Robert Parker - Snow Storm

He looked shifty, moving the gun up and down his body, unsure whether to shoot from the hip or the shoulder. His face betrayed the shock when Andy raised his head, unprepared for there being an audience. He’d more happily have shot him in the back, should have thought of that really. The suit’s expression turned to one of righteous indignation. His jaw shot out, making him look as though he only had two chins and Andy felt the anger rising. The man moved the gun up to his shoulder again thrusting the end of the barrel into Andy’s face but stepping back slightly as his body language gave away his reluctance.

“You can’t shoot me,” Andy said, shaking his head in as dismissive a way as he could manage.

The man scoffed but seemed to twitch slightly. “And why would you think that?” he asked defiantly.

“Some things we just know round here,” Andy replied with a smirk. “It’s in the blood you might say.”

“The only thing that’s about to be in your blood is a lot of lead.”

“That so? You’re confident then?”

“Oh I am. You can pull all your mind tricks, try to guilt me about the fact that you’re just a boy and I’m, what? A big bad criminal?” He laughed a bit too hard.

“Bad criminal maybe,” Andy said, eliciting a frown and a further steely gaze from his executioner.

“We’ll see,” he said, as he took aim again. “Any last requests?”

“None. You?”

“I have to hand it to you, you do rather know how to talk a good game, but this isn’t like talking me out of beating you in a golf match. I’m not bottling it sunshine. This isn’t one you can win.”

“You still can’t shoot me,” Andy replied, starting to laugh.

“I’m glad you think that,” Giles said. “It makes this much easier.”

And then he pulled the trigger.

The tank made short work of the front gate. “Security schmuecurity,” Big Al said, as he ploughed through the thing at about thirty miles an hour. He miss-judged it slightly. It launched into the air and they clung on for dear life as it lurched back towards the ground and landed with an almighty clatter.

The diesel engine roared once more, belching noxious fumes into the atmosphere as the powered towards the main building. “Full steam ahead,” Davie yelled sitting on top of the monster, feeling every inch the general as they pulled off the ultimate ram raid. He stoked up a B&H and reflected that you should never really fuck with someone who has access to a tank driving school. The decommissioned Russian hulk was followed by a Toyota Hilux under whose canopy was concealed eight angry men with baseball bats, iron bars and whatever else they’d got their hands on. Game on.

“What the fuck?” Edwards blared into the microphone making everyone else’s ears sing. “What’s this?”

He’d choreographed this with the guys on the ground. They were doing one last circle before preparing to move in and now it looked like all hell was about to break loose.

“Go! Move in now,” he screamed. “They’ve got a… a tank.”

Below they could see the tank move in and the bodies on the ground scrambling like ants.

“Looks like a rival gang.” Edwards squawked to his crew on the ground. “Proceed with extreme caution. It looks like they’re armed.” He turned to the pilot. “Can you set this thing down?”

The nose of the chopper dipped accordingly then rose up again as the ground got closer. They moved along the runway sideways and came to a halt near the abandoned control tower, followed by the second air unit which then broke away and circled round the other side, towards the shore. As they descended, they could see both prongs of the police attack coming in from either side of the complex in a blue flashing pincer movement.

Giles heard the crash outside just after he pulled the trigger. It threw him. It wasn’t the sound he’d expected to hear and it didn’t come from the right place. It took his brain half a second to catch up.

He’d forgotten the safety catch. That was the advice he’d ignored when the gun was handed over. No matter. He fumbled with it, watching the grin spread across the kid’s face and once ready, took aim again, allowing himself a grin of his own.

He could hear the commotion outside now but in here it was quiet. In here it was just the two of them. All he wanted to do was finish this, blow that smile away.

He took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger once more, willing the gun to go off, to blast lead through skin muscle bone and brain. Nothing.

The boy looked relieved for the briefest moment before smiling again and letting out the most primitive animalistic sound Giles had ever heard, pitching forward and hurling himself, into a somersault that shifted all the wooden pallets attached to his back into the air.

Andy lay on the floor face down, listening to the noise outside. He had undoubtedly broken one of his arms, and painful though it was, he was glad to be able to feel something. He knew what he had to do now and prepared himself. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself forward, with everything he had left, untwisting his arms with an agonising surge of pain he would never know again and landed on his back. As he drifted into what was probably shock, an immobilised Giles Heriot-Watt beneath him, he thanked whatever bank robber had taken such fastidious care of their sawn off shot gun, even making sure they stored it with dummy cartridges to protect the firing pins.

Davie was not feeling so confident now. They hadn’t known there would be guns, never mind full on hard core automatic ones. Now a hail of bullets raged around the tank. Someone got hit in the leg and the boys in the pick-up had beaten a retreat.

Now they were stuck here in the middle of it and to cap it off the cops had arrived.

He wasn’t sure but there was every possibility you could get done for being drunk in charge of a tank, not to mention vandalism.

The shots were all coming from the main grain store and the office opposite. They could do something about that.

Victor watched the tank move. He fired a salvo at the turret on the top. He knew the damage would be minimal but it would deafen whoever was in there and might make them think twice.

The tank seemed to move about indecisively for a few seconds, like some kind of giant dithering beast, before it turned on its tracks and headed the other way towards the grain store. The police had moved in, surrounded the place. This was now a siege situation at best. The others were in there for now, all except the lawyer who should have finished off the kid.

There was confusion in this situation. The red mist had descended. The tank headed towards the grain store with renewed vigour clearly meaning to take down the steel door. The others would be exposed, probably run. He had to take his chance now.

The helicopter circled overhead. He told himself it would be focused on the main action.

He ran out the back door of the office, across the courtyard to where there was a gap between two buildings in the corner. Squeezing through the gap he ran along the wall behind the buildings. The workmanship was inconsistent and he could see through holes in the breezeblocks. The police had used his airstrip as a giant car park surrounding the complex from there and round. He could hear the squawked messages, telling them they were surrounded. Give up. Never.

They had his plane. He had no idea where the pilot was. A second helicopter sat at the far end of the runway, like an invitation. But how to get to it?

He could hear the tank at the other end of the complex, crashing into the grain store.