Marcus’s thoughts raced as he counted 11 members on foot and 2 still on the armored MRAP. The leader was studying his map, clearly lost and found it difficult to match the rubble and broken down buildings to what Marcus assumed was an old map from a time when buildings stood intact and the streets unblocked.

  “Fleex, have one of your guys get the doctor back on the lower levels and get him to report what happened. Then, get what's left of your squad into overwatch positions watching the entrance. Make sure you aren't detected.”

  Fleex nodded and followed the command. Soon, the struggling doctor was escorted deeper into the building and out of the line of fire. Marcus remained hidden, but the SRT was slowly advancing towards their position. Instead of passing by, the leader raised his hand, signaling the group to slow and stop.

  Marcus cursed under his breath, removing his magazine and pulling a new one from his vest. He checked the rounds, confirming they were the black tipped, armor piercing rounds before rocking the magazine back into his Mk47 Mutant.

  Still, even though outnumbered and the goblins outclassed, they held the high ground. Below them, the SRT members stood in the open with ample cover but susceptible to being flanked. With the second floor of the building partially collapsed, it forced the players below to have to climb up through an exposed area to reach them.

  Picking up a piece of rubble, Marcus threw it toward the SRT, it landed short. The sound and movement drew their attention, and all rifles swung in his direction.

  “Is that you, Crusty? I’m starting to expect you to have a tracker on me, given how much we’ve run against each other. Still sore about those guns?” Marcus called out. Crusty was Demented’s brother, and Marcus couldn’t help but curse his luck at facing the one with a personal vendetta against him.

  “Oh, Hartdegen, talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Crusty replied. With the loss of his rifle, he was running with one of the run of the mill M4s sold in the ship.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. This piece of rubble’s claimed now, though, so you’ll have to find your own. You know me. I don’t like to share,” Marcus said, peeking over his vantage point and watching the SRT members scatter into cover. “So, I suggest you move along, unless you want six fewer men heading to whatever you’re up to.”

  “You saying you're worth six of ours?” Crusty shot back.

  “I’m saying I’ll take six of you before I run out of ammo.” Marcus replied coolly. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Crusty bristled at the taunt. “It's none of your business.” He snapped, then added, “How about you, what are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” Marcus lied. “I like the ambiance, the sound of bullets pinging off concrete, that massive engine looming overhead. It’s the vibe.” He glanced aside as Fleex crawled into view, behind solid cover, and flashed an okay sign. “So, I guess this is where I tell you to get off my lawn,” Marcus continued, pulling a grenade from his gear and yanking the pin. He kept his palm on the spoon, gently prying it open so it couldn’t be heard, counting silently. One second, two seconds.

  He peeked again and saw Crusty still exposed in the open.

  “You should consider moving out.” Crusty declared.

  ‘Too bad’ Marcus thought, tossing the grenade toward Crusty. ‘Now you can’t leave.’ He raised his rifle, sighting an SRT member peeking around a column.

  The fight erupted as the grenade hit the ground and exploded a second later. Marcus unleashed a barrage of rounds on the SRT members below. Fleex and the remaining goblins joined in, their elevated and covered position giving them fire superiority, though their poor accuracy reduced it to mere simple suppression.

  Still, it was enough. Marcus had loaded his rifle with rare, expensive black-tipped armor-piercing 7.62 rounds, effective against nearly anything short of an armored vehicle. He only had a few cases of them and had brought just a couple of magazines for this operation.

  Centering his crosshair on a pinned down SRT member, Marcus aimed for center mass. The first round shattered the man’s shields. Riding the recoil, Marcus let the crosshair drift to the member’s head and squeezed the trigger again. The man recoiled, his head snapping back as he crumpled to the ground. One down. Marcus repeated the process, taking out another before retreating as enemy rounds began chewing through his cover.

  He fell back to sturdier protection as his previous position disintegrated under fire. Rounds pinged and pierced the concrete. Marcus lobbed another grenade over the edge, then dashed to new cover. He popped out just as it exploded and spread deadly fragments. Crusty was sprinting between cover points in an attempt to rush their position. Marcus zeroed in on the kid, hitting him on the move. Two rounds broke Crusty’s higher quality shields, and a third hit him center mass before he could reach safety.

  Marcus clicked his tongue, Crusty wasn’t dead. Shifting his aim, he took out another exposed SRT member instead.

  The SRT closed in, hurling grenades that fell short. Marcus shouted for a retreat, and Fleex and his squad fell back deeper into the building.

  The withdrawal was textbook. The farthest goblin bounded ahead, covered by comrades who peeled off once their overwatch was in place.

  They descended the stairs leading further into the building. Marcus took a position near the steps, ordering the goblins to clog the hallway with tripwires and tanglefoot obstacles to slow the SRT’s advance while he covered. They moved toward the offices, dragging tables, chairs, and filing cabinets into the corridor to create barriers, offering concealment, if not solid cover.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  A shadow loomed above, stretching down the stairs. “Hey! Hey!” Marcus yelled, halting it in its tracks. “Before we keep this up, I need to know if your superiors will be happy with you losing more men over someone like me.”

  “You’re not as important as you think you are, Hartdegen!” Crusty’s voice echoed back.

  “Good to know,” Marcus replied. It wasn’t the confirmation he’d hoped for, but it bolstered his suspicion that they might be after the same objective. “Come on then, come on down.”

  The shadow resumed its descent, and a figure peeked out. Marcus shifted his aim and fired, but the figure ducked back into cover faster than he could adjust. He missed. Barely.

  Glancing back, he saw the goblins posted nearby, watching the stairs. He waved two over, instructing them to fall back if the pressure grew too intense and handing them a smoke grenade to mask their retreat.

  Marcus paced the halls, scanning for overlooked spots as they passed. He marked several chokepoints to hold along with potential fallback positions. He knew they couldn’t leave without securing the doctor and the data. They couldn’t move forward, and going back wouldn’t help either.

  Explosions reverberated down the hall, followed by gunfire. ‘Probes,’ Marcus thought. ‘Testing our reaction with a few grenades?’ He wondered how much ammo they’d brought with them. Not enough, he decided. They were geared for scouting, not a prolonged fight—lacking the ammunition reserves for their AKs. They might last 15 minutes, 30 if they conserved shots, but beyond that, they’d be down to bayonets or desperation.

  Footsteps echoed, and Marcus aimed down the corridor. It was Gruner and Steyr, accompanied by the last goblin sent to escort the doctor back to the facility. The two were from Ylenka’s Honest Scribes, now part of Marcus’s Last Man Contingent, though he still thought of them by their old affiliation.

  “Good of you to come,” Marcus said, offering a handshake. “I’ve got the SRT up on the second floor. They got no other way forward other than the chokepoint we’re holding. I’ve marked fallback positions to fortify. We can hold this as long as our ammo lasts.”

  The two exchanged glances. Gruner carried an Mk 48, a scaled up FN M249 in 7.62x51mm NATO, and Steyr an HK G36C, some serious firepower to bolster their line.

  “We’ve got problems,” Gruner said. “Your science experiment broke containment. You’re needed below.”

  Marcus sighed. The creature’s escape might’ve seemed like a coincidence, timed with their arrival, but the SRT knowing their exact location ruled out chance. They were connected. And if he had to guess, more threats were likely inbound from other directions.

  His sat phone rang. It was Battlebus services, hired earlier to secure a safe route back to the ship. “Please tell me good news,” Marcus said, answering.

  “We’re close, but the path’s blocked. The SRT’s telling us to detour, and I’d bet they’re here for you,” came the reply.

  “Not us .We’re just between them and what they want. Too much to ask for some covering fire? We’re holed up, surrounded. But with fire support, we could break out. Hot extraction’s in your package, right?”

  “Not for something this hot.” Ripley replied, “I’m seeing ten SRT from my position plus vehicles. Also, there's other characters in the mix, black gear, no patches, top tier equipment.” Ripley sighed. “Sorry, unless you’re breaking out on your own and we rendezvous somewhere else, I’m cancelling this pickup. We don’t fight other people’s battles.”

  “Fine. Job is cancelled.” Marcus said.

  “Full refund. Maybe even a discount for next time.”

  “I could go for a massage. Can you throw that in?” Marcus quipped.

  “You can lay on the ground and let the track roll over you. Loosens the back fast.” Ripley shot back. “Later, Hartdegen.”

  “Later.” Marcus replied. Sighing.

  “Change of plans, we’re pulling out.” he turned to Gruner. “This is one of the two entrances. We can use explosives to collapse the building over the elevator and block it. Just give me some time.” He said heading towards the elevator.

  Closing one entrance risked trapping them if the SRT found the third-level access, but Marcus saw no alternative. Keeping both open would split their forces, cut off by unreliable comms and hundreds of meters of earth. They’d be halved against a 40-man guild, outmatched, even with goblins padding their numbers.The goblins just weren’t player equivalents, even with the training. They were auxiliaries, not frontline fighters.

  And that was ignoring the manpower needed to contain the other threat.

  Marcus eyed the structure: solid concrete pillars and load-bearing walls. His explosive skills highlighted weak points for planting charges and setting fuse lengths for a synchronized blast. He opened the bags from their first loot haul, retrieving explosive blocks and fuses, and got to work.

  He worked methodically, guided by skill and experience. Some cracked sections needed only half a pound of explosive, which he sliced like putty with his knife. Unlike dynamite, with its degrading stabilizers, these were reliable.

  Marcus worked mechanically, guided by his skills and practice. Some cracked sections needed only half a pound of explosive, which he sliced like putty with his knife. Unlike dynamite, with its degrading stabilizers, these were reliable.

  Gunfire erupted down the hall. Marcus glanced over. The line was holding. Bodies littered the chokepoint, but they weren’t SRT. Clad in black, well armed and armored, they must be the ones Ripley was talking about. Even in a defensible spot, the goblins were taking hits. Lacking energy shields and better gear, they were vulnerable to fragments and spalling. Not fatal, but crippling if they struck eyes or soft tissue.

  The gunfire died down as Marcus finished the fuses. The three-minute ride up meant cutting them precisely to avoid the elevator being affected on the way down.

  Marcus pushed toward the front. The enemy kept trying to breach their lines, but each attempt was repelled. A flicker of hope suggested they could hold out, but he dismissed it. With comms severed, they might be moments from collapse, and without reinforcements and fire support, they’re stuck on a stalemate.

  With Gruner and Steyr securing the halls, Marcus had the goblins dismantle and reposition their barricade to clog the corridors. It only needed to hold until the fuses burned down.

  Finished, everyone filed into the elevator. Marcus lit the fuse and joined them, and they began the long descent. His mind raced. ‘Had he made the right call?’ This choice could save or doom the operation.