Whistlers

Jack Walker — Timing is Everything

So, if they decide that my current position is prime real estate, I only have a few choices. Remain here where there is a semblance of cover, make a run up the pad to get into the under-bridge structure, or head out into the fields. The bridge is out as that would mean that Mike and Trip would get caught. If that happens, they’re as good as dead. That leaves the fields, where I might find some concealment and the ability to maneuver freely, or here, where I’d have some cover against whatever it is they shoot.

Glancing to where I know Mike and Trip are concealed, I see Mike’s legs swing down.

What in the fuck are you doing? I think. Is he getting the hell out of here? I can’t say I’d blame him if he is. The least I can do is provide some cover fire for him to make his escape. Where in the hell is Trip?

My head suddenly threatens to explode as I hear a piercing whistle-like sound race through my skull.

“Thirty yards, Jack. I need thirty yards!” Mike shouts.

It takes me a moment to figure out what in the hell he means. Then it hits me harder than the whistle-like sound. The RPG he’s carrying needs thirty yards in order to arm itself and Mike needs time to gain some distance. It’s one of those idiot-proof devices meant to keep a soldier from firing into a nearby wall and blowing up his squad. Trust me, it’s there for a reason.

I whip around the corner of the stanchion, bringing my M-4 to bear. One of the things is not more than five yards away, focusing all of its attention on Mike. Not knowing what it takes to bring down one of these creatures, but also understanding that there are quite a few of them, I flip the selector switch to auto, and fire a burst. It’s hard to miss anything when my barrel is damn near in its face. The three suppressed rounds hit in quick succession. The thing’s head vibrates around the bullets like I’d fired into a bowl of Jell-O, and a black liquid sprays outward, obscuring my vision for a split-second.

Behind the creature, more of the viscous substance jets out from its head, coating another that is following closely. The creature in front drops straight to the ground like I’d cut its legs off. I don’t have to move my barrel more than a few millimeters before triggering another burst into the second one. The bullets seem to be absorbed into its head rather than actually impacting. However, it too drops to the grass. I don’t care how it happens as long as that’s the result. The black liquid, which I assume is their form of blood, soaks into the ground, leaving a mark like someone poured a bucket of oil on the spot.

Seeing the creatures can be brought down like others, I select ‘semi’ on the selector switch. I can’t imagine it’s going to take them much longer to figure out I’m here, suppressed shots or not. The underside of a bridge isn’t exactly conducive to containing noise to a minimum. Placing my small red crosshair on the third closest creature, who was looking for its napping blanket. I fire, sending a round into its head. It falls to the side as the round passes through and ricochets off the pavement.

Pieces of concrete splinter near my head as projectiles slam into the support structure, letting me know that I’ve been noticed.

“That’s thirty! That’s thirty!” I yell.

I honestly can’t spare the time to measure it correctly, but, glancing quickly, the distance looks about right. The monsters have given up their search for a place to rest and are now racing toward my location, and, as I suspected, they are doing so rapidly. It’s now or never.

The shots coming my way escalate, forcing me to duck behind cover. That’s not my favorite move as I like to keep fire superiority to keep their heads down. However, I don’t have much choice. When you duck behind cover, that only serves to allow the opposing forces to maneuver freely. At that point, unless you decide to run, it’s all over except for a large lady singing the final aria. My philosophy: If you’re not firing, you need to be moving. I would have kept firing in order to try and gain the upper hand had I not known Mike was about to fire an RPG into their midst.

Come on, Mike, I think as pieces of concrete continue to be chipped away from my cover.

I wait for several long seconds and wonder if he has been hit or decided it was time to get out of Dodge. He doesn’t seem the type to run, and would hang in there until the last, sunset-filled, heroic stand, but it seems like it is taking forever. Suddenly, there is a ‘whoosh’. He fired the rocket.

Waiting for the explosion that is about to happen, and ready to round the corner to finish off those who remain, I hear only a metallic clang, followed by nothing.

Where is the earth-shattering ka-boom? There’s supposed to be an earth-shattering ka-boom.

One of two things had happened. Either I am a horrible judge of distance and the rocket hadn’t travelled more than thirty yards, or…it was a dud. I suppose, seeing where he found it, it could have also been a prop.

Well, fuck this! I’m not going down like this.

I round the corner, my carbine coming up, ready to take out the first target that comes into view. I’m met with a brilliant flash and percussive explosion which sends me hurtling backward. Something hard and heavy whips overhead, brushing against my forehead before it rockets past.