of snowy egrets slowly winging their way across the chasm. A forest of stunted trees grew from the cliff face. The trees were so smothered with the white birds, they gave the appearance of heavy snowfall. His eye picked up movement on the far side. When he looked again, he saw nothing over there but the squat cliff-top structure he’d seen a minute earlier.
“See that building over there?” Saladin asked.
“Yeah. Doesn’t look good,” Harry warned, keeping his voice low for some strange reason. “Everybody be ready.”
“Think we’re expected?” Saladin asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “All we can do is ride the tiger.”
“I’m not liking this,” Caparina said, when they were but a few yards from the bridge. Harry wished like hell she was on the back and he was up front with Saladin, but it was too late to manage anything like that now.
“It’s adventure,” Harry said to her. “Think how dull life would be without it.”
“Yeah,” she said, unconvinced.
They rolled onto the bridge.
It swayed and sagged perceptibly under the weight of the one-ton tank. Harry racked the slide on his PP-19 Bizon, chambering a round. The gun felt good in his hands, and he was certainly glad of it now. So far, the bridge seemed to be holding their weight, no problem. They were already a couple of hundred yards across, nearing the center of the damn thing. The point of no return.
There was some kind of low white building at the far end of the bridge. But no visible human activity so far.
That was the last happy thought Harry had on the bridge.
“Shit, another Troll,” Hassan said.
Caparina said, “What the hell do we do now, Harry?”
Harry looked at the tank coming fast from the other bank. It was a good question. He turned the options over rapidly. The oncoming tank could be on routine patrol. No. That wouldn’t make sense because this new one was sending back a live feed of them right now. Surely the operator on the other side had seen them? If they jumped and retreated, they’d just have to take their chances on foot later.
“Sit tight,” Harry said. Better to stay aboard and try to take out the oncoming enemy vehicle. It was the only prayer they had of ever getting across. Harry needed to find out what was on the other side.
“Go for the camera,” Harry said. “Blind it. Give it another twenty seconds to get in range and open up.”
“What if it shoots first?” Caparina said, reasonably enough.
“We shoot back.”
When the opposing tank was one hundred yards away, the twin barrels of its forward machine guns opened fire.
“Here we go!” Caparina said, loosing a long burst at the tank.
Saladin braced himself and started returning fire. He loosed a long sustained burst and saw rounds ricochet off the Troll. None of this fire seemed to have any effect on the armored tank. Caparina kept firing. She stayed low behind the steel mud-guard which afforded her a little protection. Harry was having a hard time getting a line of sight with Saladin directly in front of him. Then Hassan fell back. He was hit. He’d let go of the grab rail. A leg wound was spraying blood into Harry’s face.
“Grab the rail!” Harry shouted.
Too late, Harry tried scrambled forward to grab the man. But the tank lurched and Saladin pitched sideways, sliding from the tank. Caparina screamed. Her ex would have fallen into the chasm, too, but he caught the suspension cable and hung on somehow, his feet dangling in air. How long could he hold on like that?
Riding the tank up front was now clearly suicide. “Jump!” Harry yelled at Caparina. “Jump, damn it!” But she didn’t. She stayed with it, riding the damn Troll, leveling ferocious fire at the oncoming tank.
“Last chance!” Harry cried, squeezing his Bizon’s trigger and trying desperately to blind the damn robot.
“Only chance!” she shouted back. “I’m going to knock out that camera!”
“Suit yourself, I’m going back to get Saladin!” Harry screamed at her just before he leapt off the tank. What were you going to do with a girl like that?
He landed hard on the metal grating and scrambled to his feet, bringing his gun up as he whirled around. The tank carrying Caparina now seemed to be accelerating toward the oncoming Troll. It was as if the controllers of both vehicles had finally wised up and wanted to bring this firefight to a speedy conclusion.
Harry raced toward Saladin, saw his white-knuckled grip on the bridge cable. A thousand feet below his dangling feet, the thunderous river waited.
“Saladin! Hold on! I’m coming,” Harry said, looking back once more at the girl. Shit. She was still aboard the tank.
Harry shouted, “Are you crazy? Get the hell off that thing!”
She turned briefly and shouted something to him but her voice was lost in the loud crack of gunfire. He ran for Saladin.
At that moment, an explosion rocked the bridge. Caparina’s fuel tank had blown. Had she jumped? Christ. He’d been concentrating on Saladin and hadn’t seen her. Was she blown off the bridge by the explosion? He couldn’t see anything, just a fiery wreck dangling half off the bridge with black smoke billowing up. He stared into the smoke with disbelieving eyes, the intense heat burning his cheeks. No scent of roast pig in his nostrils, no visible trace of a girl’s charred corpse.
He waded into the black clouds determined to find her or what was left of her. He saw winking muzzles and heard rounds whistle overhead. The second Troll, blinded by smoke, had ridden right up and over the flaming wreck and was bearing down on him.
Harry had no choice in this matter. He turned around and started running back for Hassan. He ran like a madman, which he probably was, dodging this way and that on the swinging bridge; and he kept waiting for the stitch of rounds across his back.
Saladin only had one hand on the cable. But he was still clinging for his life when Brock reached down and grabbed Saladin’s trembling forearm with both hands. He managed to haul him up onto the bridge, the adrenalin doing most of the work for both of them. He got him up. Saladin took a few deep breaths and managed to get to his knees.
“The tank,” Saladin gasped.
“Yeah. We gotta go. Can you walk?” Harry asked, getting an arm around him.
“Why walk when you can run?” Saladin said, ignoring the blood pumping from his torn right thigh.
They ran for the underbrush, back where they’d come from.
Behind them, their wrecked tank was still burning at the center of the bridge. The little one-eyed bastard that had finished them kept coming and they could both feel the lens on them and see the barrels swivel in their direction as they dodged this way and that, summoning one last ounce of energy for the final sprint. Shit. It was going to be close.
“Go left!” Harry said when they reached the end. “I’ll go right. And stay the hell down. The camera won’t be able to pick us up.”
Both men dove into the brush and crabbed away from the bridge. Rounds were splintering the trees above and behind him, but it was pretty clear the robot had lost them and was firing blind. The operator controlling the thing was just trying to get lucky. Harry managed to slither right to the edge of the cliff and peer through the undergrowth at the smoldering tank they’d abandoned.
Somehow, he and Saladin would get through this. If the girl were still alive—doubtful—he and Hassan would somehow manage to get back across that bridge and find her. They had to find this bastard Top. Had to pop this fucking Top.
Harry had always known his strengths and weaknesses. He probably drank too much. Screwed around too much, even now that he wasn’t married anymore. And, as he privately admitted to himself, he knew he probably wasn’t the brightest bulb on Broadway. But Harry was as tough as they come, goddamnit. Hard, his Marine buddies would call it. His whole life, the crazy American from Los Angeles, California, had known one true and good thing about himself.
Harry Brock could take a licking and keep on ticking.
