“Can’t see my own dick!” the driver shouted. “I’m waiting for us to hit a fucking cliff and die!”
“Ain’t no cliffs in this direction,” a corporal retorted, studying the compass in his shaking hands. “Stay in this direction, and we’ll be fine!”
Cresting a hill, the armored wag started down the other side, when it began to build speed. The driver applied the brakes quickly, but there was no slowing of their progress.
“Shit!” he cried, stomping the brakes with all his might. “We’re sliding free. No way to stop!”
Lunging across the interior of the wag, Brandon yanked on the mechanical brake and they felt the eight wheels lock tight. But the APC continued to slide down the smooth side of the steep hill, slowly starting to turn sideways.
“We’re going to flip!” the lieutenant shouted, grabbing a ceiling stanchion. “Hold on, boys!”
The wind slammed small debris against the wag, as the vehicle continued to turn until it was traveling backward.
“Lock the rear door,” a corporal shouted.
The nearest sec man barked a bitter laugh. “You lock the fucking door!” he shot back, clutching his safety harness with both hands. “I ain’t leaving this seat!”
“Coward!”
“Asshole!”
The corporal drew a blaster, and the LAV hit something with a jarring crash. Every loose item the wag went airborne, shotgunning toward the rear. The sec men cried out as plastic crates slammed into legs and one man went limp, his skull crashed from the impact of a steel ammo box full of linked rounds for the 25 mm cannon.
“Release the brake!” the sergeant shouted, staring at the map on the floor in horror. “We got to get back control!”
“Why?” Brandon demanded.
“Lake!”
The lieutenant cursed and went for the release level when the wag slammed into something again, the impact making it spin like a mad top. The supplies went all over the vehicle, crates breaking open to spill MRE packs everywhere. A third impact straightened their course, and the driver fought the steering levers, trying to regain some control over the runaway war machine.
The duct tape covering an air vent burst free, and road dust poured into the craft like a river of smoke. In seconds the interior was filled, the men gagging and choking as they pulled shirts over their mouths in an effort to breathe. It was a trick they learned from the ash storm, but the dust was a finer grain, and it didn’t work as well this time.
Then a sudden silence filled the APC and clean air streamed in through the vents.
“We’re out of the storm!” a private shouted happily.
“And falling!” another cried, looking through the tiny slits of the vent. “Madonna save us! There’s the lake!”
As the off-balance machine tumbled through the sky, the men flopped loosely in their seats, only the web harness holding them in place. Ammo boxes broke apart as the wag spun over and over, spilling live rounds into the mix of MRE packs, boots and vomit.
Then a deafening explosion slammed the craft from underneath, cracking teeth and splintering the Plexi-glas covering the driver’s ob slit. Bones audibly broke as the blues were violently heaved against the web straps. One sec man came free and slammed into to the armored ceiling, his head erupting into a pulpy mess of brains, bones and blood. The decapitated body fell, leaving an ear and some sticky pink matter clinging to the steel plating.
Dizzy from a blow to the temple, Brandon could barely focus on the fact they seemed to be rising and falling in a regular pattern. What the hell was this? Then the answer came like a fist from the dark.
“The lake!” he gasped weakly. “We landed in the bastard lake!”
“We’re sinking!” a sec man cried, struggling with his harness. “I got to get out! I’m not going drown like a rat!”
“No, wait!” the officer shouted, raising a hand. “The LAV floats! We’re okay!”
But the man struggled out of the web and stumbled toward the rear doors, walking unsteadily to the bobbing of the machine. “Horseshit!” he snarled. “Metal doesn’t float.”
“Sit down, Johnson!” the sergeant ordered in a booming voice. His commands were usually obeyed instantly, the fear of the bullwhip in powerful hands more than enough of a threat. But the scared man didn’t even respond, as he clawed at the locking bolt for the rear doors.