Hard Drop
Page 16
A bullet found the back window, smacking into it with a dull thump, sending ugly cracks dancing all the way across it. She could feel the vehicle shudder with every shot it took, felt the brittle, frozen frame groan and crack around her as it weathered the onslaught.
The wheels caught, finally, and the truck lurched forwards, skating unsteadily over the hard-packed snow. The guards at the front gate had brought their machine turrets around and were now pounding the truck with heavy-caliber fire. The bullets found their mark, bending and cracking the grill, slamming their way through the thick metal and towards the axle. If they found it, Flip knew, it would end her escape abruptly, and she kept her foot pressed down as hard as she could, coaxing the truck up to speed.
The windshield finally shattered behind her as the soldiers found their mark. Glass shattered everywhere, flying past her head and spilling across her seat. She ducked low against the steering wheel, trying to aim the truck between the closing arms of the front gate without exposing herself to the turret fire.
A second vehicle roared to life behind her, giving chase immediately. The soldiers' guns fell silent as they let it pass, then picked up with redoubled ferocity as it cleared their lines. Flip remembered the fallen, empty pod, the soldiers’ readiness to engage anything, and groaned inwardly: she must be the only enemy they’d seen in weeks up here, and now every idiot with a gun wanted to get a shot in.
The gate machine gun’s aim improved as she approached. Her grill caved in suddenly, cutting the intake and crippling her speed. The front bumper followed soon after, and then the front tire, dropping the heavy truck hard against the ice and sending it careening almost sideways. Flip peered over the steering wheel with alarm, turning the wheel first left, then right, trying desperately to get the truck back on course It skated wildly towards the gate, bleeding speed as it shuddered along the surface. She wrestled the wheel back once more, setting her course as she ducked low behind the wheel, praying she'd have enough speed to force the gate when she reached it.
The truck behind her opened up with its minigun, ripping whole chunks of metal out of the truck frame. She dropped even lower, steering blindly, guessing at her course from the feel of the surface below her wheels.
Her front rim dropped off the hard snow abruptly, rolling onto soft slush and concrete as she approached the gate. The truck leapt forwards, picking up speed and swinging hard as its wheels found traction.
She looked up just as the gate loomed ahead, saw the guards dive out of the way as he bore down on them, and braced as the truck shuddered through the heavy metal gate.
The engine roared as it forced the barriers, throwing the gate arms screechingly off their hinges. The truck continued on, regaining speed as it barreled on down the mountain road unsteadily. Its wheels weaved through the snow, rattling loudly in the cabin as they ground against the chassis below. Flip accelerated, trying to put as much distance between herself and her pursuers as possible, glancing in her windshield as the camp slowly fell away behind her.
Her distraction was nearly lethal. She turned back in time to see a snowbank rush towards her unstoppably, too late to change course and avoid it.
Her front wheel dug into the packed snow at full speed. The impact stopped the truck short, spinning it sideways around its axis and sending it skidding crazily down the hillside. Flip fought for control, wrestling against the steering wheel to calm the truck’s rotation. The mountain spun around her dizzyingly, the road and the valley flashing before her eyes. The naked, tireless wheel carved a twisting track into the ice and gravel below until the road gave out completely.
The truck went sliding off the shoulder, sliding quickly through the deeper snow by the roadside. It slowed the vehicle, but not nearly enough.
Flip braced herself as the vehicle slid towards a line of thick, tall trees, rolling away from the inevitable impact desperately.
It smashed into a massive pine, crunching what was left of its right side into the unmoving trunk and very nearly rolling over onto its side. It righted itself just in time to catch the mound of snow falling from the branches overhead, slamming back down onto the frozen ground with a final, heavy crunch that rocked the cage and cracked the axles as it came to a final, hard stop.
Flip coughed hard as she looked up, head spinning as she fought to get her bearings. She turned first in one direction, then the other, straining to find her pursuers. The second truck was coming fast, guns already blazing, shredding the branches overhead.
One look at the tree pushing its way through the gaping hole on the passenger side told her she wasn’t going to work the truck loose. Unwilling to rely on the mercy of the blood-crazed soldiers chasing her, she bolted out of the driver door and stepped towards the forest, looking for an escape.
A sheer drop greeted her: the hillside fell off steeply below the tall trees. The jagged rocks below completed the picture; there was no exit in that direction but painful and abrupt death.
The hail of gunfire ricocheting off her wrecked truck sent her rushing back to the jeep. She ripped open the truck door, pawing frantically through the back seat for the weapon she had found earlier, the godsend from the lost pod. The rocket launcher was still there, its metal now freezing cold to her touch. She ripped it from its resting place and lifted it to her shoulder, pleading for it to work just once. One shot was all she needed.
She stepped out into the road and squared her shoulders, knowing the chasing truck was close and braving the fury of its minigun. She barely had to aim: her pursuer was almost on top of her, 50 yards away and closing fast. She flicked the safety and squeezed the trigger in one fluid motion.
The launcher bucked against her shoulder, rocking her backwards and sending her sliding slowly across the ice.
The driver had no chance; the rocket roared out of its tube and impacted almost immediately, driving its way through the windshield before exploding in the middle of the truck.
The vehicle stopped in its tracks and went tumbling sideways into the hill, flipping end over end until it rolled over onto its roof and stopped, an unmoving, burned-out husk.
Flip clenched her fist, grinning viciously in triumphant relief. She turned back to her truck, already on to the next thing, already turning over in her mind what, if anything, she could take from the wreckage. She had at least a few minutes before the soldiers from above gave chase, and anyway – she noted with satisfaction – the launcher still had three rockets remaining in its chamber.
A dull rumble interrupted her thoughts, stopping her in mid-step. She turned quickly and looked up the mountain with dread, feeling the tremors increase until the ground shook beneath her feet.
The top of the mountain had disappeared. A wall of white mist had taken its place, rolling rapidly downhill and swallowing the trees before it whole.
Her shot had unleashed an avalanche.
“Fuck…” Flip said, under her breath, and bolted for the truck’s open driver door. It was all she could do to throw herself inside the twisted metal body before the wall of snow rumbled past and over her.
It lifted the crumpled wreck high as it roared past, snapping the tree it lay against and flinging it down the hillside as if it were a weightless. The vehicle tumbled, rolling over and over as it coursed into the valley.
The last thing Flip remembered was the ground rising to meet her through the passenger window, every vein and crack distinctly visible in the rocks below. And then the truck hit, skipping off the ground like a pebble off a pool, driven by the force of a hundred tons of snow behind her, and everything went black.
From above, the valley looked strangely peaceful as the avalanche came to a stop. The snow it had thrown up settled smoothly in its wake, covering the hillside in a smooth carpet until the swath of destruction extending up the hill looked like little more than a field of freshly fallen snow.
FIFTEEN: SCENIC VIEW
“Of course.” Chip said, as the lock finally gave away, revealing the contents of the strongbox.
“What did you expect?” Shelley asked, scornfully. “Humanitarian aid? They don’t need armor for that.”
Chip stared at the gold bar in his hand, the first of what must have been thousands stacked waist high in the crates around them. “Ammunition would have been nice.” He shook his head sadly, weighing a bar in his hand. “This is past my weight allowance.”
"Not to mention the Looting Directive." Ghost pointed out, equally crestfallen.
Tyco looked away, ignoring them, his mind focused on what came next. He didn’t dare hope it would be any easier than what they’d come through already. The bullets had stopped several long minutes ago, falling away behind them along with the business district and the new city. They were roaring above the city on a thin metal track, safe in what they now knew to be a treasury train. The power Shelley had found for them left them nowhere near full speed, but they were moving, and not on their feet, and for that they were all grateful.
The countdown on Tyco’s rifle worried him. It wasn’t just that they were running behind; that he was sure of. It was the fact that he didn’t know how much farther they would have to go – and he was certain Shelley didn’t either. When he had been a trooper, a recruit, that hadn’t bothered him – back then, the task at hand was all that mattered. But now, as a Drop Commander, with his command decimated, he was intent on bringing those that remained with him back safely, and he didn’t trust Shelley to share his priorities.
They had roared through an empty station without stopping, scattering piles of paper and sending the birds nesting in the rafters fluttering off. The train had dinged on approaching the station, the annoying warning of the impending station speaking to the train’s civilian past before its military conversion, and Tyco had come up to the cockpit, crouching next to Hog with his battle rifle, ready for a fight. He had been relieved when the platform had approached without a sign of opposition, even more relieved to find the track inside the station clear, and was quietly ecstatic when they burst out the other side of the station, heading straight for their final station high on the hillside.
The Old City lay just ahead, its narrow streets visible through the littered fragments of the cockpit glass. The staircase was a long, twisting set of narrow steps cut into the hillside. It was steeper than it had looked from the ground.
Sizing them up, Tyco was glad Shelley was behind him in the car, far away from the cockpit window. The man would have taken one look at the incline ahead of them and burst into hysterics. Better not to give him that option until it was too late.
Not that he wasn’t nervous as well. He didn’t show it outwardly, but the heaviness in his legs was immutable. Too much could still go wrong before they had found their goal and were safely on the evac ship heading into orbit.
He expected gunfire at any moment, or worse - the moving train must be attracting attention, quiet though it was, and the local army had plenty of firepower, of that he was sure. They would be exposed on the stairway, too, and as for what awaited them in the structure – god only knew. It wasn’t that he was afraid for his life – he had resigned himself to death many times since that first mission on the Conrad – but his team weighed heavily on his mind. He had not asked for his command, hadn’t ever wanted his commission, but they were his now, assigned to him, and he aimed to protect those he had left.
The train dinged again, and Tyco looked up quickly. They were pulling into the Old City at last.
“We’re up.” He called back towards the waiting team.
Ghost stood wearily, dusting himself off. Chip looked over his rifle for the hundredth time and cocked it, ignoring Shelley’s amused expression.
“Take us in slow and quiet.” Tyco said. Hog nodded and pulled her lever backwards, slowing the train incrementally until it slid slowly forwards on its track with a low, steady hum.
Tyco peered through the shattered windshield at the small station ahead. The line ended here; the station was smaller, carved in part out of the rock behind it, and crammed with trains as the depot had been. There was no sign it was occupied, not yet anyway.
“Eyes front, take cover.” He tapped in quickly, without looking back at the team. Chip draped himself casually over a stack of strongboxes. Ghost pulled Shelley with him, tucking in against the doorframe, motioning for Shelley to stay down.
“Stay out of my line.” He said, gruffly.
Shelley nodded and peered anxiously towards the cockpit. They had gone from safety to danger very quickly, and the nonchalance with which the troopers switched was still foreign to him.
“Don’t worry, Doc.” Ghost smiled. “We’ll be back in the shit soon enough.”
The train glided the last few yards towards the station silently. Hog stayed off the brake as long as possible, keeping their approach quiet in hopes of avoiding attention. She eased onto it at last, grimacing as the train shuddered and groaned on the track below. Every squeak reverberated through the train car. To Tyco's ears, it seemed like a beacon, announcing their presence and exposing their position, and he glanced anxiously along the platform as they lurched to a stop.
The generator stayed on, its live wire hum resonating through the small stone station, the only sound on the platform. Only the wind, swirling through the valley and occasionally loud against the train car below, interrupted the silence in the sheltered depot.
Tyco gave a quick nod, and Hog let the doors slide open.
Tyco stood, moving past the others and leading the way out onto the platform. He stepped out cautiously at first, his feet grinding against the weathered sand that littered the metal underfoot. The station was empty, the wide stone arches at the entrance giving way to the sunny, narrow street beyond. A hundred feet out of the station, a hundred yards to the hillside, and half a mile up the stairs, no more, no less. Tyco considered it carefully, letting the contingencies wash over him. Ultimately, he knew, they didn’t have time to do it cautiously, but that didn’t mean they had to be reckless.
“Let’s move.” Tyco said, and darted quickly across the platform and into the station, moving without pause until he had reached the street. The team had almost caught up to him when movement below caught his eye.
The soldiers they had left in the station below had not been idle. Two army trucks now blazed their way up the hill, headed directly and unswervingly for the Old City. An armored personnel carrier rolled on behind them, slower but the more menacing for it.
Tyco sighed and glanced back at Hog.
“One of these days,” He said, shaking his head, and left it at that, knowing Hog
would understand.
“One of these days.” She echoed, unconvinced.
The guns opened up the instant the team broke cover. The bullets flew by wildly, smashing into the buildings around and spitting up flakes of sand and stone. Tyco ran, at the head of his team, streaking for the stairs.
Thankfully, the road up the hill was uneven and potholed, and their pursuers had trouble aiming as they fired. The narrow street slowed the vehicles still farther, hampering their progress until they were crawling up the hill, loosing a round at random here or there, but largely holding their fire.
The distance to the staircase closed quickly, and soon the team was storming up the slick rock steps as fast as they could. The stairs were old, steep, and well-worn: remnants of another time, probably, from the early days of colonization. The stairway had a natural bend to it, following the rock as it snaked up the hill. Tyco ducked low as he followed its bend, sheltered by the natural rock formation against the gunfire below.
The soldiers below had left their vehicles and were taking up pursuit on foot. Their small arms fire kept up a steady patter, whistling by the troopers and smashing against the rock, but they were wild and inaccurate, just close enough to keep the blood flowing and the legs moving.
Shelley was holding well; he met Ghost’s concerned glances with his own, condescending fury, pushing past the pain in his legs to prove his ability insistently.
Ghost surged past with Shelley, and Tyco waved them on, reloading quickly before firing again.
Chip crouched next to Tyco, dropping to a knee as he reloaded his rifle.
“You want to leave this to the professionals, Cap?” He asked, without the slightest hint of humor.
Tyco fired another burst before he answered. “Take it easy, Chip.” He said. “That’s two for me.”
Chip sighed, and leaned over the ridge, calmly squeezing off a single shot.
“So’s that.” He said, and smiled. Tyco shook his head. Ceding his position to the sniper, he shouldered his rifle and took off after Ghost, leaving Chip to bring up the rear.
Ghost was nearing the top of the stairs ahead, his pace steady and slowing as he neared the plateau above. The long run had taken it out of him, and now that they were near their goal, he could afford to rest his legs. He looked back down past Shelley to Chip, who was hard at work, keeping their pursuers at bay. The armored personnel carrier had reached the old city below, and was now forcing its way up the twisting cobblestone roads. Its machine gun chirped intermittently, but the motion of the vehicle was too severe, and the shots were nowhere near accurate. Nor were the soldiers on the stairs much of a threat. Even now, Hog was throwing a fresh grenade down the stairs, letting it bounce off the stone walls before detonating in the midst of the pursuing horde.