“Via!” Huber screamed, knowing that now survival was in the hands of the Lord and Fencing Master’s Automatic Defensive System. A segment of the ADS tripped, blasting a charge of osmium pellets from the explosive-filled groove where the car’s hull armor joined the plenum chamber skirts.
Fencing Master jumped and clanged. The pellets met the incoming missile, shoving it aside and tearing off pieces. The warhead didn’t detonate—a good thing, because this close it still would’ve been dangerous—but a shred of tailfin slashed Huber’s gunshield, leaving a bright scar across the oxidized surface.
Learoyd’s target, a forty-tonne guncarrier, went off like a huge bomb. The concussion spun Fencing Master like a top, slamming Huber against the side of the fighting compartment. Despite the helmet’s active shock cushioning, his vision shrank momentarily to a bright vertical line.
The guns of the Apex Dragoons used liquid propellant set off by a jolt of high current through tungsten wire. Besides adding electrical energy to the chemical charge, the method ignited the propellant instantly and maximized efficiency for any bore that could accept the pressures.
Learoyd’s burst had detonated the reservoir holding the charges for perhaps a hundred main-gun rounds. The explosion left a crater where the vehicle had been and a cloud of smoke mushrooming hundreds of meters in the air.
Fencing Master grounded twice, sucked down when the wave of low pressure followed the shock front. Padova fought her controls straight, then tried to steer the car back in the original direction; they’d spun more than a full turn counterclockwise and were now headed well to the left of the planned course.
The shockwave rocked the Dragoon APC up on its three starboard wheels. The vehicle didn’t spin because it was some distance farther from the blast and its tires provided more stability than the fluid coupling of pressurized air linking the combat car to the ground.
Huber’s eyesight cleared; his tribarrel already bore on the APC’s rear hull. He fired, working his burst forward while bolts from Deseau’s weapon crossed his. Their plasma shattered the light aluminum/ceramic sandwich armoring the APC’s side. The hatches blew open in geysers of black smoke which sucked in, then gushed as crimson flames.
Learoyd lay huddled on the floor of the fighting compartment. His left hand twitched, so at least he was alive. There was no time to worry about him now, not with all F-3 in danger.
Fencing Master drove between the two APCs, both oozing flames, and roared down the steep slope. Explosions thundered in the near distance. Huber glanced to his left as a ball of orange flame bubbled over the treetops. It had vanished some seconds before the ground rippled and the walls of the valley channeled a wave of dust and leaf litter past Fencing Master and on.
Huber pivoted his tribarrel to cover the rear. In shifting, he banged his right side on the coaming. The unexpected pain made him gasp. The blast had bruised him badly and maybe cracked some ribs.
Deseau took over the right wing gun. Learoyd had managed to get to his hands and knees, but it’d be a while before he was able to man his weapon again.
Or maybe it wouldn’t, come to think. Bert Learoyd had the tenacity of an earthworm, though perhaps coupled with an earthworm’s intellectual capacity.
Huber checked his C&C display. All six cars were still in action, though the icons for Foghorn and Farsi’s Fancy—Car Three-seven in Jellicoe’s section—showed they were reporting battle damage.
Even the Slammers’ electronics couldn’t discriminate between the signatures of vehicles with some systems running though the crews were dead, and those which were fully functional. Apart from the occasional catastrophic explosion like that of Learoyd’s target, there was no way to be sure of how much of the hostile mechanized company remained dangerous. They’d taken a hammering, no mistake, but right now all Huber was concerned about was F-3’s survival. Thanks to Ander’s inaction, the Slammers had lost this battle before the first shot was fired.
The United Cities government had employed many small units of mercenaries instead of a few large formations, because noplace on the planet except Port Plattner in Solace could land a starship big enough to hold a battalion and its equipment. Hammer’s Regiment was one of the the largest units in UC pay, and some of the others were only platoons.