[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
orange flame flickering from the chain gun. Fountains of dirt burst in columns
right in front of the Sandcat, and then came a series of ear-knocking clangs
as .50-caliber rounds struck the front armor. Grant felt their impacts through
the thick protection of the bulkhead. The chopper described a swift, strafing
circle around the vehicle.
Shrieking a wordless curse, Domi kicked the saddle into a 360-degree rotation
around the coaxial turret post, holding down the firing button of the heavy
machine gun until it locked. The heavy blaster hosed a continuous stream of
slugs, the tracer rounds glowing like light beads on a taut string.
Grant was familiar with the capabilities and limitations of both the Sandcat
and the Deathbird. A hi-ex missile scoring a direct hit would certainly
disable the
Savage Sun
61
wag, nor would its armor stand up to a prolonged pounding of .50-caliber
blockbusters. A number of the Shrikes carried incend and hi-ex warheads. A
solid strike had the capacity of piercing armor plate to a depth of twelve
inches.
On the other hand, as an experienced Bird jockey, he knew the choppers were
designed primarily for speed and lightning maneuverability. How fast and how
ma-neuverable depended on the skill, endurance and guts of the pilot. As a
Mag, Grant had forced the craft to perform actions in direct violation of the
Deathbird's aerodynamic specs. More than once, he had defied inertia! stress
and directed the choppers at velocities just inside the border of man-killing
or machine-wrecking.
From what he had seen so far, whoever was piloting this particular Bird was
poking at the safety parameters, but not seriously stretching them.
A Shrike detonated less than two yards away. There was the thunder and shock
of the heavy concussion. The Sandcat lurched, slowing down. The instrument
lights flickered and came up bright again. Grant steered the vehicle
underneath the spreading canopy of smoke, staying near the impact point,
knowing the infrared scanners aboard the chopper would be confused by the two
conflicting heat signatures.
As he circled the smoldering, flaming crater, Grant shouted, "Another spin,
Domi!"
The girl immediately complied, revolving the turret, triggering the machine
gun. Bright, relentless sparks darted up into the sky, punching holes in the
veil of smoke. The rain of cartridge cases made a steady, semi-musical tinkle
on the deck.
The Deathbird sped by, directly overhead. A tracer line touched it, and the
craft rocked, a ring of smoke
62
JAMES AXLER
suddenly surrounding the tail-boom assembly. It fought to gain altitude,
performing a straining, clumsy pirouette, the Plexiglas port facing the
Sandcat.
Missiles burst from both wings, exploding all around. For a moment, all Grant
could see were yellow-red eruptions and mushrooming billows of smoke.
Page 27
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The thunder of the detonations assaulted his eardrums, and the Sandcat jarred
and shook, slamming him hard against the back of the chair. Through the ob
slit, he saw misty scraps of crackling flame spew out of the craters and lick
at the armored hull.
Lips curled back in a snarl, Grant held the vehicle on a tight, circling
course. He winced as the bulk of the Cat tipped onto one treaded track, the
return rollers squealing in protest. He gripped the wheel tightly, holding the
vehicle to the turn. It bounced and jounced as it settled back down on both
tracks, fishtailing for a long moment. The USMG-73 continued to hammer away,
the compartment filling with eye-stinging, nostril-searing cordite fumes.
The Deathbird overshot the Sandcat's sudden turn. It banked sharply ninety
degrees to the left, and the hail of steel-jacketed hornets pounded into the
belly of the craft. The Bird's control cables were sheared away, locking out
the horizontal and vertical stabilizers. An oil line burst, and the engine
stopped.
Grant caught a fragmented glimpse of an orange puff-ball erupting from the
Deathbird's fuselage. The craft side-slipped to starboard and plummeted
straight down, as if it had been dangling from a string and the string had
been cut. The rotor blades fanned the air sluggishly even as it plunged toward
the ground.
Smoke obscured his vision, but he heard a sound like a rolling, mechanical
surf and the ground felt as if it
Savage Sun
63
rose and fell beneath the Cat's treads. A huge warm pillow of air squeezed
through the slit and smacked him across the face. A shaved sliver of a second
later, he was blinded by a hellish blossom of light as the
Death-bird's fuel tank ruptured, ignited and exploded. Tongues of flame leaped
and lapped in all directions.
Bouncing pieces of machinery rang reverberating chimes on the Sandcat's hull.
Fragments of the main rotor blade, pinwheeling at incredible velocities,
smashed into the vehicle's frontal armor, actually scoring dents in it. Grant
stamped on the brakes, maintaining a steady pressure as he leaned forward and
peered through the slit.
The breeze tore enough holes in the pall of smoke so he could see the burning
black hulk of the
Deathbird, canted on its right side less than twenty feet away. The Plexiglas
port was too scorched to discern movement behind it. Sparks corkscrewed into
the air, and the thick odor of furnace-heated metal made him want to hold his
nose.
"Okay?" Domi called down to him.
"Yeah," he called back. "Okay. Good job."
Grant released his pent-up breath in a long, slow sigh. All his taut muscles
and nerves suddenly relaxed.
He became aware of an ache in his jaw and he realized he had been clenching
his teeth ever since he started the Cat's engine.
Experimentally he opened and closed his mouth several times, muttering, "I'm
getting way too old for this shit."
He let up on the brakes, pressing the accelerator, steering around the
wreckage before the fire could find the remainder of the missiles and touch
them off.
"Come down?" Domi asked. "To celebrate."
64
JAMES AXLER
"No," he replied. "There may be another chopper out there."
"What to do, then?"
Grant tried raising Kane and Brigid on the two comm-link channels, but once
more he heard nothing but static. The frequencies were still jammed.
Page 28
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"What we do?" Domi asked again, peevishly this time.
He downshifted, and the Sandcat crashed through the vegetation bordering the
edge of the gully. The front end teetered precariously, tipped and plunged
down, carving its own path over the rock face.
Grant announced, "We do it the Mag way. Face what's out there head-on."
Chapter 5
Kane bobbed beneath the surface like a cork until the pounding of blood in his
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]