‘How far are they from this TV station?’ Stikes demanded.
‘Less than three kilometres – and we still do not have control of it. The crowd protecting it keeps growing.’
‘Then tell your men to fire into the crowd.’
The general’s expression went from rage to hesitancy. ‘If I don’t have popular support, I will not be able to hold on to power – the army is not strong enough to control the entire country by force.’ He pointed at a television showing a live broadcast from the government-controlled station – the stand-off between civilians and military outside it. ‘That is going out across the country – across the world. If my troops are seen slaughtering unarmed civilians, I will lose.’
‘So make sure they’re not seen doing it,’ said Stikes with growing impatience. ‘Destroy the transmitter.’
‘It’s on the roof,’ Callas snapped back. ‘And before you suggest using tanks to destroy it from the ground, they can’t get line of sight on it! There are too many other buildings nearby.’
‘Then destroy it from the air . . .’ Stikes began, before tailing off.
Callas saw his calculating look. ‘What is it?’
‘A way to kill two birds with one stone.’ He turned to Baine, who had a savage bruise across his jaw and cheek. ‘Tell Gurov and Krikorian to get the Hind ready for takeoff!’
Despite Eddie’s best efforts, he couldn’t shake off the V-300. The heavily armed vehicle was slowly but relentlessly gaining, its more experienced driver extracting every morsel of speed from his vehicle as he chased the smaller APC through Caracas. And the chaos in the city was not helping; Eddie had several times been forced to slow or swerve to avoid fleeing civilians, while the other vehicle ploughed on without a care for collateral damage.
Suarez’s directions, relayed through Macy, brought them on to an overpass bridging a wider avenue below. Traffic on the lower road was at a standstill, open doors where drivers had abandoned their vehicles showing that the situation was far worse than Caracas’s usual gridlock.
A roadblock ahead. The soldiers had been warned about the stolen APC and were readying weapons . . .
More vehicles emerged from behind buildings.
Very large vehicles.
‘Buggeration and fuckery!’ Eddie gasped as a pair of T-72 tanks clattered to a stop at the roadblock, chunks of torn asphalt spitting up from their tracks. The Russian behemoths were dated compared to modern Western armour, but there was a reason they had been in continuous production for four decades: they were still tough and deadly. Their turrets rotated, bringing their 125mm main guns to bear on the approaching V-100.
And there was no way to retreat. The V-300 reached the overpass, its own gun swinging towards its target.
A glimpse of red and white on the road below, a familiar logo on the side of a stationary truck . . .
Eddie swerved the V-100 towards the overpass’s low wall. ‘You’re probably getting sick of me saying this, but really, really hang on!’
He aimed for the trailer, bracing himself.
The V-100 smashed through the wall and plunged towards the road below.
Everyone screamed—
There was a colossal crump of metal as the APC landed on the trailer, nine tons of steel crushing it and blowing its contents apart in an explosion of brown liquid and froth. The truck was a Coca-Cola transporter, the trailer a forty-foot-long advertisement for its cargo, tens of thousands of cans stacked to the ceiling. The cans flattened and burst under the V-100’s immense weight – but, with so many pallets on top of each other, each layer cushioned the falling vehicle just a little bit more as it dropped.
Even so, the impact when the armoured car hit the floor was still shattering. The trailer’s suspension collapsed, and the trailer itself sheared in half behind the prime mover’s rear wheels. The unsupported end slammed down, digging a foot-deep gouge in the road surface. On a foaming carpet of squashed red and white aluminium, the V-100 slithered down the makeshift ramp until its wheels touched the avenue.
Dazed, Eddie lifted his head. ‘Wow. That actually worked.’ He put the APC back into gear. ‘Mac, what’re those tanks doing?’
Mac peered through the parapet as the V-100 ground out of the wreckage. One of the T-72s appeared on the bridge, its turret tracking them, but its gun couldn’t angle down far enough to lock on. ‘We’re too low for them to shoot.’
‘What about the other APC?’
Nina shouted in alarm. ‘You’re not gonna like this!’
The V-300 burst through the wall after them, intending to use the same trick to soften its landing—
It landed on the back of the crushed trailer with a colossal bang, flipping the front end up like a see-saw. Thousands of Coke cans flew into the air, metal confetti raining down on the tanks above. The first APC’s landing had mashed the trailer flat, leaving nothing to absorb the impact of its larger and heavier cousin. All six of the V-300’s wheels were ripped from their axles, the turret jolting out of its mount to clang down like an enormous hammer amidst a snowfall of cans.
Eddie looked back at his shaken passengers. ‘Well, that’s them sorted, so cheer up! Have a Coke and a smile.’
Macy regarded him woozily. ‘Only if they have Diet.’
‘Eddie, over there,’ said Mac, pointing at an exit.
The Englishman made the turn, barging cars out of his path. The T-72’s gun followed it, but still couldn’t angle low enough to take a shot. ‘Macy, I need directions.’
Suarez gave Macy instructions. She relayed them, then added, ‘He says it’s less than two kilometres to the TV station.’
Just over a mile. Eddie recognised some of the taller buildings ahead. People were still running through the streets, but there was no immediate sign of the military. They would have to break through the troops attempting to take the television station and the civilians and militia defending it, but with Suarez’s presence the latter would be easy. They might actually make it!
A basso rumble of thudding blades from above—
The road ahead exploded, sending a car barrelling through a store’s windows. Rubble showered the V-100.
Eddie knew the cause. Stikes’s Hind.
Stikes squinted into the wind as he looked down from the gunship’s open hatch. The stolen APC had just made a desperate turn to avoid the craters torn from the asphalt by the Hind’s rockets. Krikorian fired again, another two S-8 missiles streaking from their pod on the stub wing, but these missed by a wider margin, a van blowing apart in a sheet of flame. Panicked people scattered.
‘Did you get them?’ demanded Callas, strapped firmly into the seat beside him. Baine, Maximov and the other mercenaries craned their necks to watch events below.
Stikes shook his head, shouting ‘You’re too high!’ into his headset. The rockets weren’t guided, relying on the gunner’s skill to fire them when the pod was pointing directly at the target. ‘Go lower and line up properly.’
‘We’re already too low!’ protested Gurov from the cockpit. ‘We could hit a power line or a building.’
‘I hired you because you claimed to be good enough to avoid that,’ Stikes said scathingly. Nevertheless, he saw the Russian’s point; they weren’t far above the rooftops, and Caracas had enough high-rises to turn the sky into an aerial maze. ‘Krikorian, use the cannon,’ he ordered instead.
In the forward cockpit, Krikorian grinned and switched weapons, the targeting cursor flashing up in his helmet sights.
He brought it over the fleeing vehicle, then pulled the trigger.
Eddie swerved the V-100 to evade further rocket fire. But none came – maybe the Hind couldn’t get a lock amongst all the buildings—
That hope was shattered a moment later, along with a chunk of the Commando’s armour, as a stream of 12.7mm cannon fire hammered the vehicle’s rear. Nina screamed and dived away from the damaged hatch as metal fragments spat into the cabin. More scabs of steel peppered the APC’s occupants, dents appearing in the roof as
round after round slammed down.
If any came through the open parapet . . .
Eddie turned sharply at a corner, not going round the building on it, but through it. The V-100 demolished the shop’s frontage, scattering shelves and shoes before bursting out of the other side.
Above, Stikes saw the armoured car’s destructive shortcut. ‘Must be Chase driving,’ he said. ‘Gurov, follow them.’
Despite the danger, Mac looked up through the parapet to find the new threat. The Hind roared into sight. ‘He’s coming!’
Eddie sent the V-100 lurching across the street as the gunship opened fire again. Everyone had retreated from the rear hatch, and with good reason: the buckled door juddered violently as more bullets struck it – then with a piercing screech and a spray of sparks it ripped loose and clanged along the road behind them.
The onslaught continued, weaving along the hull towards the open parapet—
A wall dead ahead. Eddie didn’t brake – instead he drove the APC straight into it.
Mac ducked as more debris and clouds of plaster dust showered through the open roof. Outside, the orange glow of sodium streetlights was replaced by the off-white of fluorescent tubes as the V-100 ploughed through an office. Desks were crushed under the APC’s wheels, a couple of late workers who had stayed inside when the violence started running for cover.
He saw an exterior door in the far wall and aimed for it. Another huge crash, and they were back in the night air, the wind quickly sweeping the whirling dust out through the gaping rear hatch.
Mac irritably tried to brush himself down. ‘Another suit ruined. I should start charging you for my expenses.’
‘We’ll pay for the dry-cleaning,’ said Eddie. He recognised a skyscraper ahead as being close to their hotel – and the television station. ‘We’re not far off. Get ready to run when we get there.’
‘If we get there,’ Nina said. The Hind came back into view, descending towards them. ‘The chopper’s coming!’
Eddie turned into the first street he came to, the V-100 demolishing a payphone as it rode over the corner of the sidewalk. They were out of the Hind’s sight, but that wouldn’t last long. Ahead was a wider, tree-lined boulevard – with people running in both directions, some trying to escape whatever was happening further along the avenue, others angrily racing towards it. Some jeered at the armoured car as it rumbled towards them.
More quickly joined in. ‘Shit, they’re not moving!’ Eddie gasped. The crowd was forming a human blockade, trying to stop the military vehicle from reaching the main road. He braked, knowing he could hardly mow them down – but also that the gunship was closing with every second.
He looked at Suarez. ‘Macy, tell el Presidente to get his arse up in the turret!’
‘What?’ said Macy, confused.
‘If he wants to make a speech to his people, now’s the time - they’re blocking the way!’ Stones clattered off the APC’s prow.
‘Let’s just hope they’re all on his side,’ said Kit as Macy hurriedly passed on Eddie’s instructions.
Still clutching his bloodied arm, Suarez stood. ‘I talk to them,’ he said.
Over the crowd’s shouts and the clonks of thrown stones, Nina heard the Hind’s rotor thrum. ‘He’d better make it a really short speech!’
A couple more rocks clanged from the parapet as Suarez emerged – then the barrage abruptly stopped. Even dishevelled and covered in dust, he was still one of the most recognisable people in the country. His name quickly spread through the crowd, first in shock and disbelief, then excitement.
Macy translating for the benefit of the armoured car’s occupants, Suarez’s well-practised orator’s voice boomed over the V-100’s idling rumble. ‘People of Venezuela, my friends! Yes, it is I, your president!’ He paused to take in the cheers – and a couple of boos, which were quickly silenced by kicks and punches. ‘Earlier tonight, I was kidnapped by traitors and murderers, who want to take power for themselves. But I escaped! I am free, I am here, and I need your help to fight back!’
The rotor noise grew louder. Nina made a frantic ‘wind it up’ gesture at Macy, who tugged the President’s sleeve and hissed at him to talk faster.
Suarez took the hint. ‘I need to get to the television station,’ he said, pointing down the boulevard, ‘to expose these traitors and tell the country that I am safe, and I am! Still! President!’ Another, louder cheer rose from the crowd. ‘First we retake the TV station, then we retake our country!’
A great roar told those in the APC that he had convinced the throng to help. ‘He’s bloody done it,’ said Eddie, almost surprised, as people cleared a path.
‘Yeah, but he’s left it too late!’ Nina cried. The gunship’s roar rose as it closed in – and shot overhead, disappearing again behind another building. The pilot had been aiming to intercept the APC further ahead, expecting them still to be moving, and had been caught out by its non-appearance.
‘They’ve lost us!’ cried Kit.
‘Not for long,’ Eddie said grimly as he turned on to the boulevard. Ahead, he saw the television station’s jumbotron screen. It showed a view of the street from one of the building’s upper windows, which ironically gave him a better idea of what was going on than he could get through the V-100’s narrow windows. The TV station was protected by a human ring of protesters and militia, facing off against soldiers backed by numerous Jeeps and Tiunas. The arrival of more people coming to join the studio’s defence meant that the soldiers were caught between two hostile groups: an almost certain flashpoint for violence.
And the spark had just arrived. ‘Get him back inside before some sniper blows his fucking head off,’ he told Macy. Now that Suarez was here, a confrontation was practically inevitable.
Macy pulled the President into the cabin. Mac took his place, searching for the Hind. The helicopter had turned above the boulevard, the image on the big screen changing as the cameraman tracked it. He jumped back down. ‘Chopper’s coming straight at us!’
The crowd reacted in confusion, not sure what to make of the aircraft. Clarification rapidly came as it fired two rockets, which exploded short of the APC and sent bodies and pieces of bodies spinning into the air. Eddie flinched. ‘Jesus!’
The survivors broke away in panic, people trampling each other as they tried to escape the battle. Taking it as a signal, the soldiers opened fire into the crowd. The television camera zoomed in to record the carnage.
The Hind fired again, this time with its gun. Tracer lines seared down at the V-100, blasting off more chunks of armour. Eddie swerved as he accelerated towards the line of troops, the bullet hits stitching a new line down the APC’s left flank—
Blam!
A deeper detonation shook the vehicle, the steering wheel jerking in his hands. The armoured car veered to one side. One of the huge tyres had finally succumbed to the assault and blown out. Its reinforced structure was just about holding it together – but every revolution was shredding it, and total failure was inevitable.
‘We’re gonna crash!’ he yelled—
The tyre disintegrated, pitching the wheel down on its steel run-flat insert – which had also been damaged by the gunfire. The hub sheared away from the axle.
Unbalanced, the V-100 toppled heavily on its side. It ground along the road in a huge shower of sparks, narrowly missing a fleeing group of civilians, then continued towards the soldiers.
The troops also ran from the sliding slab of steel – and the fusillade of fire spraying down from the Hind. Then the blaze stopped as the gunship passed overhead. The APC crashed into one of the Tiunas, bowling the military 4×4 over before finally coming to a stop.
For a moment, everything was unnaturally still, people on both sides paralysed by shock. Even the gunfire had ceased. The only thing moving was the Hind, which increased power and gained height to turn for another pass.
Then a figure crawled from the overturned APC. Suarez.
The civilians and militia saw him first,
immediately surrounding the armoured car to protect him. The soldiers held their fire, unsure what was going on and waiting for orders.
More people emerged from the wrecked V-100. Kit flopped out of the rear hatch, Macy following Suarez from the parapet. Hands lifted them up; anyone who had helped rescue the President would get the same protection as their leader. Next out of the top hatch was Mac, crawling, one trouser leg dragging limply behind him – the straps securing his artificial leg had broken in the crash, the prosthesis still in the cabin.
He was followed by Eddie. ‘Evening,’ he said blearily to the two men who picked him up, wincing as he realised his forehead was bleeding from a deep cut. He looked for his friends. All were in similarly beaten states.
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