Page 54 of Boomer
Dust danced above them. A second later, the front team’s comms went wild with ricochet alerts and fallback signals.
He keyed his mic, voice sharp. “Rear team in.”
Iceman responded, “Copy. Mezz is hot. Gunner’s using elevation. No eyes.” The gun discharged over and over, the sound deafening. “Break. Bash. We need that gunner down, now.”
Breakneck voice hadn’t moved an octave, the kid was so cool under pressure. “Trying. No clear silhouette, just muzzle flare.”
Taylor gestured forward with the flat of her hand, her eyes like steel blue glass, shadows moving fast between shelving units.
Reinforcements.
Boomer clicked his mic. “Rear team engaged. Hostile movement near the compression vats. Multiple.”
Taylor swung around a pillar. “Covering right!”
The first wave came hard.
Three men, armed with short-barrel SMGs, rushed through a side corridor, eyes focused, killers looking for them.
Boomer dropped the first with a double tap to center mass. The second fired blind, bullets sparking off the wall behind them. Taylor ducked, rolled, and came up firing. Her shot took the man in the throat. He dropped like a sack.
The third tried to run. Taylor didn’t hesitate. She hit him in the back of the knee, dropped him, and ended it with a clean shot to the head.
Efficient. Devastating.His.
Comms flared.
Boomer crouched behind a rusted metal drum as more fire lit up from deeper inside, short bursts, chaotic shouts. Someone screamed. More footsteps, heavier this time, moving their way.
“Ice, do you read?” he said into comms.
“Main force is in. Forge is up. We’re pinned.”
Boomer’s voice cut low. “Rear entry is compromised. We’re handling hostiles, trying to move toward your position. At least eight. Maybe more.”
“Copy,” Iceman said. “You hold that line.”
A flash of movement, another man popped from behind a pallet. Boomer fired, caught him in the shoulder. Taylor followed up and dropped him clean.
He glanced at her. She was crouched beside him, breathing hard, sweat trailing down her temple, eyes blazing like war had lit her from within. They were the fucking line.
Boomer shifted position as bodies fell, eyes already on the next threat. Taylor was at his six, now, rifle tucked tight, her breathing quick but measured. There was blood on her cheek, someone else’s, and she didn’t seem to notice.
Movement.
Three more hostiles spilled from a stairwell to their left, coordinated this time. Better gear. Heavier boots. Chest rigs loaded. Flank team.Not today.
“Left push,” Boomer murmured into comms, not for Taylor, she was already turning.
One tango broke off toward the crate corridor, and Boomer moved to intercept. Taylor dropped to a knee and laid suppression fire with short, efficient bursts. One of the men tripped over a crate and caught two in the gut from her rifle. The second tried to duck under the shelving, but Boomer met him halfway, driving the butt of his weapon into the man’s throat and finishing with a clean shot under the chin.
Taylor pivoted behind him like she’d read his mind, spinning low to tag another coming up behind Boomer’s right flank.
Three down. Another ducked behind the generator. Boomer looked left. Taylor was already moving. They didn’t speak. Didn’t signal. She justknew.
He surged right, drawing fire.
Taylor moved silently and fast, coming in at the shooter’s blind side, switching to sidearm mid-step, and putting two in his chest from ten feet out.
