by Andy Remic
Jam’s expression changed - from a twisted smile to a snarl. ‘Stop, Carter, stop ...’
‘We need the machine, the Avelach ... you know where it is ... it was used on you - to change you. Listen to me, man, if I don’t get the machine then Natasha will die—-’
Jam whirled, and was gone into the night.
Carter and Mongrel staggered to the doorway to see two of the LVA storage tanks billowing fifty-metre columns of fire into the sky with deafening roars, lighting up the quarry with false daylight. To one side the two armoured tanks sprang into life, engines roaring, tracks rumbling as at the distant head of the valley a group of Spiral SP57 tanks appeared, in desert camouflage - their tracks tearing at the hard-packed ground as they mowed down the perimeter fence and ploughed through barbed wire—
Nex spilled from the barracks.
There came a whump and one of the barrack buildings exploded in a titanic ball of fire sending a hundred screaming burning Nex flailing up into the sky where they disintegrated into flurries of charred flesh. The Spiral tanks advanced, churning the earth. The Nex tanks’ guns fired and an SP57 was blown into the air and sent crashing into another tank. The two war machines exploded in a massive blossoming purple fireball...
‘What can we do?’ hissed Mongrel, eyes wide.
He turned. But Carter had gone ...
The quarry was a battlefield.
Nex with sub-machine guns had taken up defensive positions and their JK59s roared. Another barracks was sent flashing into the sky at the same time as a Nex tank. It spun lazily on a rising blanket of fire, its gun blasting a shell up towards the heavens even as it rose and was slowly consumed by purple HighJ fire before arcing gently and toppling back to earth as a burned and blackened steel carcass ...
Carter sprinted across the quarry, head down, Browning in one hand, face grim ...
Four small black attack helicopters leapt into the air. The SM7.8VLS Vertical Launching Systems whirled on heavy-duty motors, arming the SM-7 missiles ... but they did not engage.
They recognised their own.
Carter forgot stealth as bullets and shells screamed all around him. His face was illuminated by the light from the burning LVA tanker stores. Machine-gun fire stitched a line of dust spurts in front of his boots and his Browning smashed a Nex from its feet. He halted, dropping to a crouch beside the Nex warrior which scrabbled at the hot metal in its throat...
‘Where is Durell?’
But the Nex died before it could say anything.
Behind the tanks came the roar of machine guns as DemolSquads on foot came to their aid. Using the heavy tanks as shields, they advanced across the tracer-lit quarry, an SP57 pushing a burning Nex truck chassis out of the way. Then the tank climbed over it and crushed it under its heavy tracks.
Carter saw the distant small black helicopters. Jam was climbing into one of them. He looked left, towards the nearest sniper tower. His eyes narrowed as he watched its two snipers firing, reloading, firing again and he ran towards the tower, grabbed the slippery alloy ladder and started to climb.
Bullets whistled past him, making him flinch and curse. Carter palmed the Browning and took out three Nex with three head shots. They hit the ground, rolling, rag-dolls whose brains merged with the hard-packed ground in streamers of gore.
Carter continued to climb.
Below him the quarry spread out, a battlefield populated by a couple of hundred Nex and Spiral DemolSquads. The tanks had centre stage and, off in the distance, Carter saw more Nex tanks rumbling from some distant reserve post—
‘The fuckers.’
To his right, the helicopters containing Durell and Jam started to climb into the night air, engines howling, mounted machine guns raining bullets down into the battle raging below. Carter increased his efforts, sweat rolling down his face and body, breath coming in gasps, stare switching between the battlefield and the ascending choppers—
Carter reached the top of the ladder.
The two snipers were busy - busy dealing out precision death.
As Carter’s boots touched down on the rough-sawn planks, the Nex whirled round, suddenly looking confused. Carter shot the first one in the face at point-blank range and saw the pale white features disintegrate in an instant as blood sprayed across a wooden beam. The second Nex threw a punch but Carter ducked, came up on its left and powered his right elbow into its face. It took a step back, and Carter smashed a right kick into its chest - it hit the barrier, and was flipped over to topple to the ground far below.
Carter grabbed at his belt, produced a tiny matt-black disc the size of a small coin - a TrackingDisc - and as the helicopters lifted past the tower he pulled back his arm and threw it with all his might. It spun across the void and connected with a click to the tail section of Durell’s helicopter - which disappeared up into the blackness.
Panting and shaking, Carter glanced down at the raging battle.
Machine-gun bullets slammed into the beam behind him, spitting splinters of scorched wood into the air.
‘Cheers, guys,’ he muttered, taking hold of a Nex sniper rifle. He hefted the Barrett SilverScope III thoughtfully, then leant it against the wooden parapet and sighted on the nearest sniper tower directly opposite.
The two snipers there leapt into view as the sight clicked and buzzed. The Nex were busy with their shooting, rifles kicking smoothly and emotionlessly in black-gloved hands.
Carter sighted his weapon and sent a bullet across the gap.
It hit a Nex in the side of the head, the high-calibre round smashing it from the platform with only half of its skull left. The second Nex looked momentarily stunned, then whirled as the bullet hit it high in the chest and it, too, was punched backwards from the tower to flip and fall, legs kicking as it spun towards the ground.
Carter turned his attention to the third tower.
And, smiling coldly, killed the snipers there too.
‘I fucking hate snipers as well,’ snapped Kade. ‘Go on ... give them a taste of their fucking medicine ... do you know, in the Fourth Gulf War if we caught a sniper we used to—’
‘Kade?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Shut up.’
Carter sighted on the final operational sniper tower. They were raining hot death down on the DemolSquads supporting the SP57 tanks below and Carter sighted on the first Nex - could see the copper eyes leap into view through his scope, could read the focus of intent, and licked his lips, allowing breath to flow easily from his lungs as—
The whole tower top exploded in a sudden bright inflorescence and disintegrated in a bloom of purple.
The Nex snipers were vaporised.
Carter frowned, and followed the line of trajectory. And there, on the top of the cliff, squatting like an angry insect against the hard ground with its matrix-engine hissing was the HTank - the Spiral Edition HoverTank - driven by Simmo.
Carter grinned.
Then saw the gun start to track round—
Towards him.
‘You’ve got to be fucking—’ But he was moving, climbing onto the ladder and praying like a lunatic. He clamped his boots to the outside of the ladder and loosened his grip ...
The ladder thrummed under his gloves.
The ground rushed towards his boots - as his eyes saw the kick of fire from the HTank’s massive barrel and the tower above him exploded in a shattering blast. The shock waves sent him crashing from the ladder, chunks of hot wood raining down on him, to land in a bush.
All the air was kicked from his lungs.
Carter lay there, dazed. He watched the HTank engage and with a cold matrix-engine hiss flip over the lip of the canyon and speed to the wide floor of the quarry down the rugged near-vertical slope - and behind the positions of the fighting Nex.
Three shells sent bodies sailing, burning, through the air.
Another shell destroyed the final Nex tank.
Carter looked up, looked around.
Mongrel was grinning. ‘Carter, wh
at the fuck are you doing in that bush?’
Carter realised that he was on fire, and hurriedly patted at his flaming clothing. ‘Trying not to get shelled,’ he muttered, as Mongrel helped him from the spiky branches with small curses and yelps.
‘They got away,’ said Mongrel, as Simmo’s HTank roared up behind the Spiral agent and Mongrel looked calmly over his shoulder. The hatch opened with a clang and Simmo’s huge shaved head appeared, throat-tattoos glistening under a layer of sweat.
‘The Sarge think that fine sport!’ he yelled.
‘Not done yet,’ said Carter, pointing.
One final small black attack helicopter was trying to take off. It rose into the air, then fell back again, its engines screaming. Then it leapt once more—
‘Simmo take care of this.’ He disappeared.
Carter and Mongrel exchanged glances.
The HTank, so close that Carter could have reached out and touched it, elevated its bulk on a cold-cushion of hissing vapour and the gun fired a shell that caught the helicopter’s tail section, ripping it free and sending the machine into a spinning nosedive. It crunched against the concrete landing pad and fire erupted along one flank from severed fuel pipes ...
Simmo leapt down from the HTank and strode towards the chopper.
‘What you doing?’ yelled Mongrel over the sounds of distant gunshots.
Simmo just shrugged, reached the burning copter, and pulled free a lithe but muscular man with a heavily scarred face and red eyes. He was unconscious from the impact, bleeding, and Simmo calmly dragged him away as the black chopper flared bright and exploded, sending a thick plume of black smoke up into the moonlit night.
‘There are more tanks coming,’ said Carter. ‘From down the valley. I saw them from the tower.’
Simmo nodded, dumping Kattenheim to the ground. Mongrel rolled him onto his belly and bound his wrists and feet with wire. Simmo spoke quietly into his ECube and a group of waiting SP57 tanks turned, tracks grinding against the hard earth and turrets rotating smoothly to face this new threat.
‘We get call,’ said Simmo proudly. ‘We come! Heli-lift tanks in from local depot in Italy and many of TankSquad men fast-jet here from London ... including me! Well done, Mongrel! Your message tie in with The Priest’s and suddenly it make sense!’
Carter lit a cigarette.
‘And I see you brought the HTank there, Sarge.’
‘My HTank. Italian prototype. Ducati engines.’
Carter frowned, smiling softly. ‘You mean Spiral’s HTank, surely?’
‘Is mine.’
Carter breathed deeply, then nudged Mongrel as Simmo climbed back into the HTank and revved the cold matrix-engine. ‘Me go kill more Nex!’ he shouted down. ‘The Sarge not seen battle for too long! The Sarge soon run out of tattoo space!’ He steered the thundering HTank across the quarry, scattering DemolSquad teams who were clearing the area of any remaining Nex ... and disappeared from view.
‘We need to get the bikes and get back to the Comanche.’
‘You got a plan?’
‘I tagged Durell’s helicopter.’
‘So we know where they’re going? Smart move.’
Carter took Mongrel’s ECube and punched in a code. It hummed as it tracked trajectories and gave a list of possible destinations. ‘Yeah, looks like we’re going to ...’ He groaned.
‘Where?’
‘Of all the fucking places!’
‘Where is it, Carter?’
Carter grimaced. ‘Looks like we could be going to Egypt.’
‘I thought you were a wanted man in Egypt?’
‘I am. Everybody wants me very dead.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s a long story, my friend.’
Mongrel kicked the trussed-up body of Kattenheim. ‘What we going to do with this piece of shit? You think he might have some answers?’
‘I’m pretty sure he does. If we ask the right questions.’
‘I bet,’ said Mongrel, sharing Carter’s cigarette as machine guns blasted to one side and five DemolSquad operatives found the last remaining Nex and drilled it full of holes. ‘I bet he’s one of those tough bastards who just doesn’t want to talk.’
‘Simple solution,’ said Carter, eyes glittering.
‘What’s that?’
‘We’ll let Sergeant Simmo question him.’
Mongrel nodded, enjoying the smoke and gazing around at the fire, the bodies, the devastation. He laughed out loud then, and shook his head, eyes haunted.
‘You thinking of Jam?’
‘Yes,’ muttered Mongrel. ‘Come on. I want to get out of this place.’
‘Let’s tool up and move out,’ said Carter. ‘Simmo can give us information while we’re on the move.’
‘Can I come with you?’
Carter turned, and saw Mila. She was watching him with a strange look on her face. Blood had dried on her skin and he smiled kindly, wearily.
‘No.’
‘We might need a sniper,’ said Mongrel.
‘No.’
‘Listen, you can’t leave me here,’ Mila said, gazing round in horror at the battlefield and the corpses. ‘This is my fight as well - these Nex, they are my enemies. I have helped you get this far - without me you would not be on the trail of that ... creature you need to hunt.’
Carter glanced - murderously - at Mongrel. What else have you blabbed? he thought.
‘It will be dangerous,’ said Carter softly. He placed a hand against her shoulder, gently, feeling a little guilty for having placed a bullet in her flesh.
‘I can look after myself,’ Mila said.
‘So be it,’ nodded Carter.
‘Pussy,’ whispered Kade, a dark sneer in his tone.
CHAPTER 13
RENDEZVOUS
The lights were dim inside the barracks.
Simmo stood at the centre of the room, wearing nothing but combats and boots. His chest, heavily scarred and heavily tattooed, rippled with muscle. The huge soldier carried not one ounce of excess fat.
Around the outskirts of the room designed to house a hundred Nex warriors stood several grim-faced DemolSquad troopers. Haggis and Mo stood side by side, huge squat bullet-headed men, one British and one Pakistani: both awesome fighters. Lurking in the shadows, weapons held loosely in their hands, cigarettes trailing smoke to the ceiling stood the TankSquads - Fegs, Kavanagh, Oz, Remic, Root Beer, Rogowski, Falconer, Sagar, Graham and Holtzhausen. Kinnane and Samasuwo both held brews in their big scarred fists, and Bob Bob was looking forlorn, still with custard - his favourite food -staining his combats. All of them watched with barely suppressed hatred as Simmo reached down, dragged Kattenheim onto the chair at the centre of the room, and slowly tied him tightly to the thick wooden frame.
Simmo stooped a little, looking into the red eyes.
‘I know you’re a tough lad,’ he rumbled, ‘and The Sarge be honest - he not really like doing this sort of thing. Well, not much. Well, not unless he in bad mood. But you know answers to our questions and we want answers.’
‘Fuck you,’ said Kattenheim softly, and stared straight ahead.
Simmo shrugged, flexed his shoulders, and delivered a crashing left hook. They all heard the crack of bone before the chair hit the ground and Kattenheim lay, stunned and bleeding and staring at the wooden boards.
‘Simmo?’ said Fegs, holding a cigarette casually between his tattooed fingers.
‘Yeah?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to ask him a question?’
‘Hm. Yes.’ The Sarge nodded, then dragged Kattenheim upright once more.
‘Nothing like a fair trial,’ said Kattenheim smoothly; his face was swollen around his cheek and his gaze lifted to meet Simmo’s. ‘Once, when I was on para-ops in Colombia, I was captured by the enemy. The drug-purifiers tortured me for five days with alkaline chemical agents - and you see the results of their handiwork. And do you know something, Sergeant Simmo? I spoke not one word. Not one fucking word until my tea
m mates found me and burned the enemy — alive - in large pits. I have a pact with pain, Mr Simmo. Me and pain, well, we just agree to disagree.’
Simmo nodded, then delivered a right that smashed Kattenheim’s nose and sent the chair crashing backwards, thumping against the boards. A splash of blood stained the timber. Simmo moved forward and stood over Kattenheim, staring down, his face twisting as he felt his massive temper rising. Simmo felt the other TankSquad men retreating further into the shadows. When Simmo exploded, nobody wanted to be close.
‘The Sergeant very sorry you suffer at the hands of your enema.’ He chuckled nastily. ‘But I have watched one thousand, five hundred and sixty-three men - and, ah, Nex - die. One could say Sarge is professional. One could say Sarge have no soul. One could say Sarge have pact with the Devil. Whatever, you need answer questions or your pain will be incredible.’
‘Pain is something I can live with,’ said Kattenheim softly as the chair was righted and somebody handed Simmo a long, heavy, rusting iron bar. Simmo weighed it thoughtfully.
‘You have made your peace. That good, Sarge thinks. Now, I need know links between Durell and the LVA fuel. I need know why Nex are guarding LVA pumping rig. And I need know where Durell has gone with little cronies.’
Kattenheim stared straight ahead, mouth a grim line.
Most of the TankSquads looked away as Simmo swung the heavy bar.
And they knew that the night was going to be a long one.
The Comanche’s twin LHTec engines were humming softly as they cleared the south-west coast of Slovenia and headed out over the Adriatic Sea. The sun was rising in the east, casting tendrils of soft orange light over the silver waves, and the huge expanse of water stretched out ahead of them.
Carter, still weary and exhausted, checked the blip from the TrackingDisc and smiled to himself. He thought of Natasha lying in the hospital bed and the smile changed immediately to a grim scowl.
His mind spun with confusion.
And hatred.
And ... exhaustion.
How much longer can I go on? he asked himself.
How much longer can I fight? Kill?
‘For ever and ever. Amen,’ said Kade.
