Time War: Invasion (14 page)

“Fuck, they must already have him.” Corwin turned to see the rest of his team had returned. There was still occasional gunfire in the camp as prisoners with liberated weapons tried to fight the camp guards, but that was of no concern to Corwin. He looked over to see two Willys jeeps parked at the entrance.

“Come on, I won’t let them get that son of a bitch!”

The others had no idea what he was talking about but followed anyway. He leapt into the driver’s seat of the nearest one, and Hotwell followed. He couldn’t bear to be left alone with the enemy still roaming the site. He jumped in the back with Beyett and Hunter.

Corwin looked at the dash before him. It was simple, but alien to him. He could see an ignition switch and turned that on, but nothing fired.

“How the fuck do you start this thing?”

“Floor switch!” Hotwell shouted.

Porter looked around until he saw it and stamped on it until the engine fired to life. Corwin slammed it into reverse and put his foot down. They rocked back and stalled.

“Fuck sake!”

He reached over and hit the floor start again, put it into gear, and floored it. They rocked slightly with his poor clutch control, but finally the rear wheels spun in the dirt, and they launched forward.

“Never driven a classic?”

“Not in a while, Porter!”

He looked in the side mirror. Harland had got the other and was just a few vehicle lengths back. They were running without any lights at all, but could see the white convoy light on the diffs of the lorries in the distance. They bumped up and down over the rough ground and could barely see where they were crossing, but Corwin refused to slow down.

They were slowly closing the distance with the two trucks. Porter rested back and kicked the windscreen frame. The hinges locking it in place sheered off, and it smashed down onto the bonnet block; one of the panes shattered. He took aim with his rifle. All he could see was the silhouette of the canvas above the convoy light.

“You ready for this?” Corwin asked the three in the back. They nodded, but Hotwell was happy to sit back and watch as they went to work. He clenched the submachine gun tightly but couldn’t bring himself to use it. Corwin put his foot down on the gas a touch further, and they soared forward a little more.

“Light ‘em up!”

Porter, Beyett, and Hunter opened up on with bursts of full auto fire from their captured weapons. They noticed two of the enemy soldiers fall out the back as they were hit by the gunfire and tumbled out. One of them was clipped by the front wheel of their vehicle and caused them to slide slightly off to one side. Corwin reverse steered to get the power down, just about maintaining control as the gunfire sprayed all over the place.

Finally, they were back on track, and Porter was taking well-aimed shots at those ahead. A few shots came back their way, but the vehicle ahead suddenly slid sideways and overturned. It rolled several times as Corwin slammed on the brakes. Their jeep pulled to the right and went into a slight slide, as they ground to a halt in front of the wreckage. The moment they stopped, Corwin leapt out from behind the wheel and jumped forward. He cleared several metres and landed precisely on the side of the overturned truck. The canvas had been torn off, and the bed was filled with bodies. Only one seemed to be moving. He took aim and fired a few quick shots to finish him.

Gunfire rang out, and he turned to see Porter firing into the cab. The jeep engine revved up, and the vehicle pulled past the wreckage and stopped beside them.

"Come on, get in!" yelled Hotwell from the driver's seat.

They leapt in and the wheels spun as he raced onwards.

"How'd you know Winter wasn't in there?" asked Corwin from the front passenger seat.

"I don't, but they're all dead, and we'll have plenty of time to check afterwards. We let that other vehicle get away, and they could well succeed in their mission."

Corwin nodded in agreement as those behind them reloaded their weapons. The convoy light of the other truck was a faint dot in the distance now, but Hotwell was racing at the same breakneck speeds Corwin had been doing. He was hanging on for dear life and could feel the back wheels slide out every few seconds. It was like they were running on ice.

"They must be heading for the runway. It's not far from here," added Hotwell.

The concept of dedicated landing strips was alien to the others, but a novel reality that they were glad of on this occasion.

"A military airstrip?" Corwin asked.

"Barely. It was private, commandeered by the RAF, and protected by three guards at the most. I have seen what you are capable of, but do you think you can handle this superman?"

Porter laughed. "He's a school boy compared to us."

"For a man who never saw action, you sure are keeping calm, Captain."

"That is our way. It is the only way we know how."

They covered another few hundred metres and finally could see the silhouette of a large transport plane in the distance.

"C47, that must be their ride out of here."

"That's one of yours, isn't it?" asked Beyett.

"American. The Germans are getting pretty ambitious if they are encroaching on English soil like this."

"In a way that never should have happened."

They closed the distance quickly and could see the truck parked up beside the aircraft as the twin engines roared to life.

"Whatever happens, do not let that plane get off the ground," Corwin ordered.

They got to one hundred metres away, and the aircraft was in full view, though the truck blocked line of sight to the side door. Porter took aim at the cockpit and fired bursts from his assault rifle. He quickly emptied a full magazine and rushed to slam in a new one as the plane began to amble forward.

"This is gonna be close!" yelled Corwin, "Put your foot on it!"

The three in the back joined in the shooting, and they could hear more fire coming from the vehicle behind them as shots zipped overhead. The fuselage was riddled with bullets as they rushed onto the airstrip flat out. They were doing just sixty miles per hour, but it felt terrifying. They were closing the distance when all power was put down to the engines of the aircraft, and it began to open up.

"The engines!"

They took aim at the left wing side engine, firing with everything they had until at last it burst into flames. A large plate of metal flew off the top and rushed past Corwin's head as they began to close on the aircraft. They got within a vehicle’s length when the British officer looked to Corwin for answers, as he was all out of ideas. Corwin looked back to the others and spotted two stick grenades stuffed in to Porter's waistband.

"Hand them over!" But he reached in and took them, anyway.

"Get me closer!" They raced up beside the tail, and Corwin stood up on the seat and leapt without any thought or consideration at all. He hit the rudder hard and slipped back about to fall, but he grabbed hold of one of the elevators with his free hand. He hauled himself up onto the tail wing and unscrewed the primers of both grenades.

To Hotwell's amazement, Corwin punched through the side of the aluminium frame and created a perfect oval hole in which he fed both grenades, and then leapt back towards the jeep. He landed on the hood, and Hotwell immediately hit the brakes. The gap widened quickly as the miserly drum brakes brought them to a gentle halt. Corwin looked back as the two explosions erupted in the rear of the craft. The rear wheel was blown off with part of the tail wing, and the fuselage smashed down onto the runway; sparks flew and it acted like an anchor, causing the aircraft to go into a spin.

It did a one eighty turn before one wing tipped and smashed into the ground and was torn off. One of the undercarriage wheels buckled under the strain, and the fuselage slid along the strip, finally catching fire on coming to a standstill. The moment it had stopped, Hotwell put his foot down and rushed on towards the wreckage with the other jeep beside them. The side door to the plane was ripped off as they approached, and a man stepped out, carrying it as if it were no burden at all and tossed it off to one side.

"Corporal Winter, I presume?" Corwin asked.

He was a tall and strongly built man. He stepped out into the open ground between them, stopping as four more survivors clambered out behind him. They held their weapons up in surrender, but Winter still looked defiant. He carried nothing but his clenched fists and looked ready to use them.

"Put your weapons down!" Hotwell ordered.

"Not this shit again," muttered Porter. His finger had already half squeezed the trigger and was ready to gun them down where they stood.

"Don't even think about it," Corwin said sternly.

"So you're some kind of special?" Corwin asked Winter.

The German smiled slightly in response, inviting him to put his skills to the test.

"Let's find out just how special you really are."

Corwin passed his rifle to Porter and stepped forward empty handed. Winter smiled, as did the other Germans. They all knew his strength.

"You arrogant American. You know nothing of strength."

Corwin only nodded in agreement.

"If you can beat me, you're free to go."

"Fool!"

Winter went forward in a powerful stride and no care for his life at all. It was obvious he had never needed to worry about those he had fought. He swung a heavy hook towards Corwin, but the Sergeant made no attempt to move. He threw up his left arm and blocked the mighty strike in its tracks. Winter's eyes widened in shock when Corwin struck him with a straight punch to the centre of the chest; launching him back into the fuselage with such power his body bent the metal panels where he landed. The rivets sheered as it collapsed in on itself.

Winter winced in pain as he felt the heat of the flames on his skin, but quickly pushed himself off the wreck and back into a fighting stance. The other German soldiers looked both stunned and terrified. Their superman suddenly seemed awfully human. He went forward at Corwin once again but was a little dazed from the first strike. He tried to jab, but Corwin went under and struck a heavy blow into his ribs and heard them crack. Winter buckled slightly at the hips, and Corwin launched himself up with a flying knee, lifting the man up off his feet and smashing him back down onto the strip.

He was still conscious but defeated.

"What are you?" asked one of the enemy soldiers.

"The real Ubermensch," he replied.

"So there are more like you?" Hotwell asked.

Corwin nodded.

"Something like it, yes. Villiers, the man who we came to stop, he will be all too keen to attempt to re-create the programme that spawned us. He's tried many times before."

"Successfully?"

That depends on your definition of the word," added Beyett.

"What do you mean?"

"Most of his test subjects died early. Some went absolutely psychotic. One we know became a monster that I wouldn't want to face alone. This is the most successful subject I have seen yet."

"And yet he was not able to defeat you?"

"There is more to winning a fight than just strength," replied Corwin, "But the last thing you want is the enemy getting these new soldiers in any kind of quantity. We need to shut this shit down."

"Are all men as vulgar as you in the future, or is it just Americans?"

Corwin had to look at Hotwell for a moment to see that he was joking; for his humour was drier than anything he was accustomed to.

"So where do we go from here?"

"Where do you want to go with this, Captain?"

"I believe you, and I trust you, but it will be hard to convince others of the fact. Technically, you are still POWs interned at a camp. As of right now, escaped POWs."

"Only while you say we are. Your job was to investigate our story. You have done so and know we are not the enemy. You can vouch for us. You have to. You know you need us in this war, so fight in our corner."

They heard the sound of engines from several trucks heading their way. Corwin took up his rifle and rushed to the cover of their jeep. The others scattered and did the same. They watched three vehicles and two jeeps racing into view, and dozens of troops unloaded before them.