The Assault - By Brian Falkner Page 0,74

How long have we got before the warhead blows?”

“Don’t know,” Monster said.

Chisnall swung a leg over the railing and waded through the knee-deep water on the other side. It became more and more shallow until he was on a concrete path. Before the Pukes came, this was the trail that had brought tourists to the rock pool. They had been clinging to the tourists’ safety fence. Now the whole lot was underwater, and judging by the surging water that flowed down from the side of the rock, it was going to get deeper quickly.

He stared for a moment at the raging waters above his head, finding it hard to comprehend that the four of them had come down that and survived.

Price was holding her sprained arm with her other hand. He stopped.

“Let me look at that,” he said.

“I’m Oscar Kilo,” she said with a gritted smile.

He ignored her and took her arm. Her wrist hung limply and at an odd angle.

“Sprained? Like hell,” Chisnall said. “It’s broken.”

That was the hand he had hauled her out of the pool with, but she hadn’t screamed, hadn’t complained at all.

“We’ve got bigger things to worry about than my wrist,” Price said, looking back at the rock.

It was hard to disagree with that.

“Rip off your bomb squad markings,” he said, and helped Price with hers.

Ahead of him, through the thundering rain, Chisnall could see the sweeping curve of the monorail track heading left, back toward the entrance of the rock. The concrete path they were standing on came to a fork, one branch leading back toward the entrance and the other heading out among the buildings and streets of the Bzadian base.

The last place he wanted to be when the warhead went off was near that entrance. But he changed his mind as a dark shape caught his eye.

“This way,” he said, heading to the left.

“Are you sure, LT?” Monster asked.

“Look,” Chisnall said, pointing.

Through the high-security fence that blocked off access to the tunnel buildings, they could see the abandoned battle tank, its main gun shattered. It sat next to the remains of the Uluru entrance building, a jumble of stone blocks. Beyond it, a huge, wheeled crane had just lowered the edge of the second battle tank to the ground. The tank that had capsized earlier. The tank’s crew stood around it, waiting for the crane to unhook.

The Angel Team got to the fence and skirted around the outside to the gaping hole where the tanks had originally busted their way through.

A technician climbed out of an access panel of the first tank as they approached.

“How is it?” Chisnall asked, as if he had every right to be there.

The technician looked around, protecting his eyes from the rain with his hand. If he was surprised at the sight of the four bedraggled soldiers, he didn’t show it. Everybody was soaking wet anyway, Chisnall realized, from the thunderstorm.

“It’ll be pretty shaken up in there,” the worker said, “and the main gun is out, but I got the electrics working again. Are you the maintenance crew?”

“Yes,” Chisnall replied.

“They said you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow,” the worker said. “I’ll have to get clearance from my supervisor. Apparently there’s a group of terrorists running around.”

“There is,” Chisnall agreed. “They’re in there.” He pointed to the rock. “And the whole rock is about to explode. Haven’t you been given evacuation orders?”

The worker looked frightened. “Evacuation? No. Nothing!”

“Get moving, now! We’ll see if we can get this tank to safety. Go!”

Chisnall didn’t wait for an answer. He ducked underneath the metal rim of the tank, the others right behind him.

“You need to wait for clearance,” the worker said behind him. “Hey!”

Chisnall ignored him. The entrance hatch was open, and he clambered up into it, reaching back and giving Price a hand so that she could avoid putting weight on her wrist.

Only a dim glow from an emergency light lit the interior. They were in a kind of well, a circular depression in the base of the tank. A short ladder led up to the control center.

They climbed the ladder and found two sets of controls on one side that were clearly for steering the tank, while two on the other side were for the weapons systems.

“Hey!” Chisnall heard again from outside, but it was cut off by a metallic clang as he found a lever on the control panel that slid the hatch shut.

Chisnall slid into the driver’s seat. It was large and padded. Surprisingly comfortable. It occurred