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 the 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 rapidfires 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 transmi
t 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?"
"No!"
"Then we use the satchel charge!"
"Too late!"
Glancing upward, Ryan cursed as he saw the fiery outline of the heatseekers from War Wag One arc over the city and plummet straight down toward the empty pool of fire. Then a pair peeled off to separate and strike different buildings still blazing, a furniture warehouse and a chemical factory. But the rest dived toward their target and impacted on the vacant street, throwing chunks of pavement in every direction, the staggering blast toppling dozens of additional ruins.
"We were too slow!" Ryan snarled. "Okay, we use the backup plan!"
Killing their radios, Ryan and J.B. rode to new locations and parked in the penumbra of jagged structures that hopefully would hide them from the sensors of the Ranger. Stepping off the bikes, the men unlimbered their LAW rockets, pulled the pins and extended the tubes to swing the launchers toward the tallest remaining skyscraper.
In a whooshing roar, the rockets launched and climbed on hot contrails to slam deep into the structure, the double explosions blowing out the Plexiglas windows on the middle floors.
Even as the shiny plastic fell, there was a brilliant strobe of light from the cliff as the L-gun of War Wag One stabbed out a short shimmering beam of destruction that hit the building and cut it in two, finishing the job the rockets merely started. As the slab of floors fell away, the war wag now had a direct line-of-sight view of the Ranger.
Even as the tank swung its main gun toward the enemy on the high ground, the homemade laser stabbed out with a sustained beam of shimmering energy that lanced straight through the machine like a burning sword. As the chassis glowed red hot, the coil gun hummed one last time as the Ranger flashed rads from the violated DU armor, flooding the vicinity to lethal levels. Everything flammable in the tank vaporized into superheated steam, and there was a brief human scream as the reserve ammo for the machine guns ignited, heaving the ruptured vehicle into the air, a halo of shrapnel brutally peppering everything in sight. Tumbling in the air, the tank crashed back down as a flaming meteor, secondary explosions cooking nuke batteries and adding to the general annihilation.
Then impossibly, incredibly, the electric motors roared with life and the Ranger tried to rally once more until lightning crackled from the engine compartment and the fusion reactor scrammed, shutting off all power. Crackling in flames, the demolished war wag sat there for a few calculated seconds, just long enough to draw an enemy closer, and then the self destruct charges welded inside its sturdy frame detonated. The four hundred pounds of thermite flaring incandescent, creating a nimbus of searing blinding light.
As the hellish inferno slowly dimmed and vision returned, there was nothing remaining of the preDark tank but a steaming crater in the ground and a very great deal of molten steel scattered about sizzling on the damp ground.
"Hello?" the hand comm crackled. "Anybody there?"
Ryan pressed the switch. "I'm okay, Pete. How about you, J.B.?"
"Alive and kicking," the Armorer replied.
Looking to the cliff, Ryan frowned when he couldn't find the war wag. "How is Trader?" he asked urgently. "Did they take a hit?"
"She…she's aced," Fat Pete said woodenly. "Everybody else got out in time, in case the attack failed, but she stayed to aim the laser."
"The Trader is chilled," Ryan said softly, raising a gloved hand to shield his face from the raging inferno of the dying tank. PreDark lamp posts on the distant corners were starting to soften and bend over from the heat like melting icicles, the sidewalks shattering into rubble, bricks crumbling into the ash they were forged from again.
"No way she could have escaped?" J.B. prompted hopefully.
"None," Fat Pete said in a tight voice. "Duncan saw it happen from War Wag Two, which I guess is now One, and I'm the new Trader." There was a pause filled with only the sound of his controlled breathing.
"Which means you fucking outlanders aren't welcome here anymore," Trader snarled in barely controlled rage.
Epilogue
As morning came, words were few and the mood was solemn as the people picked through the steaming wreckage of the destroyed war wag to find anything they could salvage. It would be a very long drive to the closest depot and their next cache of supplies. The decision had already been made in the morning light to accept a deal from an Ohio trader who needed help reclaiming a huge war wag from the side of a mountain. How it got there, nobody could say, but it was packed with weapons and in prime condition. With their share, they could be back in business again, and there would be some trading along the way. Some chilling, too, most likely, but then that was life.
"That everything?" Jak asked, strapping the water can to the side of the motorcycle. The air was clean this morning, the stink of the acid long gone with the sun, leaving the desert feeling clean and renewed.
"Everything I can think of taking," Ryan answered, checking the hoses on the big Harley. The hog needed a good cleaning, but aside from that it was fit for travel. Whoever the recent owners were, they had taken excellent care of the bikes.
"Nice of the Trader to let us have these," Dean said, wiping off the seat with a damp rag. The saddlebags were full of food
and water, and even a few of the pipe bombs. They would be able to reach the redoubt on the Grandee without any real problems.
"Nothing courteous about it—the bikes let us leave faster," J.B. explained, checking his Uzi machine pistol. "I guess he loved her a lot. Mebbe too much. Damn fool should have said something while she was still around."
"'Love oft ties the tongue as steel can bind a hand,'" Doc rumbled.
Spread before the companions, the Texas desert was flattened into a mosaic pattern of raindrop hits, the landscape even more barren and desolate than before.
"Looks like the surface of the moon," Mildred muttered, hefting her med kit. She had shared what she could of the recent acquisitions from the city with Matilda, who was now the healer for the convoy. It left them both short on supplies, but each came away with a few items they didn't have before. A fair exchange.
"How know moon?" Jak asked, topping off the oil in his machine.
"Saw it on TV."
"Vid?"
"Live broadcast."
"Doesn't matter. We're all here and still breathing," J.B. said with a warm smile. "I guess that doomie was wrong, eh?"
Krysty gave him a grin, but didn't comment in return. The message in blood had only said what would happen, not when. She still felt the hand of death among them and knew it would strike soon. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon.
Several techs and sec men for the convoy were inspecting a tire on the small cargo van, Fat Pete among them, so Ryan took the chance to walk over to the giant who now called himself Trader. The name was being passed around a lot these days, but the two so far had been worthy of the title.
"We'll be leaving now," Ryan said. "Heading south to the Grandee." The one-eyed wanted to say more, but knew it wouldn't be accepted well.
"Good," the giant replied gruffly.
With a shrug, Ryan turned, but the man stopped him.
Axler, James - Deathlands 64 - Bloodfire Page 24
