Axler, James - Deathlands 60 - Destiny's Truth Read online

  Ryan drew back from the window and headed toward the rear of the bar, running to join his companions for what he hoped to be the next stage of the offensive. Gloria turned briefly to him as he moved.

  "Give them hell," she yelled over the noise of firefighting within the enclosure of the bar.

  Ryan didn't shout back, but gave her an "okay" gesture and left.

  As the one-eyed warrior hit the street and alley that ran along the rear of the drag, it suddenly seemed to quieten from a deafening volley to a dull roar, the blasterfire partly dulled by the pounding of his own adrenaline in his ears as he ran toward the alleyway that marked the end of the drag, shouldering his Steyr and swinging the laser blaster to hand in one fluid motion as he moved.

  The plan was simple. The only parts of the Illuminated wags that weren't entirely protected were the chassis and axles on the underside. Direct fire at them, and there was a chance of disabling the vehicle, as well as forcing the inexperienced Illuminated fighters into moving. And that was exactly what Ryan wanted: to separate the two vehicles. Not only would it make them easier to deal with if they had no backup, but it also increased the chances of capturing one.

  And the one-eyed warrior wanted to take one of those wags very badly indeed. If he could capture one, then he figured that they would have a better chance of gaining access to the redoubt by using a principle that he would have called the Trojan horse—if not for the fact that the legend had been one of many lost forever in the nukecaust. Nonetheless, the principle behind it was one that had never been lost.

  Ryan arrived at the alleyway and turned to find Mildred and Doc waiting for him. Looking across the divide formed by the road, he could see J.B., Jak, Dean and Krysty ready in position. The Armorer signaled that all was set on his side, and Ryan acknowledged. Then he turned to Mildred and Doc.

  "How you doing?" he asked, having to raise his voice to be heard over the blasterfire along the main drag.

  "Not so bad," Mildred replied. "Feeling a little weak, but not so weak that I can't lift and fire this," she added, tapping the barrel of the laser blaster she was holding.

  Ryan turned to Doc. The older man was looking pale, his skin ashen. And although he was holding a laser blaster, he was only using one hand, barrel pointed down; he was leaning heavily on the silver lion's-head cane that housed his swordstick, with a rapier blade of finest Toledo steel. Usually, the cane was a camouflage for the blade. But at this moment, it seemed as though Doc had a greater need for it as support.

  Doc managed a weak and yet still wry grin. "I have felt better, dear boy. My kidneys feel on fire and my chest appears to have a ton weight heavily upon it…but my hand is still steady, and my eye—if not keen—is still in focus."

  Ryan acknowledged the older man. "Just do what you can, Doc. And you, Mildred. If the wag gets driven back here, then there's a good chance of nailing it. It may already be damaged."

  "One would hope so," Doc agreed, turning toward the drag, "but we must never forget that there is nothing more dangerous than a wounded beast."

  Looking at Doc, Ryan felt that the older man's words could as easily be applied to himself as to the wag that would be heading their way, but held his peace.

  Like the Gate warriors at the far end of the drag, the companions assumed combat positions, laser blasters readied for attack, ears straining for an indication of movement from the wags in among the roar of combat that engulfed the main drag.

  RYAN'S INITIAL SHOT had presaged a volley of blasterfire, and the first of several volleys of laser fire at the two Illuminated wags. In every bar and gaudy the Crossroads dwellers and the Gate warriors had directed their fire toward the undersides of the wags. The upper body of each vehicle was made of an alloy the likes of which hadn't been seen in the Deathlands since before the nukecaust, and although the tires of each wag were of the same pervious rubber material as any other tire, they were protected by a metal shell made of this alloy that exposed very little of the tire itself. There was only a thin band of the tire that was visible, at the very base of the wheel where it would touch the road surface. However, the underneath of the vehicles, although Ryan could only assume that they were made of the same alloy, had vulnerabilities. If any shells or laser fire could damage the chassis or axle systems, or by a ricochet take out one or more of the tires, then the wags would be disabled.

  And whatever else, Ryan had been pretty sure that the Illuminated Ones within the wags wouldn't relish the idea of being trapped in the outside world with no means of transport for getting back to the redoubt. Soaking up pressure from fire directed at the impervious body, they could sit there quite happily all day until the ammo was exhausted, and then do as they wished with no opposition. But direct fire at their weaker spots, and plant the seed of panic in their mind, and then it may be possible to push them into the action that you wanted.

  Taking Ryan's position at the window as the man departed, Gloria directed the attack on the wags as much as possible on the noise and confusion. Blaster and laser fire rained down on the wags and the road around, kicking up clouds of dust and chippings from the old tarmac patches.

  "Hey, give me the grens and the launcher!" the Gate queen yelled. On the far side, her shot was echoed by Tammy, whose task it was to act as opposite number to her queen.

  The engines of the two wags had fired up, and could be heard over the blasterfire. Before leaving the camp, Jon and J.B. had primed the old gren launchers that the tribe had in their armory, the legacy of a trade that had taken place during their time in the wood. It was an irony that they had made the deal in the very ville where they were about to test their new toys, but the irony was lost when there was no time to consider such things.

  On each side of the road, Tammy and Gloria loaded the gren launchers and primed the grens. Shouldering the heavy weapons, each warrior directed the nose of the launcher downward, and toward a spot in the center of the road and between the front of one wag and the rear of the preceding wag.

  Counting to ten and steeling herself for a recoil of whose strength she had no real idea, Gloria fired. On the opposite side of the road, Tammy also let loose with a gren.

  The explosion as both grens hit the road and detonated simultaneously was deafening, and drowned out all other sounds. An immense cloud of dirt, tarmac and dust was thrown up as the grens gouged a great trench from the road.

  "Motherfucker!" Gloria yelled as the air began to clear and she could see the damage that had been wrought by the grens. It was a cry that mixed surprise and exhilaration as she viewed the sight before her. Where there had once been a road, there was now a large crater that still smoked. It looked several feet deep—certainly too deep for even the four-wheel-drive wags to cope with—and extended across about half the width of the road. The wags had pulled back a few yards as the explosion had hit, and had halted again, unsure of what to do. They were covered in dirt, and some lumps of tarmac had made small dents on the bodywork, but they were otherwise undamaged.

  Both Gloria and Tammy reached the same conclusion after surveying the damage they had wrought. It was obvious that the wags wanted to stay close, as they had only withdrawn rather than fleeing, and there was still enough room across the road for either one of the wags to skirt the crater and join its twin.

  On each side of the road, the two women loaded up the gren launchers and took aim once more. Both directed their fire at an acuter angle than before, so that it would take out the road directly in front of them, in effect making an impassable trench that ran the width of the road. The only problem in this being the danger that they faced from flying debris as the grens hit. Before each fired, they yelled at the other inhabitants of the room to hit the floor, and then let fly with the grens.

  A moment of intense silence followed the detonation as the grens hit close to the windows, the blast followed by a cone of silence that accentuated the rushing of their own blood in their ears. Then the heat and force of the detonation hit, throwing both Tammy and Gloria back
ward to hit the floor of their respective bars with a force that would have knocked out lesser people. But the Gate women had an innate wiry strength that enabled both to scramble to their feet and view their handiwork.

  Ignoring the aches and bruises that had been caused by the impact, both were satisfied with their work. There was now a trench where there had once been a road, and it was impossible for the wags to cross to each other. They were effectively separated, and on their own. And there was only one direction for them to go: each would have to head for the end of the drag, where the ambush awaited them.

  Gloria caught Tammy's eye across the divide. She gestured her pleasure at what had happened, and Tammy acknowledged this before each woman picked up her blaster and continued to harry the wags, joining their comrades in firing at the undersides of the wags.

  On each side of the trench, the wags tentatively drew back a couple more yards before halting, as though the drivers of the wags were weighing their options. There was no way that either party could cross the divide, and so they exercised their only option. One wag began to accelerate toward the north end of the main drag, while the other slewed into a turn so that it wouldn't have to tackle exiting the main drag in reverse.

  This was unfortunate for the inhabitants of the wag, as the very act of turning gave the Gate tribe and the Crossroads dwellers another angle from which to fire at the underside of the wag. An opportunity that they seized with both hands. While the wag that was heading north was able to escape toward the end of the road with minimal damage to the underside of its chassis, the increased angle of fire offered by the wag heading south yielded a positive result. A blast of laser fire caught at insulation on the cable for the wag's electrical system. The laser cut through the insulation with ease and severed the cable. The wag coughed and spluttered as the engine cut out before the emergency backup system for the onboard comps refired the ignition motor. But that wasn't all. At the same time, a stray shell ricocheting off the alloy of one wheel guard flew diagonally across the underside of the wag and penetrated one of the wag tires, causing it to veer dangerously across the road before the driver was able to right his course and pilot the vehicle straight down the drag.

  AT THE SOUTHERN END of the road, Ryan and J.B. were keeping watch on the activity, ready to cue their companions when the wag was near enough to commence shooting.

  "Got you," Ryan muttered between clenched teeth as he saw the wag stutter then veer on its course.

  "Wounded heading this way," he called to Doc and Mildred. "We can take this one."

  Both Doc and Mildred took heart from this and drew on inner reserves of strength, the like of which had kept them alive before in situations where they should have succumbed. For, like Jak, this time they truly were fighting for their lives as at no other. If they could capture the wag and use it as a means of getting into the redoubt, then they stood a chance of conquering the disease. If not…

  They shouldered the laser blasters, ready to swing out and face the oncoming vehicle at Ryan's word.

  ON THE FAR SIDE of the road, J.B. turned back to Dean, Jak and Krysty, who were waiting for his word.

  "One coming—damaged and slowed up, too. This is our best shot."

  "I hear you," Dean said, while Krysty nodded and Jak said nothing. He didn't have to. The look on his face said it all, the scarred white visage set grim. He felt the same way as Mildred and Doc. There were no second chances.

  Ryan and J.B. stood watching. The wag seemed to take an eternity to approach. For both men, this was a familiar combat situation, and the familiar feelings flooded through them. The icy coolness that marked a survivor from one who would be chilled; the rush of adrenaline pumping through the veins; the exhilaration as every nerve screamed for action; the way that time seemed to slow so that every second took an hour, enabling their combat trained minds to analyze the situation and plan a response—a mixture of cool intelligence and gut instinct that was born of cold, hard experience.

  For both—as, in lesser degrees, for their companions—this was a way of life, and something that had molded them into what they were, as well as defining every situation with which they had to deal.

  It was why they had won more times than they had lost, and why they were still alive when others were long since worm fodder.

  And it was something the Illuminated Ones heading toward them couldn't possibly, by the very nature of their existence, possess.

  The black, faceless visage of the wag became larger and larger, filling the field of vision of both men. As it progressed, desultory laser blasts came from portholes at the side, directed at the bars and gaudies lining the drag—random fire that hoped to score some kind of hit and give them a moment's relief from the ceaseless and intense fire.

  The sounds of the battle retreated as both Ryan and J.B. dug deep within themselves.

  The wag was now almost upon them. It had no front window to speak of, just a narrow grille with tinted armaglass behind it, making the vehicle oppressively opaque. There must be a camera on the front somewhere, Ryan mused, to enable the driver to get a better view. If only he could see where, he could knock it out and effectively disable the wag.

  No matter. It was time.

  "Now!" he yelled to Mildred and Doc at the same moment as J.B. echoed with an imprecation to Krysty, Jak and Dean.

  The one-eyed warrior and the Armorer ran from cover, dropping to the sidewalk as they came out into the open, firing as they fell. The laser blasts hit the front of the wag full on, and although it was unlikely that they did any physical damage, the shock that they gave the wag driver was invaluable, as he slewed the vehicle sideways, braking suddenly in a reflex move and throwing the wag into a spin. As the other companions came out from the alleyways and took up firing positions, they could see the portholes on the side turned to them, offering the smallest of gaps in which to fire at such close range.

  Would they be able to effect any damage by doing this? It was a debatable point, but there was the slimmest of chances. Moreover, it was almost certain that by firing at the open parts of the wag they could prevent the Illuminated Ones inside the wag from returning fire by making the ob slits unsafe for use.

  Dean, Krysty and Mildred went for this option. Both Dean and Krysty were good target shots, and Mildred—despite the onset of the disease, had never lost the skills that had made her a Olympic sharpshooter in her now almost forgotten predark life.

  Laser fire rained in on the side of the wag. With fifty percent of their options for returning fire already reduced by the fact that the wag was showing a side elevation, the Illuminated Ones now found themselves limited by their own weapons turned back on them.

  This left Jak and Doc to join Ryan and J.B. in concentrating on disabling the vehicle. From their ground level elevation, the two men were sending long strings of laser fire that picked at the metal covering on the underside of the wag. Smoke issuing from beneath the chassis indicated that some damage had already been done. They had no way of knowing that the maintenance cover had been sheered, and the electrical system had been blown, but it was certain from their vantage point that some damage had occurred.

  And where there was some, then there was the potential for much more.

  "One tire blown," Jak yelled into J.B.'s ear as he dropped near him. "Blow one more, they fucked."

  "Go for it," the Armorer yelled in reply, unwilling and unable to divert attention from his task.

  "Need better position," Jak said in a quieter voice, as though to himself, before starting to crawl along the sidewalk, circling around the Armorer as he continued firing. The prolonged bursts of fire on the ob slits had restricted the return of fire from the Illuminated warriors within, but even so it was a danger for Jak to advance even closer to the wag. The companions were all within a radius of a few yards, and it would only take one snapped off blast to chill one of them.

  But this had to be done: knock out another one or more of the tires, and the four wheel wag would find it hard to
progress. It would be effectively stopped for good, and this was the objective. Those inside would have no option but to disembark and fight on a more equal footing. And the only way to knock out one or more of the tires, getting past the metal alloy guards on the wheel arches, was to get closer, and get a wider angle of fire.

  On the far side of the road, Doc could see Jak attempt this move, and understood his intent. He could also see that his fellows were engaged in a defined pattern of fire, with no one to cover Jak as he moved.

  Ignoring the pain that shot through his chest and back as he moved, the older man also began to move forward, firing at the wag.

  "Doc! What the hell do you think—?" Mildred began, before Doc cut her short.

  "No," he snapped, "do not question, just fire. Jak needs cover, distraction…" Doc dropped to a crouch, the movement and strain of his muscles ironically countering the pain in his chest and back for a moment, and giving him a renewed strength. He moved forward, firing at the underside of the wag, and obliquely at the front. He was determined that any attention given to Jak should at the very least be split, giving the albino a better chance.

  It worked. The desultory fire from the interior of the wag started to strafe the sidewalk where Doc advanced, causing him to take cover in a doorway. His fire, and the fact that Jak had been able to keep low and move with much more speed, had enabled the albino to slip past the Illuminated defenses seemingly without them noticing.

  Jak had now moved around to an angle where he was able to sight the two front wheels of the wag with ease. One was already blown; the other followed swiftly with one burst of laser fire, the rubber burning and melting as the air exploded from within.