Her feet hit the ground the other side of the vehicle, and she looped the restraining strap into the hook made for it.
“Perkins and Fletcher, get your asses front and center,” she yelled, but the two flame-thrower operatives were already moving. One on each side, they flanked the vehicle, tanks primed and pilot lights lit. Perkins on the left ignited and a stream of flame lit the courtyard up in shades of orange and yellow, restoring the colors of daytime for a few seconds.
She swung her gaze to Fletcher and waited for him to test his flame. Flame-throwers were the best defense against the RAs, but they were notoriously temperamental. Her brow furrowed as the dry click-click-click of Fletcher pulling the trigger reached her ears.
click-click-clickSomething heavy thudded against the side
