Healey gave him a hopeful look.
Crouch nodded. “Rocket launchers,” he said. “Time to step up our game a little.”
Healey grinned like a boy with a new bike. Again he punched in the access code and pulled out the weapons. By now more of Crouch’s team had made their way to his side. Crouch grunted as metallic pings clattered against the walls.
“Someone forgot to check our defense upgrade,” he said. Which cast doubt on this being a Coyote operation; it was more likely to be a different, lesser enemy.
He felt the lurch as the shed slid out of their compound and onto the industrial park’s streets. A slight turn and they were dragged over grass, through a briefly resisting fence, then they hit tarmac again. If Crouch had interpreted their movements correctly they were now traveling across the airfield.
Why? What on earth—
Then it hit him.
“Shit.” He motioned for Healey to pass him one of the RPGs. “Best get a move on, lads. Unless you want to go for a swim in a tin box.”
Quickly he checked and loaded his weapon, even as the jouncing shed jolted its way along the road. Another salvo of bullets ricocheted off the walls. Two of Crouch’s men lost their balance and rolled away as one metal edge slammed into the ground harder than before. An RPG slithered after them, worryingly already loaded. The shed travelled uphill for a short while and then hit a long downhill slope. Crouch felt a table slam into his back and pushed it aside. The dead and dying mercs all rolled toward the far wall, one of them still groaning but seemingly incapacitated.
There was no time left.
Crouch lifted the rocket launcher and balanced it over one shoulder; not an easy feat in the zigzagging shed. Healey did the same. Russo and the other men and women took cover as best they could. Then, with a shout, Crouch let the missile fly. The explosive warhead arrowed toward the shed-wall, fins spinning in flight. The downside to his plan happened next — the payload detonated on impact, sending metal fragments and fire bursting far and wide. Healey’s missile hit further along, also detonating when it struck metal. A fireball mushroomed up the wall and spread across the roof, most of it escaping through the new ragged holes. Crouch, having prostrated himself in a hurry, looked up to see a torn-apart wall and scenery swishing past.
“Move it.”
What was left of the Ninth Division struggled toward the blackened sides of the holes. As they approached, a new vehicle came into view; a flatbed truck, laden with men — their machine guns standing ready.
“Down!” Crouch yelled.
Bullets spattered the shed, peppering its frame and flying through the newly opened cavities. Fortunately the shots were all high. Crouch crawled hard, pistol in hand.
Healey was already there, firing through the gap at the swerving truck. When the shed gave another fishtail bounce it barely upset his aim; the bullet drawing sparks from the truck’s rear tailgate. Crouch squinted and made every shot count, picking off one guy with a shot to the chest, making him tumble over the truck’s low sides and smash to the ground.
Where the hell is the backup?
“We need to get out of here,” he said suddenly.
For there, snaking along to the left, was the Thames itself, wide at this point and relatively deep, nothing standing between them and it except a half-mown flowery bank. Beyond the serpentine, reflective waterway, Crouch now saw lights in the sky, coming fast.
Helicopters. “Good guys are almost here,” he said. Hoped.
He emptied the clip, forcing the truck to rev hard and surge out of sight after losing another soldier. Then he fixed Healey with a tough stare.
“Jump.”
The young man blinked rapidly. Even his thirst for adventure was slaked a little by the prospect of jumping out of an office being towed by a bunch of gun-wielding mercs, it seemed.
“Stop being a little bitch,” Russo growled. “And get your shrunken balls airborne.”
The big man showed an example, leaping ungainly through the jagged gap, just missing a sharp curve of metal, and landing in a bouncing tangle of arms and legs on the bank outside.
“Now if you can’t do better than that,” Crouch said. “You’re sacked. All of you.”
Healey jumped. Crouch pulled up the next man. But, as his remaining half dozen soldiers lined up to escape, they all felt a sudden jerk and swerve in the motion of the shed. With abrupt savagery it swept to the left, almost as if the vehicle pulling it had swerved hard right.
And it had, Crouch realized. This is where we hit the goddamn river.
The shed suddenly tipped, the side with the holes slamming into the earth, then slithered dramatically down the steep slope. Crouch lost all sense of balance, tumbling head over heels and hitting the far wall. Debris crashed all around him. Bodies glanced off his legs; some screaming, one grunting deeply as bones audibly snapped. Then, as their minds became used to the speed of the slide, the shed’s momentum was instantly arrested as it struck the water.
All quieted for a moment; then hell erupted.
Crouch had lost all sense of direction, not even sure which way was up or down. He struggled to his knees, noticing the swirling water already flooding the shed. A pile of papers floated by. A handgun knocked against his left arm as if reminding him it might yet be needed. He shook his head and tried to focus.
A hand gripped his right shoulder. “Sir! We should—”
The face disappeared as the shed shifted and a heavy filing cabinet rammed into the man. Crouch tried to help but the force of the collision tore him away and crushed him into the far wall. Before Crouch could do anything else the shed drifted sideways and sent its contents barreling in yet another direction.
Crouch saw the only way out of this thing was to head for the holes. He crawled as fast as he could, using the new floor to help him move forward. To hell with the torn nails, the lacerated fingers. The bubbling escape route was filling up fast with swirling debris and he needed to escape before it became too deadly. A deep, resonating groan echoed through the thinning air, bolts and welds already yielding to pressure. Crouch wasted no time. Nobody else was around him; he couldn’t see a single person. So, unsure exactly how long he’d been dithering he simply dived into the big hole against the flow of water. Instant mayhem and confusion caused his heart to race. The surging current was strong, forcing him back. He flailed, kicking his legs. Another swirling flux spun him away and down, currents fighting each other as they tried to cope with the huge interloper. Crouch found his face hitting something soft, the river bank, and dug his fingers in hard. Already the breath was burning in his lungs, longing to be expelled. Desperate now, he forced his way up, using the bank to navigate. The surface was not too far, just a few feet…
White trails streaked through the water around him. Bullets!
But there were no choices left any more. Crouch had to keep on climbing, struggling. In seconds he would gulp water and die. The rippling surface was just feet away. A trail of fire ripped down his forearm, drawing swirls of blood. At last he broke the surface and gulped for air, momentarily unable to gauge his peril.
A splash sounded next to his ear. Any second he expected the lights to go out. But when he was able to open his eyes he saw a spectacular sight: Healey and Russo running and firing across the top of the river bank, tormenting the mercs that had abandoned their enormous tow vehicle and discarded grapples, and forcing those that remained to flee.