“Very comforting. How many times have you done this, how many bombs have you set off?” Burke was asking a question he didn’t really want answered.
“Oh heck, it’s a bit like being a guard on a death row the night before an execution. You are only allowed to do it the once.”
“So this is your first time.”
“Yup, sure is, Andy too.” Carson started to go through his pockets. “Say, have any of you got a black marker pen? I seem to have missed a few spaces.” Quite unconcerned at the expressions on the faces of the men around him, Carson was examining the fabric cover of his helmet and scrutinising the pale patches of camouflage fabric that were not embellished with a stylised ban-the-bomb insignia.
“I can tell you this though, I have had loads of theory pumped in to me. I am real good at that. OK? Does that sort of calm you a bit?”
“Loads.” Burke turned back to his controls. “Just loads.”
Anticipating the storm of dust that their charge across the underground facility would cause, Burke was already employing infrared vision. Dead ahead the exit stood out clearly and as they hit the foot of it he cut the port engine and felt the nose of the machine jerk upwards.
In the short climb to the road the speed fell away to a walking pace and the screech of the engines to a single muted whisper. This was the moment of their greatest vulnerability. The only idea they had of what might await them came from the sketchy information gleaned from minimal observation from the head of the ramp.
Burke took the Iron Cow through a sweeping turn avoiding street furniture but for all his caution still grating the machine against a lottery booth and then pushing aside a heavy cast iron bench that squealed on the paving stones before toppling back with a crash.
In the turret Libby kept the sights of the high velocity cannon zeroed on a scout car parked at a junction. It was facing away from them and there was no movement in or about it. The two hundred yards they had to cover swept past, another bench was tipped over and two small trees whipped and showered leaves as they were brushed aside without breaking.
From the command position Revell watched the vehicles turret, but it did rotate towards them as they approached. “It’s a derelict.” Now he could see a plume of hot air seeping out through the four wheelers open and distorted engine inspection hatch. “The first turn is a right, immediately after you pass it. Use it as cover until the last second.”
All of the APC’s weapon ports were manned, with Clarence having taken an automatic from the rack and poked it through the rear door defence position. An image enhancing night sight served him no purpose there, positioned between the Allison’s exhaust pipes. He had made sure the magazines he had loaded had a high proportion of tracer rounds among the armour piercing. He might not be able to aim effectively but he would certainly be able to push out a frightening blast of pyrotechnics.
Clearing the abandoned vehicle the APC cut close in behind it and turned into a street that appeared to have suffered virtually no damage, as yet. There were a few shops, but mostly it was lined with service establishments, like insurance offices and hairdressers. For that reason it had not yet tempted the looters in any numbers. The fact that it ran across the city from north to south, cutting across the Soviet line of advance meant it had attracted no fighting and so they were able to travel down it without constantly having to swerve around smashed or abandoned transport. “Next turn coming up.” Burke let a hand hover over the engine selector and power panel as the hovercraft ran at slow speed on to the new course, and immediately he slapped down hard to bring the starboard engine on line and take it up to full power.
“That bloody map is wrong. It’s been turned in to a pedestrian area.” Revell saw the mass of lamps, fountains, benches and raised flower beds even as they ran over the first group of them and the street exploded in a thunder of noise and sparks. His shout was hardly necessary as the machine was already lifting to its maximum ride height and blasting forward. Tables and chairs outside the many restaurants, cafes and coffee shops offered no meaningful impediment but built up in a scraping, squealing wall before their progress, until they splintered and broke and disappeared under the Kevlar sheets.
Stone plant troughs, heavy concrete benches and fancy wrought iron statuary were thrown and rolled from beneath the ride skirt as it expanded to its maximum size and lift. Stone walls disappeared beneath the APC as it accelerated over the raised gardens. They reappeared in its wake stripped of soil and shrubs. Windows flanking their route shattered as fragments of brick scattered in every direction.
“Just keep going. Open her up wide.” Revell knew that the wave of sound they were creating would bring trouble fast and it came even quicker than he expected. There was a flash of light across their route and an explosion pounded a dry fountain to rubble, sending white stone chippings and lengths of copper piping high in the air.
At almost the same instant the RPG impacted, a light machine gun hosed tracer across their path. It ceased as they reached it. None of them saw precisely where the fire came from but every upper floor window above a baby-wear store was lashed by return fire from the flanks and turret of the hovercraft.
From the far end of the pedestrian area came a stream of heavy automatic fire. It was high, passing well above them but Revell knew there would be more to come. The size of the tracer indicated a cannon, or more likely a pair of cannon of at least twenty-three millimetre calibre.
As they surged forward, throwing ahead of them a constant avalanche of street wreckage, machine gun fire was hosed across their wake, missing as abruptly alerted Russians drastically under-estimated the vehicles velocity. Enemy infantry were running from the cafes and bars.
“They’ve been stuffing their bloody faces and getting smashed.” From a firing port Ripper hosed a whole magazine in to a gaggle of enemy who had lurched from a heavily sign written bar, struggling to bring their weapons to bear as they staggered. The men’s heavy coats were instantly stained with blood as the high velocity rounds plucked at their clothing and went on to penetrate their bodies.
More streams of fire lanced towards the APC, hastily and inaccurately aimed Russians were caught with their weapons still slung and carrying big pots of beer or handfuls of sausage and bread. Some were unable to scream when cut down as their mouths were full of food.
Impacts could be heard as the spare Kevlar sheets shielding the turbo-fans and the sloped aluminium armour of the upper hull absorbed or shrugged aside the rounds aimed at them.
“There must be a whole company of the bastards.” Hyde mowed down a knot of infantry who were struggling up from where they lounged on benches with food spread on a table. None succeeded in reaching the weapons.
Rapidly closing the range on the unseen source of the cannon fire, Burke skidded the APC to a path close to the buildings. It was done barely in time. The distant Russian gunner had lowered his sights and sent a great blaze of cannon shells down the centre of the pedestrian area.
In the turret Libby had been waiting for just that and unleashed a return fusillade of armour piercing shells, aiming precisely at the point from which the enemy cannon shells were fired and that he could now identify by the powerful muzzle blasts and the wild thrashing of ornamental trees and shrubs.
All three rounds impacted on their target and momentarily a six-wheeled armoured truck was revealed by an ammunition explosion that stripped foliage from the concealing plants. The detonation among the anti-aircraft vehicles magazines sent the twin barrels rearing into the air and then all was hidden by smoke wreathing the vehicle.