Dark Reckoning by James Axler

Sheffield slapped Doc aside and clawed at the bolts, managing to open the door. It slapped onto the ground, throwing off a spray of sparks. Without a pause, Sheffield dived from the wag and hit the ground hard, rolling end over end, hitting his head a dozen times before coming to a stop. Dizzy, the man forced himself to stand and lurch away. Blood trickled down his face, and the whole left side of his jaw was numb. He probably broke the bone, but he was free!

Somewhere in the background, blasters were firing, autos chattering as handcannons boomed in reply. A man screamed in pain, followed by the dull thud of a gren. The fight was going full force. If his side won, he would be safe. But if they lost, this would be his only chance at escape.

Then Sheffield tripped over something, and, fumbling in the dark, was astonished to discover it was the dropped LAW. Baring his teeth in a savage grin, he checked the rocket launcher, trying to find the controls and make damn sure it was in workable condition. He was armed now, and the tables had just turned on Ryan and his pack of coldhearts.

FINALLY GRINDING to a halt, the companions climbed out of the LAV-25, steadily firing their blasters at the oncoming Hummer. The wag bounded over the rough terrain, blasters firing from both sides and over the windshield. Crouching in the open rear door, J.B. cut loose with the Uzi, spraying the enemy vehicle. The windshield shattered and a headlight winked out. But the return fire continued unabated as the Hummer started to circle the crippled LAV, peppering it with bullets from every direction.

Dragging a bag of grens free, Krysty started to pull pins and lob the spheres at the attacking wag. She understood they were hesitating about a hard kill because they thought Sheffield was still on board. However, if they found out he wasn’t anymore, the fight would take a sharp turn against them, and it was a disaster already.

The grens bounced through the darkness, exploding into fireballs always just behind the racing Hummer. A man cried out and fell off the wag, but it was only one out of many.

Tossing everyone a longblaster, Ryan formed the companions into a tight group and they tagged the wag with concentrated fire, until the driver turned off the lights and engine. In near silence, they could barely hear the armored wag coast along through the night and disappear.

Ryan grabbed Krysty and jerked a thumb. She touched her ears and nodded, pointing in a specific direction. Moving fast, the companions grabbed their backpacks and got Jak loose, then slipped quietly out the belly hatch of the sideways LAV, putting it between them and the Hummer. Trying to buy his friends some yardage, Doc stayed behind, firing two Kalashnikovs in an alternate pattern to make it sound like several people were shooting back.

Reaching a safe distance, they waited on a rill for Doc to tie off the trigger of a fully loaded AK-47 as a diversion, then exit the belly hatch to join them.

“Now we’ll see how smart the blues are,” J.B. commented, tilting back his fedora with the barrel of the Uzi.

“Only have to be curious,” Ryan said. “We’ll do the rest.”

A hundred yards away, the rigged Kalashnikov finally died and silence ruled the starless night. On the horizon, even the terrible flames of burning ville began to slowly diminish.

“THINK THEY’RE ACED?” a sec man asked, pausing on the ground.

A blaster in each hand, Campbell rested his chin on a forearm and chewed over the possibility. “Mebbe,” he replied hesitantly. “Or they could be trying to lure us in closer for an ambush.”

“Keep going?” a sec man whispered.

The hairs on his nape were going stiff. Campbell sensed a trap and crawled away from the toppled APC. “Back to the Hummer,” he commanded softly. “We got some willy peter grens in the locker. We’re going to lay down a ring of flames that’ll light the night. Then we can pick them off, one at a time, and save the baron. They’ll try to cut a deal at the end. We’ll agree and shoot them in the back.”