Bloodfire

by James Axler

  “Hopefully, one that cannot drive,” Doc added in a bass rumble. “If he achieved mobility with such a weapon, the baron would become a most formidable opponent.”

  “A coil gun,” Kate said slowly. “Those are just legends, mag guns firing plastic balls so fast they hit like skybombs. That’s just a fairy tale to scare the littles.”

  “Plastic cubes, actually,” Mildred said over the PA system. “That form gives a better caloric yield on impact.”

  Kate gave Ryan a hard disbelieving stare.

  “If Mildred says that’s what it is, then you can load that into your blaster and start shooting.”

  “Eric?” Kate asked meaningfully.

  “I agree, Chief,” the man said. “But it’s only a guess on my part. She knows things. I’d say listen to the healer.”

  “Accepted, then.” The Trader nodded. “Okay, Mildred got any clever suggestions?”

  “Coil guns are purely line of sight,” Mildred said. “Have to be because their prime function is pure velocity. The cubes can’t track like a missile or arch over a hill like a rocket. Think of them as fast bullets and you understand.”

  Listening from her chair, Kate almost smiled at that news. Good, so there was the flaw. Excellent. “Jess, tell the others to stay way from the cliff, the more distance the better. Down in that hole he can’t see up here. We stay clear, he can shoot all day and wouldn’t hit a nuking thing.”

  “And neither can we,” Jake replied from the control board. “We just going to leave him down there?”

  Kate snorted. “Not a chance in hell. Can we get a reading with the radar?”

  “Not into the city. It’s designed for the sky, not to scan down into holes.”

  “How about change the angle?” J.B. asked.

  “Not in this,” the man said, gesturing at the ceiling the sound of rain on every side. “No way.”

  “Can we hit him with the L-gun?” Blackjack asked, swiveling about at the machine-gun blister. With the enemy down in the sinkhole, he had nothing to guard for a moment.

  “Angle is wrong. Never planned on shooting down a goddamn well,” Kate replied with a frown. “We could do it, but we’d have to be right at the very edge of the cliff. A sitting target for his coil gun.”

  “You have a working laser?” Ryan asked.

  “Bet your ass we do. We made it ourselves,” she admitted with pride. “Or rather Eric did. Took us a year. Uses diamond dust as a light source. He is an ace tech, and can make anything.”

  “Shit lousy blaster shot, though.” Blackjack smirked at the blister.

  Behind the tinted plastic, Eric made a rude gesture in response.

  J.B. mused on that. Burning diamonds was clever. Jewelry was without value these days, and so a lot of it could still be found in the ruins. Diamonds were merely coal, after all. Probably used thermite to ignite the diamond dust and then watch out, the stronger the source, the hotter the laser.

  “Heads up,” Eric announced suddenly, his voice distorted with static as lightning flashed nearby. All conversation stopped for a moment as the thunder rolled over them shaking the wags.

  “The ear has a series of explosions to the north,” Eric continued reporting. “A lot of them, very fast, very strong.”

  “Is he fighting somebody else?” Dean asked hopefully.

  Jak replied, “Mebbe it only thinks it’s us.”

  “Bah, the feeb has gone blaster-happy,” Blackjack muttered. “Just shooting for the sound of it.”

  “Or he’s clearing the line of sight,” Ryan corrected. “Once those few standing buildings are gone, he’ll be able to track the entire rim of the cliff from one central location.”

  “Fuck it,” the door guard said with conviction. “Let him keep the city. He’ll be ass deep in muties for the rest of his life.”

  Then Eric spoke, “No, he is shooting at the cliff. I hear rocks falling, but no glass shattering, or anything else breakable. This makes no sense.”

  Frowning in thought, Ryan turned. “J.B., you took a recce of the rim while we were on top of the building.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Is the north face of the cliff the lowest point?”

  “Sure,” the Armorer said, then realized what that meant.

  “He’s digging a path out,” Kate growled, slamming a fist onto the arm of her chair. “Using the coil gun to blow down the cliff and make a ramp of solid rock to reach the surface!”

  “If he achieves open ground with that APC,” Mildred started.

  “Tank,” Jessica interrupted. “During the lightning I got a brief vid of the city and saw it. Big monster, five, six times the size of any APC. It’s a goddamn tank.”

  “Nuking hell!” Anders whispered, slumping his shoulders. “Gaza with a working preDark tank.”

  “If the baron escapes from the pit in that behemoth, he’ll take over the Deathlands in a year. He was a major danger with just an APC, but with a full operational preDark tank—” Kate paused “—he’ll be unstoppable. We got nothing that can even dent that big bastard until it’s close enough to blow us to bits.”

  “The bastard has all of the advantages,” Fat Pete said, speaking at last.

  “Except one,” Ryan stated, going to the windshield and looking at the pouring rain. “Think any of those motorcycles might still work?”

  “Sure,” Blackjack said, leaning on the .50-cal, making the belt of ammo jingle. “They’ve survived acid rain storms before. Why?”

  “We’ll need a lot more plastic sheeting,” J.B. said, tilting back his fedora. “And a hell of a diversion. But if these folks have enough cable and a good winch, we can use the ravine and ledge we climbed before to get back down into the city.”

  “A ground attack?”

  “Yeah. Gaza may be blasting the cliff to make a path out,” Ryan said with a grim smile, “but we already know the way down, and the very last bastard thing he would ever expect at this point is a strike from behind.”

  “And above,” Kate said, tossing the man her personal hand comm. He made the catch. “Only use the even channels. Jump each time you make a call. We’ll hit him together.”

  “Allies?” Ryan asked.

  “Partners,” she agreed. “Deal?”

  The one-eyed man nodded at that and started along the corridor, pushing Anders out of the way as he and the rest of the companions started toward the washroom and their battered ponchos.

  In the tumultuous sky, the chem storm raged away, completely unconcerned with the very human battle about to begin on the muddy ground below.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rumbling, tumbling and rolling madly, the pieces of the shattered cliff cascaded into the city, crushing cars and smashing into the sides of small buildings.

  Gaza watched impatiently as the loose material shifted and slid about in the pale yellow rain, the salt and sand mixing into a vicious mud that flowed as thick as snot from the desert above. Damn. There was no way he could roll the behemoth through that mess without becoming completely quagmired, a sitting target for the Trader to shoot apart at her leisure. Fuck that nonsense.

  Again and again, the cannon hummed, discharging new projectiles at beyond the speed of sound. Each time, the power gauges on the control board swung high toward the redline, but never reached the danger zone. After his initial zeal of discovery, it was soon apparent to the baron that the mil wag wasn’t in as good a shape as he had originally believed, but it was still better than that patchwork wag the Trader drove. Clearly, some minor adjustments would have to be made to his master plan, but nothing serious. And the beginning was exactly the same—get out of the hole, then kill the Trader.

  Steadily, the ammo count dropped, as more and more of the cliff was blown loose and the sharply sloped mound of rubble expanded into the ruins, becoming less angled, easier to climb, wider, flatter, stronger.

  Soon freedom would be his, very soon now.

  AT THE BOTTOM of the cliff, the rain was splattering juicy and hard on th
e plastic ponchos of the men, their three bikes equally draped with as much plastic sheeting as they could carry as some extra protection against the deadly rain. Only three motorcycles had been recovered, the rest damaged from shrapnel. Three bikes meant just three riders. Only Ryan and J.B. were going, along with Fat Pete, the goliath insisting a member of the convoy ride with the outlanders for obvious security reasons. The rest of the companions were in War Wag One, helping with what they could.

  Despite his blunt demeanor, Ryan didn’t think the big man liked the companions, and especially the way the Trader looked at Ryan when she thought nobody else would notice. The one-eyed man had wanted a ride from the Trader, but not that kind, and was no threat to the love-stricken man. But the big hardcase didn’t see the matter that way, finding it difficult to believe that everybody didn’t want to be with the Trader.

  Well equipped, Ryan and J.B. had their personal blasters back, plus a lot of secondary stuff from the Trader’s considerable supplies, along with the only two functional LAW rockets. And that was it. They had to do the job with two, or else the mission was a bust and Gaza would bring a new meaning of hurt to the helpless world above.

  “Let’s go,” Fat Pete said, checking the sawed-off double-barrel at his side. The scattergun had been Roberto’s, rescued from the acid puddles soon enough that the firing mechanism hadn’t been damaged. The shells were doubtful and he had tossed those, but now the loops of the gun belt were full of slick cartridges sprayed with the silicon lube they used to protect the hoses of the bikes.

  Twisting the hand grips and kicking the starters, the men got the Harleys sputtering into life, and worked the fuel and clutch awhile until the engines grew warm and finally smoothed out. Slipping into gear, the three drove carefully through the rocks and rubble until reaching the flat city streets. Now they fed the hungry machines juice and leaned into the acceleration, dodging potholes, skeletons and wags, often going onto the sidewalks to avoid the motionless traffic jam of the dead.

  Staying in a triangle formation to keep from splashing one another with their wakes, the three men urged the motorcycles on ever faster, staying low behind the cracked windshields.

  In their wake, stickies rushed to the empty windows attracted by the noise, then hooted loudly as the acid rain washed over their naked forms. The flesh bubbled, falling away in gooey strings, with their thin blood pouring out until the beating internal organs simply fell onto the dirty floors.

  High above the sagging metropolis, lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled but the rain was coming with less force, the brunt of the terrible storm already over. Soon, the peace of the desert would return and what scant cover the hellish tempest offered the desperate people would be gone completely.

  “MOVE OUT!” Kate ordered, and War Wag One lurched into motion.

  Driving at top speed, the massive rig churned through the stormy desert, staying a good distance from the edge of the cliff, navigating purely by the fire-lit skyscrapers within the sunken city.

  “Where the hell is Anders?” Blackjack asked, returning from the main corridor. “The bastard said he would watch my blaster while I took a whiz.”

  “But he left right after you,” Jessica started, then her face sagged as she realized the truth. “Oh, no.”

  “So the coward finally ran,” Kate said, uncaring of any hurt feelings the truth might incur. “Good riddance, waste of fuel hauling his useless ass along.”

  “Damn right,” Jake said, reaching out to pat the other tech on the shoulder. “Stay razor, pretty lady, we got a job to do.”

  Jessica slumped at the pronouncement and returned to her work in sad silence.

  However, nobody else was really surprised, and had been expecting it for a long time. If Kate could, she would find the bastard and hang him from a tree, but they had a fight to finish first. Hopefully, the rain would chill the dirty bastard and save her the trouble of tracking him down.

  “Missiles are primed and ready, Chief,” Jake reported briskly, his hands moving across the controls. “Four in the pod and that’s everything. The rest were with Susie in the cargo van.”

  Kate merely grunted at that.

  “The L-gun is fully charged,” Eric announced over the speakers, “but we only have one full shot, mebbe two short ones, so make it count, Chief.”

  “That was the plan,” the Trader muttered, listening to the gentle rhythm of the softening rain. The woman had gone into battle with less and emerged alive. Hopefully, she could manage to pull that off one more time.

  GNAWING ON A RATION BAR from an MRE pack, Kathleen jerked up her head to listen as a strident crashing shook the behemoth and banks of lights flickered in rippling rainbows.

  “Son of a bitch,” Gaza said, leaning into the monitor. That last shot had really done the trick. A good hundred yards of cliff had broken free to fall into the city, crushing several one-story buildings. Loose rubble spread across the widening gap of destruction, forming a gentle ramp to the rougher sections of the ragged cliff. By the nuke, this was going to work!

  Just then, a whole section of the board lit up and a soft beeping sounded a warning as the turret traversed a sharp arc, the cannon stopped humming as the side-mounted rapid-fires cut loose. A split second later, the tank rocked as something slammed on the roof with triphammer force, silencing the twin .50-cal machine guns.

  “Report!” Gaza barked, starting to rise from his chair, then stopping, unable to decide what to do or where to go.

  “Source unknown, possible rock splinter recent collapse,” the tank reported with machine calm. “Zero penetration to primary hull, but both antipersonnel machine guns have been disabled. The service droids have not responded and may also be damaged. Should I call for assistance?”

  Snapping fingers for his attention, Kathleen touched her throat and shook her head hard. Gaza nodded in understanding.

  “There is to be no communication to anybody except me,” the baron commanded, feeling a touch of fear in his belly. “Total silence. Got that?”

  The damn thing was old, but smarter than most humans. He didn’t want it trying to talk to anybody else, mebbe learn the truth that the war was over for a hundred fragging years and this was a private fight.

  There was a pause that grew to uncomfortable length.

  “Acknowledged,” it said. “Communications blackout is now in progress. Active relay via geosync satellite has not been achieved. Only passive monitoring will continue.”

  “Good. Now keep digging,” the man directed. He added, “But if anything appears on the cliff, even a lone person, use the main gun to kill on sight.”

  Unfortunately, without the .50-cal, the tank had only the main cannon and that was needed for the cliff. Suddenly, the baron wasn’t so sure that it was a chunk of rock that had hit the tank. Might have been a gren. Could they be under attack? It seemed unlikely. Only a feeb would attack a preDark tank with anything short of an implo gren. No, it was a rock splinter, nothing more.

  “Confirmed,” the tank said, and the main cannon hummed once more, another acre of rock blasting loose to tumble onto the growing mound.

  THE BIG HARLEY purring between his spread legs, Ryan braked to a halt behind a thick brick wall and thumbed the transmit on the hand comm.

  “Okay, I got the machine guns with the pipe bombs,” Ryan said quickly. “Now light ’er up!”

  “Bet your ass we will,” Pete growled in response.

  “Roger that,” J.B. added.

  Tucking the comm into a pocket, Ryan fed the Twin-V 88 some fuel and rode down the block, arching around the tank to a new position. A few seconds later, the exact spot he had just transmitted from loudly detonated. Yeah, he had expected that would be the reaction to a radio broadcast this close. Once Gaza figured it wasn’t muties running about, he would be forced to use the big gun, which slowed his departure and bought the Trader more time.

  But the bastard cannon was fast! Wouldn’t have thought something that large could move so bastard quick!
And he had faced such a titan before. The damn mil wag was a GE Ranger, a comp-operated tank very similar to one they had fought back in Ohio. It had taken a suicide run to stop that war machine, and he sure as nuking hell hoped it wouldn’t require such a sacrifice again here in Texas.

  Suddenly, a flame flickered from a second story and a burning object arced through the drizzling sky to hit behind the tank, forming a pool of fire. As the main gun swung that way, Pete drove the Harley down a flight of stairs and deeper into the ruins. The tank hummed and that area exploded. J.B. then popped up on the other side and threw another Molotov that landed on top of the Ranger, and Ryan added a third in front of the machine. As they raced away, Pete tossed in a fourth, sealing the war wag in a ring of flame.

  Steering with one hand through the scattered rain, Ryan pulled out the hand comm and hit the switch. “Okay, she’s hot as an oven! Do it now!” he cried out. But there was no response, only the crackle of static.

  “I was afraid of this. We’re too bastard far!” J.B. cursed. “The Trader can’t hear us!”

  Ryan glanced at the buildings rising in the center of the city. “And they sure as hell can’t see us—that’s for damn sure. Got no choice. One of us goes back!”

  “On it!” Fat Pete cried and roared off, shouting into the hand comm.

  The tank fired at the departing man as he took a corner and an entire side of a bank blew out, masonry tumbling into the puddle-filled street, crushing cars and trucks.

  “We have to keep it busy,” Ryan said, driving and talking at the same time. He paused to take a pothole, the impact jarring his spine and kidneys hard. “Keep talking and moving! It’ll track on us and ignore Pete!”

  “You hope!” J.B. replied over the crackling comm. “Sure as hell wish we could use the LAW rockets, but they wouldn’t dent this monster!”

  Rolling out of the pool of flames, the tank hummed again, the radios crackled from the electromagnetic impulse of the coil gun cannon. Another section of the ruins detonated, a roiling fireball throwing rubble skyward.

  “Fireblast, it moved!” Ryan raged. “Any more Molotovs?”