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instant later, he received his answer.
Even over the steady rumble of the Sandcats' idling engines, a mechanical roar
slammed against his eardrums. Like a prehistoric creature roused from a
million-year slumber and resenting its awakening, a dark massive shape came
crashing through the undergrowth bordering the tree line. Leaves and foliage
exploded in showers, and saplings snapped off with sounds like gunshots.
For a crazed micromoment of shock, Abrams wasn't sure his eyes were conveying
accurate information to the reasoning centers of his brain. He resisted the
impulse to reach up and tweak his whiskers, to make sure he wasn't
hallucinating.
The huge tank-treaded machine plowed up loose dirt and lumbered onto the road,
veering sharply in a semicircle with a loud squeal of the drive train. Its
blunt snout pointed directly at the frontal armor of the
Sandcat, as if daring the smaller machine to make a move. Also pointed
directly at the Sandcats were missile ports and the multiple barrels of
miniguns.
Through the windshield, Abrams barely made out the feathered and face-painted
man in the pilot's chair.
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He knew his jaw had dropped open in astonishment, but Abrams was in no hurry
to close it. Adrenaline surged through him as he stared unblink-ingly at the
heavily armed and armored mobile army command post.
Faintly, he heard Sky Dog's taunting shout, "The next hand is yours,
Magistrate. Raise or call."
Chapter 6
Kane hissed curses beneath his breath as the war wag bucked and lurched around
him. Every seam, every weld, every rivet seemed to creak and groan.
He applied the brakes, doing his best not to stall the big machine out. He
heard Domi, crouched down in the portside missile pod, cry out in pain as the
vehicle screeched to a halt. He was too busy trying to control the behemoth to
respond. Unlike the Sand-cats, the vehicle was a juggernaut, cumbersome and
about as maneuverable as a rock formation.
Still he managed to align the metal monster so it effectively blocked the
Cats' lines of fire to the tribesmen. He couldn't help but grin appreciatively
when he saw Abrams's mouth hanging agape.
Kane was more than a little surprised to see the division administrator. The
fact that Baron Cobalt had dispatched Abrams to command a recce mission had
all sorts of implications, none of them good. Kane wished he could question
him, but he didn't dare show his face even as disguised as it was by
paint without ruining the ruse he and Grant had concocted.
Sky Dog trotted his horse around the war wag, keeping close to the side but
well away from the missile pod where Domi kneeled with the LAW 80 rocket
launcher. She had placed the barrel in such a
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way that if she had to fire, it would provide the illusion of a fully
functional weapons emplacement.
In a loud, stentorian voice, Sky Dog declared, "As you said, Abrams, once the
first shot is fired, there will be no going back for any of us. It is up to
you to fire that shot or return the way you came."
Sky Dog paused, then, in a tone like the sharp cracking of a whip, demanded,
"Decide!"
Through the bulletproof windshield, Kane watched Abrams keenly. Although the
man's eyes were concealed by the helmet's visor, he had no problem guessing
the kind of uncertain thoughts racing through the administrator's mind.
Abrams had four USMG-73 machine guns he could bring into play, but he could
only attack with one
Cat with any degree of rapidity. The second vehicle would be required to back
up and leave the roadbed to have an unobstructed zone of fire. And as soon as
the Indians saw the rearward Cat begin to reverse, Abrams knew the war wag
facing him would unleash its arsenal at point-blank range.
Of course, Abrams did not know only one rocket was aimed at him and that the
miniguns had no ammunition. He also didn't know Grant and six other warriors
had taken up flanking positions around bom vehicles, armed with autoblasters.
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