Free Hard Rain Falling (Walking in the Rain Book 3) by William Allen

McAlester, Amy drifted off to sleep. In the pale red light of the emergency exit sign over the door across the room, I studied her fine, delicate features and sighed. I could already tell that, exhausted or not, sleep would not come easy this night.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    Jay’s head exploded in a bright spray of blood and pulverized tissue, flipping his body over and nearly tumbling him out of the cupola. A second later I heard the BOOM of the shot.
    “Sniper!” I screamed, and threw myself into the ditch just a few feet away. I hit the ground with a painful umph as the hard-packed earth struck the magazine carrier, which in turn rammed the new armored plate in my vest. My chest was healed from the last trauma but apparently this new shock shook loose a little residual pain.
    “Fuck,” I whispered as I glanced up to confirm my fears. Yep. Private Grady was most definitely dead. The bullet must have come from behind, since the front of his face appeared pushed out around the exit wound where his forehead used to be. Well, to be honest, Jay’s head was pretty much gone above the brow line, but that was the impression I got in the second I allowed myself to gape. Then I dove back into the bottom of the grassy ditch and dared to peek just barely over the lip of the drop off. For some stupid reason, my addled brain flashed back to an article I’d read online. Apparently, the older model Humvee cupola shields on the gun mount provided good cover up front but left what turned out to be a fatal gap in the back.
    The short column of Humvees had only just come to a stop, arriving at the appointed rendezvous point a few seconds before. Corporal Towson was driving and the four of us managed to cram into the backseat of the vehicle. Not that big a squeeze since we were still so skinny; the footlocker full of my toys and supplies actually took up more room than we did.
    “Time to gas up,” Towson had said as he brought the vehicle to a stop. I volunteered, and Jay, in the next vehicle up in line, took up a security position in the armored cupola. He was manning the .50 caliber heavy machine gun and had foregone the harness for greater mobility. As I eased out of the door, I happened to glance up and see my new friend. So I was in the process of giving him a little wave as his head seemed to come apart.
    Screams erupted from the nearest vehicle—my vehicle—and I saw the door start to open.
    “Stay in the truck!” I yelled; my voice already hoarse. I knew who as trying to get out. I didn’t need x-ray vision to know Amy would be trying to come to my aid. That was her way.
    “Stay there!” I yelled again, and then another shot hit, this time striking the roof of the second Hummer in line. I didn’t see any damage but also couldn’t tell if the round penetrated the armor or not. If the rounds penetrated, then the Humvees needed to vacate the area immediately or risk being shot to pieces. This was bad. Very bad.
    “Get out of here!” I yelled again.
    I saw the door of our Humvee crack open and then shut with sudden force. I was glad. The trucks started rolling, and I felt a sigh of relief that proved premature. Before the Humvees moved ten feet, I caught a flash of something and the lead vehicle exploded in a scorching ball of hellfire. In that instant, Sergeant Halloran went to join his wife and daughter, and his unknown driver went along for the trip.
    The surviving Humvees lurched into a frantic, tire squealing motion just as I registered a second flash, again originating from behind me.
    Missing the last Humvee—the one carrying my heart—by what seemed like inches, the missile shot across the highway and disappeared from sight before detonating in a second, ear splitting roar. The three Humvees, dodging around the flaming wreck that was the sergeant’s funeral pyre, rapidly picked up speed and sped down the wide ribbon of asphalt.
    That bit of evasive maneuvering, slinging the heavy trucks around the blazing wreck,