into his body, Paul calmly pulled the trigger. The ejection charge whooshed, launching the missile. Its orange contrail climbed into the sky, doing it fast.
“Get down!” Romo shouted over the radio.
For once, Paul didn’t. He watched. Maybe he was too tired to realize his danger. The missile raced up at the helo, a winter gift for the invaders. The helo pilot must have realized his danger. The machine swerved to the right, and it threw off the gunner. Bullets hammered the ground in front of Paul. He could feel them, the slugs ripping into the frozen sod. It made his nape hairs stand on end. Then the bullets stopped hitting so near, falling elsewhere.
At that moment, the missile struck the helo. Paul heard the Blowdart warhead explode, and it created a spectacular effect. Paul watched with his night-vision visor as a fireball billowed into existence. Metal rained as the helo flipped in a seemingly slow-motion cartwheel, and then it plummeted. Going down, the burning machine shed two Chinese aircrew.
Did they bail out, or were they thrown out by the centrifugal force? Paul had no idea. He knelt in the snow, watching the spectacle. The helo hit the ground with a tremendous smash. It shook Paul so that he swayed, which seemed to wake him up.
“Are you crazy?” Romo shouted. He came running, doing it much too slowly. It was difficult to move quickly in the heavy suits and the assassin was proving it.
Paul blinked dry eyes. He was so freaking tired. He just wanted to sleep. Instead, he stood up.
Romo neared, and he inspected the shot-up, tipped-over snowmobile. “It’s ruined.”
Paul turned back to the distant specks—only they weren’t specks anymore. The hovertanks had covered ground fast. He could clearly see the smaller turret and the short-barreled cannon sticking from it. Had one or more of them seen this little firefight? Yes, of course they had. How could they have missed it in the darkness?
“The hovers are coming,” Paul said.
Romo looked up, and he cursed in Spanish. He rechecked his flipped sled, and he began pulling out Javelin launchers.
“They’re coming for us,” Paul said.
“Si. That means we don’t have much time.”
Paul glanced at his blood brother. Right. They had to fight. He lurched toward him, and he helped Romo cart Javelins to his sled. He piled the extras among his own.
Flipping up his visor, exposing his face to the cold, Paul rubbed his burning eyes. His gloves dribbled snow, which slid down to his throat. Yikes. That was cold. Blinking, he closed the visor and studied the hovertanks. They were coming on fast, seven of them. Seven armored vehicles with cannons and machine guns. It would be David against Goliath out here on the open snow.
“Let’s go,” Paul said. The sleepiness had vanished from his brain. He was wide-awake as his heart pounded in his chest.
He jumped onto the snowmobile and twisted the throttle, listening to the engine whine with power. Romo sat behind him. Paul turned the vehicle and he opened it up. The back treads clattered as they zipped, and they fled across the snow before the approaching hovertanks.
Paul contacted the air controller. “Hey AWACS!” he shouted. “Do you have some kind of air support for us now?”
“No, sorry. I already told you. There’s a big attack going on one hundred miles south of you. You’re on your own for another half hour at least.”
That was just great. Army Group Washington was supposed to have everything the soldiers needed. It looked like that didn’t include the flank guards.
As he and Romo sped across the snow, Paul gave the coordinates of the seven following hovertanks. “If they get us—”
“I’m alerting Supply Company Nine now,” the air controller said.
Paul looked back. The hovertanks were faster than the snowmobile. The mothers were catching up faster than he’d expected.
“Good luck, Kavanagh,” the air controller said.
“Sure,” Paul said. “You too.”
“We have to go to ground!” Romo shouted. “They’ll pick us off soon if we stay on the snowmobile.”
“I’m already there, amigo,” Paul said. “Do you remember the place half a mile from the farm house?”
Paul felt Romo turn and look at the hovertanks.
“We won’t make it there in time,” Romo said.
Paul glanced back. The hovertanks would be in range long before he reached the area he sought. Romo was right.
“Okay, listen up,” Paul said. “I’m going to stop and unhook the sled. You keep going and I’ll—”
“Forget it, brother,” Romo said. “If you stop, I’m jumping off with you. We’ll use the Javelins in