Atlantis: chapter 6
And here's chapter 6:
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Chapter VI: Search and Destroy
Tom advanced on the tango that lay between him and the armory door. It rested behind a support column, thinking it had the advantage of surprise. Tom stealthily crept forward to the very edge of the column. He took his carbine and blindly rammed the stock around the wall, wincing with satisfaction as it met soft flesh.
The Raptor cried out, then suddenly leaped forward. Tom was ready, and when the Raptor came charging around the corner, he sidestepped and emptied his only carbine clip into the Raptor. As soon as the magazine clicked Tom dropped it, pulling out his sidearm in one hand and his six inch combat blade in the other. The Raptor was limping now, trying to get away. Tom lunged out and drove the knife into the Raptor's spine, killing it instantly.
The Raptor dropped, and Tom spun around and entered into the armory.
He had made it out of the Rec. Center, killing two Raptors with Psi. Counting the one he had just killed, there were only about seventy to go.
Tom carefully entered the arms room, searching for threats. West had beamed the camera feed to a window on his HUD, and it didn't show anything. But Tom was still cautious, even after he surveyed the room and found nothing. More reassuring, however, was the active security turret overhead that paused to aim at Tom for a second, then continued its sweep of the area once it had registered his FOF tag.
Tom hustled over to the MG lockers. No more SMG crap against this army.
He grabbed two M9-LMGs and as much ammo as he could carry, also bringing a spare set of TBA for Matt. Then he slung one of the LMGs around his back, stuffed the ammo in his combat pack, and rammed one in the receiver of his M9 LMG.
Tom slunk forward, putting his back to the wall and checking the hallway video feed. All clear. He opened the door and glided silently down the passageway, heading back for the Rec. Center.
He checked the video feed closest to the utility closet Matt was in, and was shocked to see three Raptors on the other side, attempting to break the door down, which they couldn't open because of the barricade. It would only take them another half a minute to force their way through, from the looks of it.
Tom switched to Matt's head-cam feed and listened through the mic. as banging sounds permeated the air. Matt groggily raised his carbine and spat the clip through the weak, sheet metal door. Tom watched two Raptors fall, but then they got right back up.
Tom stepped up his pace. Now wasn't the time for caution.
A Raptor jumped at him from nowhere, trying to come in from the side, but Tom just dodged it and kept on running at his new top speed, around thirty five miles an hour. The Raptor could run almost twice that speed, though. It came up, running extremely fast. Tom dropped in a backslide, his legs out in front of him and his body behind, and the Raptor bounded right over him. It skidded to a halt and crashed into a wall, dazing it for only a second. Tom suddenly shifted his weight forward and came to his feet, running as he opened fire. The bullets drilled into the Raptor's toughened skin, driving it to the ground. It didn't stir as Tom raced past.
Tom rounded the corner and found a small-scale war between the Raptors and the autoguns, with Matt's utility closet mixed in for the creative and unique touch. The multitude of the Raptors were engaging the turrets, while five or six at a time attacked the door. One wriggled through, its hide cut in numerous places from the sharp metal. It only just made it past when it was forced back out, a heavily bandaged entering view for a moment as it viciously kicked at the Raptor's snout, then drawing back in.
Tom came from behind and jumped. And when he jumped, he really jumped twenty feet in the air, grabbing onto one of the rafters on the ceiling. Using one hand, he aimed his LMG and opened fire on the Raptors below, scattering them under a cloud of led. One glanced up, and coughed out a signal to its fellows. Tom couldn't help it; he slowly turned and looked out at the rest of the Raptors. They all turned towards him, one gnawing on a twisted series of cables from a destroyed turret.
The last remaining autogun continued to fire, but only six Raptors turned to face it, the rest advancing on Tom.
The six Raptors spread apart, darting back and forth between each other and confusing the turret, letting it track one Raptor first, then another would dart across its path and lead it into another, all the time working their way to the wall it was mounted on. Finally one reached it and jumped twelve feet in the air, its feet now touching the wall, and then jumped off the wall, up again at the turret. As it got there, the turret blasted it into pieces, but another one simply followed the first and took a chunk out of the machine gun.
Tom swallowed noisily in a rare sign of apprehension. Not fear, per say, of dying, but fear of failing and leaving any survivors to die.
Tom opened fire, but by now the Raptors were wily, a they avoided packing together into one group and spread apart, so whenever they saw bullets stitching their way to one of them, they'd jump away and have time to evade.
Tom compensated by raising his aim slightly and shooting down another rafter, bringing it crashing on top of about six of them.
He took a second to stare in awe as the massive Raptor army moved forward to slice him. The same regal build on all of them; the large pelvis, thick, muscular legs, serpentine body, narrow snout with serrated, recurved teeth. And the long, straight and stiff tail with the outspread arms, all contributing to the incredible agility and balance.
Tom shook himself. Why did he care? So they had really long, really stiff tails. So they helped for balance. He was about to die!
The first of the Raptors dodged under Tom's fire and jumped up. It flew twice the height of a regular man, almost grabbing Tom's ankle. Tom beat it down with a blast of TK (telekinesis), and it flew back to the ground, its neck snapped and blood seeping from its mouth.
The next Raptors came, and Tom jumped to his feet to avoid the high leaps. The Raptors didn't seem to be injured as they got back up off the ground. Like it didn't bother them. Like, 'Yeah, we fall from twelve feet high onto our heads and backs a million times everyday. Nothing new.'
Tom had a crazy idea. He ran to one side of the rafters and reloaded, slapping a new 100 round dual-drum clip into the receiver. He spun around, pulling the trigger. His bullets hit the rafter connectors, and the one end tumbled to the ground, smashing into the tile, but only catching one Raptor who got stuck in the middle of a pack. They were learning, too fast.
Tom braced himself and fired into the oncoming stream that started to climb up his pathway. They flooded up towards him, but were stopped by the ferocious pouring of fire from Tom's gun. As the ones in front fell to the ground, dead, the others behind them jumped off. Tom looked below him and realized he had fallen for another ploy; three Raptors below him all jumped, landed sideways against the wall, and jumped off again, easily reaching to the height of Tom. As one came up, Tom lashed out with TK, snapping another neck. Another dead Raptor. The other two, though...
One missed completely, hitting the top of the rafter. Then Tom realized it hadn't missed, but it was trying to surround him and force him to the others.
The other came at Tom, and he held the stock of his gun in front of him. The Raptor collided with the butt, like a boar charging a hunter armed with a dull pike, and Tom was pushed back half a foot and he lost his grip on his LMG. It dropped through the cross supports and to the ground, where it was swallowed by the rest of the Raptors.
Tom cursed and gave the Raptor attempting to bite his leg off a powerful kick, then jumped off headfirst to recover his MG. The horde closed up beneath him, eager for a bite. Tom blasted the area clear with TK, allowing his LMG to remain in place. He landed and rolled with the force of his kinetic energy, picking up his gun and dashing towards Matt's closet.
Matt was there, covering him, dishing out a supportive cross fire. He had managed to wrap his cuts in a makeshift body-bandage, and he was holding his carbine propped up against the frame. He fired bursts, and Tom sprinted quickly to the door. He backslid again into the open closet, then turned over prone and opened fire. Matt fell back towards the barricade, and Tom paused a moment to toss him an M9 LMG with several fresh clips. Matt expertly loaded in a clip and fired again, but by now all the Raptors had moved off to one side or the other, avoiding the deadly bullets. They were just too smart. It was like a constant game of cat-and-mouse, with the Raptors being the cats. Except that the mice could shoot back. A bloody version of about fifty Toms and two Jerries, like the cartoon. Except that Tom wasn't a tom. Strange. He half-smiled at that.
Tom slammed the door shut with TK, but it was damaged in so many places he doubted it would hold one charge.
Tom handed over the armor to Matt, who started stripping off the damaged pieces, leaving Tom on guard. As each piece was removed, more of his muscular body was revealed, like iron bands rippling under a taut combat muscle-shirt.
A sole Raptor shoved its snout into a missing chunk of sheet metal. Tom took the opportunity to kick it full in the mouth, and it reared outward.
Tom in turn stuck the muzzle of his gun through the crack and opened fire, spreading bullets in every direction. He fired and fired until the 100 round dual-drum clip ran dry and clicked, at which point Matt stepped forward. He looked like a Death Wraith as he glided forward silently, white bandages stained with red showing under his Matte Black Special Ops TBA.
He kicked open the door from a crouched position and stood, firing and inching out the door. "We need to find higher ground!" He called over the continuous roar. Tom nodded and dashed forward, keeping low to avoid Matt's line of fire. He sprinted to the next suitable covering position, took a second to unfold the mounted bi-pod, and added his led to the mix. Matt looked around and grabbed a grenade off his belt, shifting his gun to his right arm and firing one-handed while biting the charging ring off the grenade and chucking it, left handed, into a small cluster of hostiles, all the while running sideways at Tom.
Matt watched Tom's muzzle as he fought to keep it down, in spite of the air-distorting heat and force escaping it. Matt ran forward and dove head-first, twisting in mid-air so he would land on his heavily padded back and firing between his legs. He felt the bullets' slipstream drag and pull at his ankles and boots, and then he skidded smoothly to the floor, still moving on his back. Tom got up again, using the stock of his gun to help, and backslid under a Raptor into the next position. He came up firing, taking out two Raptors who were getting uncomfortably close.
Tom and Matt continued the routine until they had reached an exit door and whittled down the opposition to a mere twenty Raptors. The rest were either dead or wounded severely.
Tom kicked open the door by sliding his legs out from under his crouched self, letting them smack into the double doors and swinging them open while falling to his chest in prone. Matt got up and slunk backwards, firing still as he went until his clip emptied. Then Tom got up, Matt having switched to his sidearm to cover Tom instead of reloading. Tom jumped backwards, and when he landed, lashed out with his feet again and slammed the door shut. Matt stepped forward and twisted the handles to interlock, even though they were decorational and they slid apart at the touch of a button. Then he characteristically shot the control panel, watching the electric blue sparks fall to the ground.
Tom took Matt's extended hand and got to his feet. Both reloaded their weapons and ran off together down the hallway. When they were about fifty yards down the corridor, away from the doors, they turned. Tom kicked over a box so it lay flat and crouched behind it, setting his M9 with bi-pod extended on it for extra stability. Matt looked around, and finding no cover to his liking, jumped onto the ceiling and grabbed hold of a red utility pipe. He swung his legs up and locked them, then pulled himself on top. He lay waiting, watching.
Tom winced as static filled his ear, then West's voice, "Captain, you guys alright?"
"Yeah, we're good. What kinda support can you dig us up?" Tom asked.
"We've got more inbound friendlies. Looks like they're bringing the cleanup crew. I count six Ospreys closing, but they've sent ahead some heavy firepower. Looks like we've got two JSFs coming in to help, ETA two minutes. The other teams have run into some heavy resistance, but nothing like over with you guys. They'll pull through."
"Roger that. What's the survivor count?" Tom asked.
"Minimal losses. Turns out the biggest problem's in the R and D department, and most of the soldiers have gathered together into one room and set up a blockade. They're holding tight and awaiting rescue."
"Good. We'll get to them. Out." Tom said, cutting West short as the doors trembled. There wasn't the random banging one would expect from a herd of bloodthirsty monsters, but instead an organized search for weak points in the door. A sharp hiss would echo through the hallway, then a single bang would follow, again and again, over and over.
With each bang, the doors trembled open a little bit more, until finally a rent appeared in the metal. A three-toed claw planted itself on the bottom of the dent, and it strained against the solid object. A tearing sound flew outward, and Tom shuddered. If they could do that to metal, he didn't want to see what they could do to him.
Matt sent a thought beam, I'm going to have nightmares about this one, then a metallic double click bounced around as Matt cocked the charging lever.
Tom kept his cool and aimed down the iron sights. He was too far away to get a great view from just the iron sights, with no scope. Still, if he focused enough and got off an early shot, it was better than nothing.
Tom concentrated on the opening in the door, putting all his mind to work. He blinked in surprise a moment later. His vision had - changed - just for a moment, but he couldn't figure out how. This time, more carefully, he focused, letting his gaze linger over the door that was now vibrating. After a moment of intense effort, his view sharpened, and everything came into focus. He could clearly see the door. It wasn't as though it was magnified so much as it just came into better focus, the fuzzy details aligning so he could see the door clearly. His vision must have been effected by the treatment as well. What other surprises were in store for him?
He focused again, and his vision cleared, zeroing in on the opening. It was widening by the second, but after he fired off a few rounds the tearing sound dulled. Nothing could hold them completely back, though, as another dent came in the side of the door, then the other side. Suddenly they burst apart, and Raptors poured into the corridor. They spread out from the entrance under Tom's punishing fire, and Matt swung down from the pipe, his legs still wrapped around but his body inverted as he fired from above.
Tom shifted his aim to track another Raptor and fired, bringing it to the ground. He tossed a Frag, yelling, "Fire in the hole!" so Matt would know to take cover, and watched the tendrils of smoke embrace the Raptors. Only another fifteen or so left, but then they suddenly scattered in all directions, peeling off into side corridors and rooms. They couldn't win anymore, and they knew it. Now they just wanted to live. This was when Tom became the hunter, but right now he had more important business.
"Alright, you're clear. Tangos branching off and hiding in all sorts of rooms. It will take forever to find them, but most of the survivors have holed up in a storage room ahead." West confided.
"Got it. Map?"
"Yeah, uploading." West said, and a moment later a holographic map appeared on Tom and Matt's HUD, and then folded into a small window in the corner. A blue arrow lead to the position of the survivors, and numerous smaller green arrows pointed in different directions, indicating other survivors. A map legend popped up next to the map, blue being the multitude of the soldiers, and the other greens being the separate hiding places. Red dots on the HUD marked known enemy positions.
Tom got up and reloaded, looking around warily for any threats. Finding none, he cautiously moved forward, taking his time in getting there.
Matt dropped literally from the sky above after Tom passed, watching their six.
Fifteen minutes later, the duo arrived at the soldier's barricade. "This is Captain Thomas Lane, requesting entry access." He said, rattling off his identification number after.
It was a moment before a hoarse voice responded, "Dang good to hear from you, Cap'n. You got a friend with you?"
"Roger that. Permission to enter?"
"Granted." the voice said, and the blast doors sealing off the store room slowly slid apart. Tom turned so his back was to the opening concrete door, scanning the hallway for signs of life. Matt was already taking up a crouched position behind a steel crate, using his suit's thermal and radio-imaging to search out hostiles.
The doors opened all the way, and Tom waited for Matt to walk back into the room first, covering him, before moving. Just as he was passing through the threshold, a pair of small creatures darted out behind a corner, quick and bird-like. They dashed straight for the doors, and Tom belatedly sighted down his weapon, disconcerted at the smaller size. It definitely wasn't a Raptor. Way too small. They were about the size of Compys, maybe a little bigger, but much faster. And they seemed to have feathers of some sort...
Tom shouted for the men to close the doors, and as the slow blast doors inched into position, Tom opened fire, making sure to take a head-cam still shot of the new dinos.
Three other soldiers, all armed with M9 carbines, opened fire beside Tom. Their combined firepower sent one of the little things flopping back in a flash of red. The other petered off to one side, close to the wall in order to avoid the fire. It jumped, flapping its wing-like limbs for a little extra stability and extended jump length as it sailed between the cracks of the door. It landed and with hardly a pause jumped onto a soldier's face, causing him to cry out in surprise and agony and making him twist all over the room. Tom ran over and grasped the creature by the tail to steady it as he blew out its brains with his sidearm.
The creature fell to the ground, missing part of its head.
The soldier cursed wildly. He looked pretty scratched up. A long but shallow gash ran all the way down the side of his face, just missing his eye, and he had a smaller cut from his jaw to the top of his cheek. Numerous other cuts also would leave him with scarring.
A soldier rushed over with a first-aid pack in hand. He began his work, cleaning out the cuts and taking a cold-pack out of the kit. "He'll live." The soldier said sarcastically, making several others chuckle.
"So, what was that?" Another of the soldiers asked conversationally, as if they had just sat down to eat lunch, not been attacked by some unknown dinosaur on the island of Atlantis.
"Bambiraptor." Matt answered. He'd always been the dino-lover of the group, even after most of them he met tried to eat him. "Like a smaller, stupid version of a Velociraptor."
Tom saw one of the soldiers mutter, "Bambi? Hardly..." out of the corner of his eye.
"Alright, here's the plan." Tom intoned, adopting a slightly deeper, more commanding expression. "Matt, you escort these guys out of here. I'll continue on and see if I can't gather up the rest of the survivors."
"With all due respect, Captain," one soldier said with a hint of belligerence, "I think my team and I can walk through a building."
"It's not the building I'm worried about, its the Raptors in it. Besides, Kenderson needs to make sure the extraction proceeds according to plan." Tom replied in kind.
The soldier had little choice but to answer, "Aye, sir."
Matt gave no objections, and so he reloaded his weapon and prepared for exit.
"I need maybe three volunteers for-" Tom was cut off as every hand in the room raised. Subtly checking the FOF screen, he chose the three most experienced soldiers to go with him. "Red One," Tom said, nodding to the first man, "Red Two," nodding to the second, "Red Three," nodding to the man who had objected earlier, "You're with me. The rest of you, follow Kenderson. Whatever he says goes. Am I clear?"
"Aye aye, sir!" The soldiers roared with renewed vigor.
"Make it in one piece. No one left behind, everybody gets out." Matt added. Tom nodded in agreement.
"Red team, fall out!" Tom barked, leading the way to the door. Matt's team, Blue, took up cross-support fire on the opposite side of the door. Tom waited until everyone had a suitable firing angle, then jabbed the door release. The sliding doors broke apart at the seam, gliding noiselessly on their lateral tracks.
"Clear!" Red Three barked, pointing the barrel of his assault rifle through the opening. "Go!" he ordered, and waited for Reds One and Two to clear the door before he himself followed. Tom went out next, still covering the entry door at the end of the hall. Red Two fell into a prone stance as he covered the door, and then Blue moved up and out. Matt's LMG fanned back and forth, surveying the area. Tom felt a sense of fierce pride at knowing he was one of these elite warriors.
Matt took up a position at the edge of the lintel to the next room. Tom got on the other, and a mix of Red and Blue teams put up in a line to cover the door, the two in front prone, the four behind crouching, and the nine others arranged in a semi-circle above them. Tom opened the doors, and another call came, "Clear!" before the front soldiers advanced. Working with squads of men gave more options, but you also had to worry about everyone else. With a one man squad, you didn't need to pay attention to anyone but yourself. Two man squads could cover the rear better, but three or four man squads were normally best for this kind of encounter.
Tom slunk through the door, his olive-drab combat boots making no sound as they hit the tiled floor. He motioned over to the side, and Red Team broke off from Blue to follow him. No one made even a whisper as the two sets of men and women parted, going on separate missions, although Matt did raise a hand in silent farewell. Tom returned the gesture, then moved warily down a side maintenance access corridor, where the nearest blue arrow was.
"Heads up!" West said from his comfy position back in the security checkpoint. "Got hostiles at Three!"
Tom took that to mean they were just around the corner of this completely straight hallway, so he pulled ahead of the other three and got his knife ready. He pressed his back to the wall, then suddenly jumped around, his M9 in one hand, his knife in the other. As he came out, a Raptor had been strutting forward, and now it reared back in surprise. But, oddly, this Raptor had an empty saddle on. Tom gave it no thought as he lashed out with the knife, pulling it across dry skin.
That was another thing about these dinosaurs. Most of them were warm blooded. Most of the public thought of them as slimy, cold beasts. But they were intelligent and perfectly non-slimy.
The Raptor cough-squawked in a burst of pain, but the small cut was soon forgotten, and it advanced. Tom backed up, firing his LMG one-handed and slashing with the other hand. By backing up, though, he was giving the Raptor a tactical advantage if it lunged. But if he got back around the corner, the Raptor was dead.
Tom scrambled back, and Red One stepped around the corner. He raised his rifle, but he didn't have a clear line of fire, as Tom's body was in the way. The effect was the same, though, as the Raptor reared back. It had learned to fear those in its time. It pulled off from engaging Tom and fled, and Reds One and Two jumped out and opened fire, bringing the Raptor to the ground. Its legs kicked feebly as it attempted to regain balance, but then Tom ran up and ended it with a swift jab to the neck, using his knife.
Tom glanced at the two men, giving silent thanks. Red Three pulled up around the wall and took point, not wanting to be left out. He advanced, sweeping the area before him, his green Mk. III glinting, refracting the beams from the overhead work lights.
The first room was right ahead. Tom crouched in front of the door, his weapon pointed back the way they had come. Red Three paused by the door to make sure Reds One and Two were in place as well, then attempted to open the door. It failed to swing outward, however, as something was holding it in.
A muffled curse came from the other side of the door, then a metallic clack as a rifle's charging lever was pulled, slotting a round from the magazine into the chamber.
"Hold fire! Hold fire!" Red Two called. "We're American!" The frantic scrabbling at the door stopped for a minute, replaced by a weary, "Prove it!"
"Captain Thomas Lane, ID 875-487-390. It checks out. Check your FOF indicator." Tom called out over his shoulder, still covering the hallway.
The soldier behind the door was silent a moment, checking his FOF screen, but a moment later the door cracked open a tad, and a fiber-optics cable snaked around, a tiny lens capturing everything in view. After two or three seconds, the cable wound back in and the door opened all the way. Beside the lintel stood a tall, broad-shouldered American, wearing a white skin-tight combat synthetic shirt with camo fatigue pants but no armor excepting a Kevlar weave bullet proof vest and his helmet.
"Thank God, I didn't think anyone would ever find me." The soldier said, swaying slightly. Looking back over his shoulder, Tom only just realized that the soldier was wounded. The man was cut up everywhere, his fatigues darkened by blood and shredded in some places. A large bruise decorated his left cheek, and he kept his right arm pinned to his side with a length of makeshift cording. In his left hand he clutched a small sidearm. It looked woefully underpowered.
Tom sized the man up with a practiced eye. He was hurt, badly, but he was American, and he would make it.
"I wish I could do something about your arm," Tom began, "But we need to head out. I can have one of us take you directly back to the surface, but the rest of us are gonna see if we can save some soldiers."
"Sir!" The jarhead answered, saluting, "I want to help, Sir!"
"Good. Then follow us." Tom said, then addressing West, he said, "West, we've located the first straggler, and we're proceeding to the next one. We're moving wounded, so tell Matt he better get a medic down here lickity-split if he likes his rump without pieces missing."
"Yes sir!" West answered. The tough talk was all an act. Tom didn't have it in him to harm a fellow soldier, and everyone knew that.
The same stop-and-go action settled into a routine as Tom, with his squad in tow, picked his way through corridors, up staircases, down loading ramps, and fought to the next survivor. They continued this pattern for half an hour, Matt directing the evac operation outside, after sending in a second squad of hard-core marines to escort a medic over to Red Team, while Tom and his newfound strength busted through barriers like there wasn't a tomorrow. And maybe there wouldn't be. Tom's job was to simply survive, helping in any way he could.
Tom finally called in, "That's the last of them. Heading for the LZ." The Landing Zone was the center courtyard, and Tom gave a final head-count of his troops. He stopped when he reached six. There was no seventh. Bitter, he remembered how Red Three had bought the farm when a clutch of Raptors ambushed the party on the way back from a dead-ended hideout area. He had pulled the man's dogtags and clutched them to his chest for a moment, letting a single tear fall to the ground, before stowing them in a pocket and moving on. That man had had a life, a family, and now his family and life wouldn't have him. It was a sad waste of life. But then, how did a commander gauge the value of a life? A life had to be something valuable enough to want to keep, but cheap enough to spend for the greater good. And sometimes, all it took to win or lose a war, to keep or take a life, was an officer's value on it.
Tom lead the way to the exterior doorway, passing down corridors drenched in dark red human blood, and the reddish black of Raptor blood.
Tom activated the controls, punched in the access code, and let the doors open while he covered the area directly in front of him. His six men filed into the space between doors, and Tom had just punched the close button when a dark shadow came out of nowhere, running lightning fast down a hallway, heading straight for the doors. It was huge, easily twenty feet tall, and it wanted out.
Tom fired his M9 into it even as the doors closed just in time for the Utahraptor, for that's what the creature was, to crash into the metal and leave a sizable dent in the blast doors. It kicked and hammered at the door, but to no avail. The blast doors were meant to withstand this kind of punishment.
The twin blast door on the other side opened, letting Tom and his crew to charge out and take heart in the fleet of hovercraft that had landed in the courtyard, all with the same mascot-logo: a black-and-gold gilded Bald Eagle with a lightning bolt in one razor-sharp talon and a Sidewinder-BunkerBuster jet fighter missile in the other.
Matt was waving from one of the hovercraft, and Tom took the cue and ran for him. The others behind him followed, all piling into the vehicle. The vehicles started lifting off the courtyard, and Matt entered the cockpit after making sure everyone was seated in the crew compartment, then ordered, "Punch it."
The pilot answered, "Aye, sir!" and jammed the throttles to the max. Matt clutched at a support brace as he followed it back to the open-aired area around the cabins. Tom came out and stood next to him, watching as Facility 1 started to fall below them. After the hovercraft had hit maybe a hundred feet in the air, Tom saw a disturbance and ordered the pilot to halt for a moment.
Both Captains blinked and did a double-take; the Utahraptor was standing below them, snarling and growling. Without prompting, a soldier manning a .35 cal chain gun along the side rail opened fire, scattering the courtyard with brass and led. Tom and Matt simultaneously reached for their Lindstrats, aimed, and fired. It didn't matter whose shot it was, but the creature went down, hard, and wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
