Spacehawks by Sean Dalton

Author:Sean Dalton [Dalton, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, War & Military, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Military
Amazon: B00KFWD6EK
Goodreads: 23982270
Published: 2014-05-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Slowly Kelly’s battered consciousness grew cognizant of the fact that they’d quit moving. The airsled seemed intact, and he at least was alive. He was wedged nearly upside down with his head crammed behind the front seats at a painful angle.

Not quite certain why he hadn’t broken his neck, Kelly began maneuvering himself free. It took awhile, since at that angle he couldn’t get enough leverage to pull himself out. Straining until he was breathless and gasping, he finally righted himself and slid down in his seat. His head throbbed with the pressure of too much blood, but that drained back to normal and Kelly wiped his face with unsteady hands.

It was pitch dark in the airsled. From the angle of things they were canted at about forty-five degrees with Kelly on the high end. Outside, the wind howled and clawed at the plexi-dome. The rattle of snow sounded more like sleet now. With the heat shut off, cold seeped inside. Kelly shivered.

“41?” he said.

He got no answer. Frowning, Kelly reached out, groping for the mercenary. His fingers closed on the thick, coarse weave of Salukan cloth and tightened. He had 41 by the arm. He shook it, but 41 did not stir.

Kelly pulled his hands up to his mouth and blew on them.

Then he started a systematic search by feel of the interior of the airsled until he found small storage compartments fitted into the sides near the floor. Opening these, Kelly fingered through the contents. At last he found what he was looking for; snapping on the small hand torch, he blinked in the sudden illumination and dimmed it as much as possible.

It would be pretty stupid to wave lights around for the patrol scooters to find. Cupping his left hand loosely over the end of the torch to dim it even further, Kelly checked the sentry in the back seat. The man’s head was twisted at an angle that told Kelly he was no longer a problem.

Kelly shone the light at 41. The mercenary lay slumped over his restraint bar. Gripping his shoulder, Kelly gently tugged him upright. Dark blood seeped from an abrasion on 41’s forehead. Kelly patted him gingerly to search for broken bones. As he touched 41’sleft side, the mercenary stirred but did not awaken. Kelly found his pulse rapid but could not judge whether that was normal.

While he was at it, he searched 41 for identification or snoop devices. He found neither. Frowning, Kelly considered that this was his best chance to ditch 41, but if the mercenary was on the level, then he was too valuable an ally to abandon.

The temperature continued to drop rapidly. Kelly rubbed his arms briskly to keep his circulation going. From the sound of the wind, the storm had not abated. Depending on their position and the rate of snowfall, they could find themselves buried by morning. Kelly hit the hatch release.

It opened reluctantly, grinding a bit against the weight of snow. Kelly pushed it from the inside and the hatch finally lifted.

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