Bounty Hunter at Binary Flats (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 4)

by John Bowers

  “Get us out of here! Go-go-go!”

  Wilma hit the thrusters and the sled leaped off the ground. The first parabola gun salvo burst even as she poured on speed, bright flashes followed by a whump and the whine of singing steel. Three shells exploded within fifty feet and shrapnel hit Terra’s PlastiGlass shield like shotgun blasts. Something pinged off her helmet and she heard screams behind her as the infantry took the full brunt of the barrage.

  At least four sleds were hit by falling projectiles—the sleds were only armored on the bottom—and crashed onto the spaceport grounds where they skidded out of control or pinwheeled end for end. Wilma got them out from under the barrage; the sleds were moving too fast for the P-gunners to adjust. Now Terra had a clear shot as they streaked toward the hangars and repair shops, and she finally got her Twin Forties into action. She could see tracers from two 22mm guns and zeroed in on one as Wilma flew directly toward it. The rebel gunner was trying to track her sled and elevated his fire, but his shells bounced off the armored hull and exploded on the pavement; Terra’s .40 calibre rounds did not miss, and as Wilma banked away at the last minute, the gunner and two loaders were flung violently into the side of their emplacement. The gun barrel swung skyward and fell silent.

  It wasn’t over yet. The night was now raging with sound; rapid-fire guns, exploding shells, whining sleds, shouting men—Terra hosed a second gun emplacement as they skimmed past and saw the sled ahead of her shoot up a third. Something exploded fifty feet in front of them and Wilma banked left to avoid it; acrid smoke stung Terra’s eyes for a few seconds before the wind whipped it away. Her long black ponytail streamed out behind her helmet and she looked back to see what damage they had done; more sleds were strafing the enemy gunners, but Terra saw flashes from behind the buildings again and realized the P-guns were still in operation.

  She leaned over to Wilma.

  “We’re going back!”

  “What! Are you out of your mind?”

  “Bank right and make a one-eighty. Get out of the traffic and go in behind the warehouses. Cut your power so they won’t hear us and come in as slow as you can.”

  “Kristopher Krist, you’re going to get us killed!”

  “Just do it, Wilma!”

  Prisoners of Eroak

  Toews sucked a deep breath and alerted the center column that things were about to start. He nodded to Carlene to move up another block. The command car began to move forward…

  “Sergeant, this is Stevens! Something wrong here.”

  Toews keyed the radio. “What is it?”

  They heard gunfire even before she replied.

  “This prison is a hell of a lot bigger than the digitals we studied! There aren’t two gun towers, but six!”

  An explosion shattered the morning stillness and echoed across the rooftops.

  “What the fuck?” Toews muttered.

  “Hovertanks!” Stevens screamed out of the radio. “We’re taking fire!”

  “Kristopher Kr—”

  Carlene jumped as Cassian opened fire above her head. She saw his tracers streaming toward the intersection ahead, and to her dismay saw at least a dozen enemy soldiers sprinting across the street. Cassian cut four of them down, but the rest threw themselves prone and began firing in her direction. Her windshield shattered, spraying her with glass fragments, and in spite of her boast to Toews that she wouldn’t “cry ‘Eek!’ and pass out”…she screamed.

  “Fuck!” Toews shouted. “FUCK!!”

  He jumped out of the command car and sprayed the intersection with his automatic rifle, then ran back to the truck immediately behind him.

  “Turn around!” he shouted. “Mission aborted! Get the hell out of here!”

  Bullets punched through the command car, but Cassian kept up a steady return fire; Carlene saw blood spray as bullets ripped into half a dozen more Ho soldiers, filling the chill morning with screams. The rest turned and fled as Toews leaped back into the right-hand seat. To the east, they heard heavy guns firing, and explosions. An infantry sled, trailing flame, suddenly corkscrewed over the rooftops and crashed a block ahead; the fuel tanks ruptured into a blinding fireball.

  Toews was shouting into his radio.

  “All units, pull back! This is a setup—”

  It was too late. Behind the command car, the street was filled with heavy trucks trying to reverse direction, but their turning radii were too wide and they had to forward and reverse to complete the turn. With the street thus jammed, windows in the upper floors of the taller buildings sprang open. Hundreds of Ho soldiers leaned out and opened fire, raining grenades and automatic weapons fire onto the convoy. Fortunately, most of the trucks only carried two men each, but they were chopped to pieces as gas tanks ruptured and exploding grenades ignited the fuel. Brilliant fireballs roiled into the air, burning away the mist and raining down liquid fire on everything in sight.

  Occupy Eroak!

  Brigadier Bobby Carter was on a conference call when his door burst open and a huge, shaggy old man lumbered through it. Carter frowned in annoyance until he recognized the man, then his expression changed. He flashed his toothy smile, held up a finger, and motioned to a chair, then turned his attention back to the call.

  Howard Cassandra stopped for a bare moment, then crossed the room to Carter’s desk and plunged his finger onto the keypad, disconnecting the call. Carter stared at him in shock and just the beginnings of anger.

  “Hang up the goddamn comm!” Cassandra barked. “You and I are going to talk.”

  Carter’s expression changed yet again, from shock and anger to wary caution. He stood up from his chair, his chest sporting several rows of decorations. The teeth were gone.

  “What can I do for you, Senator?”

  Cassandra’s shaggy brows lowered. “You’re holding two people here that I want to talk to. Tell me where they are and I’ll let you get back to your call.”

  Carter’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you talking about prisoners? I don’t think we’re holding anyone at the moment.”

  “I’m talking about two soldiers of Askelon who recently returned from Agricor. I know they’re here and I know that you’re aware of them, because if you’re not, then you don’t deserve to sit in that chair.”

  Carter glanced at Cynthia, let his eyes flicker towards the rolling camera, and ventured a test smile.

  “Senator, no one came back from Agricor. The entire expedition was either killed or captured. You know that as well as I do.”

  Cassandra was silent for a moment, then lowered his head in thought.

  “I see. So, it’s your contention that Private Terra Lafirma and Corporal Tyler Unruh are not in the Fortress?”

  Cynthia, watching closely, was certain she saw Carter’s throat bob, but he shook his head with absolute certainty.

  “I’m sorry, Senator, but I’ve never even heard of them.”

  Cassandra was silent for thirty seconds, which seemed to stretch into eternity. Finally he nodded and took a step back.

  “Very well, then. We’ll get out of your hair.”

  Carter’s smile broke out in all its ivory glory.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Senator.”

  Cassandra glared at him, then bit his lip and nodded. He turned toward the door.

  Carter sat down and reached for his desk comm.

  “Oh, by the way…” Cassandra turned toward the desk again. “While I’m here, I might as well advise you that I’m planning to open a hearing into the death of General Charles diCole.”

  Carter’s smile froze. “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, that whole heart attack thing just feels a little thin on my logic meter. No one in his family has ever died of heart disease, and just a month before his death he passed his annual medical with flying colors, so…it seems a little suspicious to me.”

  Carter’s face paled ever so slightly; he swallowed.

  “I, uh, was under the impression that his autopsy confirmed the cause of death.”<
br />
  “Yeah, that’s true, but…I’m going to have the body exhumed and examined by an independent medical examiner. I just wanted to inform you that you might be called to testify…since you were alone with him when he died.”

  Carter’s face bleached completely white. His lips moved but no words came out.

  He cleared his throat.

  “I, uh…”

  Cassandra took another step forward. “Are you sure you never heard of Lafirma and Unruh? Maybe you’d like to call downstairs and check, just in case someone forgot to inform you.”

  About the Author

  John Bowers discovered his love for writing in 7th grade and started his first novel at age 13. By the time he graduated high school he had written six complete novels, sending his English teachers (all four of them) into paroxysms of delight. The pastor of his church was not so easily amused, however, and Bowers was “encouraged” (can you spell “threatened”?) to give up the creation of “manmade daydreams” and seek the Kingdom of God instead. He continued writing through his twenties, turning out several more books and a number of screenplays, but around age 30 finally surrendered to “God’s will” and gave up writing altogether.

  Fifteen years later Bowers realized that his writing talent, if indeed it was God-given, was not intended to be “hidden under a bushel”, so he gave up “manmade religion” instead. He began work on a novel that eventually became the first in a series called the Fighter Queen saga. A few years later he began another book called Nick Walker, United Federation Marshal. Aside from several magazine articles, publication took time, and it wasn’t until the e-book revolution that Bowers finally saw his lifetime dream come true when a friend introduced him to AKW Books.

  The Bowers name has gained widespread popularity in the e-book world. In addition to the Fighter Queen saga, he has authored the Nick Walker: U.F. Marshal series and the Starport series.

  He lives in Central California with his wife and two spoiled cats, Rama and Dinky.

  Visit John: at his web site, Facebook, Twitter.