Chapter 14: Dead Man's Bluff

When Lara saw the group of Leathernecks waiting she knew that the game was up. She didn't know how they had been discovered. Maybe some one had recognised a jacket belonging to the wrong person or perhaps someone had spotted the two motorcycles where they were not meant to be. It didn't really matter, for the end result was the same either way.

Urging every ounce of strength from her muscles, Lara sprinted and dove behind a nexus of pipes, bullets chasing her footsteps like a cloud of angry hornets. When she hit the ground she kept moving, rolling fluidly, seeking something a bit more solid and a wee bit taller before she stopped. After a crazed few seconds, with bullets still landing closer to her than she liked, she managed to climb, roll and dive her way out of the line of fire.

Lara quickly pulled off the Leatherneck jacket. It made her sick to wear it and it was too large besides. She was going to need her freedom of movement in the near future, and that jacket was going to trip her up. Panting both with the rush and the exertion, she drew her new heavy steel revolver. She was between a chemical tank and the valley wall, with some sort of retaining barrier at her back. There was only one way in which people could come at her, through the narrow gap between tank and wall.

Unfortunately, that also meant that it was the only way for her to get out. With her back to the retaining wall, she held the Python out and waited.

Fortunately, she had been able to plant her 'surprise' before all this had happened. Not only would its bulk have been rather debilitating right now, if it happened to get shot ... well, the results would have been very unpleasant. And rather messy.

She didn't have to wait very long. A biker poked his head around the corner of the tank and Lara removed it with a single trigger pull. The boom of the powerful handgun seemed larger in the confined space and the recoil stung her hands. She smiled. I could get to like this. Hopefully the dead body would deter his companions from venturing around the corner any time soon. Maybe it would be long enough for her to find another way out.

Walls and storage tanks were probably enough to contain any other foe the Leathernecks may come across, but Lara Croft was not so easily contained. Sticking the revolver in the back of her belt, she looked up the wall of the storage tank until she found what she was looking for: a lip, about ten feet above the ground. An easy jump compared to some of the ones she had attempted. Gathering her legs beneath her, Lara leapt straight up until her strong fingers gripped the composite surface. She quickly pulled herself up, leaving the ground entirely and soon was on the top of the container.

I hope that Ben is all right. They had been forced to run in different directions when the situation had descended into shit and now all she could do was hope that he had escaped the hail of gunfire. She had told Maury that she intended to watch his back, but circumstances had made that impossible. Well, better late than never. From her new vantage point, she had almost a complete view of the area, including the junction where the first shootout had taken place.

Lara gasped. There were three bodies bleeding on the ground, and they all wore Leatherneck colours. She examined them a well as she could, then breathed a sigh of relief. One was blonde, another dark haired one was far too skinny, and the third had a beard. None of them were Ben. She heard a flurry of pistol fire coming from behind a group of pipes. Lara smiled. Give'em hell, Polecat.

"Hey, there she is!" yelled a voice below her. She looked to her left and saw a biker pointing up to her position. His two companions followed his finger to her and then lifted their weapons. In the time it had taken them to do that, Lara had already drawn her Brownings and began to lay fire down upon their position.

She hit the one that had spotted her and winged one of his friends before the others fire forced her back from the edge. She holstered her guns and looked for a way off of this container. There was really only one: down. She had the advantage of surprise for now, but sooner or later they would have her treed like a cat. It was not an acceptable option.

Lara made a running jump across the top of the chemical reservoir and flew into space. The next container was easily thirty feet away, too far for even her to jump, but that wasn't Lara's target. There was a pipe in the air between the two platforms and that was what Lara aimed for.

She caught it with both hands and, remembering her gymnastics lessons from when she was a teenager, swung herself around and pulled her feet up to the bar. Just as the bikers below began to fire on her, Lara pushed off from the bar with her entire body, stretching it as far as she could, using every extra inch that her training and stretching gave her to... got it! Her fingers found purchase on the edge of the cylindrical container and she quickly pulled herself over the edge and out of harms way.

Quickly rolling in place, Lara drew her pistols and managed to get one shot off, winging a Leatherneck, before she ducked back.

Below, the gunfire from what she assumed was Ben's position continued unabated. She smiled. As long as there was shooting, he was alive, and as long as he was alive, there was still the possibility that they would both get out of this intact. She caught motion from the corner of her eye and saw someone trying to climb onto the platform she was hiding. After making sure that it wasn't Ben, she fired one quick shot into his head and dropped him.

Lara scanned the terrain from the top of the platform. She had several places to jump, duck and hide and plenty of ammunition. As long as the Leathernecks kept charging her like testosterone charged lemmings, she would be alright, but once Gunny or another biker started giving decisive leadership, the jig would be up. I suppose the challenge is to see just how many lemmings I can force off the cliff before that happens. She slapped fresh magazines into her guns and grinned ferally. It was time to see who was hunting whom.

Life for Ben was the smell of cordite, empty shell casings and the sound of 9mm gunfire. Seven dead or injured bodies lay before him but the seemingly bottomless magazine on the Calico had finally gone dry. By some miracle—or maybe just Ben's fierce desire to come out of this thing in one piece—he was mostly uninjured. He had blood trickling down his arm from a nick on his shoulder, and a matching graze on his left leg to match the one he had received on his right yesterday escaping from Fulsome.

Still, he was a damn sight better than the blood soaked corpses laying before him.

It was make or break time. Sooner or later they were either going to storm his hidey hole, or some guy was going to chuck in a grenade and ruin his day. Having no ammo made his need to get the hell out of Dodge even bigger. Ben looked around urgently, trying to find someway, any way out of this alcove that didn't involve charging down the guns of a dozen pissed off bikers. He spotted a grate set below the pipes. He tried to lift it, but it was locked down. He pulled his trusty tire iron out of his borrowed coat and pried the thing open. Like I told Lady Grace, don't leave home without it.

With a quick glance to see if any Leathernecks were coming, he shimmied into the crawl space and pulled the grate shut behind him. He had at most a minute before they figured out where he was and posted look outs at all the exits to this tunnel. Ben took off in a half stoop/half run, wishing like hell he had a gun with bullets in it.

The first grate he came to had a padlock, but one swift kick took care of that problem. He felt a slight twinge from the gunshot in his leg, but did his best to ignore it. A line from an ancient action movie he had seen as a kid came to mind: I ain't got time to bleed.

Ben got to his feet and looked around, trying to get his bearings. So far so good. He could hear gunfire about thirty meters from his position: pistol, double shots. He smiled. It had to be Lara. For the moment, no one who saw him seemed to recognise him. It was the jacket, he realised. He was still wearing Leatherneck colours and no one could tell who he was ... yet. Straightening up and trying to act like a biker, Ben did his best to run around like a chicken with his head cut off like everyone else.

"Form up by squads!" yelled a booming voice to Ben's right. He looked over to see a guy who positively reeked Career Military, probably a noncom. He was black and wasn't that tall, but his head was shaved like a bullet and he was built like a brick. He had a cigar clamped in his mouth and was bellowing orders. Every biker in sight stopped and listened to the guy. "Killer squad, that bitch is on the south end. Keep her boxed in, and get word to me when she'd contained!" He devoured about an inch of his cigar and glared at a biker. "Move your ass!"

Well, Ben knew where he was going next: the south end. 'Killer' squad my ass.

"Death squad!" the sergeant bellowed. "Polecat's gone in the tunnel system somewhere." He raked his gaze across the bikers standing near. "He could be anywhere. Move out by fists and do not split up." He began giving out directions. "Turner. Take your boys, make sure he doesn't get to our bikes like he did in Fulsome!" Four bikers took off at a run across the compound. "Second fist, watch the crawlspace entrance near the seventh and eighth reservoirs. Third, take the other end and keep your eyes peeled." More bikers took off at a run, leaving Ben with less bikers to hide behind. He really didn't like sitting around in plain sight like this, but didn't know how to get out of it.

"Fourth fist. Go back to Ebb & Charley's bikes and make sure he doesn't double back." He pointed a warning finger at the remaining bikers. "Check your fire zones this time. Any man gets in any other guys line of fire and I'll personally rip his head off and shit down his throat!" Yup, definitely a sergeant. "Fifth fist, your with me. We're gonna hunt this asshole down."

Hmm. That didn't sound very good, but Ben knew where they all were stationed. It was going to make avoiding them easier. All he had to do now was get out of here unnoticed.

"You, biker!" Ben jumped. The sarge was talking to him. He met his eyes with a mix of fear and belligerence.

"Yeah, what?" Ben tried to find a way out in case the shit hit the fan, but he couldn't find one that could get him under cover before the rest of the bikers here filled him with holes.

"What fist are you with?" Ben could see the guys jaw bunch.

Ben picked a number out of the air. "Third." His tone said 'wanna make something of it?'

"Then MOVE, asshole!" The sarge extended a fat finger in the direction where the third fist had gone. "What are you waiting for, a chauffeur ride?"

Conditioned reflex thought long erased compelled Ben to run where the guy pointed. He still hadn't been found out, which meant that he and Lady Grace still had a chance. As soon as he was clear of where the sarge was, he planned to duck out of the way then go help out Lady Grace.

Something made him look back, though, and he saw the big black asshole watching him. Damn. I can't cut and run while this guy's eyeing me.

He trotted up to a group of bikers that he thought was the third fist. Maybe I can convince them not to kill me. "Who the fuck are you?" asked a wiry guy with a purple mohawk.

Hmm. Maybe not. Ben had always been a rotten liar, but he gave it a go anyway. "I'm a runner from the first fist. We saw the guy heading towards here. Your supposed to be on your guard."

A Chicano with a goatee squinted at Ben, examining him. "You ain't with Turner's fist." His eyes widened in recognition. "Hey, your-"

Ben smashed him backhanded across the jaw with the barrel of the Calico. Boring conversation anyway. The other bikers were stunned for the moment, and Ben used the opportunity to barrel into Mohawk. If he was all tangled up with the guy, hopefully they wouldn't shoot.

The two of them slammed into the ground, Ben making sure his shoulder was in Mohawk's gut. The guys gasped out and fought for breath as Ben drove his fist into the guy's chin. He heard a gun being cocked and dove to the side. A string of automatic fire stitched the ground over Ben's head. Oh, shit. I'm in for it now. He threw the empty Calico at the guy, hoping against hope for a lucky hit. No dice.

The guy's gun jammed. Ben heard the fire die off abruptly and the guy's angry curse. He turned and looked behind him and saw the Leatherneck fighting with the action on his machine pistol. There were two more guys around here somewhere, but Ben couldn't get a tag on them right now. He scrambled to his feet, looking both left and right for the guys before they could blind side him.

He wasn't fast enough. Ben was about to jump the guy with the jammed gun when he got whacked from behind. Another of the bikers in Third Fist, Death Squad brought the butt of his pistol down on Ben's collar bone and Ben grunted in pain at the hit. It was a tough blow but he was tough biker too and it didn't take him out the way the guy probably expected him to. It slowed Ben down but still managed to slap down the jammed machine pistol of the guy he was going for and slug him in the chin.

A hand grabbed Ben's shoulder and spun him around. Ben tried to get his hands up to block, but couldn't do it before a big scarred fist smashed into his face. Ben staggered back, seeing stars, and tripped over the guy he had just slugged and knocked down. By fortune or coincidence, the jammed machine pistol was right below his hand.

The biker who had just decked Ben stepped in for a kick. His foot was still raised, getting ready to kick Ben's balls for a thirty yard field goal when Ben grabbed the pistol, cleared the jam, and held down the trigger. A spray of bullets caught the guy in the head, legs and torso, and he jerked around like a bloody marionette on drugs. Ben kept hosing him down until he fell, then turned to find the last biker.

He heard a flurry of gunshots and Ben felt a searing pain in his gun arm. He cried out in pain and dropped the machine pistol. He rolled over and tried to get to his feet when a kick to his jaw took him right out. His face exploded in a white blast of pain and all Ben could do was fall face first on the ground. He tasted blood in his mouth and knew he had lost at least one tooth from when his jaws had smashed together.

They can't take out a Polecat that easy. He got his hands under him and tried to pull himself off the ground when he felt another kick, this time in his ribs. He gasped at the pain and fell as another kick laced into his guts.