“Yes, sir, I got it.” But what’s got him? she wondered.

Repeth saw Muzik shut the armored door and move to the other side of the vehicle, putting it between himself and the mob that had overturned a pick-up truck and now chanted rhythmically, “Kill-the-cops. Kill-the-cops.”

Uh-oh. She tried to reach the next higher headquarters on the frequency listed, but all she could hear was chaos on the nets. She got a brief response, she thought, before someone else stepped on her transmission.

She popped the door on the safer side open enough to yell, “I can’t reach anyone, and it sounds like there are riots breaking out all over. Battalion is swamped.”

“Crap,” Muzik responded, then said louder, “Dammit!” The mob had turned toward them. He drew his sidearm. “Lock the vehicle!”

Repeth immediately did so, checking all the doors and looking up at the private standing in the 40mm cupola. “Better unbuckle, kid. You don’t want to be lashed into position if they roll this vehicle.”

“Hell with that,” he muttered, sweat streaming down his bone-white face. “Hell with that!” he repeated, and without orders, opened fire with his grenade launcher.

“Shit!” Repeth yelled as the weapon’s loud stuttering filled the compartment. “Cease fire, cease fire,” she ordered, hammering with her fist on the man’s leg. He paid no attention, but continued to rake the mob with 40mm grenades.

The first shells did not detonate. Launcher grenades require approximately thirty meters of flight before arming, and the soldier was firing at people closer than that. The heavy cylinders slammed into people, breaking bones and knocking them down, but none exploded.

At first.

Then one lucky shot missed hitting anything or anyone, striking the street sixty meters away, right in the center of the crowd. To Repeth’s surprise, it burst into a cloud of white mist, and the rioters nearby coughed and covered their mouths and noses, eyes and sinuses streaming.

Tear gas. Thank God. I thought he was firing explosive rounds. Other grenades popped, and soon the entire area filled with acrid fumes. Her eyes stung, and she grabbed a protective mask on the seat next to her, putting it on in well under the requisite nine seconds.

It did not matter that the shots were not lethal. Like a living being with one angry mind, the mob gave an inarticulate scream and turned from rioting to killing rage.

Men surrounded the Humvee, and climbed up to beat the struggling, screaming soldier on his perch behind the grenade launcher. Blood spattered into the interior. Repeth could see sticks, rocks and even a machete chopping, chopping.

Grabbing the gunner’s assault rifle racked below, she aimed and fired upward, shooting for arms and legs, trying to drive the mob off the soldier before they killed him. Only when his severed head fell into the interior did she stop. They couldn’t get past his harnessed body to reach her, and the three or four she shot deterred the others for a moment.

Instead she felt the Humvee rocking as the mob sought to overturn it, but the squat, heavy vehicle resisted their efforts at first. If they got coordinated and all on one side, though, they would succeed.

End of Reaper’s Run excerpt.