Chapter 8

The Varyag's props emitted barely a perceptible pulse as they gently fanned the air. Heather Sion vented gas with short, sharp tweaks of the valves as the airship sank lower towards the darkened ground below. Despite the black night, Armin de la Perriere could detect several features thanks to his superior eyesight - a little rising ground here, a silvery pond there - and gestured to Heather to drop the ship lower.

"Istvan?" he called behind him. "2 clicks north, I think."

"There is a small lake," the big Bakhunin explained.

"Yes, I see it," Armin replied. "We should ready for abseiling."

"Armin, do you need to go?" Heather asked him. She frowned with concern.

"Don't worry, my darling. I know what I'm doing. I trained for this."

"You think you have, but how can you be sure? Your memories are like a bead of mercury rolling around in a dish. When you think you remember, it squeezes away from you."

"I remember everything," he snapped, irritated. "It just took a while. Adrenalin snaps everything into focus. I shall be back in a jiffy."

"Well, then, why can't I come? I can guard your back. I can shoot, use a night scope?"

"Honey?" Armin turned to her with a look of frustration. "Someone has to pilot the Varyag and take charge of extraction. We all have our roles to play and yours is as important as anyone's."

"But..."

"Darling, I shall be all right, you'll see," he told her, kindly. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. "You are guarding our backs," he whispered. "The boys and I know the best airship pilot on the planet is waiting to whisk us to safety."

"Don't patronize me, Armin. I hate it when you do that!"

De la Perriere looked behind to Istvan, who shrugged. "Drop zone," he said, and the Bakhunin slid back the door to emit the chill of the night air. "What's our height, Heather?"

"Ah, um, 30 metres," she replied, composing herself. "That is, if the altimeter's working properly."

"It is," de la Perriere declared, looking through the door to the ground. "Go!" One by one, the six men slid down the rope to the ground. Quickly, they found cover as the airship slowly moved off. "Clear!" Armin whispered to Istvan and waved his red glotube to indicate they could move on.

Istvan, who knew the ground better than anybody, took point and, crouched, guided the rest forward. A klick further on, he put up his hand. "Here!" he whispered, urgently, then doubled to a small grating half buried in the soft soil. Taking out his beltknife, he worked one edge until the grating gave with a rust muffled grinding sound. "It's two metres to the bottom - be careful of your landing," he told de la Perriere.

De la Perriere quickly dropped through the hole feet first. With a splat, he landed in half a metre thick layer of soft mud. He stepped aside as another Bakhunin hit the ground beside him, splattering mud everywhere. Wiping the ooze from his face, he scanned the space with his glotube until he located what he was looking for. Crouched, he darted in and doubled down a tunnel that was barely a metre and a half high.

New Glasgow Field AFB had been problematic to peace ever since the North American Association split asunder 100 years ago. New Glasgow was a sprawling military establishment that had the misfortune to jut out between the two argumentative sides. Over the years, the base was dismantled piece by piece except for one vast hangar building that contained the contentious strike fighters. Grounded through lack of fuel, nevertheless, possession of these strategic assets had obsessed both Capitol and the Committee Provinces until they reunited once more.

New Glasgow had then been picked clean by Ark bands until little remained of the military base. The associated town had also disappeared, but for the network of sewers and storm drains that lay decaying beneath the ground. Generally, these flowed into the nearby Floral river as it plunged underground to run beneath the giant plexes of Cityplex.

The Floral Line ceased to have relevance, here, as the river flowed off beyond the Ark Preserve. Where, precisely, the border was along the broken, parched plateau of the former base was a matter of conjecture with neither the Arks, nor Cityplex willing to waste time on the puzzle. The base was fringe, and always had been.

Armin halted once he'd exited the tunnel. Below him was a fast flowing tributary of the Floral. It ran in a cement channel about five metres across. A walkway ran alongside with the remains of a rusted handrail preventing the careless from falling in. Armin panned around with his glotube as the rest of the squad caught up. The river made a constant roar as it sped towards the border with Cityplex.

"Istvan?" Armin called the big Cityplex Bakhunin.

"Three, maybe, four klicks north. The path gets slimy in places so watch your footing. The smell gets a bit much at times," he grinned. "Everything, and I mean, everything, finds its way into the stream."

"You take point," Armin told him. "You know the way."

"Aye. There's a grill up ahead. Spans the whole tunnel. Supposed to prevent anyone getting through."

"Supposed?" Armin raised his eyebrows.

"Many have gone this way before," he grinned, enigmatically.

Istvan lead them off at a brisk trot. Armin and the rest watched the path carefully - the railing wouldn't stop anyone tumbling off into the water. Presently they came to the grill and Istvan stopped. It seemed impenetrable - thick metal bars and clearly of recent construction.

Istvan grinned knowingly, then went up to the grill. Carefully, he slid back several bars - they'd been cut through with a laser - and removed a section about a metre square. The squad squeezed through - Istvan replacing the section afterwards. Then, with Istvan leading, they set off once more at a run. Rounding a corner, Armin, following second, was suddenly struck with a deep unease. It came on him with such force he couldn't ignore it.

"Down!" he whispered urgently, and shoved Istvan aside. Suddenly, above them came a flash and loud crack that echoed from the tunnel walls. Armin heard the round whizz past, seemingly inches from his head. Behind him, he heard the rest of the men drop to the ground with a clatter of equipment. There was another crack, and another round zinged above them. "Istvan?" he called, and he saw the Bakhunin turn to look at him. Armin gave the 'okay' sign and received one in reply. But, there was no getting past it. They were pinned down good and proper and fatally exposed. Surely it was only a matter of time before one of them was hit unless they could find cover. 'Get back!' Armin signed, but he wasn't sure whether Istvan saw it in the darkness.

He found himself lying mere centimeters from the edge of the river. The water rushed past at a dizzying rate, but he knew it was no deeper than half a metre. He dared to lift his head just as their assailant cut loose with a burst on full automatic. He saw enough to fix his position, then, as rounds ricocheted off the cement walls and whistled past his ear, he rolled into the current as unobtrusively as he could.

The water was freezing and the current thrust him along at an alarming speed. With his hands he felt the sludgy bottom, but the current threatened to tumble him end over end so he let go. Above him he saw the box steel girder bridge where he knew the sniper lay. As the shadow of it passed, he thrust upwards with all the superhuman strength built into him by his Inkubis team and threw himself at the cement edge of the river. Quickly, he pulled himself out of the water and rolled against the wall.

Having satisfied himself he hadn't been seen, he crept towards the steps leading up to the bridge. Above the roar of the water, he could hear the marksman reloading and working the bolt. Clearly, it was an ancient, blowback weapon, possibly an old assault rifle such as an M-16 or AK-74. Armin crept up the steps on all fours like a spider. He moved quickly to the prone figure and drew his belt knife. The first the sniper knew there was anyone there was when cold steel pressed into his throat.

"Put the weapon down," Armin said clearly and deliberately. Ashen faced, the man complied as Armin scraped the blade up until it rested under the his jaw. Quickly, he booted the weapon away until, clattering, it slid over the edge into the river. "Boys!" he shouted. "Clear!"

Roughly, he pulled the man over onto his back so he could see his face. Shocked, he found the man to be a boy no older than 15. "Who are you?" he demanded, angrily. This kid had nearly shot him or one of his friends and Armin wasn't too pleased.