In the rear, Delia awkwardly climbed the half step into the turret and prepared the 25 mm cannon.
“Short bursts only at group targets!” Gaza shouted at her, looking in the corner mirror. “That’s all the shells we got, and we’re going to need every damn one to face the Trader!”
The tall brunette thumped the metal chassis with a fist to let her husband know she understood the gravity of the situation, then she pulled out a .45 Ruger Blackhawk revolver from her holster and tucked it in the front of her belt for a faster draw.
All of the others were doing the same with their rapidfires, stuffing spare ammo clips into belts, and working the arming bolts on their Kalashnikovs, M-16s and MAC-10 machine pistols.
The engine of the LAV 25 sounded deafening to Gaza as he tried to force the war wag to greater speed, but it got within a hundred yards of the Core before the last person in the group spun and shouted the alarm.
Instantly, Allison racked the group with the fifty, bodies tumbling in every direction from the brutal hammering of the heavy combat rounds. Now the rapidfires began spitting flame from both sides of the APC, and a full dozen of the Core died from the barrage before the rest even realized what was happening.
Spinning with a snarl, Alar simply stood in the open ground, holding his spear. As Gaza headed straight for the male, he suddenly felt dizzy then cried out as a giant millipede appeared from behind a sand dune, the black insect larger than a preDark tank!
The baron cried out in terror and threw the steering hard to the left to escape the slavering jaws of the colossal beast. Releasing the fifty, Allison touched his temples and the vision faded away to show nothing before the APC but empty desert, and the rapidly approaching edge of the cliff.
It had been a damn illusion! Dangerously close to the edge, the preDark city rising into view, Gaza slammed on the brakes and threw the transmission into reverse, the gears grinding loudly as the machine fought its own momentum. The loose sand under the tires slithered away, and the APC continued forward toward the yawning abyss. Trying to regain control, Gaza stomped on the gas, and the big Detroit diesel roared with full power. Only fifty feet away from the edge, Gaza engaged the emergency brake and banked even harder, throwing his weight onto the yoke until he thought it might break. With half the wheels jammed motionless, the LAV 25 went sideways and continued sliding toward certain doom. Then Gaza released the brakes, the rear tires caught traction and the vehicle lurched ahead a few yards. Yes! Fighting for every foot of the way, the baron alternately worked the yoke and brakes and gas, finally bringing the war wag onto the desert proper.
“Chill ’em all!” he screamed, spittle hitting the controls.
Instantly, every weapon in the APC cut loose, hot lead chewing up the dunes as the Core rallied behind Alar. What the hell? Why would they give a group target to the rapidfires? Then the leader of the Core vanished from sight as a duplicate APC came around a dune to barrel straight for Gaza on a collision course and a fire breathing millipede rose from under the sand to their left.
Ignoring the mind tricks, the baron spun the LAV 25 hard and headed for the empty stretch of desert. He remembered a dune being there a moment ago, which was probably where the damn muties were going to escape his blasters.
“Delia, shoot the sky!” he yelled as spears hit the APC from nowhere, the points shattering as they came through the air vents, throwing razor sharp slivers of steel everywhere like shrapnel.
Dropping her AK-47, Victoria cried out and fell to the deck with a length of steel completely piercing her throat, blood squirting out from the severed arteries.
Exhaling a guttural scream, Delia cut loose the 25 mm cannon and turned in a full circle. The sand exploded everywhere, and swaddled bodies fell from the clear sky to land in gory pieces on the hot sand.