Deathdealer bucked and pitched like a bull trying to pin a tiger to the jungle floor. The collision was almost as bad as the one for which Sparrow had prepared himself, but the tank never quite lost forward way. They staggered onward, cascading chunks of wall, curtains, and gambling tables.
The tank's AI threw up a red-lit warning on Screen Three. Deathdealer's ground-penetrating radar showed a thirty-centimeter tunnel drilled beneath the road's hard surface from the building they'd just demolished. The cavity was large enough to contain hundreds of kilos of explosive—
And it almost certainly did.
Without the blocked fan, Deathdealer would've been over the mine before the radar warning. Maybe past the mine before the Consie at the detonator could react—that was the advantage of speed and the shattering effect of heavy gunfire, the elements Sparrow'd been counting on to get them through.
And their armor. Even a mine that big . . . .
"All Mike—T-tootsie elements," Sparrow warned. "The road's mined! Mines!"
He'd frozen the gunnery controls as he waited for the collision. Now, while Albers muscled the tank clear of the wreckage and started to build speed again, Sparrow put both pippers on the building across the road from them. He vaporized it with a long burst and three 20cm rounds, just in case the command detonator was there rather than in the shattered gambling den.
It might have a pressure or magnetic detonator. Speed wouldn't 've helped Deathdealer then, if luck hadn't slewed them off the road at the right moment.
"Can't touch us!" Birdie Sparrow muttered as he fired back over the tank's left rear skirts. "Can't touch us!"
"Not this time, snake," said DJ Bell as bitter gases writhed through the turret.
If he'd bothered to look behind him, Hans Wager could've seen that the tail end of the column had yet to pass the gates of Camp Progress.
Just over the ridge, all hell was breaking loose.
Wager's instinctive reaction was the same as always when things really dropped in the pot: to hunker down behind his tribarrel and hope there were panzers close enough to lend a hand.
It gave him a queasy feeling to realize that this time, he was the tank element and it was for him, Blue Three, that the CO was calling.
"—move forward and lay a clearing charge!"
Something big enough to light the whole sky orange blew up behind the ridge. Pray the Lord it was Consies eating some of their own ordnance rather than a mine going off beneath a blower.
The lead tank and Tootsie Six had both dropped over the ridgeline. One-five any One-one pulled forward.The first car slid to the right in a gush of gray-white ash colored blue by gunfire while the other accelerated directly up the road.
Blue Three shuddered as her driver poured the coal to her. Through inexperience, Holman swung her fan nacelles rearward too swiftly. Their skirts scraped a shower of sparks for several meters along the pavement.
Wager found his seat control, not instinctively but fast enough. He dropped from cupola level while the tank plowed stabilized gravel with a sound like mountains screaming.
Tracers stitched the main screen and across the sky overhead, momentary flickers through the open hatch.
One-five vanished behind the crest. One-one swung to the right and stopped abruptly with a flare of her skirts, still silhouetted on the ridgeline. Blue Three was wallowing toward the same patch of landscape under full power.
Wager shouted a curse, but Holman had their mount under control. The nameless tank pivoted left like a wheeled vehicle whose back end had broken away, avoiding the combat car. They could see now that One-one had pulled up to keep from overrunning Tootsie Six.
Blue Three began to slide at a slight sideways angle down the ridge they'd just topped. The three cars ahead of them were firing wildly into the smoke and flying debris of the settlement.
Sparrow's Blue One had just smashed a building. It pulled clear with the motion of an elephant shrugging during a dust bath.
"All Mike—T-tootsie elements," came a voice that a mask on the main screen would identify (if Wager wondered) as Blue One, used to his old call sign."Mines! Mines!"
"Blue Three!" snarled Captain Ranson. "Lay the bloody charge! Now!"
If the bitch wanted to trade jobs, she could take this cursed panzer and all its cursed hardware! She could take it and shove it up her ass!
It wasn't that Hans Wager had never used a mine-clearing charge before. On a combat car, though, they were special equipment bolted to the bow skirts and fired manually. All the tanks were fitted with integral units, controlled by the AI. So . . . .
"Booster," Wager ordered crisply. "Clearance charge."
The gun fight pipper on Screen Two dimmed to half its previous orange brilliance. armed appeared in the upper left corner of the screen, above range to target and length of footprint.
Magenta tracks, narrowed toward the top by foreshortening, overlay the image of the settlement toward which Blue Three was slipping with the slow grace of a beer stein on a polished bar.
Instead of aligning with the pavement, the aiming tracks skewed across the right half of the Strip.
"Holman!" Wager screamed. "Straighten up! Straighten the fuck out! With the road!"
Sparrow's Deathdealer had reached the end of the built-up Strip.The turret was rotated back at a 220° angle to the tank's course. Its main gun fired, a blacked-out streak on Blue Three's screens and a dazzle of cyan radiance through her open hatch.
Wager heard the fan note rise as his driver adjusted nacelles #1S and #2S and boosted their speed. The nameless tank seemed to hesitate, but its attitude didn't change.
"Range,"Wager called to his artificialintelligence.They were about a hundred meters from the nearest buildings. Since they were still moving forward maybe he ought to—
Whang!
Wager looked up in amazement. The bullet that had flattened itself against the cupola's open hatch dropped onto his cheek. It was hotter than hell.
"Sonuvabitch!" Wager shouted.
"Blue Two," ordered the radio, "move into position and lay down a clearance charge!"
"Sergeant," begged Holman over the intercom channel, "do you want me to stop us or—"
She'd straightened 'em out all right, for about a millisecond before the counterclockwise rotation began to swing the tank's bow out of alignment again in the opposite direction. The aiming tracks marched across the screen with stately precision.
The volume of fire from the combat cars slackened because Wager's tank blocked their aim. Another bullet rang against the hatch; this one ricocheted glowing into the darkness. Bloody good thing Wager wasn't manning the cupola tribarrel himself just now . . . .
"Fire!" Wager ordered his AI.
He didn't know what the default setting was. He just knew he wasn't going to wait in his slowly revolving tank and get it right some time next week.