There was a slight thump. The rear
door sprung open. A disoriented Smithy fell out into a patch of flattened grass.
He found his footing and stumbled his way into the forest, clutching his PIKL
to his chest.
Bales watched Day’s impressive display
of suppressive PIKL fire. The compound’s rooftop weatherproofing began to
smoulder under the barrage of laser strikes. An occasional pulsed energy strike
caused blue fingers to run along the balcony railings and arc across the open
space between the compound and the outer fencing. There was only a single blue
line of defiance, and it came from the main gate, a hundred and fifty metres
away. It bounced harmlessly off the cockpit glass in front of him.
Bales engaged the downward thrusters
and aimed the nose of the Furtive at the Main Gate. He raised his left
flightcontrolskin and pressed the middle finger against the thumb. He pressed
down for a short 2000-round burst, pulling his fingers apart as quickly as he
could.
The main gate disintegrated into an
expanding dust cloud. Large chunks of concrete flew off to bounce across the
roof and into the clearing. A breeze then pushed the cloud towards him,
obscuring the view.
Bales lowered his left hand and
allowed the Furtive to settle back onto the ground.
Day was right. The rail gun was a
beaut. He marvelled at how the GCE had engineered something so powerful - yet
so smooth, quiet and with so little kick-back. The Furtive had hummed as he
fired; it barely vibrated.
He checked behind him. The rear
engines had powered up in synch with the rail gun to steady the ship. The edge
of the forest smouldered. Perhaps he should have warned Smithy about that. He
hoped he was OK.
He looked up at the clock. 30 seconds. No
movement out front that he could see, but then the dust cloud was making its
way across to him. He raised the nose again and gave the main gate another
short burst. The dust cloud thickened. He looked back over his left shoulder at
the forest. Nothing.
45 seconds. He looked again. There was
still no sign of Smithy, just the smoking trees and a thin dusting of powdered
masonry.
50 seconds. There was a rap on the side
of the hull. He looked up at the monitor. It was Smithy with another much
taller man, both of them holding their hands over their mouths. It must be
Goosen.
He popped the rear door.
‘What about the other guy?’ he shouted
over his shoulder.
‘Couldn’t
make it,’ Cummings replied, PIKL arm outstretched. He leant in and held the end
of the barrel just behind Bales’ head. He flicked the PIKL to maximum power.
Bales froze when he heard it whine in his right ear. ‘Hands where I can see
them. And kill the engine.’
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