Time/Date Error (Damned of the 2/19th-Book Six) - Done

Friends

Motorpool Vehicle Repair Bays
2/19th Special Weapons Group Area
Secure Area, Alfenwehr
West Germany
29 October, 1987
2125 Hours

The tanker bar flew through my hands as I went through my options. I could wade into them with the tanker bar, but the M-16's shifted the balance in their favor if I did that. I could drop the bar and go for the pistols, but that give them a critical second or two to bring their weapons into play. They were off balanced, the one that was hit by the door tangling up with them, but the rearmost could simply step back, lift up his rifle, and clamp down on the trigger. Earlier if he was willing to take the risk of hitting his comrades.

ALERT! AUTONOMOUS COMBAT SYSTEMS OFFLINE! ALERT!

Throwing the bar gave me my best chance. Their attention fixated on the fifteen pound steel metal pole as it came at them, not paying attention as my hands snapped into my parka, pulled the pistols free, and I started firing, moving to the right, away from the spreading fire.

The left one's slide locked back on the fourth trigger pull and I slapped it back into the holster. I kept pulling the trigger, six shots, and when the slide locked back I quickly changed magazines, tucking the empty magazine upside down in the magazine pouch.

Three were dead, one was holding onto his stomach and screaming as I walked up to them.

The lizard was hammering on the button, trying to get it to engage, trying to take instinctive control of my combat systems.

Nothing happened.

He looked up right as I kicked him over on his back.

He was staring at me in hate, tears running from his eyes, his hands pressed against his stomach where I'd hit him twice, a third and fourth bullet punching through his friends and into his gut.

"Ya got a problem here, pumpkin," I told him.

"Bastard," He gasped.

"Ayup," I said, squatting down. "So where do you normally live?" He glared at me, reached for his rifle and I decided to handle it easy. I grabbed the middle of his upper arm, pressed the barrel of the pistol against his shoulder. "Whoops," I said.

His expression started to become confused.

I pulled the trigger.

He screamed as the bullet plowed through his shoulder, the expanding gasses pushing into the bullet wound, burning and tearing the tissue of his shoulder. I lifted the pistol and waved it back and forth to dissipate the smoke. I let him scream, clutch the wound that shattered his shoulder, and leaned back on my heels. I used my left hand to dig out my pack of smokes from my field jacket pocket, light one, then put the pack away.

The lizard was hammering on buttons and flipping switches, trying to get his boards to light back up.

"So, I've got a lot more bullets, you've got a lot more joints," I told him.

He kept screaming and I frowned.

"Hey," I said. He ignored me, still screaming. "Hey!" I tried a little louder. "HEY!" I yelled at him. He looked at me, but kept screaming.

I jammed the pistol into his elbow, grinding it down, and took a drag off my cigarette. "HEY! PAY ATTENTION!"

He kept screaming.

I sighed and pulled the trigger, the bullet shattering the joint, the expanding gases ripping it almost free of the upper arm.

He passed out.

...well shit...

I sighed, shaking my head. Nice job, Ant.

I stepped up, shot him once in the head, and reloaded the pistol as I moved into the tunnel. Christ, he should have been able to answer at least one...