23. Attack

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“How far have we gotten?”

After leaving the Arasaka Waterfront District, Jack had been prepared for an ambush at any moment. The waiting was the worst part—the unbearable uncertainty of not knowing what might happen up ahead.

“We’ve entered the industrial district in northern Watson. We should be passing through what used to be an abandoned apartment complex. We’re moving a little slowly. The lead vehicle just reported that, for some reason, a pile of debris has suddenly appeared in the street and blocked the way. They’re sending people to clear it now.”

Oliver sat in the driver’s seat with both hands on the steering wheel, trying to ease his nervousness that way. “Do you think we’ll be attacked here?”

“I don’t know, but I do know this definitely isn’t a coincidence. Stay ready… Mann, open your door a little on your side. We’re moving so slowly that we’re basically targets walking down the street. If things start looking bad, we jump out and leave the vehicles.”

“KK, are you saying we’re already in trouble, right after leaving the waterfront?”

Mann’s sunglasses-covered face twisted into a rather stiff smile. “Damn, does it have to happen this fast?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just saying it’s possible. An attack right after we left would be a little too rushed…”

Carl was still speaking when, from the corner of his eye, he suddenly noticed a flicker of red flame atop the apartment building beside them.

His reactions were somewhat faster than those of an ordinary person. His eyes shifted, and he saw what had emerged from the fifth floor of the neighboring building and was flying toward them.

The object was so familiar that even Carl, who had come from before the year 2075, recognized it at a glance.

“Rocket launcher!”

A rocket launcher—a portable anti-armor weapon that fired rockets.

Damn it. They really had run into trouble the moment they left.

Who blocks the door and kills people? What were they, the final boss from some game, afraid of a hero coming to defeat them?

[Page 2 of 3]

Carl calculated that the rocket would eventually land about ten meters in front of their vehicle. He moved quickly. By the time he shouted his warning, he had already opened his door. He then slipped out and rolled away from the blast zone before taking cover behind the vehicle, adopting the explosion-avoidance posture he had learned in braindance training.

He lay face down with his back toward the blast, crossed his arms with his palms pressed against the ground beneath his chest, tucked his face between his arms, closed his eyes and mouth, tightened his abdomen, stretched out both legs with his toes pointed downward, and held his breath.

By 2075, most rocket launchers had an effective kill radius of fifteen meters. The blast would erupt only ten meters from their vehicle. And the Alvarado, one of the luxury cars, had placed too much emphasis on opulence and comfort to offer particularly good blast protection. Staying inside it would have meant certain injury.

Rather than remain inside the Alvarado and take the full force of the impact, it was better to put as much distance as possible between himself and the blast before it arrived, then use the Alvarado as cover against the shock wave.

“Boom!”

The instant Carl completed his evasive posture, a deafening explosion erupted behind him. Through the cacophony, loud enough to leave his ears ringing, he distinctly heard the screech of twisting steel.

The Alvarado’s enormous body and tremendous weight helped shield Carl from the blast. The vehicle was not overturned, but its front seats and hood had been crushed and warped into a grotesque mass of fused metal. If Carl had been able to see it head-on, he certainly would not have hesitated to call it “popcorn.”

“Spit, spit! Son of a bitch! We really got ambushed the moment we left!”

Because Carl had warned him, Jack had barely managed to react in time. Unlike Carl, he had not performed any textbook evasive maneuver, but his subdermal armor and naturally powerful muscles had kept him from suffering any serious injuries. He merely lifted his head slightly beside Carl, his face covered in dust and grime.

“Watch yourselves. We need to find cover.”

Mann was in much the same condition. He had opened his door slightly because of Carl’s warning and had been the first to escape. Now he was crouched behind the vehicle’s trunk, weapon in hand, his back pressed tightly against the car as the cybernetic eyes beneath his sunglasses swept the surroundings in search of their attackers.

“Damn, damn, damn, damn!”

Compared with Jack and Mann, Oliver had been unlucky. He had been sitting in the driver’s seat, farther forward than the others, and lacked both Carl’s reaction speed and Jack and Mann’s subdermal armor. As a result, he was the only one who had been injured.

A jagged piece of shrapnel had lodged itself squarely in his right arm, which was bleeding profusely.

Cursing all the while, Oliver drew his right arm tightly against his side and armpit. He pulled out the medical gauze he carried with him, used the index finger and thumb of his left hand to yank out the still-warm shard, then pressed the gauze directly against the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding and give himself emergency treatment.

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Oliver was furious enough to lose his mind. The injury itself was a minor matter. It was only this bad; after treating it and injecting himself with a dose of Revivac, he would recover. What enraged him was something else entirely.

Revivac: a medical injection.

“I’m going to butcher the bastard who fired that rocket!”

Oliver shouted curses as he spoke. “My brand-new rifle! The one I spent a fortune modifying, the one that cost me nearly all my money! I’m going to kill him!”

Oliver had barely managed to escape with his life, so he had had no time to worry about the new rifle sitting beside him. His SOR-22 had only been fired at targets during practice. It had never even seen a single shot in an actual mission, and now it had been inexplicably honorably retired. How could he not be enraged?

“Don’t worry. I’ll butcher them for you.”

Carl rose to his feet. The rocket attack they had just suffered was not an isolated incident. In the midst of the continuous flashes of explosions, nearly a quarter of the mercenaries had not even gotten the chance to flee before dying beneath the rocket barrage. The Arasaka security personnel, on the other hand, had suffered almost no losses. They were positioned in the rear, while the mercenary convoy traveled ahead of them, conveniently serving as human shields.

Amid the fiery explosions, Carl had already located the apartment building from which the rocket had been fired at them.

Perhaps we were not your primary target, and in that respect we were lucky to escape unharmed. But you still deserve to die.

“Jack, Mann, take Oliver and find secure cover. Coordinate with the other mercenaries and return fire. I’ll deal with the people in that building.”

With that, Carl charged toward the first floor of the apartment building.

Watching his back, Mann finally understood why Carl had answered “You’ll know once the fighting starts” when describing the team’s roles earlier.

So this guy was a lone wolf who operated as part of a team.

And not just any lone wolf—the kind who commanded the team while fighting alone.