The older man, chewed up by life, sat uneasily in his chair, his hollow chest resting on the dusty black tabletop. It seemed that if you poked him with your finger, the pieces of his body would roll on the floor, rattling the bones that had dried up over the years.
“What could the Blinders offer us? The colony took a big risk by marking its existence. I wouldn't be surprised if the Irreconcilables raided us soon to finish us off.”
“I'm not a Blinder, so first I'll give my own opinion: you need to relocate closer to the Spaceport, creating there the first major stronghold. And distribute people to the northern areas, taking them out of the way of a possible retaliatory strike.”
“We've been considering that option. Losing the accumulated industrial base and coming into conflict with the survivors in the old northern densely built-up area. Although they were heavily bombed, but still formed independent enclaves in the former parks and mountain ranges, where you can still somehow survive. We are definitely not welcome there.”
“Let's not tell each other fairy tales, my dear. I understand - some stranger has come here from rich neighbors. Teach you about life... Just before I left, I went through everything I had accumulated in your enclave. I also had a long talk with the Blinders. And on their suggestions and in general, on the current situation... Here's the Spaceport, which both warring sides tried to use for themselves until the last moment. Yes, they plowed it with artillery and aviation badly; it will not be able to fly for a long time. But - underground communications generally survived. The defense system helped repel subsequent cyborg attacks. Partially preserved workshops, something in the warehouses remained.”
“You were not there. It's miles of dead iron. Even the robots left, crushing the strongholds. Without power there, you can only freeze to death in winter. And all communications lead out of the area, which is under the control of the Irreconcilables. It's a dead end.”
“Yeah. Stalemate. If we sit back and do nothing... You don't want to negotiate with the northerners. They're on their own. They don't like outsiders. With the cyborg's fight - the forces are running out; it's easier to die in secret shelters, to see who will come and save, to help ... You know, you remind me of the Downworlders. Didn't you tell me at the beginning of this conversation that the colony had been destroyed by mutants? You... Now compare yourself to them. And the Wild Ones. Those who roam the wastelands in spite of everything, searching for any useful piece of metal that can be used for weapons, fighting the cyborgs with spears and arrows, and living on. To live in spite of everything!”
The old man flashed his eyes angrily and wheezed:
“Do you know how many savages give birth? Every day! They can sacrifice meat without limit!”
“The meat is you! Who stops you from giving birth and educating the young? What, is there a cog standing around and strapped a weight on his dick? Stop chewing your snot, man! Look at you, how old are you? Fifty? Sixty? There's Hut, he's up to a hundred now, and he'll tear any penis-eater with his bare hands in hand-to-hand combat! With his bare hands! And you've got the infrastructure, warehouses, you can round up the hell out, and pistol whip any neighbor the size of a battleship. You could agree a thousand times over with any sensible neighbor; the good thing is that it's almost at arm's length! And whoever is stupid and does not understand a word - to force to peace by force! You can do it, you hear? Everything can be done if there is a will. Desire is the main thing that allows you to wrest victory from any opponent, even if he is superior in strength and resources...”
“I am forty-three,” whispered the man, who looked more like a living ruin. “I have survived several chemical attacks and mop-ups from the Irreconcilables. I know what it's really like to survive, not talk about it...”
Carlos leaned forward and whispered, looking point-blank:
“And what, you want your kids to be like that at thirty? Is that what you want, older man? Your soul is empty; you have already given up. You'll die yourself, and the ones you're supposed to save will die after you... Because you've already lost. You've already given up...”
Sitting back in his creaking chair, the assault team leader spoke, pausing tinyly between each sentence:
“The Blinders and the Wild Ones have formed an alliance. It's not formalized yet, but that's a matter for the near future. For the sake of secrecy, it's not shouted on every corner, that's all. But - medical and military equipment is being delivered to the center of the Enclaves. The militia will begin training in the coming days. Machine guns, railguns, ammunition, oil refining stations. Workshops to build new rovers. Decommissioning of the air wing lifted from the reserve. Everything the Blinders have will go into action. In a year, the Wild Ones will take complete control of the territory they've occupied. In another year, they'll seize any useful resources around them: the unburned-out mines, the remains of the cities, and factories. In two or three years, they could repel any cyborg attack. Putting the ‘meat’, as you call it, into action. By training and arming them. Giving them a chance not to survive, but to live life to the fullest. With schools and hospitals. Rebuilding a shattered planet.”
“You'll be shot down in the first year! The first raid by the Irreconcilables will be the end of such grand plans!”
“The first raid will burn up on the approach to our territory, old man. If we have to use atomic bombs, we'll do it. For the sake of our defense.”
There was silence in the room. Only occasionally, the bunker master took a hoarse, deep breath, and the old chair, on which Hut tried to rock, creaked. At last the official spokesman of the barely living colony's command whispered:
“So the intelligence was right. You have indeed struck The Spot with a nuclear strike. The cyborgs diverted the battle groups from the wastelands. Although there are plenty of drones above us.”
“We'll get to The Blinders. We'll go and help start up the main reactor, which is still mothballed. It will provide the power the plants and mines so desperately need. It'll recharge the power cells, breathe life into the military equipment... But even if we're killed on the road, it'll never be the same in the South as it was before. Yeah, it's going to be harder to fight. A lot more soldiers will die. But no one will be sitting in dungeons shivering at every sound.”
“The Enclaves are big. There are a lot of them. And there are a lot of people who will not just give up their power, wrested in the fighting.”
“And who says they will take power from them? Why should they? Think about it - these are the people who survived on the wastelands with their bare hands. The most valuable resource in an endless war... You're missing the point. They are being offered to rise from their knees and become masters of this world. Instead of a wormy scone, fresh bread from their own bakery. Instead of a spear, a machine gun with ceramic needles. Instead of a foot march to the other side of the swamp - rovers, and lugers to push the boundaries of the mastered world... Today they are leaders of tiny tribes. Tomorrow - the kings of new states ... Whoever doesn't want to, let them sit where they are. I think they won't even touch them. Because there's a world out there that needs to be reclaimed. Thousands of ruined cities. Tens of thousands of kilometers of wasteland that needs to be plowed and seeded and protected from the mutants and other trash that is sure to be found and more than once will throw a spanner in the wheels... But if you're still hiding in basements, then don't be surprised if, in a few years, the neighbors to the north will make a pact of peace and mutual assistance with us, forgetting about Submountain. By crossing you out as having failed to survive.”
“The plans are grandiose. What about now? What do you propose right now?”
“Help take the luger and provide evacuation. If there are plenty of alien scouts now, we can use them and trap the pursuers... Once the Blinds get the equipment, we went to The Spot for, they'll start preparing energy cells for you. You will be able to run your own workshops in the Spaceport. In addition, we'll move parts and equipment for repairs. And weapons to organize the first line of defense. By the way, is the information about the three blown-up spacecraft in the hangars correct?”
The wrecked man merely grimaced in response:
“Your employer seems to know too much. Too much... Yes, three tattered hulks are standing. We've stripped them of most of their value.”
“And the reactors?”
“They're useless without fuel. Closed-cycle reactors with interchangeable cassettes. You can't put them in continuous operation; you have to keep recharging them.”
“The Blinds will send over the cassettes. Once your industrial zone is running at full capacity, it will be possible. Do you understand? You'll have a couple of working reactors and one for spare parts. You'll be able to power the entire habitable zone. The iron slums of the Spaceport can be turned into a perfectly fortified and protected bastion, which not only the Irreconcilables will break their teeth on... Here's the plastic with the encrypted micro documents. I'll show you the access codes. Here, it's all in detail. Each item... Do you think it's a good suggestion?”
“We'll see. For too long we've been fed on promises of aid and military support. For too long we've died pulling ironclads on us while others have been saving our strength.”
Carlos laid out a cloth-wrapped bag in front of him and hummed:
“And you don't forget. You mustn't forget such things. You'll be meaner for the neighbors' enjoyment.”
A chair crackled behind him, and a slowly rocking Hut rested his back on the floor. Cautiously checking himself on all sides, the old man launched into a quirky tirade, which ended quite meaningfully:
“It's time to get out of here! Look, commander, not a single thing is left intact! Every ladder - so tends to fall down! Every door - you can't move the locks; it's all corroded! I don't know about the other bases or the former Spaceport, but I'd sooner break my own neck than live another week.”
After waiting until the guest took the next chair, the man, wheezing with every word, summed up the conversation:
“We'll contact the Blinders immediately as soon as we've examined the data we've received. I will hand you over to our best battle group. They will ensure the withdrawal. One request - choose your language; the guys may clash with you before the cyborgs get to you...”
***
Too patted his pockets for the hundredth time, checking to see if he had everything he needed.
“You're the great warriors of the city, the lords of the wasteland. But you're lubbers on board my ship who must be watched. That's why right away, so you don't have to be kicked from two kilometers to the flight: there's only one commander in the luger. And that's me. So my orders are not discussed. We don't shoot mutants and other crap. We'll fly in two phases. The first is a long detour to Spaceport, where they're already waiting for us. I've never been there before, so we have to find the point on the map and the handed-down landmarks. After refueling - to the place. We pick up the group and run away.”
“Who will pull out?”
“No idea. Three Wild and one of the ‘miners’, or as you call them? Blinds told us that they are kind of our friends; identification should not be a problem.”
“Familiar, familiar,” muttered Krap, climbing inside the flying machine. “No, I don't remember any of the scouts hanging around. However, there are a lot of new Anclaves out in the badlands since we got the first batch of help. Now, with machine guns and explosives, it's a lot easier to kick the cyborgs in the clutches.”
“Yeah, that's right. Let's follow my route. I tried my best to avoid the dangerous places, but still - we'll be scraping the dunes. A little stick out, and we'll catch a present from some cyborg in the side. We'll have to fly too close to their main patrol zones. And there could be heavy things there, with machine guns or even missiles.”
Puppy lovingly stroked the thrower mounted in the doorway and smiled:
“What are cyborgs to us? We'll pound anyone into the sand! And we'll cover them on the spot. But we'll fly!”
Too glanced around angrily, then went back to the preflight procedure of checking the luger:
“Cover... A planning genius we have here... That's how Lurg covered the guys a week ago. With rovers, rocket launchers... Covered 'em so bad, there wasn't even a body left, all gone with the mutts.”
Krap gripped one of the straps that held the luggage and stood by the left flap of the door, putting his hands on the butt of his thrower and pulling the tiny grenade launcher and the box with the extra charges close:
“Don't grumble, lord of the sky! It's just the jitters before a real fight. I think we'll be all right. We'll get the boys, and we'll get back without any trouble. The main thing is not to worry. And keep your eyes open. You hear that, Puppy? Don't look at the cabin; you'll be the first to spot any bastard underneath! You've got a keen eye, though; you should be able to handle it.”
The young tracker flicked his tongue surreptitiously back at Too and muttered:
“And still - let's fly!”
In reply, the engines roared resoundingly, and a rush of air blew dust slowly up a brick-paved area. The evacuation team set off on its perilous journey.
***
After pushing the guys huddled around the screen, a short, frail woman with a wet towel in her hands made her way up to the brightly colored jumping picture. A boy sitting in front of the console with a chain of lights turned around and waved merrily:
“Ah, Vita, welcome back!”
“What's going on here?”
“Checking the connection to the substation. They're assembling a group to escort the guests.”
“Yes? And what are they doing, getting acquainted with each other?”
On the screen one of the fighters missed a punch and rolled to the floor. There was a disappointed sigh behind the woman's back.
“It was their eldest with Burnt Man. Unfortunately, the sound is bad, only the picture. Something they were saying, and then they started. They've been fighting for about five minutes now. Oh, look, our man has recovered!”
The man with burn stains all over his face rose from the floor and, with deceptive ease, began to swing his legs in an attempt to get at his swift adversary. Carlos circled around the room, not letting his distance be shortened and not trying to put up blocks from the crushing blows. Suddenly, on one of the swings, the Earthling crouched slightly and kicked sharply in the groin, stepping forward in a half crouch. Burnt Man jerked back and took another punch to the jaw, ending the fight. Screamer's disgruntled face flashed beside the camera, and the picture faded. A moment later, the silent speaker wheezed:
“That's it; the show's over. Tell them the group's going into position in an hour. The bomb squad is closing in; the evacuation area is ready.”
The room began to murmur, discussing what they had seen. The disappointed young operator flicked a switch and sighed:
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Eh, the recorder's been dead for two months, I couldn't even record. Such a great fight!”
“Probably wish you'd been with the guys, huh?”
The kid even jumped up on his chair:
“I asked for it; I really did! And they say to me: ‘You are the best communications technician, what do you care? Without you, the whole department would fall apart.’ Yeah, right. If you ask me to leave home, you're the best; if you ask me for a cable for work, you're still too young to advise your elders.”
“You'll get the hang of it,” said Vita, trying to calm him down as she wiped the hair soaking wet from the shower. “Thanks for fixing the life-support boxes with the guys in the evenings. At least you feel like a human being.”
“They'll be dead soon anyway without filters,” the little computer genius was upset. But it seems that the restless boy could not get upset for long, and a new question followed immediately: “Is it true that they brought medicines? And weapons of all kinds?”
“They helped with the medicine, it is true. They brought fungal leaven; I already gave it to the hospital. For the rest, I'll have to check with the management. Southern enclaves managed to open reserve warehouses and are willing to share with us. If we're lucky, they might even throw in some filters.”
“Yeah, they'll tell us about the contract; keep your pockets wide open. We'll wonder what's what.”
“Just don't get caught like last time. I know you'll be one of the first to find out all the details. Just don't say anything, okay?” And Vita jokingly slapped the boy on the back with a towel. Then she turned around and followed the people who had reached the exit.
Catching up with one of the men, she asked in a whisper:
“Arles, how are the boys going to go on a mission if they're fighting like this? They will kill each other in the corridors!”
“Hello, hello, always in a hurry,” the short life support engineer looked around, and his puffy gray face smoothed out, allowing the smile to take away the eternal unflappable mask for a moment. “Didn't you want to go with the guests?”
“I didn't. Absolutely not. They said there were only two doctors left in the Home, and they couldn't afford to lose a third on a camping trip.”
“That's true. Every specialist is worth his weight in gold these days. And there's less and less of them every day because we can't keep up with the training... I submit a report every two months, and the answer is ‘no’. Even though I have already prepared for my shift, but it is all the same. The young men are fighting, and we're here... We're stuck here...”
The woman only sighed in reply. After the death of her husband, shy Arles tried to woo her, but his heart turned into an icy lump, which only now began to thaw a little. But the trusting relationship remained, and the two single adults tried to support each other through the hard times whenever possible.
“Guys won't touch each other, trust me. I've been watching from the beginning. They did a little feel out who was worth it, they warmed up, and that was it. Four minutes of panting, sweating, catching mistakes. Four minutes. In a real fight, in fifteen seconds, one of them would be dead. But here, they hadn't even drawn their blades from their sheaths. Not to mention the machine guns and pistols they had lying next to each other on the rack.”
“And what, Burnt Man would go with them?”
“I think so. Screamer will cover the area with other fighters, and the former scout with guests to the Blinders.”
Vita rolled up a grey sacking, which for pure misunderstanding was called ‘towel’ and interrogated:
“So the command never forgave him the last sortie?”
“Of course they did. Though he saved people, he broke the order. Only Burnt Man did not care about orders. He went on raids alone, and he kept on going. So they sent him away out of harm's way. At the same time, he'll see what's really going on with the Wild Ones. There are some unbelievable rumors floating around. Like the whole Home will be moved to the Spaceport, and they've already shut down the lower levels of the building and ordered two days off and minor repairs on some of the main systems. Allegedly they're going to be preparing a phased evacuation.”
“I hope they actually support us. I'm afraid this winter is the last we'll be able to hold on to here. Sooner or later, the cyborgs will break through all the barriers and finish us off, no matter how deep we burrow.”
Opening the door, Arles let his mistress into the tiny nook where the nursing staff lived. Then he scratched the healing scratch on his left arm thoughtfully and muttered:
“If the Wild Ones have such fighters, I'm ready to believe in a bright future. At first he fought Burnt Man on equal terms, but when he managed to get a couple of times, the pace quickened, and just finished off the scout. I've never seen anything like that before. We need more soldiers like that, and we can get The Spot.”
“We've already done that. The guests brought an atomic bomb and blew it up. Too bad it was a weak bomb; only a piece of it burned out. But all the same, they did a good job.”
“Yes?” surprised engineer and the visibly cheerful voice said goodbye to Vita: “Then Burnt Man found good guys. I hope they'll pair up to give the Irreconcilables a fun life... Well, see you at dinner! They promise something tasty for the briquettes! It's an unexpected feast, I swear.”
***
A chain of people passed pieces of plastic and rags from hand to hand. The former Downworlders were renovating their new homes. The slaves were allowed to rebuild one of the ruined greenhouses and set up there. Freezing in the wind, Asham ran back to the main base building to keep warm and try to get something to eat. Though the cold wind tormented the boy far less than the wall of alienation that grew around him. Hatred and fear were the only things he saw in other people's eyes. And it was unlikely he would ever feel at home among the captured men.
Tirith, who was pacing the corridor, spotted his unwilling assistant and gestured for him to come forward:
“Did I tell you that a single example is often enough? Those dung beetles are hard at work. All you had to do was feed one of them, that's all. A single example, but how did it work?”
“Everybody wants to live, master.”
“Yeah. They want to live and dream of being saved. Someday... But I've got some bad news for you. Intelligence is back. The rest of your army has fled south. They fled altogether, leaving even some of the ironclads behind... No one will return to my lands. No one will die for cowardly slaves...”
The mutant went forward but hesitated for a moment when he heard Asham's cautious coughing:
“And tonight... Everyone's been working hard, haven't they? You know, the food we made from hydroponics. Everyone was working...”
Tirith snorted mockingly but didn't show his undivided authority. The colony's quarters were warm, and they wouldn't have to huddle in their earthy holes for the last frosty nights. The motley crew stuffed themselves full, not turning their faces up at the stinky stew made from food concentrates and protein-based plant food. In a week or two, the brightest could control the slaves working to rebuild the captured farms. And by spring, the horde will have finally settled here, among the metal and plastic houses, to begin preparing for more raids. After all, Tirith is the master of the wastelands. And he must demonstrate this to every living thing in the area. Well, who wouldn't understand, the guards never turn down fresh meat.
The new master of the colony decided to show a little generosity. Sometimes you have to loosen the leash a little. Why embitter the slave? Let him believe his master can be generous. Once in a while...
“I give you one life. You can tell these worms, selected for punishment, that tonight they will go to bed with everyone else. And tomorrow, if they learn their lesson well and work hard, they too will stay alive. Go, make the silly meat happy. While you're at it, tell them about the runaway soldiers who deserted you without even daring to fire a single shot in our direction. I want to share that joy with the whole colony. And tomorrow night, we'll see if you need a new bone to pick...”
***
The tiny hollow between the hills was chosen for a future meeting for a reason. This was where they wanted to place a refueling point for the scout rovers. But there weren't enough vehicles, and fuel was needed for other needs. So the deployed minefield was deactivated, but the hands never got around to removing it completely. But now, the sappers were able to block off the most dangerous directions and handed the control panel to Burnt Man:
“Here and here are the decoys, behind them almost immediately five pieces of directional action with photocells. If the creatures from the nearest roadblock come again, they may be able to get away with it. We've guided them to the bombs several times, placing the bombs. They didn't buy it last time. As far as I understand them, they'll probably think we're just scaring them again and go to check if there's no way through.”
“I mean, we'll take out the light infantry in a heartbeat. Not bad. What about here?”
Dirty finger drew a curve along the ridge of the hills:
“There was a pipeline going through here, all iron-clad. We put in three movable boxes. The heavy ones aren't likely to get knocked out, but the medium ones should. But that's if they don't intercept. And the charges on them are old, so they might not work.”
Burnt Man took another look at the map and sighed:
“I see. You've activated the field; they won't go head-on. But they might go over the ridge. Hope they don't get to us in time. The reconnaissance team promised to make noise on the approaches.”
“We can cover us with fire if we have to.”
The paramilitary command of the colony of ‘miners’ could show their displeasure to the Burnt Man as much as they liked. ‘To put him on notice’ and declare a reprimand. But the ordinary inhabitants loved him. Especially the young lads who risked their lives in raids on the surface. He was the mascot of exploration - able to get into any adventure and return home, carrying the wounded or killed without leaving a single body to be torn apart by the machines. A man who became a legend in life.
“No. The fewer of us, the better our chances of sitting tight. Screamer will cover, then he'll hide in a hole and basements - even deeper. All right, thank you. Good luck to you, and hello to Home. I'll try to get back as soon as possible...”
The men who had taken refuge under their cloaks on the hillside blended into the muddy gray sandy landscape. To the south, there was snow on the badlands, but here there were only small stones, sand, and pervasive dust. Tiny barchans swept by the wind. One step away, you would not realize that a man was lying, not breathing, and ready to open fire at everything that moved.
“The reconnaissance team reported before they left that drones had combed the area more than once. And where those flying things are, there will probably be a maneuvering group of Irreconcilables nearby. Usually, it's two or three heavy robots and five or so light paddlers. But right now, there are no cyborgs with powerful weapons in the wasteland. The little guys run around, though they're just as dangerous to us. They're awfully accurate, the bastards. And no bulletproof vest is going to help.”
“How do you fight them?” Carlos asked, glancing at the flickering screen on his tablet, which listened to their surroundings in passive mode.
“Snipers help. Machines often aren't ready to shoot at a kilometer or farther. Lots of side factors, easy to miss. They are saving their ammunition. And the guys manage to put in a present and immediately go underground. Sometimes you look out a month later in the same area, and there's debris lying around. It means they got a good shot.”
The guest was surprised:
“They don't pick up their own? Strange. They almost always dismantle wrecked units at the Wild ones and drag them in for repair.”
“They used to,” Burnt Man was squatting in the prepared pit, lifting his cloak and listening to the sighs of the faint wind around him. - But we used to ambush the repair crews at one time; we were pretty good at chiseling. And then the bastards started putting stationary points on the wreckage. They put a box, a simple automatic, and a control unit on it. And here's a shooter instead of a pile of iron. You wouldn't know a damn thing at once. That's how we fight now - we try to crush the wreckage into rubble, and the cyborgs spread their points all around. And we're only holding on because our neighbors have very, very few resources. They have iron but not much energy. We burned the oil wells where the Irreconcilables tried to set up production. They barely have any powerful reactors left to recharge their power cells. That's why we're balancing on edge. If we bite somewhere, then they will retaliate. But they press; they do not stop pressing. Do not let us forget who is near.”
A flicker of color flashed across his clipboard as Carlos became aware that the Home had overloaded the reader with new decryption codes, which allowed every crewmember to be fed general messages from the Control Center.
“The eastern team shot down one drone and left in a hurry. Spotted more than ten light automated rovers. Are they on our souls?”
“I guess so. But we've got the ridge covered. Fliers can get through in five or six minutes, but the ground drones won't.”
But the clipboard wouldn't let up:
“Look, the second one. A little farther south got into a firefight with a barrage. Where did they come from? Usually, one searches from above.”
“Usually, no one fights in The Spot,” Burnt Man chuckled, slowly lowering himself into the pit and turning into an unremarkable chunk of wasteland. “Too bad the sensors are plentiful, and there's been constant radio communication from the cyborgs since lunch. I wouldn't be surprised if your ‘bird’ was spotted after all.”
“Then we will have to wait for visitors. If they decide to sweep in a chain, they will have guests soon. Two groups have checked in, and we're expecting a third from the west.”
“Better not,” came a muffled whisper from under the ground. “The hills are gentle, and we only hope for the minefield. We might not have enough.”
Carlos, too, hid after a moment's hesitation, disappearing into the surrounding sand. And the slow minutes stretched on, filled with tense anticipation.
“Two minutes,” the voice whispered in the earpiece. The repeater, which stood five kilometers away, reported and went silent. But the silence didn't last thirty seconds.
Beyond the gentle hill, rips erupted, and cyborg debris flew into the dark sky. Disguised land mines found their target, slamming hot iron into the flimsy sides of the search trucks. Almost immediately, a machine gun roared on the ridge, and a small wheeled mine exploded two meters from its target, not having had time to roll just a little. The gunfire of the Screamer who had scrambled into action snapped harshly, and the scout-rovers, sprawled out on their far outstretched wheels, were already pouring over the hill.
“All hands, fire!” Carlos gave the command after estimating the total number of foes. If they were not outgunned in the first moments of combat, there would be no one left to be evacuated by the luger.
Four automatic rifles went through the meter-long cyborg vehicles like a deadly scythe. Methodically clicked from another hill, a sniper shot the most dangerous machine gunners who opened fire on the move. The Irreconcilable ones scurried down the slope, but the men knocked them out one by one. Hut had switched to a grenade launcher and was raining tiny balls of fire in front of him, blasting armor-piercing hulks to shreds.
A black shadow flashed overhead, and the Screamer's hulk was enveloped in explosions. The winged drone turned to make another run, but Carlos had already darted out from under the cloak and focused fire on the flying cyborg. The machine gun bounced off in short bursts, knocking sparks out of the smoky engines, and the man was already running down the slope, methodically transferring fire from one tiny automated rover to another. Taking a leap, the group commander moved out of the line of fire, leaving a string of sand clouds behind him, and in flight, he put a return "gift" to the nimble machine gunner. Before the last combat-ready cyborg managed to escape over the ridge, heavy bullets tore plastic and wires, turning the car into a pile of flaming metal.
Burnt Man was still running down the hill, but Carlos had already lifted the motionless body on his shoulder and rushed to meet him, shouting at the top of his voice:
“Luger, it's on his way! And get the infirmary ready, Screamer very bad!”
Over the ridge rumbled once, twice, and after the red-hot wind, a wide black flying machine fell almost on people's heads, managing to roar from the open door with its thrower at targets which were not visible from the valley.
“You've made quite a noise!” Krap yelled, helping Hut inside “We'd have been searching for you all night; we couldn't see anything from above. Move your paws, we've got one mob up with bombs, but there's more crawling around like cockroaches!”
“Hold the slope,” the old man snapped back, hastily replacing the spent clip. Kneeling beside the Puppy, he put the red-hot barrel of his gun out and clicked the shadow that flashed in the distance.
Too waited until the last of the fighters had fallen inside and swung the luger over the sand, looking for a narrow passage ahead. Carlos, meanwhile, slashed open the bloodstained suit with his knife and applied the medical block the Blinders had given him. Hastily hooking up the flexible plastic tubes, he shouted into the cockpit, blocking out the growing howl of the engines:
“They're expecting us to break north! So two kilometers to the south, there to break the paddlers, then west! Understand?”
“Teach your mother a lesson, smart-ass,” snapped the pilot as he cut the heavy car into the first of the tight turns. “Puppy, you'll have to climb sideways, or you'll never make it! Shoot everything you see! And in general - take everything! Don't be sorry!”
The whistle of the unfurled shafts of the thrower gave way to a heavy roar - the young tracker poured steel on a narrow ridge on which the luger was carried by the board. The cyborg, which had jumped out in front of him, burst into smoke before he could react. The Puppy was followed by Hut's machine gun, striking a little lower, shooting sparks out of the corroded iron. Without waiting for orders, Krap added generously to the cacophony of fire, filling the bushes below with grenades. Sharra, who was standing beside the second thrower, touched his grip, and a meter-long shear of fire ripped through the darkness. The limp-footed driver was the former rescue squad's best machine gunner for a reason. He singled out dangerous areas at a glance and made a long shot across, snagging a drone that peeked out of the valley in passing.
Luger managed to dive into the next clearing, leaving only the ruined hulls of the Irreconcilables behind, and in another half a minute Too commanded:
“Everyone, shut up! Let's go, just look for the flying creatures! We're already lost on the ground!”
A minute later, Carlos put a rolled-up jacket under Screamer's head and wiped the sweat from his forehead:
“It's about time the guys made it. The second wave would have taken us by fire, and the third wave would have made us look like bloody pulp! The bastards, how angry they were at us. And they did not make much noise. They just dropped in and left...”
“We have to go home. Your lotions for Screamer are only for half an hour.”
“He has enough for an hour; Blinders have good equipment. But you can't go north. We've only broken up a little bit of the crowd here, and there are more of them closer to the main bases. We don't need heavy cyborgs; we got enough scouts to bury them. It'll be a long time before we get there and crawl through the tunnels. Krap, I heard they sent you some useful stuff. Do you remember what they had time to deliver for the medics?”
“They've already got the crash cart, and the auto-surgeon hooked up. Two places are still unpacking, but one's ready to go. We'll have Too on the phone, the range should be good enough to meet us there.”
“All right, have him call base. We got a guy with shrapnel wounds to the chest and a contusion. He's losing a lot of blood, but he should make it. He should...”
Burnt Man gloomily looked back at the runt in the pilot's chair, then turned to Carlos:
“How long is the flight to you? By morning we will be only? I would risk returning home.”
But the commander of a group only more firmly squeezed the palm of the wounded:
“Two hours. In a straight line, on a dash, so that they don't drop us. And we'll bring him, and then we'll go out. You hear, Screamer? We'll get you there, in spite of all the cogs! So I can't lose my boys? Never!”
Hut squeezed into the cabin and nimbly settled in the second chair. He saluted to Too, snapped his seat belt, and asked:
“Any extra weight?”
“All of them, on the way up. They dumped all the weight on the cyborgs. So the only thing we can do is throw Puppy or you overboard.”
“What's the use of us skinny little... Then turn the lights to a minimum and go as fast as you can. I remember exactly how you really know how to fly. I'll tell you as I go along.”
The pilot flicked the buttons, turning off all the possible illumination inside the luger, and asked:
“Point then; I don't know these places well. And at night, in a strange neighborhood, and at full speed... We won't even know what we're smudging.”
“That's all right. We'll get through it. I've always dreamed of having a young girlfriend among the Wild Ones. And now, as a hero, I'm going to make a harem for myself. Left five and a little lower. Yeah... It's all right; we'll get to our native wastelands; I know every ditch there. And the navigator will tell us he's iron, but he also wants to come back in one piece...”