Outlanders 37 Rim of the World, page 21
Grant was careful how he handled Sin Eater, not hosing the ammo around indiscriminately. All of the rounds he fired found targets, the well-timed and well-placed bullets knocking another AK-47 wielding trooper's legs out from under him.
Impatience making him reckless, Grant kicked off the ground in a run, dashing for the TAV. Suddenly a rush of struggling bodies burst from the grass and knocked him sprawling. A heavy weight dropped directly onto his back, driving him face first to the ground. Knees pressed into his buttocks, and a pair of large hands closed about his neck and squeezed.
Spitting and cursing, Grant heaved, bucked and twisted. He managed to roll over onto his back and look up into the hate-twisted, scar-distorted dark face bobbing over him. The trooper was very strong and he resisted each of Grant's efforts to throw him off. He thrust a knife blade for his throat.
Grant wrenched himself aside and the edge of the blade skimmed the side of his neck, drawing a thread of blood. He fired his Sin Eater at the trooper, and a crimson spray erupted from the bridge of the man's nose. His grip loosened and he slowly fell forward. Elbowing the dead weight from his body, Grant rolled to one side and got to his knees.
A bullet splashed hot hair on the left side of his face and he sighted a trooper leveling an old revolver at him. Grant squeezed off a single shot and sent a 9 mm wad of lead into his belly. The man folded over the wound and fell out of sight.
The area around the TAVs was screaming, bloody chaos. Guns blasted and spears lanced and skulls were split by tongas. Grant moved rapidly toward his ship in a half crawl. A trooper fell down in front of him, writhing around the spear-head lodged in his guts.
Another of Laputara's soldiers toppled, screaming wildly as he snatched convulsively at a spear embedded in his back. Grant caught a brief glimpse of the warrior who had hurled the lance spinning around, clutching at himself as a stream of autofire clawed open his chest, sending fragments of flesh and rib bones spinning off in all directions.
Reaching the wing of the Manta, Grant levered himself atop the sleek surface, fumbling for the hidden cockpit lock catch. His fingers found it, depressed it and the canopy slid open. As he slid inside, a storm of bullets struck the fuselage, sounding like a work gang of blacksmiths simultaneously pounding half a dozen anvils.
The cockpit cover hissed shut, substantially reducing the outside noise. Grant lifted the helmet from the back of the chair and placed it over his head. He felt a pressure shifting around the base of his neck as the helmet automatically extended a lining and a seal. He heard a hiss and the cool breath of oxygen pumped from the tanks mounted on the back of the chair touched his sweat-damp face. He sighed in relief. It felt wonderful.
Grasping the handgrip lever, he pulled it back slightly, then pushed it forward. It caught and clicked into position. The hull began to vibrate around him, in tandem with a whine that grew in pitch. On the inside of his helmet flashed the words: VTOL Launch System Enabled.
With a droning whine, the Manta slowly rose, a small and brief flurry of dust swirling beneath it. The landing gear retracted automatically into the TAV's belly. With a stomach-sinking swiftness the ship lifted upward. The humming drone changed in pitch as the aircraft rose as smoothly as if it were being raised on a giant hand that was made of compressed air.
The inventory of all the dials, switches, gauges and fire controls flashed across the helmet's visor. The helmet's HUD displays offered different vantage points of the ascent and Grant's eyes flicked from one to another. He couldn't help but smile grimly when he saw both the Waziri and the troopers fleeing madly in all directions. Both factions remembered the destruction wreaked by the aircraft the day before.
Grant stopped the ship's ascent at one hundred feet and he waggled its wings in a farewell to any of the Waziri warriors who might be watching. Then he engaged the pulse detonation wave engines and with an eardrum compressing boom the Manta raced across the sky like a bullet hurtling from the barrel of a gun.
Chapter 26
Steam hissed and the boiler burbled and the cab was lit up by dancing flares from the open grate as Kane heaved two more logs into the fire. He kicked shut the iron door, interrupting a stream of spark-speckled smoke. Only the fact sweat rivered from his every pore and his T-shirt was soaking wet saved him from being burned. Eyes stinging with salt, he leaned out of the cab, desperately gulping breaths of fresh air.
"How much longer?" he asked hoarsely.
Inkula passed his hands lightly over the pilot wheel and the pressure valves, feeling the heat. "Five minutes, I'd judge."
Eyeing the blaze in the firebox, Kane commented, "Sure as hell hope you found another hiding place for the collar."
Inkula only smiled patronizingly.
Old 88 trembled and quivered like an elderly woman trying to rise from her rocking chair. Inkula adjusted valve wheels and nudged levers, going through the procedure strictly on memory and by feel.
Looking behind him over the fuel tender, Kane saw the royal retinue climbing aboard the passenger car, more than a few of them expressing apprehension, if not outright fear of the wheezing, hissing, smoke-belching machine. The goat bleated incessantly in either annoyance or anger.
Craning his neck, he tried to find Brigid Baptiste and Reba DeFore among the people, but didn't see them.
"Kane!" Brigid's voice blasted into his head through the Commtact, and he jumped, cursing, nearly falling into the stacked cordwood.
"Where the hell are you?" he demanded angrily to cover his embarrassment.
Brigid's response was amused. "Sorry. I tried yelling, but you couldn't hear me over the train's racket. Look to your left."
Brigid and DeFore approached the locomotive from behind the work shed, both women appearing to have been dipped in jet-black dye from the necks down. They were attired in midnight-colored shadow suits that absorbed light the way a sponge absorbed water. Although the black, skintight garments didn't appear as if they would offer protection from flea bites, they were impervious to most bladed weapons.
Ever since they had absconded with the suits from Redoubt Yankee on Thunder Isle, the bodysuits had proved their worth many times over. Manufactured with a technique known in predark days as electrospin lacing, the electrically charged polymer particles formed a dense web of formfitting fibers. Composed of a compilated weave of spider silk, Monocrys and Spectra fabrics, the garments were essentially a single- crystal, metallic microfiber with a very dense molecular structure.
The outer Monocrys sheathing went opaque when exposed to radiation, and the Kevlar and Spectra layers provided protection against blunt trauma. The spider silk allowed flexibility, but it traded protection from firearms for freedom of movement. The suits were climate controlled for environments up to highs of 150 degrees and lows as cold as minus ten degrees Fahrenheit.
Brigid extended a rolled-up shadow suit to him, saying loudly, "I thought you might want to put this on in case we have to run a gauntlet of Laputara's men. Besides, if you're going to be up there in the hot-box, the suit will keep you from succumbing to heat stroke."
Kane considered her words for a moment, then climbed down from the cab, taking the garment from her with a word of thanks.
"We have all the other ordnance from the Mantas aboard, too," DeFore declared, gesturing to several flat, oblong cases tucked under the benches of the passenger car. "If we're shot at, we can shoot back and lob grens at them."
Despite her uncharacteristically aggressive words, DeFore's brown eyes were clouded with worry. She had tied back her hair but hadn't attempted the intricate braiding technique she favored in Cerberus.
"Why don't you two get aboard," Kane suggested. "Inkula claims we'll be ready to roll in about five minutes."
"Any word from Grant?" asked DeFore.
Kane shook his head. "Not yet."
He walked into the nearest clump of underbrush and, screened by foliage, removed his sweat-soaked clothing, stripping out of the camo pants and jump boots. He tugged on the shadow suit by opening a magnetic seal on its right side. The garment had no zippers or buttons, and he donned it in one, continuous piece from the hard-soled boots to the gloves.
The fabric molded itself to his body, and he smoothed out the wrinkles and folds by running his hands over the arms and legs. After adjusting the high collar, he realized he felt about ten times better, particularly after the suit's internal thermostats cooled him off.
He strapped the Sin Eater's power holster to his right forearm and returned to the locomotive, climbing into the cab. Inkula sensed him and announced simply, "We are ready."
"Let's do it, then," Kane replied. Over his Comm- tact, he said to Brigid, "Have everybody take their seats, Baptiste. Old 88 is leaving the station."
Inkula twisted the valve handles, then slowly pulled back on the throttle. The cab vibrated around them and steam jetted out from a vent. A prolonged groaning came from deep within the locomotive, followed by a nerve-stinging squeal of steel grinding against steel.
The great wheels suddenly spun wildly, sparks spewing from the point where the rims met the rails. A clattering jolt shook the train from cowcatcher to the passenger car. Old 88 shuddered and trembled violently, and for an instant, Kane expected to see bolts, rivets and piston rods flying in all directions. Then the locomotive surged forward, wheezing and panting like a prehistoric beast roused from slumber. Black smoke boiled from the stack. The iron wheels turned slowly on the rails, finding traction as the locomotive strained to pull the fuel tender and the passenger car.
The train lugubriously lurched forward along the stretch of tracks built on an elevated causeway. Kane glanced up into the sky and beyond the treetops saw only a blue expanse with a couple of high cirrus clouds. He couldn't help but worry about Grant, wondering whether the man had managed to make it to the TAV or if he had disregarded Kane's reminder about not getting himself killed.
Almost as soon as the thought registered, a bullet ricocheted off the cab window frame with a keening whine. Above the chuff-chuffing, Kane heard a sporadic burst of gunfire. Crouching down, he searched the underbrush for the gunmen. He glimpsed five of Laputara's troopers running toward them from the front. Apparently they had come in from the direction of the river instead of through the village. A hail of bullets cracked and struck flares from the prow of the locomotive. Inkula didn't duck or flinch away.
"We're being shot at, old man," Kane told him, unleathering his Sin Eater.
"I made that connection," replied Inkula dryly. "I expect you'll let me know if the bullets come any closer."
The old man pushed the throttle lever forward. Old 88 gave forth with a groaning bellow, the drivers spinning madly before they caught, then the locomotive rolled ponderously along the stretch of tracks that followed the course of the Julaba River.
The train continued to gain momentum, gathering speed with every foot it traveled. Trees, underbrush and patterns of light and darkness flitted past. Inkula twisted a valve wheel, feeding more heat to the boilers. Old 88 rattled and hissed as it struggled to pick up speed.
Glancing behind him at the passenger carriage, Kane saw the Waziri guardsmen clustered around Princess Pakari, their bodies and their elephant hide shields forming a protective bulwark.
Another bullet whipped through the cab, passing into one window and out the other, thumping the air between Kane and Inkula. Little tongues of flame spit from the underbrush, and several lengths of cordwood exploded into splinters. Kane heard the staccato chatter of a Copperhead from the passenger car as Brigid leaned out and strafed the overgrowth with a full-auto burst. A man tumbled out of the foliage, clutching at his face.
Kane hazarded a glance out of the window at the railway ahead. A trooper stood in the center of the tracks, trying to set up a mortar launcher. He was so engrossed in the task, he didn't jump aside fast enough and was struck a glancing blow by the cowcatcher. He flailed into the mud like a marionette with its strings cut. The mortar round burst from the launch tube, the shell exploding only a few yards to the left of the locomotive. Leaves burst up in a shower and shrapnel rattled briefly against Old 88's side. Kane felt a few pieces strike his left arm. The dense fabric of the shadow suit saved him from serious injury.
The track curved alongside a palisade of Borassus palms that lined the riverbank. A quartet of troopers ran across the tracks, plainly intending to wait until the locomotive passed and then climb aboard. Kane sent a burst of fire in their direction. Two staggered away, slapping at bullet wounds, and the other pair vanished into the swamp.
"Can't you go any faster?" Kane demanded into Inkula's ear.
"Are you able to read the pressure gauge?" Inkula said calmly.
Kane rubbed a gloved finger over the glass and saw how the needle wavered at the outside edge of the red band. "Just about redline."
The old man nodded in satisfaction. "Good."
He slammed the throttle lever full forward and Old 88 careened around the curve, rumbling and clicking along the rails. Then the train burst out of the Usumbur Tract and roared out into the open savannah.
THE PLAINS SEEMED endless. The grasses bent beneath errant breezes. In the cobalt-blue sky, the sun no longer hid behind the interlaced branches of the jungle growth and blazed fiercely. Here and there a solitary tree rose to break the flat monotony of the veldt.
Old 88 averaged only a bit more than thirty miles per hour. Far off in the hazy distance, violet mountains rose from the horizon. Alert for any movement or shape out of place, Kane kept constant watch on their surroundings, keeping his face turned toward the window partly to overcome the nostril-clogging odours of smoke, grease and heated metal.
He saw a waterhole, sunk deep into the surface of the ground. Zebra, antelope and even a rhinoceros clustered about it, drinking and wallowing in the mud. A herd of gazelles grazed nearby. An elephant, lumbering along like a giant boulder rolling down a slope, raised its trunk and acknowledged the trains passage with a long, loud trumpet.
Inkula pulled the whistle cord, sending out a high-pitched shriek of sound. The elephant responded with another bugle call. Inkula smiled. "Old Ngatawana gives this pilgrimage his blessing."
Kane squinted at the distant animal. "So that's him? How do you know?"
"I recognize his voice."
Kane cast him a penetrating glance, but the old man's wrinkled face was impassive.
Activating the Commtact, Kane asked, "How are things in first-class, Baptiste? Everybody all right?"
"Fine," she responded crisply. "The goat is in a pretty bad humor, though."
"Why the hell did they bring that damn thing along?"
Brigid's response was flat. "I have my suspicions."
Before Kane could request she elaborate, he glimpsed sunlight winking from metal high in the sky. Leaning out of the window, he peered up, past the cab's roof overhang. He released a long, gusting sigh of relief when he recognized the delta-winged configuration of a Manta. It skimmed toward them from the direction of the Waziri village.
The TAV inscribed a slow, circling flyover, tipping its port-side wing in a salute. Grant's voice filtered over the Commtact, "How are things aboard the little engine that could?"
"Hot and smelly," Kane retorted, ignoring the sour glance cast his way by Inkula. "You have any problems getting airborne?"
"None worth mentioning." Grant's tone was so studiedly casual, Kane instantly knew he was downplaying an incident of serious carnage.
"I'll be flying point," he continued, "checking the route ahead. Clear skies so far."
"Good," Brigid put in, "but don't exceed the comm range. We need to stay in contact. We've got about ninety miles before we reach Magebali Kwa Belewagi, and it won't be a sight-seeing safari along the way."
"I never thought it would it be," Grant retorted.
The Manta climbed high and followed a course paralleling the railroad tracks at a distance of a half mile.
The train continued chugging along, Inkula carefully increasing the speed to a steady forty miles per hour. Kane kept watching the pressure gauge and when the needle wavered too far below the redline, he fed the firebox more logs. Even wearing the shadow suit, he sweated profusely and every few minutes felt compelled to hang his head out the window in search of cooling breezes. He saw a pride of sleepy lions watching the trains passage from the shade of thorn trees and he briefly wondered if there were any mutated strains of African wildlife prowling around.
As the train rocked steadily toward the distant mountain range, more and more people dressed in bright native costumes appeared at the railway embankment.
They waved bouquets of flowers and feathers. On the passenger car, the approach of Pakari was heralded by a dramatic drumming and long, bass notes sounded by the horn made of an elephant tusk.
The princess stood on the garland-draped platform at the rear of the carriage, beautiful and regal, tossing handfuls of sweetmeats to the people who responded with shouting chants of "Pakari atakupenda daima! Pakari atakupenda daima! "
As the sun climbed toward its zenith, Kane guessed the outside temperature was 110 degrees and hovered around 130 in the cab of Old 88. The heat didn't seem to bother Inkula, and Kane wondered how the old man kept from passing out at the pilot wheel.
"Do you want some relief?" Kane asked him. "You can go sit back with the princess for a little while if you'd like."
"No, thank you," the priest replied. "This is my final journey aboard the Old 88...I do not wish to give up any second of it, if it's not absolutely necessary."
Kane narrowed his eyes. "Why would it be?"
Before Inkula answered, Grant's voice echoed in his head. "Bogey at three o'clock."
Chapter 27
For an hour and a half Grant flew without altering his course or seeing anything but blue sky and grassy veldt. There wasn't much in the way of interesting features to look at either above or below.
