Staying low, with my head down at about knee-level, I duck around the front of the truck. Someone sees the movement. Muzzle-flashes flare in the dark corner, and bullets tear into the truck’s bodywork. I respond with a controlled, three-round burst, but it’s more an attempt at suppression fire to keep their heads down than in hopes of hitting anything. Meanwhile the tech in my head is predicting impact points, recording ammunition expended, and measuring wear and tear on the silencer. Then I duck back as the Bulldog undergoes more drastic depreciation.