Fire skipped along Wilson Boulevard, marking the death ripping from the Consie machine gun as it hosed down the street. Tom and the others huddled in the lee of the team’s command car were sheltered, but they could hear the patter of the tracer and anti-personnel rounds and the frustrated scream of the interspersed penetrator rounds as they spanged off the Ranger’s armor. In close where the penetrators hadn’t bled off as much of their energy, the car’s armor wouldn’t be enough to shrug the rounds aside. But the vehicle was better off than the grunts. Even out here, the penetrator rounds still had more than enough punch to blow through the infantry-issue torso armor Tom was wearing.