The two other Guntracks sped into the distance. Both vehicles were overloaded and carrying wounded and really in no condition to fight unless there was no other option. Shadow Two carried Chifune, Geronimo Grady, and Dana Felton as crew, together with the wounded Chuck Freeman and the drugged Kathleen and Steve Kent's body. Shadow Five carried Oga, Brick Stephens, and Ross Gallini, with Ernesto Robles and Calvin injured.
Al Lonsdale's night-vision equipment pierced the darkness and aligned the Dilger on the lead tank.
He fired.
A tongue of flame jetted from the muzzle and the whole Guntrack rocked with the recoil.
Two seconds later he fired again, and then kept on firing until he had exhausted a second clip. The second clip.
Twelve rounds. The Dilger was now out of ammunition.
'Move! Move! Move!' said Fitzduane, and Cochrane started raising the air springs and roared away. The springs completed their adjustment on the move.
Two seconds after they had left their firing position, tank shells plowed into the evacuated space, and rock and shale fountained into the air.
There was a crack and Oshima's tank, roaring forward at full speed, suddenly lurched to the left, lost forward momentum, and started rotating on its own axis.
The driver's hatch opened and he leaned over the right side of the tank, then looked up at Reiko Oshima. 'We've been hit. The track's gone and we're a sitting target. We'd better get out.'
Oshima drew her pistol and shot him in the head, then pointed the gun at the gunner. 'Does the tank still work?'
He nodded.
'Well, then stay here and fight the tank or you'll join that coward.'
The loader slammed in an HE round and the gunner rotated the turret and fired. Oshima could see the flash of the impact explosion in the distance.
The infrared searchlight shattered as machine-gun rounds hit it. A further burst spanged off the armor.
Oshima hauled herself out of the turret and looked for a replacement tank. She was appalled at what she saw. The powerful column of nineteen armored vehicles that had followed her was now strewn with flaming and exploding vehicles, and as she watched, there was a row of small explosions in the ground as if a machine gun was being hosed onto a target and then an armored personnel carrier in the direct line of fire blew up.
Burning figures ran into the darkness and collapsed, and the air was rent with screams.
A hundred meters away, a T55 fired its main gun and then reversed. She ran after it, waving.
An armored personnel carrier was spraying the darkness with its heavy machine gun. The gunner could see nothing because his infrared searchlight had been shot out, but he fired steadily until the ammunition box ran out. Incoming machine-gun fire caught him as he was attempting a barrel change and blew out his throat.
A black shape shot out of the darkness and there was an enormous explosion from the armored carrier, and a huge hole appeared in its side as if it had been hit by an artillery shell.
Two tanks maneuvering in opposite directions collided, then the commander's hatches opened and the two commanders started swearing at each other.
An explosive grenade hit one commander and blew his torso into pieces, showering the second man with blood and body parts. He dropped back into his cupola, banged the hatch shut, and reversed rapidly.
The air seemed to be full of flying metal. Oshima had never seen anything like it. This was not conventional machine-gun and cannon fire but some other, much more lethal, system.
Now she was beginning to understand how her base, with all its armor and security, had been overcome so quickly.
A tank roared past her, tracks churning, and she fell back, terrified. The stars were fading. It would be dawn soon.
She heard the heavy throb of an armored personnel carrier and looked up. The vehicle stopped and the commander looked down.
Somehow he looked familiar. A red map light illuminated his face from below. That was ironic. The face was that of Major Khalifa Sherrif, the ‘hero’ who could not navigate. Life, she thought, was a joke; a sick joke. It was a pity she had not understood this sooner.
The Major looked away and shouted a command.
The Major's armored personnel carrier accelerated, leaving Oshima alone in the desert.
The evacuating Guntracks roared through the Funnel and on to the airstrip.
Behind them there was the sound and fury of the firefight, and each person's thoughts were with the rear guard as they battled.
Ten minutes later, Shadow Three disengaged on Fitzduane's instructions and joined the two other Guntracks. Less than a minute later, alerted by radio, Kilmara's C130 Combat Talon swooped in and taxied to a halt, the ramp already almost down.
Immediately, the three Guntracks drove on board and the Combat Talon, with the ramp still open, took off and headed out of Tecuno-controlled airspace at contour-following height, electronic-warfare systems fully operational. Tecuno wavebands were a mass of activity, and they could hear jet fighters being vectored into the search area. Timing was critical. They would have more than eighty minutes' exposure before the fighter threat would be over.
Kilmara hated the abrupt departure with Fitzduane and the crew of Shadow One still on the ground, but every second spent in the area increased the chance of detection and his first priority was the safety of the aircraft and crew and passengers.
It was now up to the guts and ingenuity of Fitzduane and his remaining team on the ground, the flying skills of Eagle Friend, and a quite extraordinary device known as Skyhook or the Fulton Rescue System.
And there were also the moves of the enemy to consider.
Shadow One had been located, and the noose would be tightening by the second.
Fitzduane felt dazed and disoriented, and he could not see and he felt rising panic.
He fought for control. Where was he? What had happened? He put his hand to his face. It was wet and sticky. Shit! He was bleeding from a gash in his forehead. He staggered to his feet and splashed some water from his belt water-bottle on his face and washed the blood from his eyes.
He could see! The relief was intense. He could feel the rush of fear receding and his self-confidence reestablishing itself.
Shadow One lay on its side about twenty yards away. One track was missing and there was a huge hole in the rear engine compartment through which diesel was leaking. They had been hit but they had been lucky. Or had they? It was then that he noticed Lee Cochrane. He was bent over Al Lonsdale, who lay motionless on the ground.
Fitzduane began to remember what had happened. They had chewed up the advancing armored column with some success thanks to Dilger's Baby, night-vision equipment, and some seriously aggressive tactics. They then had disengaged. Shadow Three had headed on to the airstrip and Shadow One had made it to the Funnel.
He recalled the Guntrack roaring down the Funnel to where it narrowed, and then suddenly everything had gone blank.
Ahead of him he saw a Combat Talon climb into the night sky and then recede into the distance.
The sight was like a physical blow, and again there was that feeling of fear.
He went over to Cochrane. 'How is he?' he said, looking at Lonsdale.
'Concussed, I think,' said Cochrane. 'I can't find any external wound.' He held up something. 'Here are your
