Pathspace
Page 91
Chapter 91
Peter:“tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree”
Even with the ear protectors his ears kept ringing. BOOM! Another small building collapsed as his tank demolished its first floor. “This is taking too long. Let's roll up the street and hit the ones across from her building. That ought to get her attention.”
With a grinding of treads the tank wheeled around to face straight down the street.
“Huh,” said the driver. “There's a guy jumping up and down in the middle of the street.”
“What? Is he armed?”
“Not that I can see. He's holding a walking stick, is all.”
Certainty crystallized. Peter unbolted one of the turret's hatches and climbed up for a better look.
It was Xander all right. Even at this distance the old fool was unmistakable – he looked more like a character in a book of fairy tales rather than a flesh-and-blood opponent. Peter swore, wishing his engineers had taken the time to refurbishing the .50-caliber machine gun. That was his first thought. His second was to lob one of the main gun rounds at the wizard. But even as he had that thought, he saw Xander do something with his staff and wrap himself around it as it rose from the ground, the force of its exhaust blowing the snow away in a wide circle under him, uncovering the street's pavement.
As the distant figure leveled off and began zooming directly toward him, Peter ducked down and slammed the hatch shut and bolted it. “He's coming right at us,” he told them.
Unnecessarily so, since both driver and gunner could see for themselves. “Should I open fire?”
“No.” As he recalled, the tank only carried about 40 rounds for the main gun. No sense in wasting one just to kill one human, and they'd probably miss, anyway. The old devil was nothing if not agile, on his one-man rocket stick.
He heard a muffle thunk on the top of the turret. What could the man be thinking? He couldn't harm them inside this war machine. Solid steel would have been hard enough, but the engineers had said the specs included composite armor reinforced by depleted-uranium mesh that could defeat even an armor-piercing round from another tank. And all he had was a swizzle that could fly him around or throw rocks.
“Shake him off, then run him over,” the Honcho ordered. The driver hunkered down, gripping the handlebar-style grips and tried to comply. With a grinding of treads and the roar of the gas turbine engine the tank whipped around in a tight circle on the road, an endless left turn.
Peter cast his eyes about the interior. “Does anyone have a crossbow?” Wonder of wonders, someone had brought one. He lurched against the gunner as the loader passed it to him, loaded.
They heard a scraping noise go across the turret as the tank wheeled through its turn. Had they flung him off?
Peter decided to risk it. “Stop for a second.” The tank was pointed almost exactly 180 degrees from where he had intended to go, but that didn't matter for the moment. He popped the hatch. Xander had fallen off the right side of the tank and was in the act of clambering to his feet, his staff maybe ten feet further to the right where he had dropped it to roll.
As Peter took aim Xander looked up and saw what he was doing and lunged to the left, running around the front of the tank. Damn!
He took his finger off the crossbow's trigger and craned his neck seeking the target. The wizard had ducked around to the rear of the tank. Peter swore and called down the hatch. “He's running back up the street. Turn this thing around and run him down.”
Once again the mighty death device roared around in a turn and centered itself on the road pointing in its original heading. Xander was pounding down the street, but not looking as confident now that he'd lost the staff. He skidded on a patch of snow and slipped, sliding for a dozen feet before regaining his feet.
The tank geared up to give chase. The top speed for this thing is over forty miles an hour on roads. He's not getting away this time!
As the tank gained speed, despite the snow on the road (unlike Xander), they began to close the gap. Xander ran past the open patch of road blown bare by his earlier takeoff and kept going. Not bad for an old coot, but not good enough. We'll have him in seconds.
As he reached a position directly across from the Governor's building, the gray-robed figure suddenly stopped and spun around to face them. Was it bravery? Or suicidal confidence? What could he be thinking?
Wait a minute. What was that noise?