Wraith

Chapter 35 - Sins of The Father

Chapter 35 - Sins of The Father

He swung out of cover, blasting away with the shotgun rapid-fire and forcing the four men in front of him back behind cover. He counted one arm shredded with buckshot, one shin blown to pieces, but no immediate casualties as their friends dragged them back behind cover, shouting wildly for backup.

Redcliffe turned quickly, swinging the shotgun around behind him, blasting a cop only ten feet away with two shells directly in the chest. The first shredded the vest he wore, the second punctured high to his collarbone as he fell into the mud with a gurgle, his flashlight falling behind him and illuminating the area he'd come from. He pulled down the trigger one last time, aiming at a man close behind one that had fallen, only to be met with a hollow click that was somehow louder in his ears than a shotgun blast. Fuck, dry. He locked eyes with the man for an instant, dropping the shotgun to his feet and reaching down for the rifle, counting the milliseconds as the man raised his gun in Redcliffe's direction. He was already pressed against cover as much as he physically could be, now it was only a race as to who could get their gun up first. Redcliffe lost.

He heard the bullet impact a full second before he heard the heard the gunshot, a deafening roar that was far too loud to have come from the man's own weapon, echoing across the small valley. It was only when he registered that he was still alive that he noticed that the man's entire ribcage had been ripped out from the side, standing in seeming disbelief before falling onto the mud. High velocity, armour piercing, sniper fire. He spared a quick glance out into the gloom of the treeline far away, saying a silent thanks to Ziggy's marksmanship. In the seconds that followed three more deafening booms rocked the air, forcing the advancing cops back into cover and buying Redcliffe precious seconds.

He brought the rifle up fast, shaking himself from shock and raising slightly from his cover. Two men were moving through the open and Redcliffe did a quick assessment, one's hastily affixed body armour left most his round stomach exposed. Three of Redcliffe's shots slipped in, injuries that wouldn't kill right away. He needed to conserve ammo where he could, and leaving them with wounded to care for only served as a further distraction. The man screamed, a horrific and piercing sound that Redcliffe did his best to tune out. The second man, who was only a few steps behind the first, immediately dove forwards against the far side of Redcliffe's wood pile, completely abandoning his comrade out on open ground.

Across the lumber yard, barely a hundred feet away, a blinding explosion made everything shake momentarily. He heard the metallic screeching as shrapnel tore through shipping containers and machinery, the sharp cracking as heavy logs shattered into tinder. He thought back to Charlotte Castle, and the look of detached rage she wore while holding that grenade launcher. He tried not to think of how many men had just died gruesome deaths.

Redcliffe didn't blink, quickly moving on to new targets that he could work on before they swarmed forward and overwhelmed his position. He couldn't afford any hesitation right now, counting on the closest man's momentary panic to keep him in cover for those precious few seconds. Everything faded, and Redcliffe capitalised on his superior training as the murderous officers moved in. Bullets cracked off the wood all around his head, spinning in from all directions, and he barely blinked. Every time one of them peeked out from behind cover, he sent a spray of bullets in their direction to force them back. Some hit home, puncturing shoulders and shattering knees, but most only served to scare the men back into the holes they'd crawled out of.

It felt like he was standing over his own body as it fought, surreally taking stock of the battlefield from a detached third person perspective. He saw the kill squad slowly adapting to his tactics, fanning out to provide more points of attack. More thunderous gunshots rained out from overhead, ripping through sheet metal and logs as Ziggy provided what cover he could, but in his heart he knew that it wouldn't be enough. It was just a waiting game now, and Redcliffe's clip was about to run dry.