I go. I know I’m leaving friendlies behind—Katrina’s still alive, I think, and who knows what happened to Lucas?—but I don’t have much choice. I release the brakes, and we’re off, fast and wild. I’m hoping whatever it is that just fell out the back of the truck is the crate of rifles and not Paco, but I’m too busy fighting the wheel as the truck fishtails wildly and almost gets away from me. I aim the Bulldog roughly down one of the lanes between high stacks of crates, but don’t quite get it right, and I almost go out the side window as we sideswipe something. Bullets are thudding into the bodywork all around, but not much is getting through. Then the truck bucks like it got butted in the rear by a juggernaut, and the lower rear-right corner of the cargo bay is just fragging gone. The CMDT scores again. I don’t know if it was just a lucky shot, or if the fragger with the combat gun is going for the tires. If so, we’re in trouble. The Bulldog’s got runflat tires, but run-shredded they’re not.