been dislodged, blasted away, the fresh blockwork beneath like the mottled, sponge of a brain. He was lying on the body of the soldier. Something had happened to the facemask and the jaw beneath, and the nose, making him obviously dead.

As Trueman turned to look back the way he had come, a triangle floated into view, projected onto his internal display; so someone else was still alive. The camouflaged figure was crouching against a block of concrete, sheltering from a rapid, barking fire which chipped away at the material. When the momentary pause came, the figure popped up, squeezed off a shot and was down again before the scream..

He looked ahead, another triangle appearing, and located the grey suit blurring into the rubble, crawling back towards him. He tried to work out which one it was. Nonna? Annest?

“Cover,” came a whisper in his ears, just before the whump of a blast that shook the ground.

And then, amazingly, there was silence.

I’m deaf, Trueman thought. He could see flames, sparks bursting out. How can concrete burn he wondered in the silence. Next, hands hauled him over by his shoulders. It was Nonna, leaning over him. She mouthed something at him, her broad lips wet with saliva. She licked them, mouthed again, like a whisper.

"Are you hit?" she was asking.

He didn’t know. He had gone numb, inside and outside. Jodi scrambled over, keeping low. The two women took hold of his shoulder straps and hauled him forward over the rubble. He was limp, legs dragging, looking up through the thinning smoke into blue sky. Birds circled, black specks, or were they machines? As his head lolled from side to side he caught fleeting glimpses of bodies, some fire blackened, some with openings, freshly made, wetly red and pink. He could smell steak. He started to drift off.

“Over here.” Annest’s voice.

Another burst of gunfire. A single shot. Screaming. Another single shot. Silence.

He became more awake again. He was on his back between two walls. A face appeared. Nonna, looking worried? She removed his helmet and kissed him quickly on the lips. He felt it, nice. He was not dead.

“Are you hurt, INCO?” This was Jodi, her head above Nonna's. He tried to shake his head.

“Don’t know.” He could speak. “I think I’ve got blood poisoning. My left leg.”

Nonna drew a slim knife and deftly peeled open the leg of his suit. He felt her hands checking his torso, belly, groin.

“He’s not been hit,” she said. “Running a temperature though. Infection, in his left leg. Looks like something's in there, thorns maybe. Must have been there for days!”

She sounded surprised. Jodi shook her head and moved away. Annest had the patch down over her eyes.

“We need to hole up and sort this out.” She took a steady look around. Her gaze swept back, she came to a decision, a direction.

“Let's go,” she said, in her command voice. “This way.”

Jodi and Nonna grabbed Trueman's harness as he tried and failed to struggle to his feet; they hauled him over the heaped wreckage. All he could see was an image of the soldier's battered face.

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