‘They’re not on the scanners - nor the ECube,’ he cursed.
‘Durell must have some way of shielding them.‘
He banked the machine once more, dropping in a tight arc, and saw the enemy: five Harriers SKI 5s - hovering and turning - with perhaps fifteen choppers accompanying them. Carter’s jaw set grimly and he wondered if they had been on their way to intercept him. In Cairo? Maybe at the Red Sea Mountains? But they had been too slow to call, and he armed the MiG’s weapons systems almost without thinking, Russian flowing through his mind as he settled into the mindset of combat and sped below the Harriers - which accelerated after him in deadly pursuit.
Engines howling, Carter saw the Harriers spread out behind him, losing the entourage of helicopters which were far too slow for this kind of aerial battle. Carter raced across the skies, climbing, and sensed rather than saw the AAMs detach and accelerate away from his pursuers. Carter banked again, more tightly this time, and the Sea Harriers couldn’t match his manoeuvre. The MiG flashed up through cloud as the six missiles forged ahead and he wheeled, rolling, and then dropped from the skies and powered with only inches to spare between the clustered group of searching black helicopters—
Six missiles met six targets.
Thunder rolled across the sky as the choppers exploded in gaseous balls of flame. Another two choppers caught fire from being too close to the explosions and were sent spinning, rotors screaming, into the Mediterranean where they plummeted beneath the waves, leaving wide circles of churning foam.
‘
Neat
,’ said Kade. He sounded a little sulky.
Carter lifted the machine, vibrating under his battered hands, and armed his own missiles. His Global PK18 TSAM control radars started to buzz but he couldn’t understand the flashing Russian commands. Carter looped, coming up behind the Sea Harriers, which had temporarily lost sight of him — and sighted, smiling savagely as he accelerated towards the five glinting machines—
Wing pylons retracted. Four of his eight R-80 AA-e Aphids released as he was almost upon the Harriers and he flashed overhead, climbing steeply. The missiles ate into the Sea Harriers like hot knives into soft fresh butter. There came the sounds of four impacts, like rapid detonation charges exploding in quick succession. Flames roared into the sky, purple and orange globes of fire spinning off hints of green and blue from superheated burning slivers of steel and alloy. Nex pilots melted into their seats, faces ridged in screams, and were then vaporised, spat up and out and finally down into the all-encompassing waves.
There seemed to be a moment of silence.
A long, long silence ...
‘One left
,’ said Kade smugly—
As Carter dropped the MiG and opened fire with the quad 30mm cannons. Huge heavy-calibre rounds roared across the bright blue sky, slamming into the Harrier and taking out its fuel tanks. There came a blossom of purple fire and the jet nosedived into the sea where it sank in an upsurge of foaming bubbles. Huge white rings spread out from the point of impact, and Carter watched for a moment as they dispersed.
‘
You remind me more of me every day
,’ said Kade.
‘Fuck off.’
‘Tch. Tetchy again, Carter. Hey, where you going? You’ve left some choppers behind ... hey, Carter, you‘re leaving some of them alive! You fucking pussy! Where are you going?’
‘I’ve seen enough of death to last me a million lifetimes. They’ll never catch us.’
‘Carter! Breaking your own fucking rules, my man. Never leave an enemy behind, that’s what you always told me. Come on, brother, let’s see some more of those diseased fuckers
burn ...’
Carter ignored Kade, and with his tight-lipped mouth a grim line as he wiped sweat from his hands, he thundered through the skies towards the coast of Greece, Albania, Yugoslavia and then onwards and up into Austria ...
‘
You butcher
,’ muttered Kade, before disappearing from Carter’s sombre thoughts.
The engines were whining softly.
‘You make sure you come back to me, you reckless fucker ... You make sure you come back to
us ...
’
Natasha’s face came into his mind, her twinkling eyes, her short spiked hair. He sighed, wondering if he would ever see her again.
He remembered those words, just before the dam detonation at the Tennagore Valley in Chile, South America - where everything had gone horribly wrong and he’d gone speeding down the face, screeching motorcycle bucking out of control beneath him, the near-vertical concrete surface flexing beneath him like the wildest of roller-coaster rides ... and as the dam exploded and the waters picked him and the bike up, threw them down the valley on the surging crest of foam he had truly believed that he would die ...
‘You make sure you come back to me, you reckless fucker ... You make sure you come back to
us ...’
Much later, Natasha’s tears had awoken him. Spiral had picked him up, unconscious, half-drowned, in a Chinook chopper. Her tears had dripped into his face and Carter had hugged her, wincing from the pain in his broken bones.
‘I love you, Nats. You knew I was coming back.’
‘You nearly died out there, you fucker. And you
promised
...’
And now? The sweet irony! A reversal... a need not to kill, but to
save
and every bastard who got in his way was paying the ultimate
ultimate
price - but Carter felt like he was on a wild pillion ride straight into the heart of Hell, and the only way he could surface to heaven and reality was to cling on and ride the throbbing screeching insanity engine all the way - down the deep dips and through a world of madness and death, hopefully re-surfacing on the other side clutching the Avelach and with the ability to bring Natasha back from the brink of death ...
‘No fucking chance
,’ mocked Kade.
‘Shut your face.’
‘
You know my philosophy Carter, there are more fresh bitches in the sea. All you have to do is prime your maggot and do a little fishing. It’s really not that fucking
hard
to understand.
‘
‘Shut up!’ he screamed, slamming one fist against the inside of the MiG’s cockpit. He coughed then, and a pain smashed into his head and it reminded him, back when he had been in Africa with Natasha and the pain had crippled him, dropped him like a bullet and the pain washed over him in great pulsing waves and he was almost blind, crippled, flooded with an intense pulsating vision and for a long time he drifted on the verge of consciousness and allowed the auto-pilot to correct the navigation of the MiG fighter’s journey—
Engines hissed.
Sunlight sparkled, then dropped behind towering clouds which rolled billowing shadows over the sea far below. And Carter fell into a world of wonder and better times, when Natasha had been well and their lives had seemed so simple, so pure, so
complete.
Before his world and sanity had seemed to finally end.
Simmo’s HTank roared towards the unsuspecting Nex tanks guarding the refinery. Shells screamed overhead and this time they
did
catch the enemy by surprise. Guns thundered, smoke billowed in clouds and the Nex hardly knew what hit them. Tracks ground heavily across damp ground and when the battle was over Simmo leapt free, sinking up to his ankles in mud and gazing around, a beam on his broad flat face. He lit another cigar, and coughed a little on the blue smoke before letting it drift lazily from his nostrils.
‘We do well, lads!’ he roared, and the TankSquads cheered, standing on the hulls of the battle-scarred SP57s and throwing their helmets and water canteens into the air. Several Nex had been herded together and bound with wire, and Mo, Haggis and Rogowski were scoping out the smoking remains of the actual refinery, which, by some miracle, still stood amidst the twisted tank carnage and smoking devastation.
The TankComm rattled. Simmo picked it up, eyeing the TankSquad squaddies who fidgeted nearby. Simmo’s face fell from elation to horror as he realised that he was speaking with Field Marshal Jacobs, Acting Commander of the Spiral TankSquads.
‘Yes - Simmo, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘OK, lad, clearance has come through for you to take out that Nex-held LVA position in Columbia. Do you foresee any problems?’
‘Um, no, sir.’
‘Good, good.’
‘Um, sir?’
‘Yes, what is it, Simmo?’
‘We also spot a refinery a few klicks away and it not on Spiral scout map. You want us investigate and take out if necessary?’ Simmo eyed the smoking ruins in front of him, his shoulders hunched, teeth bared in a grimace.
‘Yes, you go and investigate. If there are hostiles, by all means destroy them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And Simmo?’
‘Sir?’
‘We have a Code Black across all bands. You will shortly be forwarded scrambling points. It would seem there is a madman on the loose with the ability to control earthquakes.’
‘Ah. OK, sir. Thank you. Out.’
Simmo stared at the TankComm with obvious relief. Then he grinned. ‘It turning into a good day,’ he muttered. Mo and Rogowski appeared, shaking their heads.
‘We get an airlift outta here?’ asked Kipper, sidling over to Simmo and staring hungrily at the The Sarge’s cigar.
Simmo glared at him. ‘Fuck off with that hungry look, Kipper. You proper fish-kipper, me thinking, when you go and leave all your own stash at home.’
‘Aww, come on Sarge, you know I’d buy one off you but I’ve run out of money.’
‘Yar, you lose it to me playing poker. Dumb ass. Find your own cigars.’
‘Maybe I’ll steal some from you when you’re asleep!’ laughed Kipper. Then he saw the look on Simmo’s face. Stealing The Sergeant’s cigars was not an option.
The TankComm rattled again. Simmo accessed it and strode away from the tank, trailing the bobbing curly umbilical cable behind him. Puffing on his cigar, he barked, ‘Yeah? Simmo here.’
‘Mongrel.’
‘The Sarge was just thinking of you, lad.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘I was shelling a bunch of Nex, watching them burn in their tanks.’
‘That supposed to be symbolic or something?’
‘No, just little Sarge’s death wish. What I do you for, Mongrel?’
‘You heard about the sitrep on Durell, the fucker who almost brought the world to its knees with the QIII?’
‘No. Fill me in.’
‘We need help, Sarge. We need tanks - lots of your lovely tanks. Carter has gone ahead alone, to bring down this Durell, the Spiral betrayer. That mad Nex fucker is playing at being God again ... he can control earthquakes all over the world and this is where the very big shit pie is going to hit the razor-fucking-bladed fan. You want to be at the heart of the battle? The big one? Then this is where it’s going to be.’
‘Simmo interested. Give me your coordinates.’
‘Austria, target 226.443.223.457.’
‘I’ve got a few hours to fill,’ growled Simmo, realising that he had to be seen to be doing
something
, or Spiral might notice the fact that he had attacked two installations without actual permission. ‘You leave it with The Sarge, lad. He see what he can do.’
The MiG 8-40 barrelled through the skies. It sped up past Slovenia’s west coast, tipping slightly inland and cruising above the Austrian City of Klagenfurt, in Kärnten. Carter glanced down and saw weak autumn sunshine sparkling on the Glan river. Peering up ahead, he could make out the dark towering peaks of the Karawanken Mountains.
Carter started to decelerate, flashing over countryside, rivers, scatterings of trees. Checking his ECube, he began to visualise the coordinates against the landscape and plan his descent.
Where to land? he mused.
Passing over the stunning Niedere Tauern Alps, huge jagged teeth rising sheer and vast from the maw of the ground, he banked the MiG and realised that the place he wanted, the direct coordinates being fed through his tracking system, was an actual castle near to the village of Sankt Nikolai im Sölktal, high up in the Alps. Not the easiest of places to reach by fighter jet. Or by any other mode of transport...
Oak, hornbeam and pine lay scattered below Carter and he felt a strange calmness descend on him once more. The pain in his skull receded - as if it had simply been his brain’s own warning jab. He licked his lips and composed himself.
Below, a narrow river snaked past a wide stretch of field carved unevenly from the mountainside. Along the opposite edge of the field meandered a long dirt track. Bracing himself, Carter turned the MiG and released the undercarriage; engines whining with deceleration, he lined up with the distant dirt track and watched his half-reflection glinting back at him from the cockpit interior.
‘This is gonna be
real
fun,’ he muttered.
The MiG came in, nose slightly raised. Carter touched down, gritting his teeth as the rear wheels impacted with the trail and the jolt almost threw him through the cockpit canopy. The whole fighter juddered with awesome violence, then its engines howled as they powered the plane into a frantic deceleration. Thundering down the rough trail, Carter’s hands shook wildly on the controls and his teeth rattled in his pounding head. He could hear the shrieking stresses of tortured metal and the thuds of thumping wheels and battered suspension.