Captain Devon McManus’ back was against the wall - in both senses of the word - again. The sound of the bullets ricocheting off the wall across from him weighed down, like a heavy coat pressing down on his shoulders. In all the commotion, he’d damn near forgotten about the hidden danger of bullet fragments, and ricochets. He could hear the sounds of heavy boots “sneaking” up the hall less than ten meters behind him, as a few of the soldiers fought to get the best angle in the narrow hallway without leaving themselves out in the open. For all of the time he’d spent hating math, he had to appreciate geometry saving him from a bullet or twelve.

  As the bullets stopped and Devon heard the metallic clicking sound he knew meant they were reloading, he peeked around the corner to get a good look at their new positions to where the shots had originated. As he expected, three soldiers in light armor, who apparently figured they’d have taken him out by now, were changing their magazines. After a glance and a faster decision, Devon took a few side steps to his left, ran, and slid behind a concrete roadblock. Not the most graceful slide in the world, but then, but was never known for stealing bases in his baseball days. Devon briefly sat up, extended his right arm with the hand cannon it held, and pulled the trigger, taking care not to peek for too long. As he did so, he heard the whistle of a bullet flying past his head. Devon pulled the trigger and ducked back, catching a glimpse in the mirrored panel across from him as the bullet struck his neck. The other man stumbled backward, and the two flanking him flinched away. The one to his right did a double-take. His pursuer pulled his rifle up toward Devon’s corner and began to empty his newly loaded magazine at the concrete barricade. Devon awkwardly moved over as his fire began to erode the edge of the concrete barrier.

  Across the hall to Devon’s right, past a curtain of bullets, he saw his second-in-command leaning around the corner and defending himself with a shotgun. His large frame, at 6 feet and 3 inches, 238 pounds, and nearly 80% muscle, was fucking imposing even without a weapon in his hands. Quick for his size and ever the athlete, he maintained a heavy layer of suppressing fire rather than aiming to kill. He finally turned back behind cover to reload, and Devon took the opportunity to call out.

  “Ben,” he yelled to get the other’s attention as he pulled the pin and threw a flashbang toward the three soldiers, “cover me! I’m coming to you.”

  He yelled back to Devon, “Right! I got you, Dev!”

  Ben gave Devon a quick nod, and I sprinted toward him just before the grenade went off. I had the wall to my right as a blinding white light reflected off the metallic strips on the wall to my left. The bang was loud as all hell like someone had fired a shotgun next to my head. The disorientation passed quickly before I stumbled and rolled to a stop next to Ben, whose meaty arm pulled me prone as a bullet whizzed past where my head had been just a moment ago.

  It’s amazing how often luck and a good team keep you alive more than all the skills in the world, Devon thought with a sudden rush of clarity. Or maybe that was just the leftover effects of nearly being blown to bits a few seconds ago.

  The distinct sound of bullets sailing past his head snapped him back to reality. On his back, Devon pushed himself backward, his ears still ringing from the flashbang. He flipped over onto his stomach and saw the soldier he’d hit stumbling, unsure, around the barricade he’d left a moment ago and bleeding all over his shoes. Not relying on a single round to do the job, Devon rolled to his stomach and crawled a few feet forward, and got into a kneeling position.

  “Devon, you okay?” Ben asked as he heard a groan, his voice sounding far off and muffled, “Did you get hit?”

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  “Fine, Benji,” Devon replied, his voice calmer than expected, “Just taking care of a tail.”

  Devon turned around and made my way toward Ben. Staying low, he looked left, up the hallway toward the exit. Behind a few more rows of barricades staggered down the hall, he could see the other two of their team pinned into a corner.

  With strawberry blonde hair, matte black armor, and deadly aim, Kayla served as their sniper and demo expert. She had a pretty fatal combination of skills, looks and razor-sharp mind. Then there was their small arms and reconnaissance guy, Miles. A man of slight stature and pit bull-like intensity, he’s not a dude to be fucked with. Backing him into a corner is the last thing you’d want to do, and the Black Dogs - the mercenary group the Wraith Squad were fighting - was about to learn that first hand.

  Devon watched Miles pop up and fire four rounds into a man 20 yards away. Two of which buried themselves into the armor over his heart, one in the left shoulder and another that shattered his helmet and sent shrapnel into the space where his left ear had just been. For a moment, Devon thought he’d seen sparks fly off of the helmet.

  Miles dropped down into a crouching position as soon as he’d finished firing, almost mechanical in his precision. He caught Devon’s eye and, with his off-hand, beckoned him toward them. Devon nodded quickly. Best if the enemy doesn’t realize who’s in charge, he figured. Let them figure that out once they’re gone.

  Devon’s attention was pulled by Ben asking, “Do you hear that? They’ve stopped firing.”

  Devon paused to listen over the gunfire and couldn’t hear anything aside from Ben’s question and a light ringing in my right ear leftover from the effect of the flashbang. As I focused on it, the ringing faded. It wasn’t a sound he’d heard but a lack of it, like the sudden silence in a home after someone died. The realization was a slow one, but I knew what it meant. We weren’t being pursued any longer. For how fiercely they’d dogged our escape, that was unnerving. And then the bright lights of that dawning realization hit me, and I scrambled to my feet.

  “Rangers!” I yelled to my three compatriots, “We gotta get to the Vanguard on the double. Mia, wake up and get the doors open! We’re coming in hot!”

  As soon as I heard myself say the words, I felt a stiff shaft of pain slide through my left shoulder. As I looked down, I realized I’d been shot through and through by a sniper’s round. The nerve endings slowly came back on, and the cold became an instant white-hot pain. It threatened to pull my attention from the battle at hand. I was just lucky it was a small enough round that it hadn’t completely removed my arm from my shoulder.

  I quickly patted Ben on his shoulder once and ran for the corridor, hurdling over the first barricade and down the next 40 yards in a mad dash for our ship. Kayla and Miles were already on their way, ahead of me, with Ben damn near riding my coattails. He was quick despite his heavy build. Right now, I appreciate that. As my coat trailed behind me, I felt a breeze come up and cause it to billow further. Ten yards ahead, the doors opened as Miles got close, with Kayla barely trailing him. In a difference of six seconds, we were all aboard the Vanguard’s cargo bay. As Ben ran aboard, I turned back, hit the manual switch to close the doors and then the intercom, once they’d been tightly sealed.

  “Mia, we’re all aboard,” I informed her, meeting her eyes and giving a quick wink, “Punch it! Get us out of here. Everyone else, to the bridge. We’ve got to debrief.”

  Mia, our pilot and Ben’s wife, had stayed on the ship as we’d hoped to be in and out with what we thought would be an easy op. She’d been with the crew for the last seven years and married to Ben for the last three. Always on top of it, but with a laid-back attitude, she was the second-best pilot I ever knew. She’d come up as a search and rescue pilot and had proven herself a soldier after a crash due to ill-maintained equipment and no fault of her own. When she got back to base and checked the maintenance logs, she’d broken the lead mechanic’s jaw and immediately put in for a transfer request as an opening in the crew had come up.

  As the crew gathered their breath, we slowly made our way to the bridge of the Vanguard. Having gotten away by the skin of our teeth, we could all breathe a little easier now that we were back in familiar territory. As we got up the stairs and into the more comprehensive hall, I jogged up to Kayla and stepped into stride with her. Both of us were now leading the way to the bridge.

  She looked at me, a feeling of concern causing her brow to furrow slightly. She glanced at my chest, where a bullet hole stood out from the uniform blue of the armor. In all the commotion, I’d nearly forgotten about it. Now that adrenaline wasn’t pumping through me at such a high rate, the pain and the bruise that would come within the hour started to make themselves known.

  “You need to get that looked at,” Kayla said, “I’ll take a look at it after the debrief.”

  “Fair enough,” I replied with a flirty smirk, “As long as we both get to look each other over.”

  She rolled her eyes, nodded to me, and chuckled. That was pretty much her version of a yes. As we reached the bridge, we got our game faces back on.