Part 20 (1/2)

”We go out the door and cut immediately to our left, keeping between those old garbage dumpsters and this building. That way we'll stay in the shadows.

Once across the alley, we toss Fire-Frags in and follow. You ready?”

”Oh, sure. I can't begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to this.”

Ben chuckled. ”Let's do it.”

They exited the building quickly, Ben in the lead. Working their way past two old dumpsters, they both bellied down on the littered concrete as two street punks ran past their position and into the building across the alley.

”That makes it either fourteen or sixteen,” Jersey muttered. ”Right?”

Ben smiled and whispered, ”We still have them outnumbered, short-stuff. Let's go.”

They ran across the alleyway and flattened against the old building, one on each side of a huge pane-less window. Ben pulled a Fire-Frag from his battle harness and Jersey did the same. They looked at one another as the sounds of voices came from inside the building. Jersey nodded her head.

Two Fire-Frags were chunked into the ground floor of the building. The door blew off from the concussion of the exploding grenades.

The shrapnel had just ceased bouncing off the interior and the screaming of the wounded had begun when Ben and Jersey rolled into the room and laid down a field of automatic fire, effectively clearing the area of street punks. With their ears ringing from the concussion of the mini-Claymores, Ben and Jersey got their bearings and spread out, covering the only door they could see from the dim light of the flares. It went to the second floor. They could both hear the faint sounds of footsteps above them.

”G.o.dd.a.m.nit, there ain't no other way out!” the voice said, reaching Ben and Jersey.

”Take a peek down there.”

”You so d.a.m.n interested, you take a peek.”

Ben and Jersey remained silent, crouched behind a pile of junk in the room, their weapons set on full auto, each with a fresh clip. They waited, eyes on the blackness of the open stairwell leading to the second-floor.

A lone figure came cautiously down the steps and stuck his head into the dimness of the room. Ben and Jersey waited. They didn't want just one punk dead comthey wanted them all dead.

”Fuller's dead,” the punk called over his shoulder. ”I can see half a dozen more on the floor. All blown to s.h.i.+t. There ain't n.o.body movin'.”

Several more punks gathered around the first one at the base of the stairs, none of them wanting to take that first step into the ground floor room, but knowing they had to do so if they were to get away.”They was waitin' on us.” Words just reached Ben and Jersey over the diminis.h.i.+ng din of battle.

”Bull's plan didn't turn out worth a d.a.m.n.

They knew we was comin'.”

”This ain't the time to discuss it. You see anybody down yonder?”

”No. I can't see nothin' ”ceptin” dead people.”

”Come on.”

The punks crowded out of the stairwell and onto the ground floor.

Ben and Jersey opened up, the Thunder Lizard and the M-16 blasting the darkness. The street punks were slammed back against a wall as the slugs tore the life from them. Ben and Jersey ceased fire and waited. A faint moaning came from the piled-up bodies by the stairs.

”That's it,” Ben said. ”Let's see what we have over there that might be able to talk.”

Two were still alive. One of them was hard hit in the guts and dying. The other had suffered only two minor flesh wounds.

”Eagle to Rat,” Ben spoke into his walkie-talkie.

”G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Dad, where are you?” Buddy's voice held more than a note of irritation.

”In the building just north of your location.

Ground floor. Come on over. We have a prisoner. The ground floor is clear. I can't be sure about the other floors, so watch it.”

Buddy and Dan and a squad of Rebels were in the building within two minutes.

”This c.r.a.phead isn't hurt bad,” a medic said.

”He's got lots of conversation in him.”

”I ain't tellin' you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds nothin'!” the punk said, spitting out the words.

Dan smiled at him in the gloom. The smile was very much like a cobra before a strike. ”Oh, I think you'll be chattering like a magpie before long.”

At daylight, the punk was tossed out onto the sidewalk, weaponless, and told to hit the road.

He had been wrong. He'd had plenty to say to Dan and Ben. It had just taken a little persuading, that's all.

The Rebels had not physically tortured the young man. He'd been interrogated with the use of drugs.

Sixty thousand punks and creepies,” Ben said, after taking a sip of coffee. ”Well, I guess that means we do have our work cut out for us. Of course, that was a guess on his part, since I doubt that any census has ever been taken of the current population of Los Angeles.”

The fighting had all but ceased, the punks retreating several blocks at first light. The Rebels were still loosely trapped -- in a manner of speaking-but the punks were now in that unenviable position of riding a tiger: afraid to turn loose and afraid to stay on.

”Get me a report from all units, Corrie,”

Ben requested.

”Working on it now, sir,” she called. A momentlater, she said, ”All units holding firm with no ground lost. Reporting five dead and eleven wounded during the night. Several prisoners were taken and their stories match the one told us.”

Ben picked up his M-14. ”All right, people.

Tired we may be, but we've got to take some ground today. The one thing the punks won't be expecting is a counterattack from us this early.

Ready tear gas and everybody into masks. We're going to do our best to clear everything between us and Therm.

Let's do it.”

Tear gas canisters and smoke grenades and sh.e.l.ls began raining down all around the area, the choking and blinding fumes masking the forward movement of the Rebels as they counterattacked the street punks.

It was door-to-door and building-to-building fighting, with small arms and grenades, the Rebels offering no mercy or pity to the punks as they staggered out of hiding places, tears streaming down their faces from the gas. The Rebels took no prisoners as they advanced.