Hooded Man (62 page)

Others were introduced to holes the men had dug and covered over: not deep, just enough for the vehicles to dip forward into and be brought to a standstill.

Now came the second wave from the catapults: large gas canisters that hit the vehicles, to be struck by more flaming arrows, igniting the gas. The landscape turned into a field of red and yellow mushrooms. Black smoke was laid down in front of Robert.

He took hold of his bow, grabbed an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it, feeling the familiar tension of the string. Welcoming it like an old friend.

Armed men broke through the smoke. He shot the first one in the knee, the second in the shoulder. Given a choice and when not backed into a corner, he would always choose to incapacitate rather than kill.

Robert nodded and his men broke free of their cover, some on horseback, some on foot. The firing started moments later, the Russians letting rip with their machine guns.

Robert’s men raised their shields; specially made by their blacksmith Faraday, steel plate more than 16 mm thick: bullets would make a significant dent in them, but not penetrate. Sparks flew as the bullets pinged off them. Several of the horses were hit and went down, taking their riders with them. Robert saw some of his men get hit and drop to the ground... only to wait until a Russian soldier was near enough and get up again, to take him down in hand to hand.

He grinned again: each man had the extra protection of specially adapted vests – hard metal-plates fitted into ordinary bullet-proof vests like the ones armed response units wore, found in old police facilities. It would give added protection against machine guns and shrapnel. Robert himself was wearing one, and was glad of it.

The smoke was clearing, making this a fight of bullets against bows. Arrows struck the Russian troops, hitting them in arms, legs, necks and taking them down. Flaming arrows set them alight and took them out of the battle altogether. Robert looked down and caught sight of Azhar engaging a couple of foot-soldiers, dodging bullets and slicing them with his sword.

Suddenly an AFV charged through, its tyres ripped to shreds but ploughing forwards anyway.

“Dale,” shouted Robert, “with me!”

Leaning forwards, they urged their steeds on through the combat. An explosion off to their right almost caused Dale’s horse to rear up, but he kept control. The cannon on top of the AFV was spitting out shells one after the other. Robert nodded for Dale to give him covering fire, taking out the armed men on the ground now flanking the vehicle. The AFV turned and started ploughing diagonally through the fighting.

Robert pulled on the reins, then rode his horse up alongside the armoured vehicle. When he judged it was close enough, he jumped from the saddle onto the side of the thing, landing near the back, and his horse rode off without him, away from danger. He almost slipped down and under the wheels, but his hands found purchase on the rails bolted to the metal. A stray bullet
twanged
off the plating near his head – whoever had fired it obviously reckoning that they couldn’t do the AFV any harm but might be able to dislodge the Hooded Man. Robert risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Dale take out the shooter with an arrow to the back.

Shot!
he thought, then concentrated on getting himself stable. Robert clambered around on the side of the vehicle, looking for a way in, but the hatches seemed to be sealed tight. The cannon on the top swung round in his direction, until he was staring down the black hole of the stubby barrel. Robert dropped down again just as it fired, almost slipping under the grinding remains of the tyres, but somehow swinging himself back along the side so that he was closer to the front. He kept himself low, avoiding the cannon, and climbed round to the front of the vehicle, left hand gripping a rail.

Two metal flaps were open at the front, obviously so the driver could see. The AFV went over a bump, jolting Robert upwards. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact. He let out a grunt, but it just made him more determined to put an end to the vehicle’s run.

With his free hand, he pulled out his sword – then, wincing as he did so, swung round and shoved the weapon into one of the viewing slats. He had no idea whether he’d hit anything, until he felt the end of the sword slide into something soft. When he pulled it out, there was blood on the tip.

The AFV veered wildly to one side, away from the battlefield, heading towards some trees. Robert didn’t have the luxury of waiting this time; he launched himself off the vehicle, hoping he’d roll far enough out of its way that he wouldn’t be crushed. The hatches opened as the men inside scrabbled to flee the vehicle. The first tree it hit didn’t stop it, but the second tree was too much for it, and the AFV shuddered to a halt.

Robert rose, barely having time to recover before he felt a presence at his side. He ducked and turned as gunfire passed overhead, then brought his sword round and struck the man on the calf, digging the blade in and sending him toppling over.

Sheathing his weapon, Robert had his bow out again and was shooting quickly: left, right and centre, putting as many of the armed men out of action as he could.

He noted, with some satisfaction, that his troops were all doing the same: picking targets off with the bow or, in close combat, their swords or knives. He also saw something that gave him pause – bodies of Rangers, laying on the field. One’s head had been blown almost totally apart, another had been practically cut in half by enemy fire. Robert dwelled on them for a second longer than he should have, but then ground his teeth, setting his jaw firm and raising his bow, felling another three Russian soldiers.

More jeeps and armoured vehicles – including tanks – were skirting the traps, wise to the barbed wire and trenches now. A group of Robert’s men, about eight in total, charged the side of one tank carrying a tree-trunk like a battering ram. They rammed the wood into the tracks of the tank, jamming its progress. Another team did the same at the other side. A further team threw Molotov cocktails against the vehicles.

Robert fired at a jeep heading in his direction, just as he had done the first time he’d engaged in combat like this, back when the market near Sherwood had been under attack. Then he hadn’t been able to believe what he was doing, going up against a squad of the Sheriff’s men on his own. Now, it seemed like second nature. They were fending off an army, but he wasn’t alone any more. That made all the difference.

That might make the difference between winning and losing.

W
ERE THEY WINNING
or losing? Bohuslav couldn’t even tell.

What should have been a cut and dried thing had suddenly turned sour. Their enemies were using tactics the men had never come across before, but he certainly had. They were the methods of trappers, of hunters. What should have worked in his side’s favour – the wealth of armament at their disposal, the sheer number of vehicles – was actually turning out to be their Achilles Heel. Hood’s men were more manoeuvrable, running or riding – on fucking horses, for sanity’s sake! – between the behemoths, bullets bouncing off what looked like home-made shields. And body-armour! Tanek had conveniently left that detail out of the preparations... unless he hadn’t known? It made them harder to kill, or harder to kill quickly, at any rate.

Hood’s men were also able to handle close-combat fighting much better than his, probably because they’d never had to do it before. When the Tsar’s troops entered an area, they usually obliterated everything in their path long before it got to that stage.

Bohuslav cursed under his breath in his native tongue, as another explosion went off outside the jeep.

He looked through the windscreen at what was going on ahead of him, and the certainty he’d had when he arrived began to wane. But there was something Hood and his men didn’t know – apart from their plan, of course, apart from what was going on while they were all here. Bohuslav had hoped to settle this without having to fall back on them, but the Tsar had brought some special little toys over with him just in case.

Four Kamov Ka-50 single-seat attack helicopters, also known to those in the trade as ‘Black Sharks.’ Each boasted laser-guided anti-tank missiles located under the stub wings, and 30mm cannons fixed semi-rigidly on the helicopter’s side. One of the most lethal pieces of military hardware known to man. Granted, they weren’t being piloted by the most highly trained individuals – at least not as highly trained as they would have been pre-virus – but they knew enough to get the job done.

The time had come to finish this, and if his ground forces weren’t capable... Bohuslav reached for the radio, knowing now with complete certainty who would be the ultimate victors here today.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I
N THE HEAT
of the battle, even above the noise of gunfire and explosions, another sound could be heard. The distinctive sound of rotor blades in the distance.

Robert looked over the horizon to see four dark shapes advancing, like flying Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Helicopters unlike anything he was familiar with – certainly nothing like the Sioux he’d used to chase De Falaise through the streets of Nottingham. They had double rotors, affording them a manoeuvrability most pilots could only dream of.

The two helicopters on the edges broke off, heading for the tree-line. Robert could see what was about to happen, but had no way of preventing it – apart from anything else, he was being attacked by two of the Tsar’s men, who he’d relieved of their machine guns.

Missiles were away seconds later, streaming into the trees. The height these monstrosities were flying at gave them a unique view of where the catapults lay. Robert dispatched the soldiers he was dealing with, then closed his eyes as the missiles hit home, killing men he’d posted.

Those Rangers closer by had – like him – paused very briefly to witness the lethal onslaught of these newcomers. As they did so, however, they also saw more heavy rocks being launched at the chopper closest to the trees. It may not have been quite as accurate as whatever those pilots were using, but it was good enough to give the thing a bloody nose – a heavy projectile glancing across the bridge of the lowered craft, knocking it momentarily sideways and off balance. Two more hit it in quick succession before another chopper came to its aid, firing off two missiles and putting paid to that particular catapult. But it had already done enough damage to the first helicopter to make it beat a hasty retreat.

“That’ll show ’em!” called out one of Robert’s lads, a man called Harris who immediately drew back his bow and shot a Russian soldier in the thigh.

But there were still three helicopters left, more than enough to take out the rest of the catapults. Calling on anyone who was free to do so, Robert began to make his way forward, up the field, past the corpses of vehicles – loosing arrows as he went.

One of the helicopters had bowed its front, sweeping forwards. Robert ordered his men to duck, shouting that anyone who still had a shield should crouch behind it. He himself dived behind the cover of an upended jeep, dragging a couple of his men with him – just as the chopper’s machinegun began spraying the area. It seemed not to care whether its own troops were in the way, so long as it got Robert’s men. Several were thrown back by the blast, losing their shields. Then, vulnerable, they were torn to shreds by the second sweep – their vests no protection from this kind of intense firepower.

“Damn it all!” growled Robert. “Stay under cover!”

Before his men could say anything, Robert had run out from behind the jeep, sprinting towards a tank that was still on fire. Bullets peppered the earth behind him, but he flung himself forward and, taking cover behind the metal hulk, he readied his bow, igniting one of the special payload arrows from his quiver.

Stepping out, he took a second to aim, which was all he needed.

The arrow was flying even as he took cover behind the tank again. The helicopter had no time to get out of its way, the pilot so overconfident that the arrow could do no damage to his craft that he stayed and waited for the thing to hit. Then it struck its target, glancing off one of its remaining missiles, but in the process smearing the cocktail of heated chemicals across the casing. The missile exploded, taking the entire helicopter with it.

Robert strode out from behind the tank in time to see the blazing ball go down, striking the earth nose-first. He heard cheering from behind him, his actions prompting others to break cover, attacking the two helicopters as they had done the tanks, jeeps and motorcycles.

One of them was hit with a paint bomb across the windshield, obscuring the pilot’s vision, forcing him to pull back. A tree trunk hurled by what was probably the one remaining catapult then struck the side of the chopper. The pilot seemed to be trying to land, then attempted to rise again. A couple of petrol bombs to the undercarriage were enough to persuade him to set down, and Robert saw him leap from the cockpit. Two arrows from Dale’s bow – the lad still riding his horse into the action – were waiting for him, pinning him to the ground.