There was a pause that grew to uncomfortable length.
“Acknowledged,” it said. “Communications blackout is now in progress. Active relay via geosync satellite has not been achieved. Only passive monitoring will continue.”
“Good. Now keep digging,” the man directed. He added, “But if anything appears on the cliff, even a lone person, use the main gun to kill on sight.”
Unfortunately, without the .50-cal, the tank had only the main cannon and that was needed for the cliff. Suddenly, the baron wasn’t so sure that it was a chunk of rock that had hit the tank. Might have been a gren. Could they be under attack? It seemed unlikely. Only a feeb would attack a preDark tank with anything short of an implo gren. No, it was a rock splinter, nothing more.
“Confirmed,” the tank said, and the main cannon hummed once more, another acre of rock blasting loose to tumble onto the growing mound.
THE BIG HARLEY purring between his spread legs, Ryan braked to a halt behind a thick brick wall and thumbed the transmit on the hand comm.
“Okay, I got the machine guns with the pipe bombs,” Ryan said quickly. “Now light ‘er up!”
“Bet your ass we will,” Pete growled in response.
“Roger that,” J.B. added.
Tucking the comm into a pocket, Ryan fed the Twin-V 88 some fuel and rode down the block, arching around the tank to a new position. A few seconds later, the exact spot he had just transmitted from loudly detonated. Yeah, he had expected that would be the reaction to a radio broadcast this close. Once Gaza figured it wasn’t muties running about, he would be forced to use the big gun, which slowed his departure and bought the Trader more time.
But the bastard cannon was fast! Wouldn’t have thought something that large could move so bastard quick! And he had faced such a titan before. The damn mil wag was a GE Ranger, a comp operated tank very similar to one they had fought back in Ohio. It had taken a suicide run to stop that war machine, and he sure as nuking hell hoped it wouldn’t require such a sacrifice again here in Texas.
Suddenly, a flame flickered from a second story and a burning object arced through the drizzling sky to hit behind the tank, forming a pool of fire. As the main gun swung that way, Pete drove the Harley down a flight of stairs and deeper into the ruins. The tank hummed and that area exploded. J.B. then popped up on the other side and threw another Molotov that landed on top of the Ranger, and Ryan added a third in front of the machine. As they raced away, Pete tossed in a fourth, sealing the war wag in a ring of flame.
Steering with one hand through the scattered rain, Ryan pulled out the hand comm and hit the switch. “Okay, she’s hot as an oven! Do it now!” he cried out. But there was no response, only the crackle of static.
“I was afraid of this. We’re too bastard far!” J.B. cursed. “The Trader can’t hear us!”
Ryan glanced at the buildings rising in the center of the city. “And they sure as hell can’t see us—that’s for damn sure. Got no choice. One of us goes back!”
“On it!” Fat Pete cried and roared off, shouting into the hand comm.
The tank fired at the departing man as he took a corner and an entire side of a bank blew out, masonry tumbling into the puddle filled street, crushing cars and trucks.
“We have to keep it busy,” Ryan said, driving and talking at the same time. He paused to take a pothole, the impact jarring his spine and kidneys hard. “Keep talking and moving! It’ll track on us and ignore Pete!”
“You hope!” J.B. replied over the crackling comm. “Sure as hell wish we could use the LAW rockets, but they wouldn’t dent this monster!”
Rolling out of the pool of flames, the tank hummed again, the radios crackled from the electromagnetic impulse of the coil gun cannon. Another section of the ruins detonated, a roiling fireball throwing rubble skyward.