Doom 3™: Worlds on Fire

10

TEREKSTAN—THE BRIDGE ROAD

KANE’S TECH NCO CAME UP TO HIM. “STILL NOsignal, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks, Gonzales. Best pack up your radio and put a gun in both hands.”

“Will do, Lieutenant.”

This was probably more than Gonzales bargained for—a kid from some crappy area who got a bit of tech training, then signed on to the Corps thinking that the marines, for him, would be all about keeping a smooth flow of images and data going back and forth.

Something nice and safe.

Not like this. Cut off from any information. Where the only tech wasnone.

As Kane looked ahead, he realized how good, how helpful it could be to get live sat feeds of everything happening around them, heat signatures showing all enemy combatants, clear satellite shots of any armor moving to box them in. But Command wanted this to end here, and Kane was sure that a surrender was not in the cards. There would be too many questions that way. Too many awkward explanations.

“Keep moving, fast as you can,” he said, not that any of the troops needed the urging.

The street—the road to the bridge—had gone quiet. Kane had done enough damage to the enemy at their rear that any force chasing them would need some time to regroup. If they could punch out of the front, they might make it out of the town.

And then? Best not to think about that.

And as if in answer to that thought, he watched two mini-Karelia tanks pivot into place, gun turrets turning, ready to blow his entire group away.

Kane saw his lead marines slow as they spotted the tanks moving into position to box them in. Exactly the wrong move.

His marines had about two, maybe three hundred meters before they reached the tanks. Only seconds before the tanks would be perfectly positioned. Kane, in the lead, looked to the people to his left and right. “We’re going to run—and take those out. Now!”

As soon as he broke into that run, his legs aching from everything they had done so far, he could see that it was probably hopeless. They’d be sitting ducks. But then his AAVs behind him opened fire. Kane was close enough to hear the steady plink of the shells hitting the reinforced metal of the tanks ahead, peppering the armored compound that was nearly impenetrable.

And Kane noticed something interesting: the steady shelling seemed to slow the tanks’ moves. Could be they had a young crew, borrowed from Russia. The sound, the firing was throwing them off. Then the AAVs each launched RPGs, expertly targeting the tractor base of the tanks. Just as Kane had rehearsed them.

Practice makes perfect.

The shells landed squarely in front of the tracks, near the small triangle that exposed a weak area of the small tank’s fronts. Two perfect shots—but were they enough?

Then one of the tanks fired, sending multiple shells flying down the street. They arced over Kane, one mere inches above his helmet.

He spun to see one cannonading shell smash into a group of soldiers hugging the wall in front of the vehicles. The shell exploded, and smoky, reddish mist filed the air.

Shit…

Then another hit one of the AAVs and stopped it. Kane waited a moment for anyone to come out. No movement.

Still, the exchange had bought them some time. They had ashot . He pointed his machine gun straight ahead, tight in his right hand, while his left ripped off a thermite grenade.

He thought of barking another command at the soldiers with him. But he could see there was no need to do that. This was it—either they’d be able to punch out of the corridor made by this street—or every single marine with Kane would die.

Kane’s calves and thighs burned from the full-out run. The single AAV kept tight on their heels, urging them on.

One enemy tank cautiously edged down the street, while the other now appeared immobile. But its turret still looked for a target. Kane and his men were only seconds from where they could toss their grenades. A few of the platoon had rocket launchers strapped to their backs—but there was no time to stop, set them up, launch the weapons.

Just a few more meters…

And then he saw one of his marines stop and toss one, then another grenade. It acted like an electric trigger—the air suddenly filled with flying grenades. Then the peppering of automatic fire.

The grenades landed in, on, and around both Karelia-class tanks—and despite the strength of the armored compound shielding them, the tanks exploded into smudgy fires. It was enough to lure the enemy behind them into the opening.

Let’s see what we’re really dealing with,Kane thought.

The enemy—hidden in the smoke—made the mistake of entering the open street.Too bad they didn’t know their Custer. They could have waited on either side. We’d have no place to go. But now—we get targets.

And the full platoon, who only seconds ago had been lobbing grenades, started firing at the smoky figures. While the smoke provided the enemy some cover, Kane’s marines could see the shrouded shapes appear and could mow them down.

He even felt a little sorry for the bastards. No one wanted this—no one wanted to end their days in some backwater city’s grungy street dying for oil that would do you or your family absolutely no good.

We’re all the same,Kane thought.All just pieces being played.

The enemy fell, bodies collapsing onto other bodies.

He felt his own soldiers pick up their speed, now feeling that they had a way out, that—miraculously—they were going to get out of this thing.

The lone AAV fired another round of rocket shells, pinpointing an area behind the smoke cloud. As good a place as any to hit.

And then—Kane could swear that he didn’t see—or hear—any firing from the front.

The platoon reached the dead enemy soldiers, the smoking tanks, and still kept moving quickly. The road led to the main bridge out, and then a narrow highway to the border. Even the newly emboldened Terekstan would be wary of crossing the border. People liked their wars small and contained these days. They passed into an open area; another perfect spot for an ambush. But whatever force had reached the other end of the street had been destroyed. The way ran clear to the bridge, and safety for his company and for the rescued marines.

And for himself—the officer who had carried out this mission against orders?

Well, that would be a different story.