William Dietz - Heaven's Devils

Without the first sloth’s bulk to shield him from the second machine, Ward was terribly exposed. Raynor saw the second sloth’s cannon start to swing. “Run!” Raynor shouted. “Run, goddamn it!”

But Ward wasn’t about to run as he opened fire with the gauss cannon. Time seemed to slow, and he could hear his children laughing, as he saw the muzzle flash. Then Ward was gone as a cannon shell struck the middle of his chest and his world exploded.

Unfortunately there was no time to mourn Ward’s death as Kydd’s voice was heard over the comm unit. “Tychus! Jim! We’re taking fire from the east! Over.”

Raynor took his foot off the brake, brought the saber around, and saw that the sniper was correct. Vanderspool and his marines were advancing up the street, seeking cover wherever they could find it, and firing at targets of opportunity. “We have to reach the starport before they do,” Tychus said over the comm. “Follow us!”

Raynor took off, and as Harnack pulled in behind the lead saber, he was careful to jink back and forth as cannon shells sent columns of debris soaring into the air. His windscreen shattered, there was a metallic clang as something landed in the cargo compartment, and Harnack swore.

Zander was in the last vehicle and still trying to process Ward’s sudden death as he spotted one of the two young women he’d encountered earlier. She was alone, her dress was smeared with blood, and she was terrified—not to mention the fact that she was standing in the line of fire. Zander swore, stood on the brake, and turned to one of the men in back. “Take the wheel!” he shouted. “I’ll catch up!”

The ranger was a member of the second squad. He nodded, jumped out, and was just about to get behind the wheel when a shell scored a direct hit on the saber and sent the shattered wreck tumbling end-for-end. Armored bodies flew through the air and fell like broken dolls.

Zander was twenty yards away by then, having dragged the woman off the street. He wanted to lead her to safety, but as the sloth rolled past and Vanderspool’s troops rounded a corner, he knew his friends needed him. “Go to the west gate. Get out into the countryside and hide. It’s your only chance. Now go! ”

She mumbled something incoherent and took off erratically in the direction he’d indicated.

Zander turned back toward the street. Unfortunately it was too late. Vanderspool was there with his needle-gun already leveled. Zander was completely vulnerable—without his hardskin, the private was down to sweat-stained cammies.

Cassidy was present as well. Like Vanderspool she’d been forced to shuck her armor and stood with her medic bag slung over one shoulder. She tried to meet Zander’s eyes but couldn’t. She felt hollow inside, as if whatever remained of her inner being had been left at the lev station, where the final betrayal had taken place. Now, fully aware of what was about to happen, Cassidy began to shake. It was like going through withdrawal, only worse, because she knew that no amount of crab was going to make her feel better.

“Well, well,” Vanderspool said, as he eyed the man in front of him. “Look what we have here.”

Zander began to swing his weapon left, but knew there wasn’t enough time, as Vanderspool fired. The first needle knocked Zander off his feet, the second smashed through his forehead, and the third was completely unnecessary.

There was a resounding BOOM as a stray shell hit one of the globular fuel tanks a city block east of the street the Devils were on. But rather than explode the way it was supposed to, the shell punched a hole in the 500,000-gallon container, which released a column of pinkish fuel. The high-octane portrenol shot straight out, splashed into the containment area that surrounded the tanks, and a lake began to form.

Meanwhile, as the sloth’s foreman corrected his aim and sent a projectile screaming toward the starport beyond, Tychus was on the comm. “We have to stop that thing before it can destroy the dropships. How ’bout it, Hank? Can you light that bastard up? Over.”

“Roger that,” Harnack replied as he brought his saber to a shuddering halt.

In an attempt to distract the sloth’s foreman and buy time for Harnack, Raynor sent his saber roaring forward, as one of his passengers fired the gauss cannon. The weapon clattered methodically, and sparks of light signaled a series of hits as the spikes punched a line of divots into the sloth’s hull. But to no avail.

The saber passed within ten feet of the sloth’s squared-off bow before entering a skidding turn. But the pass wasn’t enough to prevent the sloth from firing another shell at the starport. And this one scored a direct hit.

There was an eye-searing flash of light as dropship number three exploded and chunks of the ship’s fuselage soared high into the air, where they seemed to pause momentarily before cartwheeling down. “The sonofabitch has the range now,” Tychus said grimly. “This ain’t good.”

And it wasn’t good. A fact not lost on Harnack, who was lumbering forward. Would the sloth crew notice him as he came in from the side? Maybe … but Harnack figured they were focused on the starport as he approached the mountain of metal.

That was when Kydd saw that fuel was pouring out of the containment area and onto the street. Either the ditch was too shallow or someone had left one of the flood control gates open. Not that it made much difference since the result was the same. “Harnack!” Kydd shouted. “Don’t fire!”

But Harnack was within range by then and completely unaware of the fuel that was flowing his way. There was the familiar click as he pulled the trigger and the igniter produced a spark. That was followed by a loud whump as a gout of flame shot forward to blister the sloth’s paint job.

That got the crew’s attention, and one of the treads stopped as the other continued to clank forward. So Harnack sent a tongue of fire in under the monster, because that’s where it was most vulnerable. As the machine began to turn, he was forced to do likewise or be cut down by the sloth’s forward-firing slugthrowers.

Kydd opened his mouth to yell again, but the river of fuel was lapping around Harnack’s boots by then, and the result was inevitable. There was a thump as the high-octane liquid caught fire, wrapping both Harnack and the sloth in an inferno of red-orange flames.

Harnack tried to run but didn’t get far. The scream was a long, lung-emptying sound that Kydd knew he would never forget as the rifle came up, and time slowed. Even though it seemed like an eternity, less than two seconds elapsed as the crosshairs settled over their target and the firing pin dropped. The butt kicked Kydd’s shoulder, the slug hit Harnack in the head, and most of his brains flew sideways.

Then like a wax figure exposed to heat, Harnack began to melt, the sloth rolled over him, and the tanks on his back exploded. The result was a stupendous boom as the sixty-ton monster was transformed into a thousand pieces of metal confetti. It hissed as it fell into a lake of fire.

Kydd felt a lump form in the back of his throat as images of Harnack flickered through his mind. There were lots of them. Harnack laughing manically as he rolled around on the grass in front of the police station. Harnack attacking the rippers at Fort Howe. And most of all, Harnack standing next to the fallen goliath, just below the repository in Polk’s Pride. He’d been like a brother. A crazy, “I don’t give a shit” brother who had been brave to a fault. And he’d gone out the way he would want to go out. With a loud bang.

Suddenly Kydd knew what to say. Knew what would mean the most to his brother. “That was awesome, Hank… . That was fekking awesome.”