One by one, our groups positioned around the perimeter radio that they’re moving. I lift my rifle to my shoulder and peer through the scope, aiming carefully at one of the guards running toward the crash and then pulling the trigger.
Between us, Ben and I shoot seven of the guards who have left their posts to respond to the unexpected attack. In a series of small, consecutive strikes, our people take advantage of the massive distraction to advance, cutting the now harmless fence to move in from all sides.
The Arsenal is probably the most heavily defended structure outside the Capitol. There are three or four times as many guards stationed there at any given time as there are my own people. But we’ve taken them entirely by surprise, and it’s working. I watch the progress through my scope, occasionally shooting when a guard presents as a clear target.
Ben has been doing the same thing. When the shooting and motion inside the fence dies down, we lower our weapons and move out from the shelter of the trees.
“They’re inside,” I say, looking up at Ben’s damp, focused face. “Let’s move.”
We’ve planned and practiced these maneuvers so often they’re second nature now. We start running down the hill, rifles aimed in case we encounter any stray guards, until we’ve made it to the wreckage of the gate.
There are bodies everywhere and the smell of burned flesh in the air. When a shot sounds nearby, Ben steps in front of me, shooting the injured guard who was firing his weapon from a prone position on the ground.
He was weak, and his aim was bad. The bullet he fired hits neither Ben nor me.
Putting a hand on my back, Ben says, “Let’s go.” Together, we run for the open doors of the building.
So far, everything has gone exactly according to plan. Our people have cleared the area between the fence and the building and have moved inside by blowing out various doors. The main entry we walk into is strewn withthe bodies of dead guards. It’s almost eerie how quickly we’ve advanced. But I know better than to rely on that to continue.
One thing about battle I’ve learned over the years.
Something always goes wrong.
The next twentyminutes pass in a tense blur as Ben and I move through the main hallway, checking rooms as we do to make sure no remaining guards are hiding there.
The Arsenal serves two primary functions. Half the building is one large factory where military weapons and ammunition are manufactured. The other half is the largest stockpile of stored weapons in the known world.
The rooms off this main hallway are mostly administrative. Because the day shift was over, most of the offices are empty, but we encounter a handful of desk workers who immediately surrender, holding their hands above their heads, visibly terrified.
Ben and I quickly bind their hands and feet and leave them in the offices as we continue our advance.
“I know we timed this to have the fewest folks on duty, but I expected a little more of a fight,” Ben mutters as we reach the double doors at the end of the hall.
“I know.” I meet his eyes. I’m so focused on completing one task after another that there’s no time for larger-scale thinking, but the ease with which we’re progressingmakes my belly roil with nerves. “But these are only desk workers. There’ll be more guards at the factory.”
“Yeah.”
The factory is in the back of the building. We push through the double doors and find another wide hallway, this one crisscrossed with numerous corridors leading to huge rooms where arms are stored.
Vella appears from the first corridor, her hair tied back with a bandanna and a grin on her face. “What a bunch of losers,” she says, as she, Chelle, and three others fall behind me and Ben. Jim and Carlos are only a minute later, running down the opposite corridor with two others to join us too.
As we move down the main hallway, other smaller groups fall in behind after clearing their assigned corridors. By the time we reach the barricaded doors into the factory, there are more than sixty of us.
Roderick moves forward to set an explosive on the main factory doors. He’s been carrying one of ours, but he must have found a better one stored here. The explosive he sets is top of the line, and we all give it a wide berth before he blows it.
The explosion seems to shake the entire building. The doors and some of the surrounding walls are completely blown out. We charge forward before the smoke has cleared, and I wasn’t wrong about facing more opposition here.
A lot of the surviving guards must have run here to setup fortified positions. Bullets whiz at us as our large group quickly disperses, hunkering down behind any available protection.
I have no idea how long the altercation takes. Ben and I end up shooting from behind a metal table he flips onto its side. It’s impossible to gauge numbers. There might be twice as many of them as us. There’s nothing to do but shoot. And keep shooting. And hope we’re hitting more of them than they are us.
“Shit, this is turning into a stalemate,” Ben says after what feels like a long time. Both of us are reloading, so we’re crouched all the way down behind the metal tabletop. “I need to take out the guy up on the scaffolding. He’s doing the most damage. But I can’t get a bead on him.”
Ben’s right. We’ve had some luck taking out the guards on our level, but one of the cleverer ones must have climbed up some scaffolding so he could shoot from a more advantageous position. None of our people has the right angle to take him out without making themselves an open target.
I raise myself just enough to get a better view of the whole room. It’s looking behind us that gives me an idea.
“Come on,” I tell Ben, staying in a half crouch as I sprint toward the doors we blew out earlier. I don’t wait for Ben or look back because I know he’ll be following right at my heels.
