Chapter Two

 

Dropping the Uzi, J.B. lay flat on his belly and crawled closer to the motionless man. Gently parting the autumn grass, he saw a low swell in the soil under Ryan's boot.

"Dark night, you're right!" J.B. whispered. "Now stay calm, and don't move. If it hasn't gone off yet, it's not a TD or fire-string."

"Explain that to me later." Ryan felt the ground give slightly under his weight. "Hurry. The cliff is giving way."

Sliding his knife from its sheath, J.B. started quickly trimming away the grass and soon had a clear view of the mechanism. It was a fat disk with handles and a low cylinder rising from the middle topped with a simple pressure switch.

"Everybody get behind the LAV," J.B. ordered. "It's a Bouncing Betty."

Watching where they stepped, the others retreated to a safe distance and climbed back into the LAV.

"Hope the hull will stop a Betty," Krysty said, as she flipped up the driver's hatch and stood on the seat to see outside.

Doc climbed into the turret and did the same with the auxiliary hatch. Dean wiggled up there with him and squinted into the distance at the men on the cliff.

"What's a Betty?" the boy asked nervously.

Bent over, watching through a blaster port, Mildred said, "The worst type of land mine," she replied. "If any of the damn things can be called good. This type will blow off your father's leg with the first explosion, then a secondary charge will heave the mine a yard into the air and a third charge will spray out a ring of steel bearings. Cut a dozen men in two at fifty yards. It's designed not to kill, but to maim."

"Gotta be Overton," the boy growled, his hand going white on the rim of the hatch. "Who else has predark weapons like that?"

Krysty glanced at the turret. "Agreed. We walked straight into a trap. This was the perfect location to recce the ruins of Shiloh, and they knew it. Those blue shirts of his must have gambled we would go check the place and planted some mines here just in case."

"Bastards!" Jak spit.

"Clever bastards," Mildred corrected, licking dry lips.

Minutes passed with only the steady ocean wind blowing over the field, and J.B. cursing as he worked on the mine.

"Well?" Ryan asked, his heart pounding in his chest. The Deathlands warrior had faced death a hundred times, but this was unclean somehow, cowardly. They sometimes used booby traps, but they were always designed to kill enemies, not mutilate. Was this revenge for what he had done to Overton? No, that made no sense. It was impossible for them to know who would step on the mine. Just the luck of the draw it was him, nothing more.

"Don't rush me," J.B. whispered, probing the mechanism with homemade tools—a coiled spring from a pen and a piece of stiff wire from a coat hanger.

Sweat trickling down his face, Ryan thought of how he sometimes teased J.B. about the oddball bits of junk the Armorer gathered in their journeys. He would never do that again.

Wiping off his face with the back of a hand, J.B. grunted something to himself and finally stood alongside the trapped man.

"Well, old buddy, I've got good news and bad news," J.B. said while drawing his scattergun and working the pump action, ejecting live shells until it was empty. "I can get you free, and the primary charge won't go off."

Ryan knew what that meant. "But the other two will."

The man nodded as he slid in fresh shells, simple buckshot instead of the usual flesh-shredding alloy flechettes. "So when you move, hit the ground to get under the spray."

"And the scattergun is going to buy us some yardage." It wasn't a question.

J.B. lay on his belly and aimed the S&W M-4000 at Ryan's partially raised combat boot. "Best idea I got. You ready?"

An insane laugh bubbled up from inside and Ryan couldn't stop himself from chuckling. "I have a choice?"

"Nope."

"Then I'm ready. Now." Moving like lightning, Ryan dived to the left.

He was still airborne when the ground burst apart with a soft thump and the deadly mine leaped skyward. Instantly, J.B. triggered the scattergun, the blast slamming the land mine far over the edge of the cliff. Half a heartbeat later, the device violently detonated, and a hissing sound filled the air from the passage of the bearings. The half ring of trees along the clearing shook madly, leaves and branches tumbling to the ground in a cascade of destruction, along with the occasional bird and squirrel. Bloody feathers and bits fur were all that remained of the minced bodies.

The reverberations of the blast echoed for a few moments, then silence returned—dead silence without a bird singing or a cricket chirping.

"Thanks," Ryan said as he rose from the ground.

"Easy as pie," J.B. said, standing and dusting off his clothes. The Armorer kicked a clump of earth with his boot and watched it disappear over the edge of the cliff. "However, if that had been a PMR-2, or a Valamora…" He left the thought unfinished.

Ryan grunted in acknowledgment. "Let's go."

With extreme care, the two men retraced their steps to the APC, watching the ground closely, placing the toe of each boot into the heel mark of the footprint they made walking to the cliff. As they neared the wag, Krysty stuck her head out of the top hatch and whistled sharply. The men jerked their heads upward, and watched as she raised an open hand with the fingers splayed, then closed it into a fist. She then tapped her wrist twice with one finger.

"Company coming," J.B. whispered, working the bolt on his Uzi as quietly as he could.

Ryan nodded, leveling his longblaster. "And fast. We better chance running the last yards. Go!"

Sprinting forward, the men raced around the LAV. In the open doorway, Mildred and Doc waited with weapons poised and stepped out of the way as the two men scrambled inside just as they all heard the soft noise of a gasoline engine from the trees.

"There were voices on the radio," Krysty announced from the driver's seat as Ryan closed the aft doors and J.B. slammed home the locking bolt. "Somebody must have heard the land mine go off and sent out sec men on a recce."

"Kill the engines and play dead," Ryan directed, sliding the barrel of his Steyr out a blaster port. "Let's see who it is before we do anything. Jak, man the cannon. Dean, the chain gun."

Everybody moved quickly, and the rumblings of the diesel engines died away just as a Hummer packed with armed men rolled into view through the bushes. All of them were wearing blue shirts and carrying AK-47 assault rifles. At the sight of the APC sitting in the field, the driver slammed on the brakes, nearly losing several of the sec men.

"Hey, Sarge, is that one of our wags?" a blue shirt asked, puzzled.

"Shit, no! It's a bunch of ours put back together!" answered the driver in horror.

"Ryan," a burly sec man cursed. Ammo belts for a machine gun were draped across his chest like bandoliers, and he was cradling a massive M-60 machine rifle. "It must be that bastard Ryan."

"Cawdor? Black dust, let's get the fuck out of here before he returns!"

"Yeah, sure," the driver said, lifting a rocket launcher into view from the empty front seat. "Let's blow it to hell first."

As the sec man leveled the rocket launcher, a sharp crack came from the APC and he toppled over with most of his head gone, blood everywhere. The LAW hit the dirt and rolled away into the weeds.

The big sergeant pushed the dead man from the Hummer and, loudly grinding gears, he slammed the Hummer into reverse. The blue shirts behind him wildly fired their assault rifles, the 7.62 mm rounds ricocheting harmlessly off the hull of the APC.

"Alive?" Jak asked, jerking back the arming bolt on the belt-fed cannon.

"Fuck them," Ryan snarled, firing his longblaster out the aft blaster port again.

Jak ripped loose with a string of shells just as the Hummer charged backward out of the clearing, the barrage of rounds tearing apart the spot where it had just been.

"Can't let them get away!" J.B. growled, burping the Uzi. "We could have an army after us next time!"

"Hold on!" Krysty cried, and the LAV rolled after the fleeing Hummer in full reverse.

Once past the bushes, the woman jammed on the brakes and jerked the steering levers hard. The heavy APC wheeled around in a sharp turn and paused. There was some dust hanging in the air from the passage of the Hummer, but no sign of the vehicle itself.

"Where are they?" Krysty asked, squinting through the tiny ob port in the armored hull. The overgrown roadway stretched to the south and north, directly ahead of the copse of trees.

Ryan and the others pressed their faces to the ob ports and blaster ports. The billowing dust obscured the fields and trees in every direction.

"Three o'clock!" Mildred shouted. "They just went around that bend in the road."

Krysty pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The big Detroit engines purred for a moment, building power, then awoke with a roar. Their eight wheels spun crazily in the loose dirt, then the five-ton wag leaped after the enemy. Grabbing stanchions, Ryan climbed forward to a position near Krysty. He braced one hand against the low ceiling, while the other gripped the back of her chair for support. He swayed with every bounce, but remained standing. Ryan watched the speedometer steadily climb to fifty-five, then inch toward sixty mph, nearly the top speed for the predark wag. He also saw the fuel gauge drop just as fast. They were burning fuel at an unprecedented rate. There had been no chance to fill the tanks before the chase, and soon the LAV would run out of juice, becoming a perfect target for the rockets of the blue shirts.

For the hundredth time, the man wondered where the blues were getting their predark weapons.

In triumph, J.B. cried out, "There they are again!"

The Hummer barreled along at its top speed, often going airborne for a moment as it hit fallen logs and other hidden objects. With twice the number of tires, the massive LAV plowed over such minor obstructions with only minor jarring. On the flat surfaces, the Hummer started to pull away, but when the road got rough again, the LAV caught up quickly.

Jak fired single rounds from the 25 mm cannon at the zigzagging Hummer. He was tempted to go full-auto, but the linked belt of shells was already half consumed and there was no spare. He wasn't going to waste the precious ammo on a fast-moving target unless absolutely necessary.

Crouched in the small space for the gunner, Dean drilled a spray of rounds toward the fleeing blues, sparks off the Hummer registering several hits. The enemy fired back with AK-47 machine guns, a hail of rounds peppering the armored hull of the APC with no effect. Then the big M-60 spoke, chugging out a slow stream of 7.62 mm rounds. Random dents appeared in sections of the weakened hull, and the Plexiglas shield in a ob port shattered into pieces.

"Those are armor-piercing rounds!" Ryan cursed, glancing about the interior of the wag to access the damage. There were no new spots of sunlight to indicate a penetration. "Anybody hurt?"

Hugging her med kit, Mildred looked over the crew. "No blood showing," she reported in relief.

"Not yet, anyway," J.B. growled, slapping a fresh clip into his Uzi. "But we better chill these bastards quick!"

Hesitating to use the deafening LeMat inside the wag, Doc grabbed a spare AK-47 and started shooting through the starboard blaster port, spent brass spitting from the ejector in short golden bursts. But after only a dozen rounds, the weapon stopped with the bolt thrown back, showing the clip was empty.

Raking the Hummer with sporadic bursts, Dean concentrated the whining chain gun on the sec man with the M-60. Sparks flew off the armored body of the military transport, but nothing more. The 7.62 mm rounds were unable to achieve penetration.

"Aim for the tires!" Mildred suggested, placing her shots with care. Clutching his chest, the big man in the Hummer cried out and dropped the M-60 over the side.

"Already did," the boy replied hotly. "Must be puncture proof like our own."

Rummaging in the pile of supplies, Doc was unable to locate any more ammo clips for the Kalashnikov, so he dropped the useless blaster and drew the LeMat, waiting for a suitable target to present itself.

Just then, the Hummer deliberately slowed, and a lone man jumped out, carrying a short plastic tube. As the APC bore down on the man, he extended the tube to a full yard in length and pointed it toward them.

"That's a LAW!" Krysty shouted in warning, starting to fishtail the wag to make them harder to hit.

"Hold us steady!" Ryan spit, thrusting his longblaster out the smashed ob port and firing a fast five times at the stationary target.

The sec man staggered from the multiple impacts and toppled over. Promptly, there was a bright flash on the ground and something streaked across the road to disappear in the distance.

As the APC thumped over the body, Ryan quickly reloaded his rifle. That rocket would have blown the APC apart, but the blues couldn't use the antitank while still riding in the Hummer because of the back-blast. Launching a LAW rocket spewed a fifteen-foot-long cone of flame out the back end. The back-blast would have fried every one of them alive. Leaving the wag had been a gutsy move that nearly succeeded. Their adversaries had guts, and that alone made them truly dangerous.

In a deafening explosion, Doc fired the LeMat. The buffeting concussion slapped the companions, but the spare gas can strapped to the side of the Hummer erupted into a fireball. Screaming in pain, the blues beat at their burning clothing with jackets, and Krysty plowed straight into the pool of fire, coming out the other side in a heartbeat. The blues weakly began shooting again. They were toasted, but still alive, and the Hummer wasn't seriously damaged.

One of the blues threw a lump at the APC, and the war wag shook as something exploded under the prow.

"Chem gren," J.B. stated, tilting his head. "We better hope they don't have any thermite. That would melt our hull like candle wax!"

"Payback," Jak growled, switching the selector switch on the cannon to its top position. A stuttering stream of shells chugged from the muzzle, the barrage of 25 mm rounds tearing up the surface of the road as he tracked the fleeing vehicle.

Stoically, the sec men maintained fire with the Kalashnikovs as their blackened wag darted off the road and into a field of wild corn. The tall stalks swallowed the vehicle whole.

Inside the wag, the floor was coated with hot brass shells that poured from the turret. Her hair a wild corona, Krysty shifted levers, and the LAV executed a sharp turn, two of the wheels leaving the ground as it angled after the fleeing blues into the abandoned farmland. Straight ahead was a solid wall of sundried corn stalks. There was no sign of the Hummer or its crew. Behind them, the fire on the road was starting to spread to the dry plants.

"Where are they?" Krysty demanded as the APC plowed through the wild corn, crushing the brittle stalks beneath its tires. It sounded like a million winter leaves rustling in a strong wind.

Ryan dropped the spent clip from his SIG-Sauer and slammed in a fresh one. "Circle to the right. We must have passed them."

"Look for the smashed stalks of their trail!" Mildred added.

J.B. started for the rear of the wag. "Everybody keep a watch for any loops! They might try to swing around and get behind us!"

Unexpectedly, the shortwave radio lashed on top of their bedrolls began to crackle with a transmission, the words barely discernible above the background noise. There were just a few hastily barked commands, then hissing silence again.

Stepping close, Doc turned up the volume to the maximum. The normal static boomed in the confines of the wag, and after a few moments he lowered the volume to its normal level.

"They're trying to call somebody for help," he announced. "Most disconcerting."

"Can we tell which way? Triangulate on the signal?" Mildred asked hopefully.

Still watching their wake, J.B. shook his head. "Not without special equipment. Dish antenna and such."

"Damn."

"They had to be close," Ryan said thoughtfully, shifting his stance against the shaking of the floor. "Krysty, go left!"

The woman obeyed and the signal faded.

"Go back!"

She sent the APC as ordered and cried out in delight as they found the path of flattened plants. Hitting the gas pedal, Krysty steered the massive transport straight along the slim trail, the unbroken stalks on either side spraying into the air from the passage of their much wider vehicle.

As they followed a serpentine curve through the corn, the Hummer came into view once more. Struggling with the hot breech of the chain gun, Dean fed in a new ammo belt. At his father's command, he raked the Hummer. A blue shirt loading his blaster cried out and dropped the weapon, almost falling from the Hummer. The others hauled the corpse back inside, and used the dead man as a shield, firing from behind his bloody form. Then a bulky satchel came flying over the Hummer from the front seat and landed squarely before the LAV.

"Shit!" Krysty shouted, and yanked on the steering levers, sending the LAV into the unbroken stalks to their left.

The world seemed to shatter from the titanic force of the detonation, blinding light flooding in through every port, and the war wag shook as it was slapped by the gigantic concussion. Ropes holding the supplies snapped and the piles of boxes toppled over, burying J.B. and knocking Jak out of the turret. He hit the floor sprawling and went limp.

The crackling radio clearly gave a report to somebody about a satchel charge of C-4 being used, results unknown.

"I'll give you unknown," Krysty growled, shifting into high gear and making the massive machine go faster.

The dry cornstalks shattered as the APC streaked across the field, the big engines screaming. The muscles stood out on Krysty's arms as she worked the levers, forcing the multiton wag into a tight arc, swinging back the way they had just come. A few seconds passed, and she spied a dark blotch moving amid the cornstalks directly ahead of them.

"Go for it," Ryan commanded, and braced for the impact.

Grimly, Krysty held the course. At the last moment, the driver saw them suddenly looming close and screamed in horror. Then the Hummer disappeared from sight below the prow of the LAV. The companions lost their footing as the nose of the war wag went high, aiming toward the sky. Underneath the floor was a terrible crunching noise, mixed with high-pitched shrieking. The APC tilted at an angle, almost flipping over, then leveled out and was back in the corn again, riding on even ground.

Braking to a halt, Krysty returned to the crash site and stopped a short distance from the flattened wreck. Stepping from the rear of the APC, the companions approached the destroyed Hummer, warily walking over the crushed cornstalks to avoid the pieces of broken machinery and twitching meat.

Gore-splattered limbs jutted from the smashed chassis, red blood and gasoline dripping from a dozen spots. An eye lay on the ground near the splintery stock of a Kalashnikov. Shards of glass from the windshield were sprinkled across the cornstalks like diamond dust. Circling around the site, Ryan found a sec man dangling out of the crumpled metal, still struggling to get free in spite of the fact his body was shredded below the waist. "Help me…" he panted, blood welling from his mouth at the words and dribbling down his chin.

"I'll end the pain," Ryan said, going closer, a hand on his blaster. "Just tell me where your home base is. Who is your leader?" There were more questions he wanted to ask. A lot more. But those were the most important—where and who. "H-help me…"

"Where is your home base!" the warrior demanded. Drooling blood, the man blindly reached out a trembling hand with only two remaining fingers.

"He can't hear you," J.B. said, resting his Uzi on a shoulder.

Ryan turned. "Mildred?" The physician shook her head. "Fair enough." Drawing his blaster, Ryan put a 9 mm round into the dying soldier. The man jerked at the impact and went still.

"Let's go," Ryan said, holstering the piece. "There's nothing here to salvage."

Doc sniffed the air. "And we had best hurry, my dear Ryan. I think the cornfield is on fire."

"Yeah," Dean said from the turret, squinting into the distance. "And it's coming this way fast."