The V-300 burst through the wall after them, intending to use the same trick to soften its landing—
It landed on the back of the crushed trailer with a colossal bang, flipping the front end up like a see-saw. Thousands of Coke cans flew into the air, metal confetti raining down on the tanks above. The first APC’s landing had mashed the trailer flat, leaving nothing to absorb the impact of its larger and heavier cousin. All six of the V- 300’s wheels were ripped from their axles, the turret jolting out of its mount to clang down like an enormous hammer amidst a snowfall of cans.
Eddie looked back at his shaken passengers. ‘Well, that’s them sorted, so cheer up! Have a Coke and a smile.’
Macy regarded him woozily. ‘Only if they have Diet.’
‘Eddie, over there,’ said Mac, pointing at an exit.
The Englishman made the turn, barging cars out of his path. The T-72’s gun followed it, but still couldn’t angle low enough to take a shot. ‘Macy, I need directions.’
Suarez gave Macy instructions. She relayed them, then added, ‘He says it’s less than two kilometres to the TV station.’
Just over a mile. Eddie recognised some of the taller buildings ahead. People were still running through the streets, but there was no immediate sign of the military. They would have to break through the troops attempting to take the television station
A basso rumble of thudding blades from above—
The road ahead exploded, sending a car barrelling through a store’s windows. Rubble showered the V- 100.
Eddie knew the cause. Stikes’s Hind.
Stikes squinted into the wind as he looked down from the gunship’s open hatch. The stolen APC had just made a desperate turn to avoid the craters torn from the asphalt by the Hind’s rockets. Krikorian fired again, another two S-8 missiles streaking from their pod on the stub wing, but these missed by a wider margin, a van blowing apart in a sheet of flame. Panicked people scattered.
‘Did you get them?’ demanded Callas, strapped firmly into the seat beside him. Baine, Maximov and the other mercenaries craned their necks to watch events below.
Stikes shook his head, shouting ‘You’re too high!’ into his headset. The rockets weren’t guided, relying on the gunner’s skill to fire them when the pod was pointing directly at the target. ‘Go lower and line up properly.’
‘We’re already too low!’ protested Gurov from the cockpit. ‘We could hit a power line or a building.’
‘I hired you because you claimed to be good enough to avoid that,’ Stikes said scathingly. Nevertheless, he saw the Russian’s point; they weren’t far above the rooftops, and Caracas had enough high-rises to turn the sky into an aerial maze. ‘Krikorian, use the cannon,’ he ordered instead.
In the forward cockpit, Krikorian grinned and switched weapons, the targeting cursor flashing up in his helmet sights.
He brought it over the fleeing vehicle, then pulled the trigger.
Eddie swerved the V-100 to evade further rocket fire. But none came – maybe the Hind couldn’t get a lock amongst all the buildings—
That hope was shattered a moment later, along with a chunk of the Commando’s armour, as a stream of 12.7mm cannon fire hammered the vehicle’s rear. Nina screamed and dived away from the damaged hatch as metal fragments spat into the cabin. More scabs of steel peppered the APC’s occupants, dents appearing in the roof as round after round slammed down.
If any came through the open parapet . . .
Eddie turned sharply at a corner, not going round the building on it, but through it. The V-100 demolished the shop’s frontage, scattering shelves and shoes before bursting out of the other side.
Above, Stikes saw the armoured car’s destructive shortcut. ‘Must be Chase driving,’ he said. ‘Gurov, follow them.’
Despite the danger, Mac looked up through the parapet to find the new threat. The Hind roared into sight. ‘He’s coming!’
Eddie sent the V-100 lurching across the street as the gunship opened fire again. Everyone had retreated from the rear hatch, and with good reason: the buckled door juddered violently as more bullets struck it – then with a piercing screech and a spray of sparks it ripped loose and clanged along the road behind them.
The onslaught continued, weaving along the hull towards the open parapet—
A wall dead ahead. Eddie didn’t brake – instead he drove the APC straight into it.
Mac ducked as more debris and clouds of plaster dust showered through the open roof. Outside, the orange glow of sodium streetlights was replaced by the off-white of fluorescent tubes as the V-100 ploughed through an office. Desks were crushed under the APC’s wheels, a couple of late workers who had stayed inside when the violence started running for cover.
He saw an exterior door in the far wall and aimed for it. Another huge crash, and they were back in the night air, the wind quickly sweeping the whirling dust out through the gaping rear hatch.
Mac irritably tried to brush himself down. ‘Another suit ruined. I should start charging you for my expenses.’
‘We’ll pay for the dry-cleaning,’ said Eddie. He recognised a skyscraper ahead as being close to their hotel – and the television station. ‘We’re not far off. Get ready to run when we get there.’
‘
