Matthew Reilly - Scarecrow Returns

The plane immediately powered up, its four turbo-props blurring ever faster, and with a shrill whine, it slowly began to accelerate.

Schofield leapt out of the jeep and raced forward, up a short flight of steel stairs and into the cockpit, where he found Ivanov at the controls.

The Antonov picked up speed—

The two Strelas skidded to twin halts at the end of the runway—

All we have to do is get in the air , Schofield thought. Even if they hit us and we crash, I can send these spheres to the bottom of the ocean, never to be found again .

The Antonov was halfway down the runway and almost at takeoff speed—

The Strelas’ missile pods began to lower, taking aim—

“We’re gonna make it . . .” Schofield breathed, an instant before he caught sight of a lone Army of Thieves trooper off to the right of the runway, holding a Predator RPG launcher on his shoulder. The lone man fired the Predator and Schofield watched in horror as it zeroed in on the accelerating Antonov and disappeared under its nose.

A colossal thump shook the Antonov.

A second later, the entire cockpit lurched downward, throwing Schofield and Ivanov forward in their seats, and an ear-piercing shriek of metal-on-asphalt assailed their ears as the big plane’s nose slammed down against the runway and started grinding terribly, kicking up sparks.

The Antonov’s forward wheels had been completely destroyed by the Predator and all of its forward momentum was lost. It peeled away to the left, turning sideways as it slowed, fatally wounded, a little more than halfway down the runway.

And as the big plane ground to a halt, Schofield saw all of the Army of Thieves’ pursuit vehicles converge on it like hyenas closing in on a wounded water buffalo: the two Strelas from in front, the many trucks from behind.

His mission—a desperate and daring snatch-and-grab—was over.

In record time, he had island-hopped across bear-infested islets, penetrated Dragon Island by cable car, got across the moat, taken the lab at the summit of the spire, grabbed the spheres, got out of there by toppling the spire while he was in it and now he had failed within sight of the coast.

He bowed his head. “Fuck.”

THE SITUATION on the runway quickly became a standoff.

The Army of Thieves’ vehicles formed a wide circle around the halted Antonov, parked at right angles across the snow-rimmed runway, its forward landing gear destroyed, its nose pointed down.

“Cover the entrances!” Mother called as she and Baba quickly took up positions in the Antonov’s two side doors, while Schofield rushed to its still-open rear ramp and hit CLOSE.

The ramp didn’t close.

A bullet from the surrounding Army of Thieves force smacked off a steel strut beside his head and he ducked back inside.

“The ramp won’t close!” he called.

Ivanov came back from the cockpit. “Many things in my country do not work. Ramps, doors. This is a very old plane.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice came alive in Schofield’s ear: “ Oh, Captain, so close! ” the Lord of Anarchy said. “ My, that was exciting! You came so very close to getting away. I bet you can see the ocean from where you are. ”

“Screw you.”

The Lord of Anarchy chuckled.

“I still have your spheres,” Schofield said.

“ You do indeed, but that doesn’t concern me greatly. You see, while it may look like one, this is not a standoff. It is a woefully one-sided siege. Because you are isolated with a finite amount of ammunition, while my men surrounding you have all the time and firepower in the world. No, Captain, now it is time for me to screw you . Mako, send in three berserkers, as an example to Captain Schofield .”

Schofield frowned. What—

Suddenly three men burst forth from the surrounding force: they were Africans, each holding two AK-47s and firing madly as they ran toward the stricken Antonov. They had the same excessive facial piercings that the two suicidal maniacs in the Bear Lab had had.

Their bullets hammered the plane. Some rounds whizzed in through the open rear ramp and Schofield had to dive behind the jeep parked there before he could raise his MP-7 and return fire. Mother and Champion joined him, blasting away with their guns.

The first mad runner convulsed as he ran, but he must have been juiced up on ganja weed or some kind of hyper-stimulant because he took at least ten hits to his body before he finally stopped moving forward; then Mother shot him in the face and his whole head popped in a spray of red and he flopped to the ground, still.

But the other two berserkers kept coming, their rain of gunfire undisturbed.

Schofield, Champion and Mother fired and fired, using an inordinate amount of ammo to bring them down. The second madman fell, then finally so did the third—he skidded hard onto his face at the base of the ramp, having almost made it inside the plane.

Silence.

Gun smoke.

Schofield was completely fucking shocked. If the Lord of Anarchy had more of these crazy suicide runners, then it was only a matter of—

“ Captain, I’m sure that by now the mathematics of your situation is becoming clear: if I keep sending in my berserkers, eventually you will run out of bullets. And I have many such men, who will gladly run to their deaths for me, if only to use up your ammunition. Mako, three more, please. ”

There came another battle cry and three more crazed, multi-pierced runners came charging across the open runway firing wildly at the Antonov, and Schofield and his team were forced to cut them down, too.

Mother shook her head. “This is fucking nuts! It’s like a shooting gallery where the targets fire at you! Who the hell does suicide runs like this?”

“And how does their leader get them to do it?” Champion asked.

“Addictive drugs, conditioning, torture, I don’t know,” Schofield said.

“However the fuck he does it,” Mother said, “I can’t keep this up much longer. I’m down to my last clip.”

Baba said grimly, “Me, too.”

Schofield bit his lip in thought. There was only one way this could end—and that was very ugly. Out of ammo and with nowhere to go, they’d be at the mercy of the Army of Thieves. Death at their hands would not be quick and—if only for a fleeting instant—Schofield actually considered putting a bullet through each of his people’s brains; it might be the most humane thing to do in this—

“ How are you feeling in there, Captain? Getting low on ammo now, aren’t you? Feeling desperate? Thinking of cutting a deal? I mean, how will you feel when your people are completely defenseless and my men storm that plane? My men, I fear, are not the kind of boys you bring home to meet Mother. They are very zealous in their fanaticism, sometimes a little overzealous. They truly are the children of anarchy and I am their lord and master.

“ Of course, you could nobly kill your own people: line them up, smile kindly and then put a bullet in each of their heads, so that their deaths are quick. Let me assure you that such a death will be better than the one I will provide them. ”

Champion shot a look at Schofield as she heard this, too.

Schofield returned her worried glance. It also didn’t escape his notice that the Lord of Anarchy had practically read his mind. He looked around himself for options, but there were none. They were screwed.

“ Captain, go to the cockpit of your plane. Switch on the video communication screen. ”

Schofield went into the cockpit where he found a video screen attached to the instrument panel—a modern addition to an old plane—and flicked it on. It was like a laptop screen, with a small camera on its upper rim.