“About fucking time,” another man growled in agreement.
As the handful of sec men crawled toward their wag, the single headlight switched on, bathing them in brilliant illumination. Dimly, Campbell could see the one-eyed man behind the wheel, holding his M-79 gren launcher. How had they found the wag in the pitch dark? It was impossible!
Somebody worked a bolt chambering around, and both sides started firing simultaneously. However, the companions were shrouded in blackness, protected by the armored body of the Hummer. The blues were in the open on flat ground. The exchange was brief and permanent.
Mildred checked to make sure Jak was okay in the rear of the wag. Some of his minor wounds had opened again, but the blood loss was minimal.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, wiping his brow.
“Blues dead?” he wheezed.
“Yes, they are.”
The teenager gave a wan smile. “Then fine.”
“J.B., cover me,” Ryan said, walking toward the bodies. He found two still breathing and finished them off with head shots.
“By the Three Kennedys,” Doc rumbled in annoyance, moving to the other side of the Hummer for protection.
Standing on a low rising hill was a dim figure faintly silhouetted by the dying fires of the Shiloh ville. The person was carrying a longblaster of some kind.
“Now you fuckers are mine!” Sheffield shouted, and pressed the launch button on top of the LAW. The device gave a resounding click, but nothing more. Empty. It was empty? When had Ryan fired off the rocket?
Frantically tossing away the tube, Sheffield sprinted for a nearby rill, planning to throw himself over the edge no matter what was on the other side.
Holding the SIG-Sauer in a steady two-handed grip, Ryan fired a full clip after the racing baron. This wasn’t the time for halfway measures. When Sheffield died, the danger of the Kite was gone forever.
The baron stumbled over the uneven ground when a white-hot pain punched into his side. He fell to his knees, then rose again and continued for the rill. He had to quickly get out of the range of their blasters. But his blood was everywhere, and the man felt terribly cold.
Cutting loose with Uzi, J.B. angled high, trying for the running man. Krysty fired at him with the AK-47, and Mildred did the same, but he was out of range for the blasters. Ryan unlimbered the Steyr and chambered a round, when the night split apart with a thunderous discharge, a foot-long lance of flame reaching out from the pitted maw of the Colt Python held in the bloody hands of a grim-faced Jak Lauren.
With a gaping hole in his shoulder, Baron Sheffield flew forward with his arms outstretched and hit the top of the rill. On the other side was a babbling river, water to hide in and wash his wounds. Escape was only feet away.
Exhausted from the effort, Jak collapsed once more, as the indomitable baron rose again, clutching his stomach and shuffling for the crest of the rill. He was going to make it, going to live!
His long frock coat billowing in the breeze, Doc cocked the hammer on his LeMat, which advanced the trigger a full half inch, then fired. Throwing flame and smoke, the handcannon blasted a .44 miniball straight into the baron just as he reached the rill, blowing away most of his neck. The Steyr spoke twice, finishing the job, and Sheffield hit the ground hard, his head freely rolling away to splash into the dark waters.
“It’s finished,” Ryan said, resting the stock of his longblaster on a hip. “Come on, let’s see what’s salvageable in the LAV.”
As the companions headed for the APC, Krysty nudged Doc. “Good thing your blaster did a malfunk before,” she said, slinging the AK-47 over a shoulder. “Sheffield would have chilled you for sure.”
“The LeMat is operating perfectly, my dear Krysty,” Doc retorted, waving away the volumes of smoke pouring from the muzzle of his black-powder weapon. “This is a single-action pistol. You must cock the hammer first or it will not shoot, unlike your double-action revolver.”
“Sort of a double safety?”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t know that,” Krysty said, mentally filing the information away.