Operation: Sahara

-Davies-

The attack had almost taken Davies off guard. He’d been checking his pockets for his cigarettes when he heard the scrape on the steps immediately outside the doorway ahead of him and barely managed to get his rifle aimed as a dog-sized beetle barreled through. It came straight for him; he put two bullets in its head but its momentum meant it kept coming and it fell on his feet and ankles, bringing a flare of pain to his wound and causing him to yell out.

That brought more scraping and scurrying on the stairs. He had another flashback to his youth in Glasgow, the wee frightened lad hiding in the dark. That time he’d been cowering, terrified.

But I’m not that lad anymore.

“Come and get me, if you think you’ve got the balls for it,” he shouted.

In answer, he heard the ring of gunfire from the causeway below the balcony.

“About fucking time the cavalry got here,” he shouted, then had to concentrate on his own survival as the scrape of talons on stone on the stairs got louder and the high wailing drone of the beetles echoed across the moonlit city.

The second beast to try its luck was bigger than the first, almost twice the size, but he had more time to prepare for it and put it down, front legs then head, in the center of the doorway, providing a ready made barrier that any other attack would have to clamber over. He considered lobbing a grenade over the top of it but he had no guarantee it would drop down the stairwell far enough to protect him from the blast and neither could he lob one over the parapet, for fear of killing one or more of the squad. Besides, it looked like he was going to be too busy with the rifle to bother with much else; a third beast came over the top of the dead one in the doorway. One round in each leg, one in the head, it was becoming a ritual, and the beetle fell atop its brother although it was much smaller and didn’t add much to the barrier.

A grenade went off amid the roar of gunfire; it sounded as if it came from directly underneath him.

“Up here. I’m up here,” he shouted, then had to defend himself again as a fourth beast came over the top of the others. This one was bigger still and must have had a struggle in the narrow stairwell. One in each leg and one in the head did for it and it too fell in the doorway. His barrier was now four feet high. There was frantic scrambling and frenzied high droning from beyond it. The sound of gunfire came up from somewhere down the stairwell.

Rescue was getting closer. All he had to do was stay alive long enough for them to get to him. But his chances weren’t looking good. The barrier of dead beetles in the doorway moved as if pushed from behind, then shifted again, the whole thing coming six inches closer.

The uppermost of the dead beetles toppled sideward, leaving a gap that was quickly filled. Two smaller ones came through at once. He switched to rapid fire, put three rounds in the nearest one, blasting the whole thing to a stinking pulp, but didn’t have time to aim at the second. It scuttled across the balcony floor, over his feet and ankles bringing a fresh white sear of pain in his wound, and was in his lap before he had time to react to it. A huge pincer tried to tear at his flak jacket; he didn’t want to wait to see which of them won out. He dropped his rifle and grabbed the beast in both hands. The shell tore a gash in his left palm then he finally had a grip of it. He lifted it above his head. Legs squirmed and a pincer snapped shut an inch from his nose but by that time he had a firm hold. He tossed it backward over his head and it sailed away over the parapet.

If it hits Wiggo on the head there’ll be hell to pay.

He retrieved his rifle just in time; another beast, almost as wide as the doorway, clambered its way over the dead. Davies aimed, fired… and came up empty. He ejected the mag and reached for a fresh one but knew it was just a last gesture of defiance; the beast would be on him before he got to slam the mag home.