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The tanks are moving again, clank-clanking down the road, shifting through the gears. They’ll be here in thirty seconds. Their shells will arrive sooner.
“Richlin! Suarez! Lay down some fugging fire,” Sergeant Cole yells.
Now he’s firing his tommy gun, .45 caliber slugs in short bursts, a chug-a-chug-a-chug sound, but it’s nothing but a noisemaker at this distance.
Shoot, Rio. Shoot.
She aims. A man in a yellow-tan uniform. Two hundred yards away.
He’s perfectly centered between the two curved uprights of the front sight, chest resting on the stubby center post, all contained within the circle of the rear sight.
She draws a breath and lets it out as slowly as her racing metabolism will allow and—
BAM!
The familiar kick to her shoulder. The familiar cordite smell. The metallic clang as the spent brass spins through the air before dropping to the ground.
The Italian soldier trips. He falls to one knee.
He tripped. That’s all.
The Italian drops his rifle. He clutches his thigh.
My God, I hit him!
“Keep it up, pour it on!”
Chug-a-chug-a-chug-chug-a-chug-a-chug!
Take aim.
Choices. Three or four men in view. Which?
You. The one with the mustache.
Breathe in, out sloooow . . .
BAM!
A miss. She breathes a sigh of relief, only no, no, now the Italian is falling. Straight back. Like he’s falling in slow motion, an optical illusion that makes it seem that he’s shrinking not falling, until suddenly his knees buckle and his entire body crumples.
A sob escapes her. She looks desperately to her right. Suarez is a ghost, pale, staring down the barrel of his rifle. Has he fired?
Beyond him she sees the rest of Second Squad falling back, Hansu Pang alive still and hauling the bazooka, all of them are running low, holding their helmets with one hand, Millican alive too, Jenou with steel ammo boxes in each hand, struggling to run. The lead tank turns slightly and—
BOOM!
This round sails harmlessly over the squad’s heads to explode beyond them.
“Keep it coming, Richlin!”
Another target. Find the man. Find the one man who is going to die.
No, I don’t want to, no, I don’t want to.
Her body is a single tensed muscle, she’s hard as a board, her teeth will break if she clenches any harder.
Tougher now. They’re running.
