Warhead

by Andy Remic

  Carter whirled the vehicle, and wheels spun inside tracks which skittered across loose stones and snow slush. The engine roared and Carter slammed his boot down on the accelerator, sending the bulldozer roaring down the street and towards the strung-out line of Nex. Their heads jerked up and around.

  Guns blasted but Carter lifted the JCB’s mighty blade and the bullets flattened against it and spun off harmlessly. The Nex scattered but Carter’s foot was already pressed to the floor, and the vehicle ploughed into the running figures and the bulk of the Sleeper Nex—all were smashed against the side of a building which acted as an anvil, and then itself gave way. The bulldozer shuddered to a halt inside the teetering building, and the stench of hot oil drifted up to Carter from the darkness of his sudden entombment. Pebbles of stone thudded onto the cab above him, pattering like delicate rainfall.

  Carter revved the engine, then slowly reversed through the hole where smears of Nex decorated the crumbled sides. Chunks of debris rolled down the cab and the windscreen, and a moment later the whole building collapsed with a massive roar and a billowing of dust.

  Carter whirled the bulldozer round. All his screens were now blank, thanks to the swirling dust outside. Licking dry lips, he pulled free his Browning and turned, staring at the hatch—a masked face suddenly appeared and Carter placed a bullet neatly between the Nex’s copper eyes before slamming the JCB into gear and powering the huge machine through the grey swirls of chaos he had so recently created.

  The JCB’s engine rose to an insane roar, and he collided with something within the fog of dust. The impact threw him across the cab. When the shock of sudden impact wore off and Carter’s vision returned, he was lying upside down. One of his boots had smashed a touchscreen—which in turn had leaked some form of black, sticky chemical across his footwear and was even, as he watched, burning holes through the tough leather of his soles.

  With a yelp, Carter rolled upright and pulled off the melting boots. Bullets rattled against the cab and he ducked involuntarily, grabbing for the JCB’s stick and sending it into a frenzied spin, its engine screaming, the hot-oil smell getting stronger and stronger. He had the distinct and horrible impression that something was not right...

  What the fuck did I hit? he thought.

  And then he saw it—in the rear screen. He had hit another bulldozer.

  You stupid motherf— He hit another of the machines in the fog of billowing dust, this time head on, crushing a sprinting Nex between the two massive blades in the process. The dust started to clear as Carter righted his JCB for the second time and spat out a broken splinter of tooth. He shook his head, dribbling a little blood and groaning to himself as he scanned his once again active screens with his mind spinning.

  Outside, the snow still swirled. Carter’s gaze followed the retreating Nex, coming to rest on the— ‘Shit. A tank.’

  The Shilka ZSU 88-4tt—which was not technically a tank, but a self-propelled anti-aircraft gun—could be devastating in the right circumstances against ground targets. It ran on tracks in a similar fashion to a tank, shared similar chassis components with several Soviet models, and sported four vertically mounted 23mm liquid-cooled automatic cannons with a firing rate of between 2,000 and 3,000 rounds per minute. These guns could fire either blast, fragmentation or incendiary shells. The Shilka was good for taking out lightly armoured ground vehicles and personnel, buildings, mounted machine guns—and was much more manoeuvrable than a tank of similar size. It had excellent protection against NBC warfare and incredible radar technologies that included GUN DISH, which emitted VHF narrow beams to help track high-speed aircraft whilst itself being difficult to detect or evade.

  Carter stared at the Shilka. One track started to move as the mobile gun oriented itself. ‘Fucking tanks. I hate fucking tanks.’

  Carter tugged the stick of the JCB hard back in order to reverse, and was deafened by squeals of grinding metal. He glanced at the screen and saw—to his horror—that his bulldozer had become entangled during the crash. With a deafening noise of ripping, groaning steel, he dragged the other bulldozer across the street, leaving huge gouges in the snow-mushed road. The Shilka opened fire ...

  Rounds slammed into the two bulldozers but Carter was already running, leaping from the cab and sprinting up the huge pile of collapsed rubble.

  Behind him the two bulldozers, their engines screaming, suddenly erupted into a raging inferno which roared up into the sky, spitting blackened panels of steel. A wash of billowing flame spread across the road, blanketing the ground and surging against the stone mound up which Carter ran.

  Fire licked at the heels of his bloodied feet.

  Steyr TMPs opened fire, and Carter felt rather than heard the zip and whizz of bullets. Mouth a grim line, face blackened and eyes filled with tears from the smoke and dust, he forced himself to the top of the rise with lungs burning and bursting, and dived over the summit—

  As a rising wall of fire—the result of the ignition of six thousand gallons of industrial LVA—followed him and burst overhead as he lay on his back, panting. Then it was gone, suddenly sucking back and disappearing.

  Carter allowed the snow to settle on his face. It felt nice there. Calm, and the cool caress of the flakes was a welcome respite from adrenalin and fire and action ...

  On the other side of the rubble, Carter heard engines revving. And the clack of stone on stone. He groaned, rolled onto his belly and, limping on battered feet, lurched down the slope and away into the falling snow, searching for his Range Rover.

  ‘Close,’ observed Kade haughtily.

  ‘I’d like to see you do it any fucking neater.’ Carter slung the M24 over his back. He stopped at a corner, taking deep breaths, then pulled free his Browning and checked the weapon. Definitely the more discreet option when traversing Nex-infested London Streets.

  Within ten minutes he had located the Range Rover. He dropped his fire-damaged pack onto the passenger seat and with a screeching handbrake turn in the snow roared off in a spray of ice slurry.

  Behind, the Nex watched him go. One smoothed open a bastard ECube channel, looked into the pale face and copper eyes of a Nex thousands of miles away, and said, ‘He has gone. He escaped us this time.’

  Alexis smiled softly. ‘Do not concern yourself. He will come to us. I can sense it.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because we have his child,’ said Alexis sweetly.

  The Manta dropped from the white cliffs of Dover, twisting and flashing, then levelling as it skimmed low over the waves of the English Channel, creating a sonic boom as it went.

  Carter wore an intense frown. Now that he had time to think, the peril of his situation was eating at him and he felt the need to get back to Cyprus. The need burned him like a brand.

  It looked so obvious. An assassination with only one possible outcome: the wrecking of Spiral. In other words, a betrayal.

  Carter chewed his lip. How could that be so? How could Nicky, his friend, a woman who had stood by him most of his life, betray him with such cold calculation?

  Carter shook his head. It just could not be so. But more worryingly, what about his boy? His Joseph? His sweet and only child? The one remaining link he had with the woman he had loved, and who had been murdered as a result of the Nex filth seeking world domination ...

  Fear wormed into Carter’s heart then, and there was no amount of mental strength, conditioning or calming that would work to exercise his fear.

  As Carter sped over the cold churning waters cloaked by darkness he flipped open the ECube. But—as it had been back in London—the machine was dead. Powerless. Nothing more than a useless alloy block. Carter snorted in frustration ... he had never known an ECube to fail—except through outside intervention. They were built to withstand a hell of a lot of punishment—they had to be, for so often a Spiral operative’s life out in the field depended on the tiny alloy device. But this ECube was useless for communications ...

  Unless ... The Spira
lGRID and Spiral itself had been compromised.

  Carter flew on, frustration and disbelief bringing him out in a cold, clammy sweat. How could Nicky do this to him? How could she betray him, betray Joseph, betray Spiral? It would be to betray everything that she loved, everything she truly believed in. It would make a mockery of Jam’s death. It would make a mockery of her very existence. Round and round the thoughts chased each other.

  Carter pushed the howling Manta to its limits; warning sirens kept sounding in the confines of the cockpit and Carter would ease back, carefully watching the dials as needles retreated from the red—and then he’d slowly ease more power through the screaming engines again until he was sure they could take no more.

  Eventually his thoughts focused on two simple decisions.

  If she has harmed Joseph, she will die.

  If she has betrayed Spiral, she will die.

  ‘But you are the tool!’ mocked Kade. ‘You were the finger on the trigger, the bullet in the gun. You killed Jahlsen. You gave Durell the SpiralGRID. You condemned your friends, fucker...’

  And Carter caught himself, snapping from the brink of sleep to see the waves looming close in the darkness, white crests of foam mocking him with their closeness—and he felt sick, deeply sick, and the nausea spread until he was sure he could not possibly take any more.

  If she has harmed my boy, she will surely die a long and painful death.

  Yes. He nodded to himself, eyes glowing in the darkness of the cockpit.

  Carter landed with a crunch that the Manta could only just absorb. Several struts buckled, and as Carter’s feet hit the ground the Manta listed helplessly to one side.

  Carter’s mouth was set in a grim line of determination.

  Slowly, he walked forward over ground he knew well, adrenalin counteracting his deep weariness. This was a land he had made his own; a home he had created as a base, a haven of stability for his child, far away from the evils of the world. Or as far away as a father and his son could possibly retreat...

  The sea surged to his right, hissing against the beach and thundering against the rocks. He moved up the narrow path towards the house—then paused, head cocked, eyes alert and scanning.

  Something was wrong. He could feel it.

  Carter moved to the front door and paused — suddenly afraid of what he might find. He became aware of an absence.

  Samson. Where was his dog? The mutt should have been there, bounding around and wagging his tail.

  Slowly, Carter eased open the door and peered into the house’s cool interior. He listened, but could hear nothing. He crept in, moving carefully, and his ears picked up a soft whimper. The muted sound of an animal in pain ...

  Resisting the urge to call out, Carter moved to the kitchen where he found Samson lying, his head on his paws, in a pool of blood. Carter dropped to one knee, smiling softly as Samson’s tail gave a half-hearted wag. He peered into the great sad eyes of the chocolate Labrador.

  ‘You been in the wars, old friend?’

  Samson licked his master’s hand, and Carter quickly examined the dog. The animal had been shot, in the shoulder and from the front—which meant that Samson had been wounded while attacking whoever had levelled the gun. He ran his hand gently across the dog’s flanks, feeling the buckle of broken ribs.

  ‘Oh, Samson!’

  Carter stood quickly, noticing the disarray. Dishes lay strewn and smashed, there was a knife on the floor, and a footprint was visible in Samson’s spilled, congealing blood. So there’d been a struggle—but after the dog had been shot...

  ‘Joe?’ he bellowed. ‘Joseph?’

  Carter moved through the house at speed, searching each and every room. There were no more signs of struggle—but his child, his boy, his son—Joseph was not there.

  ‘Maybe Nicky took him somewhere safe,’ came Kade’s sardonic mewl.

  Carter ignored him. He filled a bowl with water, and checked Samson more thoroughly. The dog was seriously dehydrated and lapped at the water thirstily ... Carter supported the animal’s head, then pushed a blanket under his great velvet ears and fixed a pad over the bullet wound, sticking the tape clumsily to Samson’s fur. The wound had already clotted but Carter did not know whether Samson would survive. Pulling free his medical pack, he hurriedly gave the dog an injection of antibiotics, a K7 stimulant, vitamin enhancers and a shot of diamorphine. Samson put his head on his paws and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

  And it was only then that Carter saw it. An ECube. A silver ECube, sitting innocently on the kitchen work surface.

  Carter glanced around. Then he reached out and felt the tiny machine buzz in his fingers. He initiated the ECube and it spun open to reveal the tiny eye of a projector unit. Carter pointed the device at the wall and waited impatiently. A circle of light appeared, framing Nicky’s face.

  She smiled. ‘Sorry, Carter,’ she said, shrugging and tilting her head to one side.

  The camera drew back to show two masked Nex binding Joseph with raze-wire. It cut into the young boy’s wrists and blood dripped to the carpet. He was shouting, and one of the Nex punched the five-year-old child in the face, silencing him with shock and sudden pain. Then they wound duct tape around his head, covering first his mouth and then his eyes. Joseph continued to struggle futilely, tears streaming down his face from under the thick grey tape.

  Nicky strode forward and reached over. She held the camera as one would hold a lover’s head, with both hands, and with a tender look on her face she whispered into it, ‘I’m sure you have many questions which burn you with the need for answers. I’m sure all manner of emotions are flowing through that thick Spiral skull of yours ... predominantly anger, and hatred, confusion, and a need to kill. Yes, I understand.’ She breathed deeply. ‘But, dear Mr Carter, all I can say is that you need to sit still... and you need to wait. We will contact you, and if you don’t do what we ask ... well ...’ She smiled, her eyes blinking slowly, and then moved away from the camera to reveal the dark-robed bulk of Durell. Durell, there in Carter’s house.

  A claw reached out and cupped Joseph’s chin.

  ‘No,’ moaned Carter, his tongue licking at desert-dry lips.

  The projection ended, the silver ECube folding in on itself and sitting innocuously on the worktop. Carter picked up the small device and launched it with a yell of rage against the wall, where it bounded off and skittered across the stone-tiled floor, spinning slowly to a halt. He glared at it with loathing.

  Carter lifted his M24, then turned slightly as he spotted—

  The bottle. Whisky. Lagavulin. Just one sip. A burning taste to clear his head, to make the world a good place again. It would taste good. It would help him. It would end his pain. Yeah, he thought, one sip would lead to five sips, a dram to another dram to a bottle and Joseph would die lost and alone and Carter would condemn himself to hell.

  Just one ... He reached out. The amber Lagavulin swirled enticingly within its dark glass container. Carter threw the bottle across the room, where it smashed into sharp-edged shards and left a spreading stain across the terracotta tiles.

  He met Samson’s gaze. The dog was panting heavily, his eyelids drooping under the effects of the drugs that Carter had administered. He knelt, refilled the bowl with water, and said, ‘I’ll be back soon, buddy. Don’t go anywhere.’

  Samson whined. Carter nodded, stood, and moved towards the back of the house. At the rear there was a narrow doorway, camouflaged by hanging coats and other wooden panels. He placed both hands against the smooth surface and pushed gently A panel slid back to reveal a dark hole through which Carter squeezed before descending a flight of narrow steps into blackness. A light appeared, a solitary bulb that could be switched on and off by a simple chain. And then came a metallic grating sound—two alloy panels sliding neatly apart to reveal Carter’s secret weapon stash.

  Five minutes later, the Manta lifted on its abused jets and hovered for a moment over Carter’s house. Then it banked, leapt forward and howled d
own the coast until the town of Paphos surged into view. At the heart of the Old Town, by the low sea wall, stood the Sentinel Tower.

  The Manta thundered towards the tower at only twenty feet above the ground, sending people running, screaming, and causing Nex patrols to stare up, guns hanging from limp hands—

  At first hand, Carter had seen these towers withstand a nuclear blast. To attack their exteriors was futile—and Carter was no fool. But he had often wondered what kind of damage a missile could do inside the protective shell? After all, he had seen the leaked blueprints ...

  A single K-TF8 missile hissed from its pylon, its rocket igniting as the Manta banked suddenly and skimmed the tower to the right with only inches to spare. The missile flew low over the ground, whipping past the sentries and patrols of Nex gathered at the entrance to the building. It ploughed straight through the welcoming open doors.

  There was an instant of silence and then a terrible roar shook the Sentinel Tower. A billowing cloud of fiery gas erupted from the interior like a volcanic explosion, melting the interior glass partitions instantly and pulverising the twenty or so JT8s and Nex standing outside the tower; the savage power of the blast smashed them outwards like skittles, tearing their arms and legs off.

  Carter brought the screaming Manta around in a tight circle at twenty feet above the ground, so low as to make the tower’s SAM defences useless. He landed amid the shattered remains of the buckled paving flags, and leapt down from the cockpit, M24 in one hand and 9mm Browning HiPower in the other. He strode towards the blasted doorway, the fire-crisped opening smeared with melted Nex fat. Flames still burned, and smoke rose in a black column. A Nex sprinted from the fire, its clothing burning and its mouth open in a silent scream. Carter fired and a bullet cannoned into one side of the Nex’s head, exiting in a shower of skull and brains from the other. For a moment its legs kept running, then it collapsed in a tangle, slapping face-first to the ground.