The tunnels were almost empty. But he couldn’t wait. The longer the portal was open, the more men and equipment the invaders would have on hand.
And the last people out certainly got out of his way as he ran down the tunnel towing a grav pad loaded with ammo and power packs. The Hammermeister Building was the closest to the portal. The last Cyborg out was closing the doors and trying to lock them.
“Leave it. I’ll lock them on my way out.”
“What the hell are you?”
“We have to close the portal, or we have no chance at all.” And Fynn was past and headed up the stairs.
“Oh, hell. Give me one of those big guns.” The Cyborg followed him up the stairs and across to the front doors.
Shattered glass everywhere, the lobby open to the wind, weather and war.
Tanks still out there, an occasional loud boom, the ground troops were mostly out to support the tanks, just a few dozen directing traffic.
“Right. Is the podium sturdy enough for cover?”
“You better believe it!”
Fynn handed over one of the big bore rifles and the shotgun. Pulled a box of ammo—in preloaded magazines—marked armor piercing, and one marked explosive, and the only box of shotgun shells that had been down there and set them behind the podium. “Try to take out the tanks, and watch the background. I’m on the Portal.”
Then he raised a hard shield and pulled power, radiating the unnoticeable impression as hard as he could. Ran down the steps and hauled the grav pad across the Plaza. Shots hit his shield, staggering him. Unnoticeable wasn’t working, nor the urban camouflage. He dropped the unnoticeable, and added an energy shield.
A squad of soldiers, Cyborgs in unfamiliar uniforms. Khaki with red pipping. Japanese!
They charged in from the left, trying to get behind him.
Movement up the steps as the Cyborg stepped out of the building with the shotgun in hand and fired twice. Several soldiers dropped, others turned to return fire, but the guard had faded back into the dark interior.
Fynn brought up the big rifle, made a small hole in the shield, and took out the one who seemed to be giving orders. The Cyborg officer collapsed and dust and concrete chips flew from the corner of the Schwartzen Building hundreds of meters behind him.
Watch. The. Background.
I need to shred a vehicle as it transits the portal. And some of the tanks already here are turning toward me. A glance at the portal. Good enough on the angle.
The roar of a big bore rifle from the Hammermeister building. the Cyborg was going after the tanks now.
Fynn flopped down behind a solid block of stone, generally used as a bench, although some claimed the stone slabs of various sizes scattered around the plaza were works of art. He spread his physical shield out like a low blister. The solid shots were ricocheting off the low angle, much easier to take.
Glance at the portal, a truck turning to line up with the portal.
He grabbed a magazine from the “armor piercing” box, and swapped.
Was slapped flat, breath knocked out, belatedly hearing the boom of a tank’s main gun. Heaved in a breath and low crawled forward, bring the big rifle around . . . recoil spell . . . aiming display on the helmet . . . fire. He felt the recoil though the armor. The tank ignored him. He took aim at a joint on the armor and tried again. A second tank was bringing it’s gun around and suddenly he could see . . . in a dream state . . . just when to fire . . . right down the barrel. The tank jolted, fire, then smoke through various vents.
That’s the Rising Sun symbol on the tanks. These are definitely Japanese troops.
He rolled back to aim at the portal, started firing as the truck entered the portal, aiming for the tires, the wheels and . . . a wheel shattered, the tank lurched a bit . . . under ordinary circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered. But it was entering the portal and hit the side . . . a bright flash as the portal ring snapped . . .
Fynn stayed flat and concentrated on his shield until things stopped hitting it. Shoved up to his feet for a fast look around. No portal, metal shards everywhere, screaming people, unmoving people . . . Fynn tore his gaze away and ran for where the portal had been. Slashed hard through the concrete, a patch the looked newer . . . Shots brought his head around . . . The local forces had taken advantage of the portal shred to charge in . . .
Fynn staggered back to his grav sled and hauled it back to the Hammermeister Building.
Time to let the real soldiers take over.
Other than maybe taking out the tanks on the far side of the plaza. The ammo may say armor piercing but you’ve still got to hit something . . . right there. He pulled the trigger and tried to cling to the dream-like state as he took aim at the next tank and took three shots before the gun turret jammed. Backed up further, looking to see what he could help with . . .
Backed inside and found his Cyborg buddy on the ground, left thigh covered with blood.
He grounded the grav pad and knelt gently beside the leg, The Cyborg turned his head, teeth set in pain, breathing in fast pants.
“Right, all those lessons in mentalist healing. It’s not pumping blood, so let’s see . . .” Fynn started with the numbing impression, then the “seeing” inside . . . oh yes, the bullet had hit the bone and snapped it, not quite enough pieces to call it shattered . . . must have been long range and slowing . . . it was still there . . .
Fynn looked at all his weaponry in dismay. “All this and no knife?”
“I’ve got one . . . What are you going to do with it?”
“Slice your pants so I can get to the wound. The bone’s broken and I think the bullet needs to come out before I can do anything.”
“Do . . . anything?”
Fynn gave into frustration and popped the helmet loose, set it aside. He took the knife and carefully lifted the blood-soaked cloth before cutting.
“Ah . . . aren’t you a little young to be an Agent of the 300?”
Fynn grinned. “How about, Trainee, about to practice his field first aid impressions on his first real patient?”
“I think I’m sorry I asked.”