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Kelly went to John and peeled back his black suit. Her gloves were slick with his blood. “The bullet isstill inside,” she said, and bit her lower lip. “There’s a lot of internal bleeding. Hang on.” She dug a tinybottle from her belt and inserted the nozzle into the bullet hole. “This might sting a little.”
The self-sealing biofoam filled John’s abdominal cavity. It also stung like a hundred ants crawlingthrough his innards. She pulled the bottle out and taped up the hole. “You’re good for a few hours,” shesaid, and then gave him a hand up.
John felt shaky, but he’d make it. The foam would keep him from bleeding to death and stave off theshock . . . for a while, at least.
“Incoming vehicles,” Sam announced. “Six men entering the building. Two taking up position
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outside . . . but just the front.”
“Get our package inside that crate and seal it up,” John ordered.
He left the room, got his duffel, and went to the balcony. He secured a rope and tossed it down twelvestories into the alley. He rappelled down, took a second to scan the alley for threats, then clicked histhroat mike once—the all-clear signal.
Kelly snapped a descent rig on the crate and pushed it off the balcony. It zipped down the line andthudded to a halt at the bottom.
A moment later the rest of the team glided down the rope.
They quickly donned their coveralls. Sam and Fred carried the crate as they entered the adjacentbuilding. They exited on the street a half block down and walked as quickly as they could back to thedocks.
Dozens of uniformed men ran from the dock toward the city. No one challenged them.
They reentered the now-deserted public showers.
“Everyone check your seals,” John said. “Sam, you go ring the doorbell. Meet us on the dropship.”
Sam nodded and sprinted out of the building, both packs of C-12 looped around his shoulder.
John took out the panic button. He triggered the green-mode transmission and tossed it into an emptylocker. If they didn’t make it out, at least the UNSC fleet would know where to find the rebel base.
“Your suit is breached,” Kelly reminded John. “We better get to the ship now, before Sam sets off hisfireworks.”
Linda and Fred checked the seals on the crate then carried it out. Kelly took point and John brought upthe rear.
They boarded the Pelican dropship and John sized up her armaments—dented and charred armor, a pairof old, out-of-date 40mm chain guns. The rocket pods had been removed. Not much of a warhorse.
There was a flash of lightning at the far end of the dock. The thunder roiled through the deck, and thenthrough John’s stomach.
While John watched, a gaping hole materialized in the airlock door amid a cloud of smoke and shattered
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metal. Black space loomed beyond. With an earsplitting roar, the atmosphere held in the docks abruptlytransformed into a hurricane. People, crates, and debris were blasted out of the ragged tear.