ARISEN, Book Twelve - Carnage

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  She smoothly squeezed, not jerked, her trigger.

  And someone grabbed her and bodily dragged her back into the cabin, limbs flailing. That someone threw her down into the aisle between the rows of seats – but also hung onto her rifle, pulling it out of her hands – and then swung a sharpened shovel, cutting the sling.

  She hit the ground on her back and looked up to see Warchild, snapping her M4 over his knee.

  Well, so much for that plan, Kate thought.

  * * *

  At the back of the plane, wiping blood from his eyes, Misha glared up at Predator. And he felt the front of the aircraft beginning to rise. He looked around and past Pred, as much as that was possible, and up toward the cockpit. There was still a hell of a lot of cabin between him and it.

  More importantly, there was a hell of a lot of Predator between him and it. They weren’t going to take the plane in time.

  He hit his radio: “Nina.”

  * * *

  From the left seat of the hovering helo, Vasily watched the big turbo-prop plane blasting directly at them, not only not slowing – but continuing to accelerate, its nose beginning to rise, evidently hell-bent on taking off. He was tuned to the same net as Nina, and heard Misha’s call come in when she did.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “This plane doesn’t take off. No matter what.”

  “Understood.”

  The already vibrating Black Shark airframe began bouncing even more violently as Nina spun up the autocannon, firing off a dozen rounds of 30-mil – nearly their last. Looking over, Vasily could also see Nina arming the rockets.

  This was about to get ugly.

  And as he tried to scratch at the phantom itch in his missing earlobe for the thousandth time, he fumed and cursed fate that he wasn’t going to get his revenge on the bitch who shot it off him. That she was about to die from something other than him putting a bullet through her eye.

  It wasn’t fair. Then again, Vasily knew life virtually never was.

  He settled into his seat to try to enjoy the fireworks.

  * * *

  “Holy fucking shit!” Hailey yelped, physically recoiling as the nose of the plane erupted in flames from the incoming autocannon fire. She got it now. These guys weren’t fucking around.

  So – maybe this wasn’t it after all.

  She jammed the brakes and reversed both engines. The nose slammed back down on the deck and the plane shrieked and shuddered and skittered down the remaining stretch of runway, bouncing over the end and onto the concrete overrun, heading for the beach – and the Gulf of Aden after that. And there was absolutely no way she could stop them before they reached the helo.

  But she didn’t have to. The Black Shark had done its job, and now its pilot smoothly – and smugly, it seemed to Hailey – climbed up out of the path of the plane as it skidded by underneath.

  Hailey was at least going to keep them out of the drink, and probably off the beach as well. As they shuddered toward the perimeter fence, she started to regain control – and turned the aircraft, which was not a particularly smart or safe maneuver at the speed they were still traveling.

  But it really just wasn’t a smart or safe kind of flying day.

  The tail of the plane spun around wide, taking out a good fifty feet of fence at the edge of the beach. But by this time they had used up the whole left side of the overrun, and the tail also swung into the last section of fence shared with Camp Lemonnier, knocking that down, too. It also knocked down the front ranks of dead bodies pressed up against it. And as the plane straightened up and pulled away… the dead rushed out after it.

  Hailey almost laughed aloud. When things passed beyond terrifyingly dangerous to just plain ridiculous…

  They almost became fun again.

  She released the brakes, wound up the engines, and jammed the throttle into the console. And now with hundreds of heaving half-rotted bodies in pursuit, she got them accelerating madly right back in the other direction.

  This shit wasn’t over.

  Because runways work in both directions, motherfuckers.

  * * *

  Out on the tarmac, when it finally looked like both Humvee and safari truck were going to finish spinning and stop safely, the Humvee passed its center of gravity and rolled. It only rolled once – all the way over, coming to rest on its tires again – but it rolled.

  Noise had heard of up-armored Humvees rolling, though he’d never seen it. But he figured he’d better be grateful, because there were still three or four operational dudes in that truck – although the 50-gunner had gone on to his reward, smushed by the tarmac.

  On the downside, Noise realized he was out of pistol mags. Casting around, he saw a beautiful flat-dark-earth FN .45 lying in the footwell. Snatching it up, he found the safety off and hammer down, and from the weight it was loaded, so he squeezed out a long double-action trigger-pull – and just kept firing as he exited the vehicle.

  He was a second quicker off the mark than the surviving but stunned Spetsnaz guys, and he gunned down two in the open bed as they tried to get weapons up to engage. Rounding on the cab, he found only a driver. The man had a gash on his forehead, and was clearly dazed, but he also had a handgun out, and was trying to bring it up.

  Noise hesitated. The man wore the insignia of a captain in the armed forces of the Russian Federation. And, despite having just survived a rollover, he had an aspect of recognizable humanity. Noise aimed at the man’s face, but he also shook his head and waved his left hand. This man should surrender.

  But Captain Kuznetsov tried to bring his weapon up anyway.

  Spetsnaz didn’t surrender.

  Noise took half the slack out of his trigger, his expression pained… but then saw the Russian’s weapon droop again. But it wasn’t because he was surrendering. It was because he was losing consciousness. Noise reached in the window, took the pistol from him, and tucked it in his belt. He then turned to see the plane racing away, very close to the end of the runway, its nose beginning to lift.

  Excellent outcome, he thought. Though that’s me rogered – have to find another way home. He figured his best bet would be to make his way overland to Egypt, then try to acquire a plane from Aswan International or perhaps Luxor…

  But then he looked up again. The aircraft wasn’t taking off after all. It was skidding to a crazy, violent, raucous stop – and then turning around and coming back again.

  Okay – maybe that’s not me screwed. The question was how the hell to get himself aboard again. And then he heard another vehicle approaching from behind.

  It was another open-top Humvee.

  * * *

  “Seriously?” Nina said aloud. “Again?”

  The pilot of the plane – who Nina had been able to see through the cockpit glass, just before climbing out of her way, was a woman – was evidently going to try the same shit in the opposite direction.

  She must know they’d only block them again?

  “Nina,” Vasily said from the back.

  “Da.”

  “You were right about one thing. I need to finish this thing with their sniper – I need to finish her. I want you to set me down.”

  Nina opened her mouth to ask where. But then her eye landed on the air traffic control tower – obviously the perfect position. It was elevated, with a commanding view, and now sat on the left side of the plane, so Vasily could cover both hatches. And it was back by the terminal, so the plane would be getting closer to it every second.

  As they climbed, Vasily said: “I won’t miss from there.”

  “No problem,” Nina said. “But, first, I will show you how this is done.”

  She popped her window and drew her PDW.

  * * *

  Ali had finally, blessedly, been undertaking to get the ever-living fuck off the top of a fixed-wing aircraft on the verge of taking off – when the pilot evidently changed her mind and took them on a fun crazy-cart ride halfway out onto the goddamned beach. Ali wasn’
t sure how she’d managed to keep her hands and feet inside the vehicle, never mind the rest of her, but she had.

  Now, with the plane heading the other direction, it was at least moving in a straight line, plus moving a lot slower than it had been. Perfect. She could finally climb back in.

  As she got to her feet, she heard approaching rotor noise again.

  Oh, you sons of bitches…

  Turning to look, she saw the Black Shark blasting back at them from the rear – and this time she saw the right-side window opening, and a hand sticking out with that damned PDW she’d seen the pilot use back at the Stronghold. Casting around, she saw there was really no place to hide on top of an airplane. No, wait – there was one.

  As full-auto rounds started chewing up the fuselage and walking onto her, Ali dropped to the wing and slung herself over the edge again, at least on purpose this time, hanging between cabin and engine housing, boots scrabbling desperately to find the top of the landing gear strut below. She was now half hanging, half perched between the engine and the main airframe – with the engine and the wing itself hiding her from the Black Shark.

  Well, if I do fall, she thought, eying the blurring pavement below, I guess it still beats being machine-gunned to death.

  As rounds continued to rip into the wing, engine, and airframe around her, she only hoped those little armor-piercing bastards didn’t disable the damned plane. But then the sleek predator shape blasted by and was gone.

  I really hate that bitch, Ali thought, pulling herself back up again.

  Burn Him to the Ground

  Dash 8 – Front of the Cabin

  Not far behind the flight deck, Kate might have just been yanked out of the front hatch, had her weapon snapped in half, and been thrown down on the deck – but she was not out of the fight. She lifted her boot and aimed a kick at Warchild’s knee. He stepped back, and then the whole plane went into a shrieking, shuddering turn that threw them both into the right-side bulkheads. And this at least allowed Kate time to bounce to her feet, as the plane straightened up again.

  She got her knife out and advanced. There were other rifles on this plane, and it was still her job to cover that hatch. Unfortunately the man between her and it had a sharpened shovel. She feinted with her knife, but he didn’t go for it. She came forward with a real strike, and he smacked her knife hand with the flat of the spade – then stepped in and popped her in the chin with the handle. This stunned her, and she wobbled, at which point he stepped in with his foot behind hers and shoved her back down on the deck again. He then grabbed a boot and started dragging her forward.

  He evidently intended to just dump her out the open hatch.

  Kate kicked and struggled, but to no effect. She was being dragged to her execution – or, at very best, ejection. Warchild got her level with the hatch, outside of which the tarmac below was accelerating again, then spun her ninety degrees, to send her tumbling out headfirst. Kate’s eyes were already wide with fear and adrenaline – but they went a little bit wider as, behind her executioner, the lavatory door burst open.

  And out came al-Sif – scimitar first.

  * * *

  In the rear of the cabin, just ahead of the DNA sequencer, Predator and Misha continued to hurl each other around like dinosaurs, and give and receive blows that would kill mortals – with Misha still getting the worst of it. But he at least had the satisfaction that the plane had been stopped from taking off. When it stopped, skidded, and turned, he and Pred had both briefly tumbled forward, nearly on top of each other. But now they were both up and back at it – Godzilla and Mothra threatening to take all of Tokyo down around them.

  As they battled, they had to step around the unconscious and bound body of Handon, still lying where he’d been thrown. Pred stepped around him to avoid hurting him, Misha to avoid tripping.

  Misha was taking longer each time to rise up from under Pred’s man-killing blows. And when it looked like this could actually be it, and the giant evil bastard might finally die – the Russian seemed to remember something, and pulled out a second knife. Pred’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the distinctive taper of the blade with its minimal hand guard. It was a six-inch Mercworx Vorax combat knife.

  It was Handon’s motherfucking knife.

  “See something familiar, brother?” Misha said.

  And Pred’s face, already streaming with blood from the knife wound back in the truck, went bright red – and he went ballistic. He charged in, muttering, “You gimme that back right now, you cocksucker.” Misha reversed the knife into an overhand grip and launched a right-handed slash at the incoming giant.

  Pred caught Misha’s knife hand mid-air with his own right hand.

  The knife stopped between them, both their arms locked, tendons straining and biceps bulging. It was like Handon and Fick’s habitual arm-wrestling handshake – except with bloody murder as the subtext, rather than brotherhood. And bigger biceps. For a moment, neither could overpower the other.

  They were locked in a death grip.

  * * *

  Vasily climbed out the cockpit of the hovering Black Shark and leapt down onto the roof of the air traffic control tower, even as Nina pedal-turned, dropped her nose and swooped away again.

  There was a service ladder down to the main level, where he found an observation deck, and most of the glass around the control room smashed out. With all the glass on the ground, it would have been foolhardy to lie down. But he didn’t need to. He got himself emplaced, upright, with his rifle braced on the railing.

  The position was perfect.

  The plane was heading nearly straight toward him – and, assuming Misha hadn’t already taken it, would soon be rolling right by. And whether the men on board took the plane, or Nina merely stopped it again…

  Vasily didn’t intend to let his nemesis walk away.

  * * *

  From the flight deck, Hailey also had a commanding view of what lay ahead, despite the continuing rain-splatter on the windshield and the fading light. She saw the Black Shark blast over the top of them, then climb and bank left, going into a hover over the control tower.

  That doesn’t look good…

  But what looked even worse was when the cursed thing turned right and dove again, going into another menacing static hover – once again right at the end of the runway.

  I guess runways work in both directions for guys blocking it, too.

  Hailey looked over her shoulder for her dog-faced, bullet-magnet colleague. But all she saw was the back of some dude with muscular bare arms swinging a sword.

  And then she had to face forward again.

  The game of chicken was back on.

  Rematch, bitches…

  * * *

  Kate couldn’t help looking over Warchild’s shoulder. Instinctively, he ducked – and al-Sif’s Moorish scimitar whistled over his head and thunked into the bulkhead. Al-Sif pulled it free and reset as the Russian backed into the aisle between the seats, bringing his shovel up.

  Now it was some kind of fucked-up sword fight – but whatever training Spetsnaz got on those shovels, it wasn’t equal to the time al-Sif had put in. As steel clanged and sparked, he had the Russian back-footed and backing away down the aisle, into the open area. Kate bounced to her feet and followed, but couldn’t get around al-Sif to help. As soon as they passed the seats, she dashed around their whirling, slashing bodies, looking for a weapon.

  Al-Sif was the superior swordsman – but Warchild was meaner and trickier. He feinted, stepped out of the way of a sword counter-strike, then came in right behind it with his sharpened shovel, swinging right to left, two-handed, with all his power. He caught al-Sif just below his vest – and opened his midsection from one end to the other, at a depth halfway to his spine.

  But before al-Sif could fall, a sharp crack sounded, and Warchild fell forward onto him, knocking them both to the deck. Behind him stood Kate – holding the cricket bat. She pulled the grievously wounded al-Sif out from under the unconsciou
s Warchild, dragged him over to the casualty collection point, which he had already basically fallen in, and laid him down beside Jake.

  “Don’t put me here,” al-Sif said. “He’ll wake up and cut my throat.”

  “No less than you deserve,” Kate said. “Hiding in the lavatory? Seriously?”

  “I was guarding the cockpit. It was an ambush.”

  Kate started to protest. But, then again, it had worked.

  “And that is three times I’ve saved your life.”

  Kate still didn’t like it, but knew it to be true. And maybe this time she had to believe he’d meant it. That he was no longer merely looking out for himself. But then she heard Hailey shouting to her from the flight deck: “Army! I need your ass up here – now!”

  Al-Sif’s eyes were glazed, and it looked like he was using his arm to keep his insides in. “My rifle – it’s in the bathroom.”

  “You mean Kwan’s fucking rifle,” Kate said, standing up.

  “You are a headstrong woman. Just do not miss.”

  * * *

  Right arms still locked, Pred punched Misha in the side of the head with his left, with his full strength. Misha did the same, a mirror image. Neither tried to duck, or block – just boom, boom, boom, each intent on caving in the other’s skull. Blood and sweat streamed and arced off them, both grunting and cursing.

  Finally, they both paused one second for breath.

  Pred looked into Misha’s eyes and he saw something no one in living memory had seen there before.

  Fear.

  But that only lasted for a half-second, and then it was gone, wiped cleanly away. And in its place, as if the fear had never been there, Predator now saw… nothing.

  Certainly no compassion or humanity. Nothing recognizably human. Absolutely nothing but icy resolve. A total commitment to victory, at any cost – his own life, anybody’s life. For him, life was not only cheap – but utterly valueless. This was a kind of deadness of the soul that was even colder, even stronger, than death itself.

  And Pred knew nothing could constrain or stop this man – other than total obliteration. He would have to be completely destroyed.