Physics of the Crowbar

Versus

The guard stayed at his shoulder through the bombed-out rat maze and kept up his steady stream of low-voiced anecdotes. He cleared the doorway to their left and Freeman advanced, around the next pile of rubble. He shot two soldiers hunkered behind it and collected their ammunition. He handed half the clips to the guard.

"Thanks. Yeah, we do seem to be going through these, huh? Suppose someone ought to come along and collect all this for scrap. Speaking of which, my old man used to sell scrap for cash on the side. Said it was his fun money, you know, money for a Friday night. Thought he was being all secretive but we all knew..."

Freeman let him talk. The guard's voice was just above a whisper, and with the man in his blind spot the prattle helped him keep track of where he was. Which was, Freeman realized, a very intelligent thing for the guard to do. And if the guard could talk, aim and shoot at the same time, that was fine with him. Working in tandem with a competent individual brought him an unexpected measure of relief.

They worked through the alleys between the ruins, heading for the vehicle repair facilities. Lambda's heavy freight lift would be somewhere on the other side of the repair bays. Black Mesa didn't manufacture vehicles but it wasn't above testing its own fuels on employee hardware, at, often as not, employee expense. Happy chemists downstairs kept many mechanics employed upstairs, and the reports of whose questionable new biofuels did what to whose engine were a thing of breakroom legend.

The bulk of the battle was beyond them; they were cleaning up stragglers among the crates and corners, but the jets and the heavy artillery were engaged beyond their sightline, deeper in the maze. Cover was good, and enemies scattered, until they reached the helicopter pad.

The only way forward was across the great square of yellow-painted cement.

Freeman hesitated. Instinct said to hug the wall, but logic said the cover it offered was an illusion, and the only danger would come from the yawning garage ahead. The guard hovered at his shoulder, automatic trained on the door they'd just come through. "Sprint across it, maybe? Make a good dash? I don't like it either," he said, echoing Freeman's thoughts.

As if in cue, the copter breached their horizon. Its rotor noise was covered by the constant boom of artillery and echoing scream of the jets. He had a fleeting hope it would pass them by, but no- the bloated belly opened and disgorged soldiers on belay lines.

Freeman dropped to one knee, his armored body providing cover for the guard. The guard's automatic barked in his left ear and two soldiers fell from their ropes. He shot three more, and the last three hit the ground alive.

They had no more cover than Freeman and the guard, and less armor. Freeman was aware of bullet impacts, one in his chest, on his upper arm, on his braced knee- they hurt, but he didn't flinch. Didn't stop firing until all the uniformed bodies were down.

He took a breath and gathered himself to stand. The suit had protected his knee but it wasn't wanting to bend.

Then the wall blew out of the garage and two armored alien troopers stepped through.

The guard swore and switched targets faster than Freeman, and didn't stop as the swarming living ammunition howled around them. The tiny patch of cover he created with the HEV wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't enough, but the guard never stopped firing. He heard the hitch in the man's breath but couldn't stop to look.

The troops were killable with a shotgun at close range, but at a distance, they could absorb half an automatic clip before they stopped shooting back. He felt like he'd fired twice that before both the creatures were down.