Freedom TM

Let’s look out for one another now.”
    Ross could hear the voices of people outside moving through thedarkness. The hushed voices of parents. The worried, high-pitched voices of children.
    Then Floyd_2’s sudden urgent shout over the channel.
“Incoming!”
    An explosion tore a hole in the air nearby. Its shockwave hit the front of the motel like a solid object, blasting out one of Ross’s windows and shaking the whole building. Ross hit the floor and pulled blankets down on top of himself from the bed as glass continued to rain down. A layer of previously unseen dust had lifted off of everything and hovered in the room as a choking cloud. There was another explosion somewhat farther away that made Ross realize his ears were ringing. Dogs were howling and car alarms had gone off throughout the town.
    The second explosion was followed by the crackling of distant gunfire in an indeterminate direction. Possibly every direction. Ross peered up at the jagged edges of the front window with its imitation, snap-on window frames. He could see guttering orange light and shadows across the street. Flames. But the sky between the curtains looked tinged with its own glow. Possibly dawn—or more flames farther off.
    Ross listened in the darkness of his room to the gunfire, between which he could hear people screaming. And now the sound of helicopters. Not the deep, booming thump of Bell Rangers that he remembered from Building Twenty-Nine. No, these choppers had a high-pitched buzz to them that was soon followed by the sound of ripping fabric. Then more screams.
    He could see the call-outs of dozens of nearby operatives racing past beyond the walls. Obviously headed for the middle school. He could hear their voices over the public darknet comm channel as well, and a series of jagged lines adorned each call-out as they spoke. It was like a surreal first-person game.
    [Beavertail]: “Three Helos coming in from the east. They’re using miniguns!”
    [Yardil]: “Thanks for the fucking news flash, Darrol!”
    [Floyd_2]: “Cut useless chatter, Yardil!”
    [Knockwurst]: “ASVs coming in across the fields. East and west. Half a mile off.”
    [Needleman]: “I’m on the west side. What’s an ASV?”
    [Knockwurst]: “M1117. Armored car. Gun platform.”
    [Needleman]: “Holy shit, I’m pulling back to B-twelve.”
    [Vorpal]: “Sniper fire at the barricades on the thirty-eight. North and south. We’ve got casualties!”
    [Beavertail]: “Get stragglers into the storm shelters. We’ve got snipers on the east and south sides. They’re taking up positions in the abandoned cars on the edge of town.
    [Vorpal]: “I knew we should have moved those fucking things!”
    None of it sounded good. Before Ross was fully dressed there was a pounding on his motel room door. Through the wall he could see a call-out that read
OohRah
. It was Sheriff Dave Westfield, a recent member and second-level Constable. He had also been a marine in his youth.
    “Rakh! You okay?”
    Ross grabbed his things and opened the door. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
    OohRah held an M16 rifle. “The feed says we’re being hit with Hellfire missiles. It’s time to get to the middle school.”
    Ross could see that the building across the road was engulfed in flames. It had been a machine shop—one of the local fab labs. A family lived on the second floor. Now there was no second floor, only a ground floor with doors and windows belching flames.
    The sound of a helicopter was approaching.
    OohRah rushed into Ross’s room. “The feed says the missiles are coming from a gray Cessna 208 Grand Caravan that left a decommissioned army airfield north of St. Louis.” The tearing sound was heard again. Then the chopper passed low overhead.
    Ross leaned out the motel room door to look up into the sky.
    The barest glow of dawn showed on the eastern horizon, and an AH6 Little Bird helicopter raced low along Main Street, its twin miniguns blazing. Tracer rounds streamed from them like orange lasers. He could see the phosphorus-coated bullets ricocheting in a shower of sparks into the predawn sky farther to the west—over by the American Legion Hall. There was more shouting and gunfire as a second chopper zipped overhead, launching rockets.
    “Jesus Christ!” Ross ducked back into the motel room. “No markings on them.”
    “We saw the photos of those rail yards. But I don’t think it really sunk in.”
    The rockets exploded in a series of deafening booms. It was