Steven Campbell - Hard Luck Hank - Basketful of Crap

“Oh, come on. What’s there to spy on?”

“I don’t know,” he said, feigning ignorance, “you’re the one looking for something.”

“Do you know anyone else who might have some information? I can kick you a finder’s fee of course.”

“Try Delovoa, he’s always messing with crazy things.”

“I know he doesn’t have anything. This would be recent. Come on, someone’s got to have said something, such as searching for transport off Belvaille.”

“And run the Jam carrying stolen Navy tech? Good luck with that.”

Hexpin’s eyes suddenly went large and he said:

“Corps. Blow,” and he took off running.

“What?”

I turned to where he was looking and saw an armored personnel carrier driving at the end of the street. Was I in corporation territory?

The APC started to drive forward and I suspected it was going to turn around. It was dark blue with six massive wheels and a large number of metal windows in the side that were closed. It had no obvious armaments and it was about a hundred yards away.

The APC turned completely sideways to me and stopped. The windows all slid open and I saw movement inside.

I stood there watching all this completely oblivious. Until all the windows lit up with the muzzle flashes from machine guns!

Bullets were whizzing by me, striking the street, and hitting me square.

I immediately covered myself with my arms and put my head down.

I could feel from the impact that the guns were fairly heavy caliber. I couldn’t tell how many were shooting but it was more than two and less than six.

I moved to the side of the street and the machine gun fire followed me, pelting me all over. It was about equivalent to a normal person getting hit with rocks thrown at medium velocity. It wasn’t lethal, but it also wasn’t how I liked to spend my afternoons.

Let me tell you, your ability to think clearly when four machine guns are drilling you completely vanishes. I was crouched against a building but that didn’t help at all, I just heard the noisy ricochets from the wall.

I moved back towards the center of the street and started slowly walking backwards, my head down, and my arms covering my face and neck. This stupid autocannon was slowing me down.

Wait. I had an autocannon.

I turned sideways and leaned away from the APC to try and shield myself so I could use my hands.

I had never actually practiced taking it out. I probably should have done that.

The straps were not shifting right, it was too tight on my shoulders, and the gun wouldn’t swing around.

I got shot in the little toe. I was barefoot and I almost fell down it hurt so much.

“Ah!” I yelled, and stood on one foot for a moment.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I wasn’t going to free my gun by forcing it. I got shot in the ear and yelped.

Finally I turned the gun from my back and had it beside me. One long bar was in front of me across my hips. The metal straps put weight on my shoulders. From the side I probably looked like a suspension bridge with the cables attached to the gun. I held the left grip to keep the gun steady.

Okay, what kind of round should I use?

Budda dudda dudda!

Armor piercing. The autocannon wasn’t really auto. I had to manually chamber the round by sliding an enormous bolt. While I was holding this seven-foot gun with just one hand and the straps, I was tipped over and the barrel was touching the road.

I swiveled and faced the APC with my gun about as situated as I could make it. I had my head down because I didn’t want to get shot in the eyes.

But…how was I going to aim this thing?

The gun rested against my waist. It didn’t have any sights on it even if I had my eye above the barrel. My head was more than three feet higher than the barrel and I couldn’t tell what angle it was at. For all I knew I could be aiming fifteen feet high.

Just shoot.

Should I say it, though? My catchphrase. I always say it. But when I say it, bad stuff happens.

A bullet somehow hit me square between the eyes, even with my head down. I felt it deflect over on my cheek and my eye closed and stayed closed.

“Eat suck, suckface!” I yelled.

The trigger was incredibly stiff. I’d guess it took twenty-five pounds to pull. Delovoa had said he made it like that because the gun had no safety and it would be a big deal if it went off by accident.

I kept squeezing and squeezing and I suddenly worried the gun didn’t work.

Kachooom!

I saw a five-foot fireball erupt out of the end of the barrel.

The gun was basically on my right side. It even extended a little ways behind me. Because of that, the recoil of the autocannon was primarily on my right. But I was fastened to this gun with metal straps and the crossbar and of course my hands.

What happened was, I got hurled about two feet into the air, I spun 180 degrees, and I flew about five feet backwards.

When I landed, I was face down with the gun under me and my arms still holding onto it. I had been turned in such a perfectly-opposite direction that my knees bent and my feet were sticking up in the air.

It took me a few seconds to realize where I was and what happened. I had never moved that fast in my life.

The problem was I couldn’t get up. I was lying on top of my arms which were pinned under the gun. I had a tough time doing a pushup in the best circumstances let alone being chained to a loaded autocannon.

I wasn’t entirely sure how vehicle fights went, but I was pretty sure that lying on my chin facing the wrong direction wasn’t the best way to do it.

I rocked back and forth to try and get free.

“Come on!” I yelled.

I managed to pull my left arm out. With that I was able to push myself onto my side and get to my knees. I cycled the empty shell out of the gun and stood up. I watched the APC a moment and saw some smoke but I didn’t know if that was engine exhaust or the machine gun gunpowder or what.

I reloaded another armor piercing round and took some time to adjust the straps on the autocannon, which had become somewhat twisted. I was afraid if I fired again they might strangle me.

But the APC was silent.

Was that it?

I backed away from the corporate vehicle, keeping the autocannon at the ready. When I got far enough away, I turned and hurried as best I could from the scene.

I didn’t know if I had won or they were all too busy laughing to continue shooting.

I was in Deadsouth laying low.

Well, not too low since I was walking around the streets barefoot with an autocannon on my back. I wasn’t sure if the corporation would be unhappy I destroyed their APC. I wasn’t even sure I destroyed it. But I didn’t want to take chances.

My eye and toe hurt and I had a general throb along my whole body from the hundred or so bullets that had nailed me.

Deadsouth was still Deadsouth despite the changes Belvaille had gone through. Belvaille used to have street names based on numbers and letters but after we became independent, every little boss and corporation wanted their own blocks. Even I got my own. But no one bothered to rename Deadsouth. I was on 84 thand V Block.

The inhabitants and area looked the same. The lowest of the low. The addicts and alcoholics and mental cases and those who just stopped caring.

“Damn, boy! Well ain’t you just a meat-fed so-and-so!”

A tall, youngish, handsome man with blonde hair stood next to me. He had a beatific smile that went from ear-to-ear and probably tied with a ribbon at the back of his head.

“You look like you could lift a pulsar and stop it pulsing.” He said it like it was the most fantastically important thing in his life. He felt my bicep and recoiled in shock. “Goldor’s crooked teeth, what are you made of, iron?”