Time Riders

CHAPTER 52

1956, New Jersey

Feldwebel Johan Kernst rubbed his hands to warm them as he watched the distanttruck approaching the east entrance to the prison camp, Gefangenenlager 63. From this distanceit seemed to be approaching them far too quickly.

‘Wake up, lads,’ he barked at the men manning the barricade.

He shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun on the snow-covered fields either side of therutted gravel track. He sensed something wasn’t quite right.

‘Ready the M96,’ he snapped.

Two of the guards shouldered their carbines and manned the heavy-calibre sentry gun — four high-velocity barrels that could chew up an un-armoured vehicle in a matter of seconds,mounted on a sturdy tripod and sandbagged for stability.

The truck was still showing no sign of reducing speed as it rolled down twin ruts in theroad, splashing fans of slushy mud up on to the banks of snow on either side.

Kernst took several steps forward in front of the vehicle barrier and waved his arms,indicating to the driver that he should slow down, stop and have some papers ready to show.That, or risk being fired upon.

He cursed under his breath as he heard the rumble of the truck’s engine increasing inpitch.

He’s speeding up.

The German sergeant stepped out of the muddy ruts in the middle of the roadto one side and nodded at his men to fire a short warning burst. The M96 buzzed for a second,spewing a small cascade of steaming shell casings on to the ground. Divots of slush and muddanced into the air several dozen yards in front of the closing vehicle.

But it showed no sign of slowing down.

Kernst shook his head. The stupid fool driving that vehicle was no doubt some hot-headedAmerican kid trying to break in and rescue a relative, a loved one. Well, the fool was aboutto die.

As the truck closed the remaining distance, only fifty yards away now and picking up furtherspeed, Kernst nodded to his men once more. They levelled the M96’s thick barrels at thetruck itself, aiming at the windscreen.

And fired.

The windscreen exploded. The metal grating at the front of the truck began disintegratingamid showers of sparks. But momentum was still carrying the heavy four-ton vehiclerelentlessly forward.

Kernst found himself diving out of the way at the very last moment into a deep bank of snowas it cannoned past him, careering into the M96 gun emplacement and through the barrierbeyond. The vehicle flipped over on to its side and slewed on another ten yards, pulling downa good fifty-yard stretch of chain-link perimeter fencing as it ground to a halt on thesnow-covered courtyard in front of the first row of the prison camp’s huts.

Kernst pulled himself out of the waist-high snow bank and unslung his carbine. He cautiouslyapproached the vehicle, now utterly still… except for a solitary wheel still spinningand a plume of smoke and steam issuing from the jagged and twisted remains of thetruck’s front grille.

The driver’s-side door suddenly burst open and a man emerged, pullinghimself out and dropping off the side of the cab on to the ground with surprising speed andagility.

Kernst fired a dozen rounds at the man. Most of them missed, but (he’d swear later onin the afternoon when asked to recall what he claimed to have witnessed) at least a couple ofhis shots hit the target square in the chest.

The man was large, muscular and apparently utterly fearless. He didn’t go downscreaming and clutching at his wounds. Instead, his head calmly swivelled round and spottedKernst. He brought up both his arms, each hand holding a heavy pulse carbine, and fired.

The German found himself head first in the snow bank again as a hail of bullets zipped over,mere inches above him. Kernst decided he was probably best staying right where he was fornow.

The muscular man strode across the open space, eyes scanning the long squat woodenhuts in front of him. A moment later doors began creaking open. From within the darkinteriors, faces peered out. Dozens of them.

[Scanning]

His eyes locked on each face one after another for a microsecond.

Nothing.

No Liam O’Connor.

Bob strode towards the nearest hut just as an alarm went off across the camp. The shrillsound of orders being barked in German echoed in the air.

He kicked in the nearest door and pushed his way into the dark interior, his eyes adjustinginstantly to the gloom inside.

[Scanning]

None of the pale and frightened faces within were that of his missionoperative.

‘Have… h-have you come to f-free us?’ a frail voice cried out from amongthe shivering cluster of prisoners.

Bob cocked his head thoughtfully. ‘Negative.’

‘P-please… h-help us. Help us.’

[Tactical assessment]

Bob could see that the confusion of escaping prisoners would help him rather than hinder him.Standing out there alone, if he attracted too much fire, took too many hits, his geneticallyenhanced body would struggle to repair the damage done. Even though he was an artificial human, he was still just blood, bones and organs. It was abody that could be killed.

With hundreds of people fleeing in all directions, the guards would be confused; their firewould be divided, turned on the fleeing prisoners as well as him.

Bob looked down at them. ‘You are free to leave,’ he uttered in a monotonevoice.

Fifty-four huts. Bob proceeded to each one in turn, ushering out those brave enough to make arun for the flattened section of perimeter fencing. His eyes quickly and systematicallyscanned the faces of the prisoners huddled inside.

Outside, the camp courtyard was thick with chaos. People scrambling towards the downed fence,the snow scuffed and flattened with footprints and stained pink with blood. The air was fullof screams and crying, the percussive rattle of shots gunning prisoners down, barked orders,vengeful shouts.

He observed half a dozen guards, taken by surprise, overrun, beaten and then shot as theypleaded for mercy. Bob, himself, had casually tallied thirty-six kills by his own hand, anumber that would be taken into account when his silicon mind later evaluated his missionperformance.

As he followed the fleeing crowd of people out of the camp, his eyesmomentarily logging each face and coming up with a negative, a small, lean man jogged acrossthe snow to join him.

‘Hey, you!’

Bob turned to look at him.

‘Yeah, you, big guy!’

A gun rattled in the distance and several rounds zipped by his head. Bob swung his carbineround, levelled the weapon and fired a short burst in one swift reactive movement. Fifty yardsaway, a guard doubled over amid several puffs of crimson.

The small man’s jaw dropped open, revealing a mouthful of tobacco-yellow teeth.

‘Jeeeez, man… now that… that was some shot!’

Bob continued quickly striding towards the downed fence. ‘Information: the standardaccuracy of this firearm is effective at up to one hundred yards,’ he explainedcrisply.

The man shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, sure… but you just kinda swung that thing upan’ just fired without even aiming — ’

‘This tactical situation is hazardous. Reinforcements will be deployed heresoon,’ Bob announced, stepping across the twisted and crumpled remains of the chain-linkfence. ‘You must leave the vicinity immediately.’

‘No kidding,’ replied the man. ‘Those guys are going to be mighty annoyedwhen they arrive. I sure ain’t stickin’ around for that!’

Bob was already over the fence and jogging across the snowy field beyond. The small mancaught up with him again, panting already as he struggled to keep pace with him.

‘Hey! My name’s Panelli. Raymond Panelli,’ he gasped. ‘But I let myfriends call me Ray, ’cause it’s… Ow!’ He stumbled on a rock buriedbeneath the snow, cursing as he hopped and cradled his foot for a momentbefore struggling to catch up again with Bob.

‘So… so, what about you?’ he wheezed. ‘What’s yourname?’

‘My name is Bob.’

‘Bob?… Bob? That it?’

They jogged in silence across the field for a while, heading towards the cover of a treeline.Panelli was rasping like an asthmatic old man beside him.

‘So, Bob?’

Bob continued in silence. Eyes scanning the faces of other prisoners streaming across thesnowy field. Inside his skull, the computer was busy assessing his mission’s performancescore, evaluating the tactical situation. Meanwhile his body was already hard at work dealingwith five gunshot wounds sustained during the raid, congealing the blood around the wounds,white blood cells already coalescing to combat any infection.

‘Hey, Bob!’

The small man running beside him was becoming a useless distraction. Bob turned to look downat him. ‘What do you want?’

‘Uh… mind if I sort of… team up with you for now? You kicked some butt backthere, I mean really stuck it to them guys. It was justamazing.’ Panelli shrugged. ‘So, I figure you’re a good guy to have as afriend.’

Bob evaluated the small man. He could provide assistance in some way.

‘As you wish,’ he replied flatly.