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Authors: William C. Dietz
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to lest he do damage to the weapons in the back. But the smaller vehicle was fair game. The immediate objective being to slow, or even stop the fugitives, so his half-brother’s men could catch up. As the chopper pulled up alongside the Volvo Jann took aim at a spot ten-feet in front of the speeding vehicle and opened fire.
***
Palmer heard the helicopter, and saw it out of the corner of his eye, as a row of bullet holes marched the length of the roof over his head. Unfortunately six of the rounds hit the WWII style jerry cans stored in the roof rack, punched holes in them, and produced a spark. The meteorite hunter heard a solid whump as the leaking fuel caught fire and the wind-whipped flames began to wrap themselves around the tail end of the boxy 4 X 4. Black smoke flowed back over the Mog and made it difficult for Guiscard to see.
It was tempting to hit the brakes and bail out. Especially given the possibility that the flames might find their way into the Volvo’s main tank and detonate the gas stored there. But if he did that Palmer knew he would be easy meat for the helicopter. The bridge was a lot closer by then. Palmer put his foot down and felt the 4 X 4 surge ahead as Guiscard shouted incomprehensible suggestions over the radio.
Thirty-seconds later it was time to break hard, wrench the wheel to the right, and follow the dirt path that paralleled the bridge. Then, as the terrain began to slope down toward the canyon beyond, there was an opportunity to turn in under the span. The 4 X 4 fish tailed as Palmer braked, and threw a wave of loose gravel off to one side, before finally coming to a stop.
Then it was time to open the door and run like hell as tendrils of fire followed rivulets of gas down the Volvo’s sheer flanks. Palmer was about fifty-feet away, and still running, when the he heard a loud BOOM, and was thrown face-down as the force of the explosion struck him from behind. He rolled over to look back and saw a big ball of smoke rise up under the bridge. A breeze caught the black stuff and pushed it south. Guiscard was there by that that time and offered a hand. “That was close my friend….
Very
close!”
“It sure as hell was,” Palmer said grimly, as he came to his feet. “Where’s the chopper?”
“It’s still out there,” Guiscard replied, pointing to the sharp division between bright Saharan sunlight and the dark shadow thrown by the bridge. “But it can’t reach us here.”
“No,” Palmer agreed as the Volvo burped another gout of flame. “But something tells me it doesn’t have to…. I think Jann is stalling, trying to hold us here until ground forces arrive and attack on foot.”
That possibility hadn’t occurred to Guiscard as was clear from his wide-eyed expression. “My God, you’re right! He’s after the weapons on the Mog.”
“Which probably belong to him,” Palmer added sourly. “Come on…. Let’s take a look at that load. I’d like to see what Jann is so desperate to protect.”
The flat bed was parked a safe distance from the still smoldering Volvo. Damya came forward to greet the American. “Congratulations my friend.” the Tuareg said cheerfully. “You drive well while on fire.”
“Thanks,” Palmer replied dryly. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had all day…. Keep an eye on your friends would you? Andre and I are going to take a look at those weapons.”
As the tracker departed for the south side of the bridge, the other men climbed up onto the Mog, where they went to work on the tie-downs that held the long flat boxes in place. Further up, situated right behind the crew cab, the Mongo Iron could be seen. And
felt,
by Palmer anyway, who fancied that he could sense the meteorite’s brooding presence. “There,” Guiscard said, as the last tie-down was released. “Let’s see what we have.”
That was easier said than done, since most of the olive drab containers were quite heavy, and it was necessary to shift some of the boxes
***
Palmer heard the helicopter, and saw it out of the corner of his eye, as a row of bullet holes marched the length of the roof over his head. Unfortunately six of the rounds hit the WWII style jerry cans stored in the roof rack, punched holes in them, and produced a spark. The meteorite hunter heard a solid whump as the leaking fuel caught fire and the wind-whipped flames began to wrap themselves around the tail end of the boxy 4 X 4. Black smoke flowed back over the Mog and made it difficult for Guiscard to see.
It was tempting to hit the brakes and bail out. Especially given the possibility that the flames might find their way into the Volvo’s main tank and detonate the gas stored there. But if he did that Palmer knew he would be easy meat for the helicopter. The bridge was a lot closer by then. Palmer put his foot down and felt the 4 X 4 surge ahead as Guiscard shouted incomprehensible suggestions over the radio.
Thirty-seconds later it was time to break hard, wrench the wheel to the right, and follow the dirt path that paralleled the bridge. Then, as the terrain began to slope down toward the canyon beyond, there was an opportunity to turn in under the span. The 4 X 4 fish tailed as Palmer braked, and threw a wave of loose gravel off to one side, before finally coming to a stop.
Then it was time to open the door and run like hell as tendrils of fire followed rivulets of gas down the Volvo’s sheer flanks. Palmer was about fifty-feet away, and still running, when the he heard a loud BOOM, and was thrown face-down as the force of the explosion struck him from behind. He rolled over to look back and saw a big ball of smoke rise up under the bridge. A breeze caught the black stuff and pushed it south. Guiscard was there by that that time and offered a hand. “That was close my friend….
Very
close!”
“It sure as hell was,” Palmer said grimly, as he came to his feet. “Where’s the chopper?”
“It’s still out there,” Guiscard replied, pointing to the sharp division between bright Saharan sunlight and the dark shadow thrown by the bridge. “But it can’t reach us here.”
“No,” Palmer agreed as the Volvo burped another gout of flame. “But something tells me it doesn’t have to…. I think Jann is stalling, trying to hold us here until ground forces arrive and attack on foot.”
That possibility hadn’t occurred to Guiscard as was clear from his wide-eyed expression. “My God, you’re right! He’s after the weapons on the Mog.”
“Which probably belong to him,” Palmer added sourly. “Come on…. Let’s take a look at that load. I’d like to see what Jann is so desperate to protect.”
The flat bed was parked a safe distance from the still smoldering Volvo. Damya came forward to greet the American. “Congratulations my friend.” the Tuareg said cheerfully. “You drive well while on fire.”
“Thanks,” Palmer replied dryly. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had all day…. Keep an eye on your friends would you? Andre and I are going to take a look at those weapons.”
As the tracker departed for the south side of the bridge, the other men climbed up onto the Mog, where they went to work on the tie-downs that held the long flat boxes in place. Further up, situated right behind the crew cab, the Mongo Iron could be seen. And
felt,
by Palmer anyway, who fancied that he could sense the meteorite’s brooding presence. “There,” Guiscard said, as the last tie-down was released. “Let’s see what we have.”
That was easier said than done, since most of the olive drab containers were quite heavy, and it was necessary to shift some of the boxes
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