Vengeance (16 page)

“That’s the service entrance, right ahead of us, up that slip road,” Price said.

She had barely finished speaking when Brogan said, “There he is.”

“Where?” Price asked.

“That’s him, that’s Chisnall, straight ahead of us.”

Three figures emerged from the service entrance. One of them with his hands to his neck, the other two holding him, one to each arm.

“You can’t make out his face at this distance,” Barnard said.

“Yes I can,” Brogan said.

“I believe her,” Wall said. “I think she’s right, and my eyesight is not as good as hers.”

“Damn,” Price said. Chisnall’s captors wore the blood red uniform of the PGZ. They shoved Chisnall roughly into the back of an unmarked, white car which took off at speed, emerging on the perimeter road behind them.

Monster gunned the engine, spinning the fire truck around in a handbrake slide, smoke pouring from the tyres. The truck surged forwards after the car as it rounded the corner, then turned onto the bridge to the outer ring-road.

“Do not let them get away!” Price shouted.

If the PGZ agents in the car in front thought there was anything suspicious about the fire truck heading away from the Congress, it didn’t show in their actions. The car moved over slightly to the left to let the fire truck pass.

The white car was in the middle of the overbridge as Monster pulled up alongside. Price looked down to see Chisnall in the back of the car, a PGZ agent next to him. Chisnall’s hands were cuffed to his neck.

Chisnall’s eyes widened as he recognised Price, but only for a second, because that was when the fire truck smashed into the car.

The car had no chance.

The truck hit the side of the car at speed, just behind the door pillar, spinning it sideways then slamming it into the concrete side railings of the bridge in a tangle of bent metal, rubber and broken glass and a shower of concrete shards. The car teetered for a moment on the edge of the bridge, then it was gone.

There was a terrifying silence that seemed to go on forever. Then came the crash as the car hit the roadway below.

[1220 HOURS LOCAL TIME]

[TASMAN SEA, OFF THE COAST OF NEW ZEALAND]

The Dragon and its attendant Razers were finally picked up by coastal radar stations less than fifty kilometres from the coast of New Zealand.

On board the USS
Apple
, already on high alert, alarms sounded, people ran. Weapons’ turrets went from passive alert to active seeking. The first carrier jets, waiting on the runway, took off immediately and others lined up behind them.

The circling F-35 fighter jets went to afterburners, racing to the west to try to engage the Bzadian planes before they could get within striking distance of the ships.

The USS
Apple
’s, defensive systems went to work, throwing a curtain of chaff and countermeasures into the air, concealing the ship from radar or radio-guided missiles.

On the missile frigates and destroyers that provided an outer protective screen for the USS
Apple
, covers slid off missile silos and a porcupine forest of smoke trails sprouted.

It wasn’t enough. The Bzadians weren’t here to fight a pitched battle. The moment the USS
Apple
came within range, the Dragon fired its full complement of air-to-surface missiles. Then, as if a single craft, all six enemy jets wheeled around and headed for home.

On board the USS
Apple
, alert boards were screaming at over a hundred and sixty incoming Bzadian missiles.

The missile boats that surrounded the ship were no longer firing at the Bzadian planes. Instead, they were hurling a curtain of metal hail at the incoming missiles.

All of the ships in the fleet were equipped with “R2D2” Phalanx autocannons, each capable of throwing up an astounding five thousand rounds per minute, a wall of lead which the Bzadian missiles had to penetrate.

Most of the Bzadian missiles were destroyed by surface-to-air missiles before they got anywhere near their target.

Less than thirty penetrated the screen of destroyers and the Phalanx systems on board those ships continued to knock them down even as they passed overhead.

The USS
Apple
’s own Phalanx guns were its last line of defence and missile after missile fell to them in a matter of microseconds.

The last of the Bzadian missiles was destroyed less than ten metres from the flight deck.

It was too close. Far too close. The heat flash and shock wave of the explosion hurled aircraft around like toys, fuel tanks exploded, men and women were blown overboard, or jumped into the ocean, on fire, screaming.

In the aftermath, it was determined that there was no permanent structural damage. Nothing that could not be repaired. But the flight deck was littered with debris and burning wreckage. Until it could be cleared, the carrier was out of action.

In the sky above the carrier, the first scream jet to take off finally reached its launch altitude.

Flight Commander Molly Shaw looked down at the glow that was the USS
Apple
, far below.

The Pukes were not going to get away with that, she thought.

Travelling already at supersonic speeds, she hit the rocket boosters as the carrier detached.

Mach 2 passed, mach 3, and the speed continued to climb.

Shaw rammed her hand down on the ignition system and felt the kick as the rocket booster dropped away and the scramjet engine fired.

She clenched her lips tightly shut against the rapid acceleration and went hunting Dragons.

[0930 HOURS LOCAL TIME]

[BZADIAN CONGRESS, CANBERRA]

Chisnall opened his eyes as the vehicle lurched to a halt, rocking back and forth on its suspension.

For a moment he couldn’t orientate himself. Nothing made sense. Vague memories of a girl in bright blue robes were interspersed with those of a face like a skull and of being hauled through corridors.

But here he was now on the floor of a vehicle, a truck of some kind.

He dimly heard Trianne Price’s voice barking orders, and through the open doorway he saw members of his old Angel team running to take up defensive positions.

Then Price was back, leaning over him as he sat up. She examined his head.

“Monster, come here,” she called. “He’s coming around.”

The next thing the thick, strong arms of his best friend were wrapped around him and he was being carried out of the truck.

“It’s good to see you, buddy,” Chisnall gasped in the crushing bear-hug.

When Monster finally let him go, grinning like a madman, Chisnall managed to stand by himself. Price was the next to embrace him, briefly but emotionally, before returning to direct the other team members, coordinating kill zones and fields of fire.

He watched her work with a sense of satisfaction. She had learned well. She was a good leader.

Retha Barnard was crouched behind a pillar. She trotted over and held out a fist for a bump.

Chisnall pushed her hand aside, wrapping one of his arms around her. The other arm didn’t seem to be working. Barnard managed a cursory clasp and awkward pat on the back before returning to her position. She wasn’t much of a hugger.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you all,” Chisnall said. And it was. It really was.

“Good to see you too, Ryan,” Price said.

“Boo-yah,” Monster said.

“Guys,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I don’t want to interrupt your little bromance but I figure we got about thirty seconds before the Pukes work out that there’s only one place you could hide a fire truck around here.”

“Who’s the new guy?” Chisnall asked.

“That’s Wall,” Price said. “Hayden Wall. Specialist First Class.”

Chisnall stared at him. He knew the name from somewhere, although he had never seen Wall before. There was an uncomfortable feeling that went along with that name. Somehow he associated it with death.

He stood with his back resting against the truck and looked around, still dazed and feeling more than a bit confused. They were in a parking garage. Grey concrete walls and floor, ceiling held up by circular pillars. Bzadian vehicles were scattered around the garage in no particular order. It seemed cavernous and gloomy despite the bright fluorescent strips overhead. The ceilings were low and oppressive. It felt like a trap.

The truck he was leaning on was yellow, a chunky, angular beast with large knobbly tires. It took him a moment to recognise it for what it was: a fire truck. It was parked at the rear of the garage, sandwiched between two heavy concrete walls that concealed it from the front entrance.

“Kill the lights,” Price said.

Wall dialled his coil-gun down to slow and silent, and took out the overhead florescent tubes in their area of the garage, leaving them in deep shadow. The sound of the shattered glass tinkling on the ground was louder than the sound of the shots.

“Barnard, take a quick scout around,” Price said. “Check for other exits, doorways up into the building, anything like that. We need an escape route. Wall, take a C4 pack and mine the entrance. When they find us we’ll blow the front door and escape out the back.”

Barnard and Wall disappeared.

Monster had a mini flashlight in his mouth. He was checking Chisnall’s arms and legs, feeling for broken bones. When Monster got to his right arm Chisnall had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying out.

“Arm broken,” Monster said.

“What happened?” Chisnall asked. “I feel like I was hit by a truck.”

“You were,” Price said. “Monster was driving.”

“Monster, you need to re-sit your licence,” Chisnall said.

“Did no your mother tell you not to get in car with strangers?” Monster grinned at him, moving a mediscope over his head.

That was when Chisnall noticed the wet warmth trickling down his face. He touched it and his hand came away dark red in the light of Monster’s flashlight.

Now it all came flooding back. The girl was Azoh. The skull face was Goezlin. The two goons dragging him through the corridors were PGZ agents.

“Hold arm like this,” Monster said, moving Chisnall’s left hand onto his right elbow. Another wave of excruciating pain washed over Chisnall.

“Try not to move arm,” Monster said.

“No kidding,” Chisnall said.

“How is he?” Price asked.

“He going to be fine,” Monster said. “But head wound is bad bleeding, and also right ulna is broken.”

“Can you patch him up?” Price asked.

“Can’t fix arm here,” Monster said. “Need hospital. And need more dressings for head. Used all ours on Tsar.”

“I’m okay. I can wait,” Chisnall said. “The Tsar’s here too? What happened to him?”

“Had an argument with a rotorbot,” Price said. “He’s up in the truck unconscious. He’s not good, but we’ve done all we can for him for now.”

A small sound, like a dog whimpering, came through the open door of the fire truck.

“What he needs is a hospital,” a voice said. A voice that Chisnall knew all too well. It came from behind a small sedan-like car two pillars away. His former sergeant lifted her head up and looked directly over at him.

“Hello, Holly,” Chisnall said.

Brogan acknowledged him with a brief nod.

Chisnall stared at her for a moment before her face disappeared back behind the car.

Just the sight of her gave him goosebumps. The bitter, icy kind. It was the same girl, but somehow not the same girl, that he had once thought he was in love with. It was as though a storm had blown through and stripped away everything soft and feminine about her. What was left was harsh and coarse and shattered.

“What’s your take on Brogan?” he asked of Price in a low voice.

She shrugged. “So far, so good. She says she’s on our side.”

“You trust her?”

She shrugged again. “You want my honest opinion?”

“Of course.”

“She’s been perfect,” Price said. “Too perfect, if you know what I mean. Everything she has done has been straight down the line: she gave up the other Fezerkers to get on the team; she saved The Tsar’s life; she’s helped us avoid Bzadian patrols. It all seems designed to get her here. With us, with you, right now. Why? What’s her end game? That’s what I want to know.”

“You don’t think she could be genuine?” Chisnall asked.

“What do you think?” Price asked.

“Time will tell,” Chisnall said.

“That’s a dumb answer,” Price said. “What if it’s too late?”

“Just keep an eye on her,” Chisnall said. “Where are we?”

“Underground parking garage in the Congress,” Price said. “There was a lot of smoke and confusion and I don’t think they’ve realised what just happened. Not yet anyway.”

“Smoke from the fire I started?” Chisnall asked. He had thought the sprinkler system would have taken care of it.

Price smiled. “A little. But the Pukes did this to themselves. They bombed the hell out of Batemans Bay and stared a massive bushfire. It’s heading this way.”

Chisnall sat on the steps of the fire truck as another wave of pain from his arm threatened to overwhelm him.