by Cary Caffrey
Colonel Bhandari charged up the cannon mounted at his side, ready to blast them to bits, but Sigrid halted him, gripping his shoulder. "This is what we do, Colonel. Suko knows what she's doing. Stay on the others."
The driver to Suko's left reached for his sidearm, eager for an easy kill. Suko's sword, the very same katana so recently given to her by Sigrid, flashed out, slicing down. The jacker stared, gaping at the stump where his arm had been only a moment ago. His barked curse was lost in the rushing wind. And then he too was gone, silenced as Suko kicked him from his saddle. The pilotless longspur maintained its course for several seconds before veering off, plowing over the shoulder and down the embankment, only to bury itself amongst the trees.
The other jacker—a woman—to Suko's right fared less well.
Oblivious to the breakneck speeds, Suko rose to stand on the back of her longspur. With her sword still in hand, she leapt, easily clearing the four meters between them, landing on the back of the jacker's ride. The startled driver made one halfhearted attempt to shake her off, only to be thrown clear by Suko. Her body hit the pavement hard, tumbling end over end, cartwheeling into the mud, brush and brambles.
Sliding into the now vacant saddle, Suko grasped the control bar and stormed forward, full throttle. She didn't stop—she didn't even slow down—not even as her longspur plowed into the back end of Tomás's train. The longspur buried itself under the rear wheels, where it was crushed and torn into so much pulp. But Suko was already off, leaping onto the back of the cargo carrier and clambering quickly up to the roof. Legs apart, her katana held out before her, she stood poised and ready to take on more. Her long hair and scarlet sash whipped wildly behind her, blasted by the two-hundred-kilometer winds. Two jackers saw her and charged. Both men ran into a flurry of shuriken hurled their way. They rolled from the roof, dead before they hit the speeding tarmac below.
Twirling the blade in a narrow arc, Suko walked forward, ready to deal with the rest.
"What's her plan?" the colonel shouted back over his shoulder. "Does she intend to dispatch them all herself?"
"Something like that, Colonel. She's just running a little interference."
"Interference for what?"
"For us. Now it's our turn. Move us up the line, Colonel. Take me to the front."
By now the jackers were fully alerted to their presence. Word traveled up the line fast as to this new threat to the rear. All the remaining units were moving their way. Thirteen longspurs and both Starlings swarmed toward them.
Well, if she wanted their attention, she had it.
Undaunted, the colonel swept into their midst, bringing them quickly alongside Tomás's train. While the maneuver kept their right flank clear, they were increasingly in danger of getting boxed in as the entire contingent of jackers closed ranks on them.
Swerving, juking their longspur, Colonel Bhandari did everything he could to avoid the incoming rounds. His cannon, along with Sigrid's sidearm, served as a warning to any attacker moving in too close, but there were simply too many of them.
It was then that one of the three trucks moved alongside Tomás's rig. They had a chain gun mounted on the back of the flatbed. Sigrid stared in horror as they opened fire, tearing apart the cargo carrier's wheels, one after another. Two of the titanium-reinforced tires shredded under the barrage, then a third, throwing tracks of rubber and metal everywhere before finally blowing itself apart. One of the tracks sailed by her, inches from her face, hissing by her ear. Turning, she watched it flutter past her, only to tear apart one of the jackers closing in from behind.
With three wheels lost, Tomás's train swerved, dangerously close to losing control—and nearly crushing them. Only the colonel's expert reflexes saved them as he swerved hard to the left. Not even Sigrid saw the longspur moving on them from the right. It swept in fast; the two vehicles came crashing together, hard. Both spurs became quickly entangled, dangerously close to losing control. The jacker pushed hard against them. Blasting full throttle, he drove them back toward Tomás's train and the massive wheels that threatened to crush and tear them apart. The roar of the wheels, so close to her, was thundering, deafening. A pair of leather-gloved hands reached for her, clawing at her, doing their damnedest to pull her from her saddle and very nearly succeeding. A blast from her sidearm freed her from his grasp, and the longspur sailed clear.
They were safe, but Tomás was still in danger. The jackers were trying to take his train down one leg at a time, and by the looks of things, they were going to succeed.
"Colonel!"
"I see it. Hang on."
Opening the throttle, they shot ahead, diving again into the attackers' midst. Sigrid picked off three more riders who swerved to cut them off, ducking as one of the more daring pilots made a head-on charge. Sigrid saw the flash of steel, his blade arcing out. It came at her, slicing through the air—exactly where her head would have been if the colonel hadn't rolled sharply to the right. He brought their longspur hard over, rolling them fully horizontal and forcing Sigrid to hold on tight. She heard the distinctive sing as the jacker's blade sailed only millimeters past her ear. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to separate her head from her shoulders. She didn't doubt more would try before the night was over.
The attacking flatbed was just ahead, ready to take out another set of Tomás's wheels.
Rising on her foot pegs, Sigrid raised the TOG missile launcher strapped to her wrist and fired both tubes. Twin contrails arced out. The rear axle blew apart in a fiery explosion that sent the back of the truck bucking up and over its own front end. The half-dozen women and men riding on top sailed high into the air. They flew over her, by her, even under, their shrill cries lost quickly in the wind, disappearing behind her.
The truck might be gone, but she and the colonel were now truly in the thick of it. Her PCM blared its warnings, but too late. Two rounds tore through the forward repulsor, causing the longspur to swerve and buck violently. The jolt tossed Sigrid from her seat and nearly up and over the colonel's shoulders before she came crashing back down.
"You all right?" the colonel said.
"Fine. Keep on them."
Cannon fire from the colonel's wingman barked out, sending the jackers scattering. But the relief was only momentary as they closed ranks again, tightening the noose further. More ordnance rained down on them, ripping apart a fuel cell tucked just beneath her seat. Her PCM shrilled its warning: two more jackers had them zeroed, firing.
With no room to maneuver and nowhere to run, Sigrid did the only thing she could.
Without warning, she reached past the colonel, over his shoulder, grabbing the control column and jerking it hard over to the right—directly into the tracks of Tomás's speeding train.
One moment they were beside the train, the next they were underneath, with the hulk of the intermodal container jostling above them. The hum of oversized tires thundered around them. The wash of water against her face and chest was nearly enough to knock her from her perch. Her world was a nightmare of rushing waters and rolling rubber. Just when she was certain they'd be drowned or crushed, they were through and safely to the other side.
Colonel Bhandari's wingman stayed with them perfectly. He emerged right behind them, and just in time to blow one of the Starlings strafing them from the sky.
"A little warning next time," the colonel said.
"Sorry," Sigrid said. "I'll try to remember that. Now keep going!"
And go, he did. They surged forward yet again, passing container after container. Sigrid caught one brief glimpse of Tomás in the cockpit with Angel at his side. Their eyes were fixed on the water-washed road ahead—and Marta's cargo train just to his front.
Sigrid had assumed Tomás's train was taking the worst of it, yet she gasped when she saw Marta's. Four of her containers were ablaze, and dozens of the train's tires had been torn to shreds. Their remains whipped and fluttered with each spin of the transport's wheels. Thirty-seven jackers swarmed the transport. Th
ey were like jackals taking down a much larger prey. They clung to its sides, climbing over the tops of the intermodal containers. Several were already aboard, running and making for Marta in the cab at the front.
Sigrid didn't have to tell the colonel what to do. He moved in, sweeping in as close as he dared. The turbulence from the wheels whipped the longspur back and forth, yet still he crept closer, bringing them right alongside. Sigrid reached for one of the many mounting ladders. No sooner had she grabbed hold, the colonel peeled sharply away. One moment she was seated on the spur, the next she was hanging from the rung, her feet only inches from the speeding tarmac. With one last look back, Sigrid climbed quickly aboard.
Four of the glory-roaders rushed to greet her. They came charging, full speed, hands and fists outstretched. Sigrid stepped to the side, letting them dive past her only to fall to their doom. Six shots from her Markovs took care of the rest.
The deck of the carrier ahead of her was consumed in flames. The heat was tremendous. Oily, black smoke swirled around her, forcing her to hold her breath. Still, there was nothing for it. Marta was in danger. She had to keep moving forward.
Taking a running start, she leapt, clearing the gap only to land amidst the inferno on the other side. She covered the distance—the entire length of the carrier—in under four seconds, leaping high again to clear the second gap, and emerging from the smoke on the other side. While the storm's driving rain quickly extinguished any fires burning on her arms, her torso and legs, she must have looked the sight: steaming, if slightly roasted.
Sigrid coughed, and a single wisp of gray smoke escaped her lips.
Twenty-seven startled jackers turned her way.
"I think it's time we got you boys off, don't you think?" Sigrid said, addressing them. "Wait, that sounded better in my head."
Growling their rage, they charged her as one. They came at her with everything they had. Shotguns, long guns, pistols, knives. Some fool even came at her with a club. She spun under one barrage, taking out the legs of the nearest man before launching herself at four more. The ōdachi longsword was in her hand, carving into them. Steel flashed, severing limb from man.
The long blade caught in the chest of one; she tugged hard, jerking and wrenching it free, barely pausing as she cartwheeled forward. It only slowed her for a second, but she paid for that second with a bullet that ripped through her arm and then another through her thigh.
The shots staggered her and nearly brought her down. She threw the sword, launching it and embedding it deep in the throat of the shooter. He fell backwards, tumbling from the carrier's roof.
Her charge took her the entire length of the container, and when she was done, eleven of the jackers lay dead. The remaining sixteen—so focused on her—never saw the two grenades she dropped at their heels, even as they rolled clattering across the deck plates.
Sigrid turned her back as the first grenade erupted. The second blast came a fraction of a second later. The deck of the intermodal container bucked and gave a great heave, and the entire train swerved and snaked violently. Four of the jackers were blown directly skyward. The others—stunned from the twin eruptions—lost their footing in the upheaval. Helpless, tumbling and rolling, they fell back down the length of the deck. The lucky ones fell off the sides. The less fortunate plunged into the gap between the containers, only to be crushed under the carrier's massive wheels.
It was over, though Sigrid had hardly come out of the mess unscathed. Cursing, she looked down at her wounded arm and leg. It wasn't being shot that bothered her. Both bullets had passed through cleanly and the wounds were already sealing shut. But she knew Suko would murder her if she found out she'd let herself be shot again. And she'd lost yet another sword.
She was about to make her way to the front, back toward Marta's cab, when the shrill warning sounded in her head. She wasn't alone.
Turning, whirling around, twin recoillesses in her hands, Sigrid saw it.
Nearly invisible against the black backdrop of clouds and driving rain, the second and sole-surviving Starling appeared, swooping down on her and zeroing in. The skies around and above her erupted as its 30 mm cannon shells ripped into the deck.
The entire carrier surged beneath her—a chain reaction of explosions that sent the train lurching—and Sigrid soaring. Helpless to stop herself, she fell backwards, tumbling through the air, only to land hard on the shredded remains of the carrier's roof. Both Markovs flew from her hands as she rolled down the deck, completely out of control. Each of her rolls brought her closer to the gap between the cars. Sigrid flailed out, searching for handholds, anything to grab onto, finding nothing.
And then she was over, falling, arms and legs windmilling—very much aware of the road and the massive wheels rushing up to greet her.
"Gotcha!"
Sigrid looked up. Flat on her stomach, leaning far over and grasping Sigrid by her weapons harness, was Suko.
"And you wanted to leave us behind," Suko said. "That's twice today I've come to your rescue—not that we're keeping score."
"Suko!"
Whatever relief Sigrid felt—at simply not being dead—was dashed in an instant. Behind Suko, filling the skies and moving speedily toward them, was the Starling. The pilot, whoever she or he was, was a demon to be sure. She had the small but nimble craft hovering above her, flying backwards and keeping time with the train.
Still hanging between the trains, dangling in Suko's grasp, Sigrid's hands flew to her holsters—holsters which were now, of course, empty. Both Markovs were gone. Lost. The whine from the Starling's forward cannon spooling up was loud enough to pierce through even these hurricanelike winds. There wasn't even anything Suko could do. She was just as helpless, hanging over the lip of the carrier and holding onto Sigrid as she was.
Sigrid winced, waiting, bracing.
And watched as the Starling promptly exploded.
Yet neither she nor Suko had fired a shot.
Turning from the sudden blast, shielding her face, Sigrid looked up in time to see the twisted, flaming wreckage—all that remained of the Starling—plow into the road not a meter from Marta's speeding train.
It was only once Suko hauled her back up, depositing her on the deck of the container, that Sigrid realized what happened. It was Jaffer. Once again, Jaffer had come to their aid. She wasn't sure what was more amazing: that Jaffer had freed his rig from the mud or the sight of Victoria. Armed with the shoulder-mounted missile launcher, she stood calmly on the roof of his cab as they charged into the mix.
Fresh from her kill of the Starling, she had another rocket loaded, and she fired. Sigrid followed the swirling contrail as it found its mark, blasting one of the jackers' trucks to smoking ruins. A third missile followed, creating even more chaos.
Wisely, if perhaps too late, the surviving highwaymen peeled off, retreating as quickly as they had come. Sigrid had little doubt they would lick their wounds only to return to fight another day. For now, it was over, and there was little to do but clean up the stragglers.
The battle had been brief and bloody. Sigrid's comm was afire with chatter. She heard Marta's and Angel's voices, mixed with Jaffer's. They were shouting, hurling questions and curses, laughing and cheering all at the same time. But of course they were—they were alive.
Sigrid jogged the rest of the way to the front of the train. She cleared the gaps between cars with short, easy hops. When she swung in through the window into Marta's cab, the woman screamed her surprise and nearly swerved from the road.
"Sorry," Sigrid said. "I suppose I should have knocked."
"Rather!" Marta said, clutching a hand to her chest.
Once Sigrid was certain they were free and clear, she had them slow and halt. The fires burning in the containers needed to be dealt with, and so did the battle damage. Eight of Marta's wheels lay in ruins and four of Tomás's fuel cells had been ruptured by small-arms fire. His rig wasn't going anywhere. Not without some major work.
It was dark and
getting darker. Battling with the jackers, the weather and the terrible roads had delayed things, and Sigrid was growing concerned they wouldn't make it. With no way to repair the damaged trailers, it was decided to unhook them and leave them behind. Tomás's rig had to be ditched as well, and Jaffer took his train in tow.
But only 250 kilometers of their journey remained. For Sigrid, her journey was almost done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A Murder of Crows
The highway rose through a series of switchbacks, rising high into the mountains of Chile. Somewhere, hidden amongst those snowy peaks of the Andes, was the Crow's Nest, the high-walled enclave and fortress-home of Lars Koenig, the marquis di Valparaíso.
They were at four thousand meters and climbing higher. The road turned sharply around a bend, forcing the two cargo trains with their loads of thorium to slow to a crawl. For a moment, Sigrid thought the road had come to an end, but then she saw the black opening carved within the steep cliffs: a narrow tunnel had been blasted through the mountains.
"Wait," Sigrid said. "Stop!"
Jaffer stomped on the brakes. The rig skidded a good forty meters along the slushy road before coming to a halt. "What is it? Trouble?"
Trouble indeed. The mudslide, the ambush, it was still fresh in all of their heads. Once they entered that tunnel, the cargo trains would never be able to turn around. They would also be completely isolated. If there was trouble ahead, there would be no running and no retreat.
You didn't come this far just to turn around. What are you waiting for? He's up there. He's waiting for you.
Sigrid felt Suko's hand tighten around hers. "What is it? What's wrong?"
What was wrong? Everything.
The pain in her head was near crippling now. She had to end it, and if she didn't, she knew it would kill her. But that pain was also a warning; though it wasn't a warning to turn back—it was warning her what would happen if she did. It called to her even now. It wanted her to come. It demanded it.
