Without warning, Les reached out and grabbed Michael by the chest armor, yanking him into the vehicle—not exactly the greeting he had expected. He fell to the floor just as a crunching sounded behind them.
Turning, Michael saw that one of the snakes had slammed into the side of the tanker behind them, pushing it onto its side. The filling hose’s head broke off, sending diesel fuel spurting through the air.
Les reached around Michael and slammed the hatch shut just as the spewing fuel caught fire. The explosion of superheated air and gases smashed into the armored vehicle, moving it several feet.
Magnolia had foreseen the inevitable explosion and ducked back inside, closing the turret hatch. The fireball enveloped the vehicle, but the armored and heat-shielded sides protected its occupants from the blast.
“Tin,” she said. “What are you—”
“Disobeying orders,” Les said.
The captain climbed into the front seat, leaving Michael and Magnolia with the moaning Cazador. He cried out in pain as the vehicle jolted again with another body slam from one of the whipping serpentine coils.
The red flesh of the beast slithered past the windshield before going back underground. Les grabbed the shifter and double-clutched the transmission but couldn’t get it back into gear.
He cursed a blue streak—an unusual event—and Michael moved up to help. A moment later, after a light and brief grinding of gears, the vehicle jolted, and the heavy tracks rolled forward, toward the remaining tanker.
Several Cazadores were still holding their ground there, firing assault rifles and a flamethrower at a snake that had just broken through the ground.
“Someone get back in that turret!” Les yelled.
Michael pushed the hatch open and climbed up. Two of the reptiles had surfaced on the north side of the embattled Cazador warriors while a third tunneled beneath the road to flank the men.
The mound of dirt moved fast, and he swung the machine-gun barrel in hopes of stopping the monster before it could reach the Cazadores. Leading the rising mound just slightly, he pulled the trigger. Green tracer rounds cut through the darkness and punched into the soil, kicking up dirt.
The beast veered left, away from the silos and the Cazadores.
A flash from the sky hit the dirt twenty yards in front of the transport and detonated, forcing Michael down. Hunks of earth and snake blew into the sky.
Michael hunched down in case Discovery should fire another rocket.
“Target eliminated,” said Layla’s voice over the comms.
Michael smiled as he climbed back up into the turret. Smoke curled up from a four-foot crater lined with snake gore, purple in the light of the arc lamps.
“Good shooting,” Michael said. He swiveled the machine gun back toward the silos, where the remaining tanker continued to take on fuel. Two Cazadores had climbed to the top of the tanker and attached the four cables from the airship to the load points, front and back.
The remaining snakes had retreated underground, but one burst through the surface to snag one of the five Cazador warriors guarding the tanker.
A man strode out from between the cab and trailer, firing a shotgun into the thick flesh of the beast. Whoever the hell it was, he had ice running in his veins.
Both heads shot toward the soldier, one of them knocking him to the ground. The heads pulled upward and both mouths opened, letting out a long, warbling screech.
Michael seized the moment to fire the turret machine gun. Rounds punched through the shared neck that was in the process of gulping down the first Cazador it had snatched.
Another beast suddenly slammed the undercarriage of the troop transport, lifting it several feet off the ground. Michael fell back inside, landing on Magnolia.
“Tin!” she shouted.
The snake struck again, and this impact sent the vehicle rolling. The world went topsy-turvy, and Michael hit the ceiling, then the deck, then Magnolia again. The transport continued to roll, the hatch slamming shut, popping open, and slamming shut.
They finally came to a stop with a loud crunch.
Les crawled out of the cab, gripping his helmet and mumbling.
All four of them were on the ceiling near the closed hatch to the turret. The badly hurt Cazador lay at the rear of the vehicle with his back to the bulkhead, chest armor heaving.
He gasped for air, the muffled sounds resounding through the enclosed space. He reached up for a severed oxygen line and then put both hands on his helmet.
“No!” Michael yelled.
But it was too late. The soldier pulled off his helmet, to reveal not a man, but a young woman. Her face turned pink at her first gulp of toxic air.
The comm channel fired, but Michael hardly listened to the transmission—he was too horrified at the sight of the woman in front of him to respond.
Her eyes bulged, turning bright red as capillaries broke. Blood trickled from her nose, and pink froth bubbled out from the corners of her mouth. She reached out to Michael, trying to speak, and then slumped to one side, convulsed several times, and lay still.
“Fuck,” Les said, again resorting to uncharacteristic language. He looked to Magnolia and Michael.
“Are you guys okay?” he asked. “How are your suits?”
Michael managed a nod.
“I’m…” Magnolia gave up finishing her sentence and made an O of her forefinger and thumb.
“Timothy has the tanker airborne, but our cable snapped,” Les said. “We have to get—”
Another coil of reptilian flesh bashed the side of the capsized transport, sending it skidding across the ground. The next blow dented the armored side and knocked Michael against the bulkhead.
“We have to get out of here,” he said, wincing. “Get ready.”
Les and Magnolia checked their laser rifles, and Michael slapped a fresh magazine into his assault rifle.
“After the next hit,” Les said. “Then we go out the hatch and sprint for the tanker.”
Michael and Magnolia nodded.
The next impact was not long in coming. The transport vehicle rolled again. Michael hit the floor and used the bench to pull himself up.
Disoriented, he took in several breaths and looked for the back hatch.
The monster shrieked again outside, and he braced for another impact, but all he heard was the boom of a gun firing. A wail of agony followed, then two more booms.
“Now!” Michael shouted.
Les turned the handle and pushed the hatch open. A Hell Diver moved into view before any of them could get out of the troop hold.
“Come on!” yelled the diver outside, waving.
Les jumped out, and Michael followed, wondering which diver had broken his orders after he broke the captain’s. The armored man stood near a harpoon as long as he was. The head was buried in the ground, and a rope trailed from its aft end up into the sky.
If Michael didn’t know any better…
He glanced up, following the rope to the bottom of the Sea Wolf. The remaining oil tanker was already secured to Discovery’s hull, beside the boat.
“Shake a leg, people!” shouted the diver.
Michael had a hard time hearing his voice, because he wasn’t using the comm channel, but it sounded familiar.
When he turned toward the diver, he saw why. It wasn’t a member of Team Raptor.
“Rodger?” Michael said.
The diver threw a slovenly salute and said, “Rodger Dodger, reporting for duty!”
Plum-colored blood poured from the half-severed neck of the snake curled across the road. Three Cazadores stood guarding the beast. One of the three held a double-barreled shotgun.
General Santiago, Michael realized.
Rodger hadn’t saved the divers all alone. He had worked with the Cazadores who stayed behind to fight the beasts, to give the crew a chance to get the tanker off the ground.