The Abyss of Time

Chapter Fifty Seven

A small control panel had been hastily screwed to the side of the mule. Miller slapped one of the buttons and a dozen small drones leapt into the air, each carrying a small EM transmitter that would mimic the electrical signature of a mule. They flew off in different directions, all staying close to the ground and copying the kind of movements that a mule would make. Hopefully they would confuse the enemy war machines and keep the real mules from being targeted.
 

The enemy had decoy drones too, though, and they wasted time chasing after one after another, blowing them out of the air before moving on with curses of frustration. Eventually, though, they crashed through a small copse of bullrush-like things swaying in harmony with each other to see the menacing bulk of a tank in front of them. Miller immediately recognised it as a TK-400 model; an off-the-shelf design that the cyborgs hadn't made any obvious changes to. That was a relief. He'd been worried that the cyborgs might have taken a leaf from Andy Nabb's book and created a completely new design.
 

He'd fought TK's before, though, and knew their strengths and weaknesses intimately. He knew where its brain was, and he directed Dundee to take their mule behind it, to its rear. There was a hatch of thick, armoured steel there, and Miller fixed the targeting laser of his fifteen killiram cannon on it. Around him, the other mules did the same, and eight needle-thin lines of red converged on a single point.
 

The tank fired its machine guns at them, and Miller ducked down behind his mule as it rattled under the impact of twelve millimetre bullets. The war machine's turret was also turning to point towards them, though, the barrel of its plasma cannon glowing a lambent blue and emitting small discharges of electricity as it powered up. Miller reached up to press the Fire button of his own cannon, then ducked back down again to crouch beside Dundee. The mule's cannon fired, sending a small bolt of incandescent fire leaping towards the tank, and the other mules did the same, all of them hitting the exact same spot. There was a blast of fire, which quickly dissipated to reveal the hatch scarred but still intact, but the fifteen killirams were still firing, emitting bolt after bolt to pound their target repeatedly.
 

Then the tank fired. A much larger bolt that hit the nearest mule, the one that an elderly bald-headed man and a younger redhead had been sheltering behind. The mule was destroyed, exploding into a ball of fire, and its two riders were cut down by a hail of bullets from the tank's two side-mounted machine guns.
 

The massive turret turned to target another mule, and at the same time the whole tank turned in an attempt to take its hatch out of the mules' line of sight. The fifteen killirams were still firing, though, and Dundee climbed back into the mule to drive the small vehicle forward, to keep the hatch in sight. The tank fired a hail of bullets at him, and Dundee crouched down into the cover of the armoured door, which was shuddering and buckling under the impact. By chance, a number of bullets hit the exact same spot, allowing the last to tear through, and Dundee gave a cry of pain as he was hit.

Then a gout of fire erupted from the rear of the tank. The machine guns drooped lifelessly and the plasma cannon went dark as the power left it. There was a cheer from the surviving mule riders, cut short when they remembered the bald man and the redhead, their corpses torn to ruin by the tank's machine guns. Miller saw his people glancing at each other in doubt and fear.
 

"Okay," he shouted, to get their attention. "One down. Let's go get another."

 
He climbed back aboard the mule, where he saw Dundee tying a bandage around his arm. "You okay?" he asked.
 

"I'll live."
 

"Can you still drive?"
 

"Yep. Chase the next EM signal?"