Scarecrow and the Army of Thieves by Matthew Reilly

Author:Matthew Reilly [Reilly, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia
Published: 0101-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

The situation on the runway quickly became a stand-off.

The Army of Thieves’ vehicles formed a wide circle around the halted Antonov, which was parked at right angles across the snow-rimmed runway, its forward landing gear destroyed, its nose pointed down.

‘Cover the entrances!’ Mother called as she and Baba quickly took up positions in the Antonov’s two side doors, while Schofield rushed to its still-open rear ramp and hit ‘CLOSE’.

The ramp didn’t close.

A bullet from the surrounding Army of Thieves force smacked off a steel strut beside his head and he ducked back inside.

‘The ramp won’t close!’ he called.

Ivanov came back from the cockpit. ‘Many things in my country do not work. Ramps, doors. This is a very old plane.’

Suddenly, a familiar voice came alive in Schofield’s ear: ‘Oh, Captain, so close!’ the Lord of Anarchy said. ‘My, that was exciting! You came so very close to getting away. I bet you can see the ocean from where you are.’

‘Screw you.’

The Lord of Anarchy chuckled.

‘I still have your spheres,’ Schofield said.

‘You do indeed, but that doesn’t concern me greatly. You see, while it may look like one, this is not a stand-off. It is a woefully one-sided siege. Because you are isolated with a finite amount of ammunition, while my men surrounding you have all the time and firepower in the world. No, Captain, now it is time for me to screw you. Mako, send in three berserkers, as an example to Captain Schofield.’

Schofield frowned. What—

Suddenly three men burst forth from the surrounding force: they were Africans, each holding two AK-47s and firing madly as they ran toward the stricken Antonov. They had the same excessive facial piercings that the two suicidal maniacs in the Bear Lab had had.

Their bullets hammered the plane. Some rounds whizzed in through the open rear ramp and Schofield had to dive behind the jeep parked there before he could raise his MP-7 and return fire. Mother and Champion joined him, blasting away with their guns.

The first mad runner convulsed as he ran, but he must have been juiced up on ganja weed or some kind of hyper-stimulant because he took at least ten hits to his body before he finally stopped moving forward; then Mother shot him in the face and his whole head popped in a spray of red and he flopped to the ground, still.

But the other two berserkers kept coming, their rain of gunfire undisturbed.

Schofield, Champion and Mother fired and fired, using an inordinate amount of ammo to bring them down. The second madman fell, then finally so did the third—he skidded hard onto his face at the base of the ramp, having almost made it inside the plane.

Silence.

Gunsmoke.

Schofield was completely fucking shocked. If the Lord of Anarchy had more of these crazy suicide runners, then it was only a matter of—

‘Captain, I’m sure that by now the mathematics of your situation is becoming clear: if I keep sending in my berserkers, eventually you will run out of bullets. And I have many such men, who will gladly run to their deaths for me, if only to use up your ammunition.

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