Warfighter: Operation Shatterfall

Chapter 18

"Keep his head down!" McCord yelled.

I placed several shots towards the customer service desk. Everything in it's proximity exploded as dozens of rounds ripped through whatever there was: Cigarette boxes, hover baskets, holographic projectors, everything.

One of the PRF soldiers stood up but before he could return fire he was immediately shot dead on the spot.

From within the store, a unified scream of fury sounded, a desperate battle cry. Then a squad of PRF soldiers emerged, guns drawn, but firing blindly.

"Oh shit!" James shouted.

'Oh shit' was the appropriate reaction. These men were running as if they were on a suicide charge. Their bullets flew right over our heads. I went down on one knee, rifle shouldered.

And blasted them to kingdom come.

The two PRF soldiers leading the charge fell flat to the floor first. The rest followed suit, some tripping over their dead comrades, only to stand back up and take another bullet to the face.

The PRF soldiers behind the desk stood up and opened fire again.

"Somebody shoot that guy!" James said. His directed his muzzle at the desk, and shot the other guy in return.

"Tossing frag!" Amber yelled.

With a graceful flick of her arm, the spherical shape of a grenade flew itself behind the customer service desk. A panicked struggle ensued among the PRF soldiers as they tried to locate that volatile ball of death.

First came a bright spark, followed by a cloud of grey dust and ferrocrete. Shrapnel violently tore through anything caught in the blast. The bang smothered the screams of those unfortunate enough to receive fragmentation and shockwave.

The dust settled. No one fired another shot.

"Alright, let's split up," McCord said, pointing at me and James, "You two, go check the dairy section. Amber, Midnight, on me."

We parted ways, walking past empty dirty shelves and freezers, it was clear that news of an incoming PRF invasion struck panic within the population. On peaceful planets, the grocery shelves would be filled quickly and stocks never run out. But ever since the orbital factories and farms were shut down due to the invasion, food stocks and necessities dwindled. Those who raced here first got what they needed, but for those who were too late, they didn't fare too well.

"Firing up TacHo," McCord said on squad comms.

A wave of blue flashed across the shiny white floor, the shelves, freezers, everything. We looked around, guns up, but there were no red figures, nothing.

"I think we got them," I said.

"Think so," James said before reaching for the radio on his right shoulder, "All clear, moving up to check out area."

"Yeah, get over here quick," McCord said, "we got a prisoner."

"You got it," I replied.

We raced to where the remainder of the fireteam were. McCord could be seen standing over a wounded PRF soldier on his knees before him. Amber was securing a cable tie to the POW's back. Midnight had his M-5 sidearm trained on him, just in case he tried anything stupid.

"Y'know, when the sarge said," James put on the worst possible British accent to ever land on my ears, " 'Alright lads, I'm pretty sure there are bad guys in that store'. I thought he meant two or three guys, not a whole dozen."

"Ok, you've just violated my ears with that terrible accent," I replied.

We followed up behind Amber, who had just finished securing the cable, "Hey boys," she said as she stood up, "Remember this guy?"