Adam Baker - Juggernaut

Lucy jumped on the hood. She crouched. She spat on her hand, reached down behind heavy ram bars and rubbed the grille badge clean.

FORD .

It was a bank vault on wheels. A three-seat cab up front and a hardened steel cargo compartment. Two rear axles. The vault door was secured by combination locks.

‘Looks like she got shot up pretty good. How much do you reckon this thing weighs?’

‘ About fifteen tons. Twelve tons for the truck, three for the gold. It was hard to ship it across the desert. It continually sank in the sand. We had to attach chains and drag it with a couple of armoured personnel carriers. ’

‘Toon. Got your binoculars?’

‘ I can see you, boss. ’

‘Reckon we can cut this fucker open?’

‘ No problem. Chew through that door with our teeth if it comes down to it. ’

Toon stood at the guard tower parapet. He surveyed the convoy.

Lucy’s voice:

‘ Toon, get down here. Mandy. You too. We got to shift some of these cars. ’

‘Two seconds, boss.’

He trained his binoculars on a troop bus.

‘Thought I saw something.’

‘ What did you see? ’

‘Movement. Thought I saw movement. Corner of my eye. A flicker. Down there, among the cars. Can’t pin it down.’

Toon rubbed his eyes. He scanned burned-out trucks, a couple of wrecked 4x4s.

‘Sorry, boss. Trick of the light.’

‘ All right. Ten-four. Stay sharp. ’

A furtive shadow. Something shifting in the burned-out bus.

‘Shit. We got mail,’ shouted Toon.

He cranked the charging handle of the SAW and let rip. Muzzle roar. The weapon kicked. Recoil made his flesh shiver. Smoking cartridge cases cascaded onto the flagstones, clink and chime. Bullets slammed into the troop transport at two hundred rounds per minute. The vehicle trembled and sparked as bullets pierced the body panels.

‘ What have we got? ’ shouted Lucy. ‘ Are we taking fire? ’

Toon grabbed his binoculars from the parapet ledge and scanned the bus. Dust and smoke slowly dispersed. Ragged bullet holes glowed dull red.

‘ What the fuck is going on? Hostiles? Do we have hostiles? Come on, man. Talk to me. ’

He hooked a fresh box mag to the SAW. He clipped a belt into the breach and slapped the receiver closed.

‘Standby. I’m going to take a look.’

Lucy and Huang took shelter behind wrecked vehicles. Machine-gun fire echoed round the valley walls. They could hear the punch and shriek of bullets ripping through steel bodywork.

Flashback: Sergeant Miller, lecturing Lucy and her platoon on Imber Live Firing Range, Salisbury. A dummy village used to simulate urban warfare.

‘ If you ever find yourself in a street fight, don’t be stupid enough to hide behind a car door. Sheet metal won’t stop a crossbow bolt, let alone a high-velocity bullet. If you need to crouch behind a vehicle, get low and put the engine block between yourself and the shooter. Safe in your mother’s arms. ’

The gunfire ceased. The echo died slow. Sudden silence.

‘What’s he doing?’ shouted Huang.

Lucy looked over the buckled hood of a Lincoln. She saw the distant figure of Toon run from the guard tower. He was carrying the SAW. He ran to the convoy.

Lucy pressed transmit.

‘Toon? What the fuck is going on?’

Breathless:

‘ Something out here. Swear to God. ’

‘Think he’s lost it?’ asked Huang.

Lucy sighed.

‘Go look after him.’

Toon climbed aboard the incinerated bus. Rows of seats scorched down to springs. He walked down the centre aisle. Weak daylight shafted through empty windows and bullet holes that peppered the side panels and roof.

He wanted to find something. A snake. A dead vulture. Some kind of desert rodent. Proof he hadn’t lost his mind.

A body at the back of the bus. A long-dead Iraqi soldier, charred and shrivelled, spine arched in a paroxysm of pain.

Amanda climbed aboard the bus.

‘You okay?’

Toon shook his head.

‘I saw something. For real.’

‘Maybe the breeze.’

‘There isn’t a breeze.’

‘Maybe a change in atmospheric pressure. Evening cool messing with your perspective. Sure as shit wasn’t your friend on the back seat. He’s been cooked down to charcoal.’

‘You guys must think I’m some kind of burn-out case.’

‘I think it’s been a long fucking day and we could all use some rest.’

Huang stood in the bus doorway.

‘Everything all right?’

‘Yeah,’ said Amanda. ‘We’re done here.’

‘Okay,’ said Lucy. ‘First thing we have to do is clear some space. Give me a hand.’

Lucy took off her prairie coat. She unstrapped body armour. She stripped down to her Union flag T-shirt.

Huang shrugged off his flak jacket. The Sisters of Mercy. Event Horizon tour.

The truck was boxed by sedans.

‘Let’s see if we can roll these fuckers.’

Lucy and Huang each took a wheel arch. Amanda and Toon each grabbed a fender. They set the car rocking.

‘One, two, three.’

They lifted and heaved in unison. Metal creaked and shrieked. The car rolled onto its roof. It shed doors, hood and hubcaps. It kicked up dust.

They rolled wreckage until the truck stood alone in open space.

Lucy uncapped her canteen and poured water over her head.

She examined the truck. It sat with wheels half buried in sand. It listed heavily to the right.

She looked up at the darkening sky. Evening stars. A full moon. Deep shadow pooled and coagulated throughout the convoy.

‘We’re running out of daylight. We need to get her stable before we can crack these doors. Let’s see if we can get her running. I want to drive her to the citadel. Park her on flagstones. Get some light on her and set to work.’

She checked the underside of the truck. Tandem axles. Mesh over the tailpipe. The complete drive chain — the engine, transmission and suspension gear — protected by galvanised steel plate tack-welded to the chassis.

She kicked the wheels.

‘See that? She’s got runflats. A big, solid rubber rim inside each tyre. Means you can drive on hubs, even if the tyres get blown out. Bust through a roadblock. Doesn’t matter if a bunch of crooks throw a stinger strip across the road; take a shotgun to your wheels. Wouldn’t even slow you down. You just keep on rolling. Fucking sweet. This baby is shopped like a tank.’

They tried the cab doors. Locked.

Huang unholstered his Glock and took aim at the handle.

‘Don’t bother,’ said Lucy. ‘You’d just catch the ricochet.’

One of the side windows was cracked.

‘Ballistic polycarbon. Class One, but it’s taken a shitload of hits.’

Lucy pounded the window with her rifle butt. The inch-thick slab of optical plastic split from the door seal and fell into the cabin.

Huang swung himself into the cab. He reached beneath the dash and popped the hood.

Lucy inspected the engine. She peeled off a glove and slapped dust from the motor. She checked filters. She checked injection lines. She checked starter cable.

‘Can you hot-wire this thing?’ shouted Huang.

‘Watch me,’ said Lucy.

She leant into the engine bay. She connected the coil at the back of the V12 engine to the positive terminal of the battery.

The dash lit up.

‘Hey. Looking good.’

She reached beneath the battery into the fender well and tripped the starter solenoid.

Huang tore the cowling from the steering column. He spliced ignition cable.

Engine revved. The windshield wipers thrashed backwards and forwards, splashing sand. A single intact headlamp flickered and glowed steady.