face of the elements.
They sped out of the shadow of the slope and into sight of the tracks an instant before the train appeared. Ashua’s timing had been less than perfect: the train was almost past them by the time they’d matched its speed. But the Rattletraps were fast, and they began gaining ground immediately.
The tracks passed through a wide corridor of land flanked by hilly ridges on either side. The land was flat near the tracks, but it became bumpy and rough further away. By hugging close to the train, the Rattletraps ate up the distance.
It was only when they were close that Frey realised what a monstrous machine the train was. A great dirty ogre of iron and grime, filthy with desert dust, charging across the landscape. It was a mobile fortress, built for the rigours of travel across the hellish terrain of the Samarlan interior. Faced with its strength, he suddenly began to have his doubts about whether they could stop it at all.
But it was too late for that now.
There were slatted metal windows in the sides of the train. As they progressed up its length, they saw men running to and fro inside the carriages, alarmed shadows in the gloom.
‘Pinn! Malvery!’ he yelled. ‘Keep ’em busy!’
Pinn whooped and opened up with the gatling gun, stitching bullet-holes along the side of the train. Malvery was a little more accurate, aiming for the windows. The bullets had little effect on the train’s armour plating, but it made the men inside duck and scurry, and it kept them from returning fire.
Frey turned to Silo and grinned. ‘Some fun, huh? Bet you’re glad to be home, getting some of your own back,’ he said.
But Silo just looked at him, and his eyes were dark and flat in his narrow face, and Frey was suddenly sorry he’d spoken at all. He opened his mouth to say something else when Silo suddenly shouted a warning.
It was the carriage just ahead of them. One side had opened up, the top half flipping down on to the bottom half with a crash, like a stall at a fairground. Behind it were a row of barricades, with gun-toting Dakkadians hiding behind them. And in the centre of the row, its operator hiding behind a wall of metal shielding, was an autocannon. Pointing right at them.
Frey had time for a wordless yell of abject cowardice before Silo stood on the brakes. The ground in front of them exploded in a geyser of rock and dust. He was blinded for a moment, his face speckled with a thousand tiny impacts. He heard more explosions around him, as the autocannon fought to pin them down. Bullets flew. The Rattletrap jounced left and right, flinging him about in his seat. Malvery was bellowing a string of swear-words in his ear. He blinked furiously, wiping at teary eyes to clear them of grit.
Silo dropped back, away from the autocannon. Frey was still pawing at his face when he heard the sound of gatling guns from behind them. Since Malvery wasn’t firing and they only had one other gun, that could only mean trouble. He craned around in his seat, looking down the length of the train, fighting to bring his blurred vision back into focus.
Rattletraps. Enemy Rattletraps, coming up behind them.
‘Where did they come from?’ Malvery cried.
Before anyone could venture an opinion, another train carriage opened up in the same way as the first one. This one was close to the rear, but its contents were identical. A bunch of armed men and an autocannon.
An autocannon in front of them, loaded with explosive shells. Another behind. And he counted three Rattletraps with gatlings. No way they could fight those odds.
‘Pull away from the train!’ he told Silo. He raised himself in his seat and waved at the others. ‘Pull away now !’
The others didn’t need telling. They swerved off to the right, putting distance between themselves and the train, heading for the uneven scrubland at the base of the red hills. It wouldn’t get rid of their pursuers, but it would get them out of range of the autocannons.
He
They sped out of the shadow of the slope and into sight of the tracks an instant before the train appeared. Ashua’s timing had been less than perfect: the train was almost past them by the time they’d matched its speed. But the Rattletraps were fast, and they began gaining ground immediately.
The tracks passed through a wide corridor of land flanked by hilly ridges on either side. The land was flat near the tracks, but it became bumpy and rough further away. By hugging close to the train, the Rattletraps ate up the distance.
It was only when they were close that Frey realised what a monstrous machine the train was. A great dirty ogre of iron and grime, filthy with desert dust, charging across the landscape. It was a mobile fortress, built for the rigours of travel across the hellish terrain of the Samarlan interior. Faced with its strength, he suddenly began to have his doubts about whether they could stop it at all.
But it was too late for that now.
There were slatted metal windows in the sides of the train. As they progressed up its length, they saw men running to and fro inside the carriages, alarmed shadows in the gloom.
‘Pinn! Malvery!’ he yelled. ‘Keep ’em busy!’
Pinn whooped and opened up with the gatling gun, stitching bullet-holes along the side of the train. Malvery was a little more accurate, aiming for the windows. The bullets had little effect on the train’s armour plating, but it made the men inside duck and scurry, and it kept them from returning fire.
Frey turned to Silo and grinned. ‘Some fun, huh? Bet you’re glad to be home, getting some of your own back,’ he said.
But Silo just looked at him, and his eyes were dark and flat in his narrow face, and Frey was suddenly sorry he’d spoken at all. He opened his mouth to say something else when Silo suddenly shouted a warning.
It was the carriage just ahead of them. One side had opened up, the top half flipping down on to the bottom half with a crash, like a stall at a fairground. Behind it were a row of barricades, with gun-toting Dakkadians hiding behind them. And in the centre of the row, its operator hiding behind a wall of metal shielding, was an autocannon. Pointing right at them.
Frey had time for a wordless yell of abject cowardice before Silo stood on the brakes. The ground in front of them exploded in a geyser of rock and dust. He was blinded for a moment, his face speckled with a thousand tiny impacts. He heard more explosions around him, as the autocannon fought to pin them down. Bullets flew. The Rattletrap jounced left and right, flinging him about in his seat. Malvery was bellowing a string of swear-words in his ear. He blinked furiously, wiping at teary eyes to clear them of grit.
Silo dropped back, away from the autocannon. Frey was still pawing at his face when he heard the sound of gatling guns from behind them. Since Malvery wasn’t firing and they only had one other gun, that could only mean trouble. He craned around in his seat, looking down the length of the train, fighting to bring his blurred vision back into focus.
Rattletraps. Enemy Rattletraps, coming up behind them.
‘Where did they come from?’ Malvery cried.
Before anyone could venture an opinion, another train carriage opened up in the same way as the first one. This one was close to the rear, but its contents were identical. A bunch of armed men and an autocannon.
An autocannon in front of them, loaded with explosive shells. Another behind. And he counted three Rattletraps with gatlings. No way they could fight those odds.
‘Pull away from the train!’ he told Silo. He raised himself in his seat and waved at the others. ‘Pull away now !’
The others didn’t need telling. They swerved off to the right, putting distance between themselves and the train, heading for the uneven scrubland at the base of the red hills. It wouldn’t get rid of their pursuers, but it would get them out of range of the autocannons.
He
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