Free Hard Drop by Will van Der Vaart Page A

the back of his neck was precise and clinical. A row of symmetrical stitches ran along his spine, clustering around a thick bulge in his neck. Something glowed beneath the surface there, blinking visibly even in the sunlight. Tyco knelt down to examine it more closely, shielding his eyes to get a better look.  
    The source of the light appeared to be mechanical, an implant of some kind. Tyco could make a symbol on its back, illuminated at intervals through the dead soldier’s skin.  
    He recognized it almost immediately: it was the same industrial, interlocking Möbius strip, that he had seen painted on the truck. This one was mechanically neat, but the inflamed skin still scarring over on top of it gave it the impression of an unhealed brand. The device blinked on eerily, as if something were still breathing beneath the surface.
    “This one’s got it too.” Ringo chimed in, standing over another corpse.  
    “And this one.” Ghost nodded, turning over the body at his feet with his boot.
    Tyco stood and glanced over at the fallen gunner in the bunker. The same mark was visible on his neck as well. “Safe to say they all have it.” He nodded. “Looks like some kind of – unit tattoo.”  
    “How come we don’t have something like that?” Ringo asked, comparing his biceps to the massively muscled arm of the soldier at his feet. The dead soldier’s arm was bigger, and Ringo scowled.
    Tyco didn’t answer. He turned away from the bodies, putting the strange markings out of his mind. There were more pressing things at hand. “Any sign they hit the alarm?  
    Ghost checked the klaxons in the bunkers quickly. “Doesn’t look like it.”  
    Tyco nodded and tapped in. “Chip, how close are you?”
    “Hey Cap.” Chip sang out, crossing the bridge towards them, fresh cigarette hanging from his lips. “Sorry about that first guy. Think I was rationing my smokes a little too good.” And then he noticed Hog, still dripping dry despite the heat. “Hey Sexy.” He said, and swaggered towards her.  
    Hog smiled, walked up to him, and unceremoniously kneed him between the legs. Chip doubled over and fell in a sputtering, coughing heap as Ringo burst out laughing.  
    “Attaway, Hog!” He smiled, but she cut him short with a threatening glance.  
    But Chip, lying on his back on the wet wooden planks, laughed as well as he slowly raised himself to his knees, blinking away the tears in his eyes.  
    “Good thing I wore my cup.” He groaned, and laughed up at a frigid Hog.  
    “If I ever have to do that again,” she growled, “It won’t matter.”  
    “We’re moving.” Tyco tapped in firmly, striding up the broken road ahead towards an open concrete structure. Reaching its entrance in a few long strides, he peered through its opening and stopped in his tracks.  
    A wide, proud smile spread across his face, and he turned, beaming, towards the troopers behind him.  
    “Hey kids.” He called, gruffly. “Get up here and take a look at what I found for us.”
    Intrigued, they sprang into motion, jogging up the hill towards him. One by one, they reached the structure, turned the corner, and broke out into wide smiles of relief.  
    There, parked between crumbling concrete pillars and gleaming dully in the bright sunlight, was a large armored personnel carrier with a heavy turret mounted on its roof. The same odd Möbius strip design that they had seen on the dead soldiers was splashed across it in dark red paint.  
    “Hog, Driver.” Tyco said, giving commands with rapid-fire efficiency. “Ringo, Turret. Ghost, you’re with me. And Chip,” he finished, as an afterthought, “Do your thing.”
    “Yes, sir.” Hog nodded.
    Ringo chimed in. “You got it, Cap.”  
    Chip said nothing, but tipped his hat and climbed up onto the roof. Satisfied with his perch, he went to work reloading his sniper rifle one jagged bullet at a time, the red end of his hot cigarette gleaming red mere inches away.