Against A Dark Background (56 page)

`No sign they’ve seen us . . .’ Zefla said quietly.

`That’s about as far as we go,’ Miz said. The leading AT rolled to a stop; Feril halted theirs immediately behind. Sharrow reached into the footwell and unzipped a long bag with a crude anti-aircraft symbol scrawled on it. She pulled a missile-launcher out and stood up on the seat, swinging the hatch back and sticking her head and shoulders through.

The plane was a lumpy black speck, low over the water. Where the sub had been there was just a patch of disturbed water near the abandoned floating hull. The plane’s image enlarged in the missile-launcher’s sight, went briefly fuzzy then came sharp; she flicked the safety off.

Then something waved in the sight, close and un-focused and partially obscuring the aircraft. Sharrow frowned and looked away from the launcher’s sight; some of the young trees behind them had risen up again after being caught under the ATs, forming a thin screen between them and the shore.

She squinted back into the sight and watched the plane’s silhouette tilt and thicken. It was a flying boat, about the size of an ancient heavy bomber; pairs of engines high on each wing root and a V-strutted float near the tip of each wing. Six small missiles, under the wings. The plane banked slowly, almost languorously away. She tracked it until it disappeared behind the trees.

Sharrow listened to the sound of the plane’s jets, echoing distantly among the mountains. She put the missile-launcher back to standby.

`Where’d it go?’ Miz said.

`Think it went down the fjord,’ Dloan said. Sharrow turned to see Dloan in the hatch of the stationary leading AT, its nose stuck into the trees. He was pointing the cannon over their heads at where the plane had been.

`See any markings?’ Sharrow asked Zefla.

Zefla shook her head. `Didn’t look like a Franchise ship to me.’

I saw one of those old things in Quay Beagh,’ Dloan said.
While we were negotiating for the sub.’

`Think it could be another private operator?’ Miz asked. They heard him grunt as the leading AT rocked fractionally back, then attempted to plough forward again, only to be resisted once more by the flexing trunks of the trees.
Now that’s what I call contempt for the Areas Laws,’ he said, sounding almost amused.
Barrelling right in with an antique that belongs in a museum of flight. Shit, we could have used ACVs after all.’

Whatever,’ Sharrow said,
it might be back. Let’s head along the coast and find somewhere better to hole up.’

`We are kind of hidden here,’ Zefla pointed out.

Only kind of,’ Miz said.
And if anybody’s going to look for us, that hull’s where they’re going to start.’

`Our brave captain said something about scuttling the hulls,’ Zefla said.

`Yeah, but the one on the beach isn’t going to sink too far.’

‘Zef?’ Sharrow said. `What do you think; did the plane see us?’

Zefla shrugged. `On balance, probably . . . yes.’

`So let’s go,’ Sharrow said.

They reversed the two ATs out of the forest. The grounded submarine hull had settled by the stern; its cavernous open mouth towered over the little beach like an expression of silent surprise. The jettisoned hull had rolled over onto its back, rocking back and forth as it sank slowly into the dark water.

The two All-Terrains picked their way along the jumbled rock and tattered grass line between the water and the trees.

The plane had left a faint line of exhaust smoke a hundred metres or so above the centre of the broad fjord. Zefla stayed on watch; Sharrow sat back in her seat with the missile-launcher on her lap. She looked over at Feril, sitting with apparent unconcern as it guided their AT after Miz and Dloan’s.

`Sorry about all this,’ she said.

Please, don’t be,’ the android said, turning its head to her for a moment.
This is highly exciting.’

Sharrow shook her head, smiling. `Could get more exciting yet if we can’t find a place to hide.’

`Oh well,’ Feril said, and turned from her to look around at the fjord to their right and the steeply forested mountains on either side.
Still,’ it said as its hands worked the wheel of the AT, picking its way between the boulders littering the stony shore.
This is quite beautiful scenery, don’t you think?’

Sharrow grinned, briefly shaking her head at the android. Then she tried to relax, and took a slow, deliberate look round at the liquid silence of the calm black waters, the pitched abundance of the enfolding forests and the rippling, half-hidden morphology of the tree-smothered slopes, jagged-rimmed against the pale wastes of sky.

Yes,’ she sighed, and nodded.
Yes, it is beautiful.’

They had gone less than a kilometre down the side of the fjord and found no breaks in the trees, no fallen boulders large enough to hide behind and no other form of cover, when Zefla shouted.

`It’s back!’

The flying boat appeared, a grey dot against the dark mountains towards the head of the fjord.

`Hell’s teeth,’ Miz growled.

Sharrow watched the flying boat tilt and turn until it was heading straight towards them. She shook her head. `This is no good-’

`Firing!’ yelled Zefla. Two bursts of smoke curled from under the wing roots of the plane.

Stop!’ Sharrow told the android. She grabbed her satchel from beneath the seat.
All out!’

`Shit,’ Miz said. Both ATs skidded to a stop.

`Head for the fucking trees,’ Zefla muttered, dropping from the hatch, bouncing on her seat and kicking the door open. She jumped to the ground holding a small back-pack, followed by Feril. Sharrow jumped from the other door. Miz leapt from the AT in front and ran for the trees as well.

`Out, Man!’ Sharrow yelled. She was heading for some large rocks near the water’s edge. She clicked the safety off the missile-launcher.

Dloan stood in the hatch of the front AT, sighting the cannon at the plane; the two missiles were bright points at the end of smoky trails, racing closer over the black, still water. `Dloan!’ she yelled. She threw herself down between two rocks and sighted the missile-launcher.

The missiles zipped in; they missed the two ATs and screamed overhead, detonating in the forest fifty metres behind them. Dloan started firing the cannon; she could see each tracered eighth shell arcing up and out across the water, falling a hundred metres short of the plane in distant, tiny white splashes. She fired the missile; there was a bang as the tube juddered against her shoulder, then a flash and a clap of noise when the missile ignited and a whoosh as it raced away.

The plane flew lazily on up the centre of the fjord, maybe two thousand metres away now; the missile lanced out on an intercept course.

Dloan had stopped firing the cannon.

The missile was a kilometre away, then five hundred metres.

Oh well,’ Sharrow said to herself.
Just ignore it then, assholes.’

Light glittered around the nose of the flying boat.

The missile blew up; it flashed and disintegrated in the air, creating a thick black paw of smoke from which dozens of little dark claws trailed out and down, falling into the water in a flurry of tail splashes.

`Son of a bitch,’ Sharrow breathed. The plane tipped towards them once more.

Dloan fired the cannon again, sparks arcing high towards the plane. The plane flew through the rising bulb of smoke left by their intercepted missile. It fired another two of its own.

Sharrow glanced at the AT. Dloan!’ she screamed. She saw him crouch down a little behind the cannon. He fired a last burst of shells, then sprang out of the hatch and ran along the top of the AT’s roof. Sharrow could have sworn he had a great big smile on his face.

Dloan jumped the three metres to the ground, rolled and dived into light cover a half second before the pair of missiles screamed into the ATs and blew them both to smithereens.

She must have ducked. She lifted her head to the smoke and the flame. Both vehicles had been obliterated. Hers lay on its back, burning fiercely. The other AT still seemed to be the right way up, but its body had been torn half off, lifted so that the three engines lay exposed between the flayed, burning tyres. What was left of it shook, crackling with secondary detonations; she ducked down again and watched the sea plane fly past a half-kilometre out and curving away from them again.

A line of black smoke curled from its starboard engine. It was losing height and it sounded rough and clattery. Somebody whooped from the trees.

She looked at her left hand, resting on the ground. It hurt. She pulled it away, peering at the blood, then shook it, cleaning earth away from the cut. It didn’t look serious.

`Yee-ha!’ whooped the same voice from the trees. Dloan.

The flying boat laboured on through the air for another kilometre, gaining height; then it tipped and banked, turning and heading back down the fjord again, this time angling for the far shore as the black smoke behind it thickened and it dropped closer and closer to the water.

The air cracked and rang as more explosions sounded in the two wrecked ATs; smoke piled into the sky.

`Sharrow?’ Miz shouted during a lull.

`Here!’ she shouted. ‘I’m all right.’

The flying boat hit the water, bounced in a double curtain of spray and hit again, stopping quickly and slewing round as it came to rest facing them, fifteen hundred metres away.

She slung the satchel onto her back and crawled away from the shoreside rocks, staying in the cover of some smaller boulders until she was near the trees; then she got up and ran in a crouch to where the others were lying just inside the cover, watching the ATs burn and the flying boat near the far shore sink. Its glassy, complicated nose was already raised in the air; one wing float was canted out of the water, the other submerged.

She dropped down beside them.

`Okay?’ Zefla asked her.

`Yes. Nice shooting, Dloan,’ she said, wiping her bloody hand on the trousers of her fatigues.

Thanks,’ Dloan grinned.
Fancy missile-intercepting laser couldn’t deal with old-fashioned cannon shells.’ He sighed massively, looking happy.

Yeah, but now what do we do?’ Miz said, looking at her.
Swim the rest of the way?’

Oh,’ Feril said,
look. What unorthodox camouflage.’

Sharrow looked.

Zefla squinted through the field-glasses. She groaned.

I don’t fucking believe it,’ she said. She handed the binoculars to Sharrow.
No, that’s not true.’ She shook her head. ‘I do believe it.’

Sharrow watched through glasses; the faceted nose of the flying boat was tipped high up now, pointing at the sky. From doors just under the wing roots she could see perhaps three dozen or so small figures clambering into what she guessed were inflatable boats. It all looked a little confused.

Sharrow could make the figures out easily because they were dressed in shocking pinks, lime-greens, blood-reds, loud-violets and brightyellows that were even more vibrant and obvious than the orange boats they were packing into. She put the glasses down.

They really are mad,’ she said, more to herself than anybody else.
It’s Elson Roa and his gang.’

`That maniac?’ Miz said, eyes wide. He gestured at the sinking plane, its fuselage now vertical to the sky and submerged almost to the wings. Two bright clusters of colour were just visible to the naked eye, heading slowly away from the sinking aircraft towards the thick green blanket of trees on the far shore.
That’s him?’ Miz said.
Again?’

Sharrow nodded slowly, setting the field-glasses down on the ground.
Yes,’ she said.
Again.’

The ammunition in the burning ATs continued to explode for a few minutes, then the fires began to die and the detonations ceased. They ventured out from the trees and searched the wreckage scattered round the remains of the two ATs until they heard a series of quiet phutting noises and saw thin fountains in the water nearby.

`Machine gun,’ Dloan said, looking towards the far side of the fjord. The air cracked and whined; little clouds of dust jumped off rocks around them. They retreated quickly into the forest.

They had one light emergency tent and survival rations in a small back-pack Zefla had rescued; Sharrow had her satchel, which contained the HandCannon, the two dials from the old bike, and a first aid kit. Miz had rescued a medium machine gun and a single antiaircraft missile. They’d found some clothes and a few more ration packs while they’d searched the wreckage. Apart from that, all they had was what they stood in; fatigues or hiking gear, a pistol each, a couple of knives, one small medical kit and whatever else had happened to be in their pockets.

`I should have thought,’ Sharrow said, banging the heel of her hands off her temples. She winced as her left hand hit; she had washed the wound in a stream and put a plaster on it, but it still hurt. Miz still wore a small bandage on his hand, too, and Dloan limped a little, just as she did.

We are coming to reflect each other, she thought.

They sat in a small hollow, round a smoky, feeble fire they had finally lasered alight. The late afternoon was made evening by the tall trees rising around them.

I should have thought,’ she repeated.
We could have got more stuff together to take out of the ATs while we were looking for a place to hole up.’ She shook her head.

Look,’ Miz said.
We’re all alive; we have a tent, some food, and we have guns; we can shoot what we need to eat.’ He gestured at the forest around them.
There must be plenty of game in here. Or there’s fish.’ He patted one pocket in his fancy, much be-pocketed hiking jacket.
I’ve got hooks and some line; we can make a rod.’

Sharrow looked dubious.
Yes. Meanwhile, we’ve got four days to walk two hundred klicks,’ she said,
for a rendezvous our brave captain probably isn’t even going to try to make.’

`We could leave somebody here,’ Zefla said. She held her combat cap out on a stick in front of the fire, drying it. She sat loosely crosslegged, at her ease.-Dloan had his injured leg out in front of him. Miz had rolled up a rock to sit on; the android squatted on its haunches, looking skeletally sharp and angled.
Some of us could go on to the end of the fjord,’ Zefla continued,
while somebody stays behind to meet the sub and tell them to come back later.’