Time War: Onslaught Page 7

  "If you think war was ever pretty, then you read the wrong books," Beyett joined in.

  Hotwell just about held off from throwing up himself when gunfire ripped through the building once again. They ducked down to the floor for cover, but a few seconds later the gun stopped firing. As it fell silent, they heard the roar of a gasoline engine, and it was soon joined by bursts from a Bren gun. Corwin got up and rushed to one of the blown out windows. To his amazement and delight, two British reconnaissance cars were tearing down the road towards them. They were SUV shaped armoured vehicles with a small turret on top, and a Bren and large calibre rifle mounted for the front passenger.

  The German pulled his machine gun around and opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off of the frontal armour as they drew to a halt. The anti-tank rifle on the first vehicle fired and glanced the armour, but the second fired. It was a deafening sound. The shot went right through his armour and hit some kind of fuel supply on his back as he exploded. A large shard of shrapnel flew through the window, narrowly missing Corwin and embedded in the wall on the far side of the room. Then it all went quiet.

  He went to the door, slid the bolt open, and stepped outside with his MG42 held low and looking at the carnage all around them. The two scout cars rolled up before them, and a side door opened. A Sergeant stepped out and saluted on seeing Corwin's rank, but looked utterly astonished and unsure how to take him and his group. Instead, he turned his attention to the body of the German soldier wedged between the jeep and tractor.

  "What on God's earth is this? Looks like he should have been riding a horse and carrying a lance onto some medieval field of combat."

  Corwin nodded. "You thought body armour was dead? Think again."

  ".303 round didn't even scratch it."

  They heard a whistle from the rooftop and saw Lecia pointing out into the distance from where they were first attacked.

  "They're running!" she yelled.

  "Sergeant, these forces that attacked us are not done yet. I'll be damned if I will let a single one of them get out of here, are you good for this?"

  "Yes, Sir," he replied confidently, without understanding much of the situation at all. Hotwell rushed up beside them.

  "Sergeant, the enemy must have flown in. Where is the nearest point they could land? Something big enough for a large transport plane."

  "There are no strips around here. There are a few level fields that you could land on just east of here, but we don't have any seats going free."

  "The rest of you stay here and secure this position," Corwin ordered and turned back to the Sergeant. "Come on, let's get moving!"

  He threw down his machine gun and jumped onto the sloped back rear armour of the reconnaissance car. He had just enough room for his feet and found handles beside the little turret to hold on. A hatch on top of the turret opened, and the Sergeant climbed up into full view.

  "We'll have to take it easier with you hanging on, old chap."

  "Negative, Sergeant, step on the gas and get us there the quickest way you can."

  He hesitated for just a moment until he looked into Corwin's eyes and finally had no doubt.

  "Forward!" he yelled to his driver through the open turret.

  The large gasoline engine roared, and the vehicle lurched forward with an alarming turn of speed. Corwin had to grip on tightly so as not to be thrown off the back. They reached cruising speed quickly and arrived at a country road walled with high hedges. From his elevated position, Corwin could look out of the top as the Sergeant studied everything around them with his binoculars.

  "What are we looking for exactly, Captain!" yelled the Sergeant, for they were not connected through comms like the rest of the crew.

  "They can't have gotten this far inland with anything that looked German. We're looking for an aircraft disguised as one of our own. It's the only way they could have done it!"

  "There!" the Sergeant shouted and pointed it out to Corwin. They could see a C47 in the distance, and its engines were firing up. It looked larger than the C-47s Corwin had become accustomed to.

  "What is she?"

  "C-87 Liberator, in RAF colours!"

  "Any idea if any of our forces would be around here with a bird like that?"

  "No idea, we don't get given that kind of intel. We aren't even operational at the moment. We were on a training exercise and called in rather hastily to give you a hand!"

  "Yeah, well, it's appreciated."

  "You think that's the craft they came in on?"

  "Unless you can think of any other way they can get in and out of here without being noticed, or another place they could land a beast like that?"

  "Not nearby. Big old girls they are, you'd have to be crazy to land it there, but downright suicidal anywhere else around here. The ground is too soft!"

  "Then it has to be them. Get on them, now!"

  He felt the vehicle accelerate further as they tore through the rural roads at horrifying speeds. He took the Sergeant's binoculars from him and zeroed in on the aircraft. He squinted to make anything out, but the bumpy ride was blurring his view, and he couldn't spare a second hand to steady his hold. They finally reached a relative flat and smooth section of road, and his view levelled off. He could make out a crewman at the door. They wore RAF uniform, and he was relieved and a little disappointed as he lowered the binoculars.

  "What is it?"

  "It's not them, Sergeant."

  Even as he said it, a ray of sunlight bounced off something near the cargo hatch, and he lifted up the glasses one last time for a look. He smiled as he saw two German soldiers helping another wounded one into the aircraft. They were wearing one of the thickly armoured suits.

  "It's them!"

  He thrust the binoculars back into the Sergeant's chest for him to see for himself.

  "Well, I'll be damned!"

  He put them down and chambered a round into the Bren.

  "You ready for this, Captain?"

  "Hell, yes," he replied and pulled the assault rifle at his back, holding it at the ready. The Sergeant leaned inside the hull and yelled something before appearing beside Corwin once again. They took a bend at breakneck speeds, and the back end of the vehicle slid out with understeer as they hit wed mud and loose soil. The engine roared and dragged them forward, causing the tail end to snap back into line as the other armoured car slid into formation beside them.

  "Give them everything you’ve got!" yelled the Sergeant.

  The anti-tank rifle in the hull fired first, and the shot tore a fine hole in the fuselage and went right through. The Sergeant opened fired with three-shot bursts from the Bren that peppered the hull. The other car followed suit, but as the shots began to hit the hull, the four engines of the transport plane roared louder, and it lurched forward.

  "Fuck!" Corwin shouted.

  He raised his rifle and began to fire bursts into the hull. Every single round found its target, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect. He took aim at one of the engines and fired off the last of his magazine, but that too had little effect. The anti-tank rifle kept firing. Every shot was ripping holes in the craft, but it was not enough.

  "Get me closer!"

  "Closer? Are you crazy?"

  "Probably!"

  The Sergeant relayed the commands, and they once again picked up pace. The improvised strip was relatively smooth, and they were covering ground at a rapid pace, but as they closed with the craft, it was coming close to matching their pace. Corwin could tell they were so close, and yet in seconds they would be out of his reach. The Sergeant had just slammed in a fresh clip to his Bren when Corwin shouted out.

  "Get the engines, or we're done for!"

  He ducked below to get out of the wind so that the gunner could hear him. Corwin jumped forward onto the top of the vehicle and cocked the Bren. He fired a burst, and then a second. He could see several of the rounds hitting the structure of one of the engines, and yet still it was not stopping. He took careful aim, squeezed the tri
gger, and held it down. His firm grasp and fixed mounting kept his aim in check, and almost every single round penetrated the engine housing. As the magazine ran dry, smoke began to rise from the barrel. He thought all hope was lost. The engines still ran, but the anti-tank rifle rang out, and a single shot went right through one of the port side engines. It caught fire.

  The rate of acceleration began to drop, and their car was slowly closing the distance, but Corwin felt they were now flat out. The straight six-gasoline engine was screaming and fragments of debris from the engine showering their vehicle, but they were close. Corwin pulled his rifle off his back and threw it away. It was only an encumbrance. He was poising to leap, but just when he thought to take the jump onto the huge tail wing, the cargo door opened and revealed a tripod mounted MG42 with two gunners. He ducked back down when the weapon opened fire and rounds ricocheted off the turret. He heard the Sergeant cry in pain and collapse down in the turret.

  The noise of the rounds landing all around Corwin was not just alarming, but deafening. He had to do something or their window of opportunity would be lost. He pulled out his Colt and ducked around the turret to get a shot. He could just see one of the gunners, and squeezed the trigger to fire a shot when several rounds hit the frame of his pistol. It wrenched it out of his hands, almost breaking his trigger finger in the process.

  His hand was cut and bleeding, but he could still move and had not lost the ability to grip. He looked across to the other armoured car. It was in their shadow for cover; the German gun was keeping both of their heads down. He knew he was the only one that could do anything. Every direction he looked he could see nothing but the flat surfaces of the armour of the vehicle, and then he saw it, a thick, brown leather holster hanging from the turret where the Sergeant had fallen. He opened the flap and pulled out the pistol. It had a large bore brass barrel and was single shot. It looked comical, but then it struck him. It was a flare gun, and a single shot one at that. He shook his head as he thought about what he would do.

  "Time do to something really stupid," he said to himself.

  He looked over to the gunner in the turret of the other vehicle. He was just peering out from the open top to get a view without losing his head. Corwin pointed to the flare gun and then to the craft behind him. They both understood exactly what each other must do, and it was just as dangerous and crazy for both of them. Corwin cocked the hammer on the flare gun and took a deep breath, knowing he only had one chance. He watched the other car brake quickly, and it drew back. The gunner in the turret opened fire with a burst from the Bren that was wild and strafed the door and position around it.

  It was a tiny window of opportunity. Corwin rose up from the cover of the turret. The shocked German gunners were just getting back to their weapon. They had turned it on the second vehicle and were about to squeeze the trigger. He took careful aim just as they noticed him.

  "Fuck you!" he yelled and squeezed the trigger. The flare launched off and soared through the air, striking the gunner dead in the chest and exploded. Flashes of light erupted in the fuselage as the gunner fell back. Other pieces of shrapnel hit his loader and set his uniform on fire. The man fell from one side to another in panic before finally stumbling out of the door. That was all the opportunity Corwin needed. He stepped clear of the turret and bent at his knees; ready to jump just as the wounded Sergeant appeared beside him.

  "Good luck!" he called, holding out a small revolver.

  Corwin took it and leapt towards the aircraft.

  "My god," said the Sergeant, as he watched the Captain clear a distance that no man could hope to achieve. He cleared the tail wing and landed on top of the fuselage. The wind knocked him down. He stumbled and fell but held onto the tail just in time. The two armoured cars behind were falling back now. The Sergeant and the other gunner were shouting some words of encouragement and yelling with excitement to spur him on.

  He slipped the pistol into his webbing belt to free up his other hand, pulled forward, and continued to crawl onward as he fought against the turbulence. Finally, he was over the top of where the cargo door was, and a few flickers of flame burnt into his left hand. He twisted his body and slid down the side, thrusting forward with his legs. Both his feet connected with a German soldier as he swung inside. The man was kicked back against the opposing wall, and Corwin landed on his back. The German drew a pistol and took aim at him, but Corwin grabbed his wrist as he fired.

  The shot bounced from his torso armour, and Corwin hauled him forward and over him, throwing him out of the open doorway. He was up on his feet in a second and drew his pistol. One of the men was trying to pat down the other who was on fire. He put two shots into each and then turned quickly, firing two more at an officer behind. His gun was empty, and another three Germans were reaching desperately for weapons. He picked up the MG42 still mounted on its tripod and squeezed the trigger, holding it firm as he fired from the hip.

  He emptied almost a hundred rounds until the belt ran empty. Shots ripped through the length of the craft. The pilots’ seats were torn to shreds and the glass of the cockpit holed. Everyone was dead, and he soon realised the danger he was still in. He could just see though a gap into the flight cockpit, and a line of tall trees lay ahead. He threw down the gun and rushed to the door, but before he made it something gripped his ankle. He tripped and fell to the floor. The German officer he had shot was still very much alive, and was clearly wearing body armour. He kicked back into his face and got back up, heading to the door. He looked forward for just a second. They were almost on the tree line now. A shot rang out, and a bullet ricocheted off the doorframe beside him, but he ignored it. He looked across, and to his relief he found the armoured cars had caught up. As another shot rang out, he took the leap.

  Oh shit, he thought as he flew through the air.

  He crashed into the four tonne armoured car and landed chest first on the squared off edges of the armour. The impact was enough to rock the vehicle, forcing it to veer slightly and almost crash into the other. He felt someone take hold of his arm. The Sergeant was hanging out of the turret and holding on firmly to him with his one good arm. There was a bullet hole through the shoulder of his other.

  "Hang on!" he yelled.

  The brakes of the car were slammed on, and the tyres locked up as they began to slide. It took a hundred feet for them to draw to a halt, and as they did, an explosion erupted from the aircraft hitting the trees and the fuel tanks igniting. Corwin looked back just in time to see the Liberator Express be blown apart ahead of them. He breathed out in relief and slumped down onto the armoured windshield as the Sergeant finally let go.

  Nobody said a word for a minute. They all just watched the fire rage, and let the events they had just witnessed sink in.

  "You know," began the Sergeant with a sigh and a pause, "This was supposed to be a training exercise. Sure, using live ammo, a nice day out in the countryside to hone our skills under real life conditions. Well, I'll be damned, this is not what I had in mind."

  Corwin smiled and then began to laugh. The Sergeant was doing the same, though he paused every few breaths and winced in pain. The vibrations from the laughter caused the pain to surge through his body. Corwin held out his hand and shook with the Sergeant.

  "Name is Wyatt," he said rather informally.

  "Sergeant Travers," the Brit replied sternly, "but after what you just took us through, you can call me John. You already know who and what I am, but I am guessing you cannot afford us the same courtesy."

  "Nope," he replied with a smile.

  "Ah, well, as great as this has been, the next time you want to go chasing aircraft down under fire, I'd be very grateful if you found some other chump to do the driving for you...Captain."

  He seemed serious, but then once again broke out into laughter and then more coughs and cries of pain.

  "You might not see me again, but you can damn well be certain that if the Germans were audacious enough to come this far inland, you can bet your
ass you'll see plenty more of them soon."

  "Just what I was thinking. You know how much I liked this job before you came along, Captain?"

  Corwin was starting to like him already.

  "You know you're pretty good in a tight spot. You drive fast, fight hard, and were there when I needed you. You want a job?"

  "I already have one."

  Corwin laughed.

  "That's what everyone says. So how about making it a little more exciting?"

  Travers shook his head as he looked down at his wound.

  "Does it pay any better?"

  "Nope."

  He smiled in response and looked back to his crews. They had stepped out for a better looked at the burning craft and were holding Thompson submachine guns as if expecting trouble. They had all seen what Corwin had achieved. How he had moved in superhuman ways and gone forward and fought in such a fearless fashion.

  "Do you fight to keep this country free?"

  Corwin had to think on it for a minute, and all that he had witnessed so far. He thought more about what the late Colonel had said to him, and he realised how large the cause really was.

  "Everything I do is to help win this war. The Allies were meant to win, and I'll do everything in my power to make that happen, even if it costs me my life."

  Travers nodded in appreciation, knowing he meant it. He looked at the American one last time and couldn't believe what he was seeing or thinking, but he nodded once again. He looked back to his crews and saw they were all of one mind.

  "You get us transferred, and we're yours to command."

  "Then welcome aboard. Get yourselves patched up, and be ready for a hurricane like you never imagined."

  Travers looked back to the burning aircraft and shook his head, wondering what could be any more ridiculous and outrageous than what they had just taken part in, and yet somehow he could see Corwin wasn't exaggerating.

  CHAPTER 5

  "What on earth were they doing here?" Colonel Williams demanded, "I have a well decorated and respected Colonel dead, along with the men who brought him here. The only one of which who survived has sworn allegiance to you. Now I've got reconnaissance corps staff who have gone the same way. I've got a few dozen dead Germans, a wrecked transport plane of which origin cannot be explained. Nobody knows what the hell is going on, not least myself, and I am in charge of this damn area! So tell me, Captain, what the hell IS going on here?"