360-degree scan monitor. He dropped his eyes back down
and then ripped them up again, doing a double take. At the eastern and western flanks, at the very edges of the screen, he
swore he saw vehicles. He slowed the Bradley slightly, whispering “Drop five” into the mouth mike, meaning slow down five
miles per hour. He kept his eyes on the 360 screen and leaned forward anxiously. Yes, there was something. There were—
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stone blurted out as his eyes took in what was being transmitted back by the rotating camera. They
were surrounded on both flanks by dozens of bizarre vehicles, streaming down the sides of two hills. And. bizarre wasn’t even
the word to describe them. There wasn’t a word. Wooden, boxlike frames had been built over truck and car chassis. The things
were like raw machines, all the gears and workings exposed, smoke pouring from every crack. Some had what looked like crow’s
nests, towers of wood that swayed back and forth in the air as the primitive vehicles below them charged. They were loaded
down on all sides with savage-looking fellows, with long beards and manes of greasy hair. Every one of them carried some sort
of blunderbuss. And they were headed straight toward the tanks.
“Defensive formation!” Stone screamed into the mouthpiece. He had had time to go over some of the battle strategies he had
picked up from both Patton and the Major’s computer the last time he had been there. He wasn’t a genius to say the least,
but a tank was a formidable weapon, so if he just didn’t fuck things up … He saw that the way ahead was blocked; the mountain
men had created a small avalanche some four hundred feet ahead. He didn’t want to get stuck with his back to them. The three
tanks wheeled around and came to a stop, creating a three-pointed star with the long muzzles of their cannon protecting each
side.
“Just open up,” Stone shouted, “with everything you got. And don’t stop until I give the command.” He slammed back into his
seat, put his hands over the firing triggers of both the 50-cal machine gun and the immense 120-mm cannon. The tank slammed
back on its treads, throwing Excaliber to the floor from a warm shelf he had discovered above the exhaust pipe. He immediately
sent out a growl of disapproval. The shell tore into the left slope, landing almost directly between two trucklike vehicles
with high steel sides and double-thick tires. The dirt erupted up in orange and red flames, but when the dust settled, both
were still heading right toward the encircled wagon train of high-tech battle wagons.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” Stone cursed under his breath. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. These assholes were
supposed to go out fast from a 120-mm. He could see the other tanks shooting out their huge shells as two thunderous roars
erupted on each side of him. Stone followed by watching the 360 video sweep, which was on double time now, so the entire surroundings
were flashed to Stone every 2.5 seconds. It was hard not to get dizzy. One of them slammed into a VW minibus from which the
whole top had been ripped and filled with seats in which the dirt-coated attackers sat so they could fire in comfort. This
particular batch took the direct blast at about the center of the “bus,” and bodies went flying every which way. The other
shell came down just in front of an old Dodge with a machine gun mounted on top and sent that, too, careening up into the
air, as if it were trying to get into orbit, the machine gunner spiraling off in a different direction until his skull met
the side of a boulder and painted it red. The Dodge, with its engine dripping out the front, came crashing down just in front
of a speeding biker who slammed into it head-on. Then the whole thing erupted as leaking gasoline from the carignited.
But others poured through the wall of flame. Rifle and pistol fire was coming
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