Backyard Hero

Chapter 6: Breach

Smith watched the house through the "T" shaped slit in his shield as he slowly moved forward. This place must be owned by a classer, he thought. It wasn't large, but the subtle signs of taste and wealth were apparent.

The walls were made of solid stone and surrounded by well-maintained landscaping. The front door, alone, was ringed by relief sculptures that must have cost more to commission than everything Smith had ever owned. He smiled, anticipating the feeling of burying a few ounces of led in the lucky bastard.

Nothing like class warfare, Smith thought, while chuckling at his own joke.

He caught Wessen giving him a sidelong glance, but the large man stayed silent. Behind Wessen trailed a thin copper wire that he was unraveling from a spool with one hand, as he kept the other on his rifle.

"Smith," he heard the buzzing voice of lieutenant in his ear, "Hold once you are in position, slow and steady. We can't afford any mistakes on this job."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Then do it. Just remember, shields high asses low."

Smith shook his head but bit back his usual retort. They were all on edge tonight, even the never rattled lieutenant. Something about this job felt off, and Smith knew he would feel a lot better once it was behind him.

Smith felt a hand clasp his shoulder, causing him to drop to one knee and plant his shield in the soft dirt. He looked up at Wessen and gave a nod. The big man kept moving, slowly unraveling the wire behind him. Smith raised his weapon, keeping it trained on the door, ready to lay down suppressing fire.

Just a bit more ...

There! Wessen placed the charge and began slowly walking backward. Smith raised his hand, giving the signal for the rest of the team to begin advancing. So far, so good.

The rest of the response team charged forward quickly taking a formation around the yard, covering the flanks. All that firepower at his back bolstered Smith's confidence. What was I getting worked up for? he thought.

Everything is ...

The relief sculptures around the door were beginning to glow a faint blue, and the carved lines seemed to be stretching. They were moving. Smith watched in shock as an orange-furred paw reached out from the carvings as if conjured from another world.

"Golems!" he shouted, picking up his shield and charging towards Wessen.

The large man had stopped walking backward but had dropped the copper wire and had his weapon trained on the door. Smith collided with him from behind pushing him out of the way. An orange streak struck Smith's shield and a crushing weight pressed him into the ground.

Something powerful and massive bashed into his shield, and Smith struggled to push upwards at the weight that was bearing down on him. Four white claws pierced his shield, slowly moving down as they tore long gashes in black metal.

Smith struggled at his belt to remove his knife. Another heavy blow sent the shield downward, pinning his hand to the ground and pushing the air from his lungs. Smith let out a silent scream just as he heard gunfire.

The weight immediately lessened, and Smith rolled to the side. He set his shield down horizontally and used it to steady his rifle. He still struggled for breath, but his body seemed to be reacting on instinct. Countless hours of drills and simulation had proven their worth.

Where was it?

Behind him, Smith could still hear gunfire. The salvo seemed unfocused, there wasn't the slow steady sound of aimed bursts. Instead, all he heard was the constant hum of suppressing fire. The team didn't have a shot, and Smith was exposed in no man's land.