War Machine (The Combat-K Series) by Andy Remic Page A
Authors: Andy Remic
Tags: Science-Fiction
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savagely pulled three hypodermics from his throbbing arse. He saw Franco, spotted the lift, and started to run.
The lift binged and Franco fell into its welcoming maw. The doors juddered shut on rusted rails and Franco’s finger jabbed at the button marked Rfor ROOF.
Dr. Betezh pressed his face against the wire-mesh glass. He smiled an evil smile. “We’re going to get you. And when we do, Franco, we’re going to fuck you up, you little maggot.”
Franco gave him a wide grin and pressed a middle finger salute against the portal.
The lift groaned and trundled upwards. Betezh scrolled out of view.
Franco stumbled into the fresh night air. The rain had stopped, and it smelled good . “Keenan?” he bellowed, hurrying forward. “Keenan? Where are you, man?”
There was no sign of life.
Did I get the right time? After all, I am a little... mad. Then Franco’s eyes fell on the chopper with a look of apprehension. Well, he thought, if Keenan ain’t here to meet me, I’ll just have to improvise.
He sprinted to the chopper, bare feet slapping puddles. Lights strobed the edges of the flat roof, and Franco could hear distant shouts and the deep throb from the hospital’s alarm.
He opened the chopper’s door, climbed into the cockpit and stared in disbelief and reliefat the keys dangling from the ignition. Did Keenan leave these here for me? Was that part of The Plan? Shit. I can’t remember can’t remember can’t remember.
He turned the ignition, flicked the switch for power, and listened as the rotors began to turn. Slowly at first, flinging free suspended raindrops, then faster and faster until they became a blur above the tinted glass of the cockpit.
“Yes. Yes! YES!” Franco Haggis grasped the joystick and engaged the drive. Then his head snapped right as Betezh and his entourage stumbled onto the glass-slick roof. They were red in the face from sixteen flights of stairs, mouths contorted as they spat obscenities drowned by the noise of the chopper’s engines. They sprinted towards him, size twelve boots splashing puddles.
Franco lifted the chopper into the air, nose dipping a little, and with only a gentle whine of misappropriated power. “Yes!” he shouted, punching the air with glee. “Yes! YES! YEEEEESSSSSS!” But suddenly the helicopter lurched to one side and Franco peered out with mouth agape. There, hanging grimly from the runners, was Dr. Betezh, his eyes dark glittering pools of hatred. Below, the useless gaggle of open-mouthed guards fell rapidly away and became nothing more than tiny toys.
“Land this helicopter now!” screamed Betezh.
Franco slid open the helicopter’s window, lifted his stolen truncheon and smacked Betezh between the eyes with as much force as he could muster. There came a heavy dull slap. Betezh blinked. But instead of falling—which was Franco’s preferred outcome—Betezh started to climb quickly, ape-arms wrenching open the helicopter’s door and reaching towards the befuddled inmate.
The helicopter veered to one side with a warning drone of alarms. Lights flickered dangerously across the console: all red. Below, the landscape swept and swirled with a nauseating lurch. The Mount Pleasant Hilltop Institution spun in giddying circles, distant, a dollhouse, a remote red-brick painting.
The helicopter rocked again as Betezh’s boots found grip on the runner. A punch found Franco’s head and the escaped inmate fell sideways making the chopper groan and shudder, and then fall into a rapid dive towards the ground.
Engines screamed... and stalled. Slivers of shaved engine spat from exhausts.
Betezh’s body flapped like a rag doll in the slipstream.
Franco groaned on the precipice of consciousness.
The ground rushed towards him.
“Keenan, you bastard!” he howled. “Where are you when I need you?”
Chapter 3
A Violent Interlude
The Five Grey Moons described a broad elliptical orbit around Tox12, otherwise known as Toxic World, or one of
The lift binged and Franco fell into its welcoming maw. The doors juddered shut on rusted rails and Franco’s finger jabbed at the button marked Rfor ROOF.
Dr. Betezh pressed his face against the wire-mesh glass. He smiled an evil smile. “We’re going to get you. And when we do, Franco, we’re going to fuck you up, you little maggot.”
Franco gave him a wide grin and pressed a middle finger salute against the portal.
The lift groaned and trundled upwards. Betezh scrolled out of view.
Franco stumbled into the fresh night air. The rain had stopped, and it smelled good . “Keenan?” he bellowed, hurrying forward. “Keenan? Where are you, man?”
There was no sign of life.
Did I get the right time? After all, I am a little... mad. Then Franco’s eyes fell on the chopper with a look of apprehension. Well, he thought, if Keenan ain’t here to meet me, I’ll just have to improvise.
He sprinted to the chopper, bare feet slapping puddles. Lights strobed the edges of the flat roof, and Franco could hear distant shouts and the deep throb from the hospital’s alarm.
He opened the chopper’s door, climbed into the cockpit and stared in disbelief and reliefat the keys dangling from the ignition. Did Keenan leave these here for me? Was that part of The Plan? Shit. I can’t remember can’t remember can’t remember.
He turned the ignition, flicked the switch for power, and listened as the rotors began to turn. Slowly at first, flinging free suspended raindrops, then faster and faster until they became a blur above the tinted glass of the cockpit.
“Yes. Yes! YES!” Franco Haggis grasped the joystick and engaged the drive. Then his head snapped right as Betezh and his entourage stumbled onto the glass-slick roof. They were red in the face from sixteen flights of stairs, mouths contorted as they spat obscenities drowned by the noise of the chopper’s engines. They sprinted towards him, size twelve boots splashing puddles.
Franco lifted the chopper into the air, nose dipping a little, and with only a gentle whine of misappropriated power. “Yes!” he shouted, punching the air with glee. “Yes! YES! YEEEEESSSSSS!” But suddenly the helicopter lurched to one side and Franco peered out with mouth agape. There, hanging grimly from the runners, was Dr. Betezh, his eyes dark glittering pools of hatred. Below, the useless gaggle of open-mouthed guards fell rapidly away and became nothing more than tiny toys.
“Land this helicopter now!” screamed Betezh.
Franco slid open the helicopter’s window, lifted his stolen truncheon and smacked Betezh between the eyes with as much force as he could muster. There came a heavy dull slap. Betezh blinked. But instead of falling—which was Franco’s preferred outcome—Betezh started to climb quickly, ape-arms wrenching open the helicopter’s door and reaching towards the befuddled inmate.
The helicopter veered to one side with a warning drone of alarms. Lights flickered dangerously across the console: all red. Below, the landscape swept and swirled with a nauseating lurch. The Mount Pleasant Hilltop Institution spun in giddying circles, distant, a dollhouse, a remote red-brick painting.
The helicopter rocked again as Betezh’s boots found grip on the runner. A punch found Franco’s head and the escaped inmate fell sideways making the chopper groan and shudder, and then fall into a rapid dive towards the ground.
Engines screamed... and stalled. Slivers of shaved engine spat from exhausts.
Betezh’s body flapped like a rag doll in the slipstream.
Franco groaned on the precipice of consciousness.
The ground rushed towards him.
“Keenan, you bastard!” he howled. “Where are you when I need you?”
Chapter 3
A Violent Interlude
The Five Grey Moons described a broad elliptical orbit around Tox12, otherwise known as Toxic World, or one of
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