The Halicarnassus —speeding along the desert highway, unable to take off—was under siege.
In the cockpit, Wizard clumsily unfolded a map. “This highway straightens out in about three miles into a long unbroken stretch about two miles long. But after that it twists and turns through hills all the way to the Sudanese border.”
“Then that’s our runway,” Sky Monster said.
“Our only runway.”
Sky Monster was still staring anxiously out the starboard window. “Wizard, you think you can drive this for a few minutes,” he said, standing suddenly.
“Drive?” Wizard blanched. “I don’t even drive a car very well, Sky Monster.”
“Well it’s time to learn. Here, pay attention, I’ll show you how…”
About a mile behind the desperate scenes on the Hali, the last bus in the Egyptian military convoy drove quietly in its allotted place, everyone on board it keenly watching the spectacular goings-on up ahead.
They never noticed the little Land Rover Freelander—now driven by Pooh Bear—swing onto the highway behind it, never noticed it creep right up close to its rear bumper, never noticed the three figures of West, Stretch, and Astro clamber out onto the hood of the Freelander and climb up the ladder attached to the back of the big coach.
The three small figures then danced along the roof of the speeding coach, pausing briefly to drop two of Astro’s knockout-gas grenades through a hatch.
A moment later—as all the occupants of the bus passed out and the coach began to veer off the bitumen, West lay on his belly and reached down, unlatching the safety catch on the coach’s forward door, and swung himself inside, followed by his two comrades-in-arms.
Inside the bus, wearing his lightweight half gas mask, West pulled the unconscious driver out of the driver’s seat and took the wheel.
He scanned the road ahead: beyond the convoy, he saw the wounded Halicarnassus lumbering along, spewing black smoke from its right wing, and bearing bad guys on the inner segments of both its wings.
Astro examined the rest of their bus. It was filled with slumped-over soldiers, all of them low-level infantrymen.
“They’re Egyptian Army,” he said, grabbing the uniform of the nearest trooper.
“Like a lot of African countries, sometimes Egypt’s army is up for hire,” Jack said. “If you’ve got enough dough and the right contacts, you can buy yourself some local muscle for a day or two. The question is: Who’s paying for Egypt’s services today? Now, if you don’t mind, it’s time to clear the road and get those bastards off our plane. Stretch, I don’t need this windshield anymore.”
Stretch stepped forward and fired a burst from his submachine gun into the windshield. It shattered and dropped from view. Wind rushed in.
“Gentlemen,” Jack said, removing his gas mask. “Tires.”
With wind now blasting into his bus, West gunned it, lifting his coach to over 80 mph and bringing it forward through the convoy, at the same time as Stretch and Astro fired their guns out the open front windshield, blasting the rear tires of the other buses in the convoy.
The tires of the other buses punctured loudly and caught off guard, they fishtailed crazily, skidding off the roadway and onto the sand shoulder while West’s bus shot past them, moving ever forward.
After four such bus crashes, one of the Egyptian Humvees noticed West’s rogue bus and it turned its turret gun on Jack—just as Stretch nailed the Humvee with a Predator missile. The Humvee exploded, lifting completely off the ground before flipping and rolling in the dust.
Another jeep saw them and brought its gun around, only for West to ram it with his bus, sending the jeep spinning off the road like a toy.
“Pooh Bear!” he called into his radio. “Stay in our shadow! We’ll shield you all the way to The Halicarnassus ’s loading ramp!”
At the wheel of the Freelander, Pooh Bear shouted, “Roger that!”
Beside him, Zoe and Alby peered out at Jack’s stolen coach and at the vehicles of the enemy convoy ahead of them.
They were now only about sixty yards behind The Halicarnassus —on which they could see about a dozen armed men, six on each wing and gathering at the wing doors. Four more buses and a couple of Humvees stood between them and the fleeing 747, all of the enemy cars hovering at the flanks of the plane, tucked under its wings.
They heard Jack in the stolen coach calling over the radio:“Sky Monster! Come in! We need you to open the rear ramp!”
But, oddly, there was no reply from Sky Monster.
AT THAT VERYsame moment, the Egyptian troops on the left-hand wing of The Halicarnassus managed to get its wing door open. They flung it wide—
Boom!
The first Egyptian trooper was blown off his feet by a massive shotgun blast.
All the other troopers dived for cover as they saw the enraged figure of Sky Monster standing inside the doorway, shucking a Remington twelve-gauge, readying it for the next shot.
“Get off my plane, yer ratbastards!” the hairy-faced New Zealander shouted. Unseen by him, his radio earpiece dangled uselessly off his ear—dislodged in his desperate scramble to get down here from the cockpit.
