The rally racers took the exit off the highway and into the side streets at speed. Fortunately, the exit lane was a gentle curve, and it took them directly east. They spread out on exiting, covering all four lanes of the road. Dillon let the Angels and the Quikshred take the lead again, now that he’d got them here. They’d been almost halfway to the battle when General Hollend sent his orders for them to respond to the breakthrough, and it was with glee he’d been able to tell the man they were already on the way and the Patrol was welcome to come and play if they wanted.

  They'd traveled less than a hundred yards from the exit when they saw their first opponents. A clot of bikers up ahead were moving in and around the buildings, shooting at anything that caught their fancy. It didn't look like they were aware of the rally racers just yet.

  Both the lead cars opened fire about the same time, blasting two motorcycles to spare parts with direct hits. The bikers were caught by surprise, more focused on doing collateral damage to the town to pay attention to any sort of oncoming resistance.

  That changed immediately, though. Several bikers peeled off onto side streets on both sides of the road, and the ones directly in front of them started putting up smoke screens to hide their movements.

  "I’ve got the right," Jesse radioed. Gabe didn’t even bother calling out his move to the left, simply taking the corner at speed.

  Dillon took the first right, between a liquor store and something he couldn’t identify. "Kayla, where’d they go? Find them ASAP!"

  ***

  Jacob watched some of the bikers in front of him accelerate towards the twin explosions up ahead. Others turned left and right, seeking the side streets that would allow them to encircle their foe. While the smoke from the explosions and a newly created smoke screen blocked his view of the street, it didn't prevent the bikers from firing into it, not caring what was on the other side.

  He radioed the other cars, "Time to find out what’s up ahead. Follow me and be careful. We don’t want to shoot at the Patrol or even the racers just yet. Let them think we’re running from the bikers."

  They gunned their engines, falling into a single file when they approached the fight. Two cars came roaring through the smoke toward them, rending the wispy gray veil into streamers. Bikers followed, trailing them like beads on a string.

  Rear mounted cannons on those cars boomed away, sending chunks of asphalt flying on a miss, or punching into and, in some cases through a bike’s armor. Either the AADA teams weren’t prepared for cars to follow the bikes, or they were fooled by the appearance of normal-looking vehicles. In either case, they passed by the column of the BLUD cars, one on each side.

  He rapped out his orders. "That’s only two of them. There’s gotta be at least three or four more. Last two in line, turn and follow. The rest of you, split up and take the side streets. If you get a shot, take it. Remember, we want everyone to see them losing, so make sure your cameras are rolling."

  ***

  They saw three bikers appear in the next intersection, on their way west into the city proper. It was too quick for a shot, and Dillon cut the wheel hard over to follow them. They were already a block ahead, shooting to the left and right with their rifles. The three bikes were in a loose diagonal formation, with the bike on the right in the lead.

  "Hold it steady on the one on the right. I get him, and he’ll take out the others like bowling pins." His gunner’s voice was all professional now, and he felt better for it. Maybe more combat was what she needed.

  He held his course steady while she lined up the shot and fired the front-mounted cannon. Sure enough, the shell hit the cyclist just ahead of the rear tire. The explosion sent it pinwheeling across the lane, slamming it into the center cycle. The driver disappeared under the flaming wreckage, while the first driver went airborne in the direction he was originally traveling. This was fortunate for him since the collision threw flames and debris everywhere. Although the third cyclist tried to turn, there was no avoiding the burning remnants that slammed into him. Ammunition started cooking off while the entire mess slowly careened to a stop against the left cub.

  "Hot damn. Nice shooting, K!" Dillon reached back to give her a fist bump whie he slowed and turned to the right, looking for new targets

  "Thanks. It was just like–" Her voice cut off when the vehicle lurched from an explosion on the right front corner. Dillon automatically turned into the beginning of the skid while Kayla spun the turret to the rear. He kept turning in a three-sixty, trying to scan for the new threat.

  "We’ve got a car coming up on us fast, back the way we came. I think it was a rocket that hit us."

  There was no time to think about who it was, and he straightened out on their original heading, gunning the accelerator. The intersection was coming up fast, and it forced a quick choice. A light flashed on the vehicle health display, showing the pressure dropping on the right front tire. He picked on instinct, heeding the feel of the car and his own experience.

  "Left turn coming up," he gasped, taking it at speed. Rubber squealed as the tires lost purchase briefly, and they nearly ended up on the sidewalk. In his peripheral vision, he saw the status display for the damaged tire go from green to yellow. He ignored it and said, "Get ready to blast him when he comes around the corner."

  The machine guns and cannon rattled together in answer, and he saw the car spin out in the intersection, the combination of damage and speed throwing him out of control. Slowing, Dillon shouted, "Finish him off while he’s trying to get control!"

  The range was too great for the flamethrower, so Kayla cut loose again with the rear weapons. Instead of short, controlled bursts, the linked machine guns went full cyclic, rocking their vehicle while it tore into the body and tires of the target.

  The medium autocannon fired three shots in rapid succession, punching gaping holes in the armor. One of them must have hit the powerplant, since there was a shower of sparks, followed by acrid black smoke and flames bellowing up from under the hood. The car drifted to a stop, and he could see the driver slamming his hands in frustration on the steering wheel.

  Dillon watched his rear camera with satisfaction while they pulled away, until the angle changed and he saw an icon on the door. He recognized the black and yellow symbol on the car’s side and a cold chill went through him. "What’s BLUD doing in the middle of this fight?"

  Kayla asked distractedly, "BLUD? Why does that matter?"

  He looked back, and she was bent over her console, hands racing over the screen. "BLUD is, was, a competitor to the AADA. They went too far awhile back and the AADA and the cops mostly took them down. So why are they popping up here in Grand Junction?"

  "Who cares? Dillon, we’re nearly open on the rear. We took a pretty good hit back there. That right-side tire isn’t going to last much longer."

  "Yeah, well we can’t change it out here. Not with those gangers running around, and there might be more BLUDs looking to score a kill."

  "Take it easy on the corners, then. If that tire fails on us when we’re turning at high speed, we’re going to be screwed."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Ahead, multiple explosions sounded, and the sound of a chain gun firing cut across the dull booms. Dillon pointed them in that direction and, mindful of the tire, accelerated gently. "That sounds serious."

  "It’s a Mark 45 Bushmaster. Thirty-millimeter chain gun used by the Desert Patrol on their infantry fighting vehicles."

  The near continuous buzzing of the chain gun sounded frantic, like the gunner was firing in all directions. "Well, let’s go save their ass."

  Two blocks later, the street opened up into a park, where a lone Patrol IFV sat. The infantry were dismounted and set up firing positions while several bikers circled them. Smoke rose from the engine of the IFV, and a blackened hole showed in the side.

  Dillon didn’t hesitate and turned in the opposite direction of the motorcycle merry-go-round. Kayla spun the turret to the side, sensing his strategy. The first of their opponents never knew what hit them until they were engulfed by flames, and the team made it halfway around the circle before the other gangers noticed what was happening. At that point, they lost focus on the pinned-down soldiers and turned their attention on the car that was crisping their comrades.

  Dillon kept to the tight arc, circling the Desert position while bikers passed him on both the left and right sides, trying to give Kayla a good shot with whatever she could bring to bear. He felt rounds impacting the car in the front and on both sides, unworried since the light hand weapons were not a serious threat.

  Until the passenger on the last bike fired a light anti-tank rocket from close range at their damaged right-side tire.

  He felt it when it blew, rattling the whole frame and dropping the front end. There was a dull vibration through the steering column when the wheel hub impacted the asphalt.

  The car lurched to the right as the drag spun them around, and the restraints dug into his chest when the left side came up off the ground. Too fast. We’re going too fast came the realization, and that there was nothing else he could do. He grabbed his chest straps and yelled to Kayla, "We’re going over!"

  The right side impacted the pavement in a shower of sparks. With a banshee screech, their momentum dragged them along the asphalt, and small pieces of rock and ceramic pelted the interior through the missing window. Dillon heard screaming over the noise of ceramic armor being shredded away, and realized he was the one doing it.

  Minutes later, or maybe it was only seconds, the car came to a stop. It was still on the right side, and Dillon could see the Deseret soldiers rising from their makeshift protection and move up to somewhere behind him, firing while they went. The automatic cannon was now firing in short bursts, more controlled than before.

  The gunfire seemed far away after the hellish racket they’d just gone through. Turning as best he could as he hung in his straps, he looked over his shoulder at Kayla.

  Her chair, designed to rotate three hundred sixty degrees, slowly rocked back and forth. The position left her with her back to the ground and facing up to the sky. She gripped her straps with both hands, and her head was pressed hard into the headrest with her eyes closed.

  "Kayla. Kayla! Are you okay?"

  She nodded once, a short, quick motion. "We’re not dead?"

  "No. Although we might be if we don’t get upright and moving. Can you get out?"

  She slowly loosened her grasp on her straps, gloved hands trembling slightly. Undoing the center latch, she leaned forward, sliding the straps aside. As soon as her body moved, the chair shifted on its well-lubricated bearings and rotated under her. She squeaked and grabbed at the straps while it spun her around to face in the opposite direction, slowly rocking back and forth while the momentum equalized.

  He could see she was wavering on the edge, and there was only one thing he knew that would break through that impending hysteria. With a slight edge in his voice, he asked, "Are you through playing around with your chair?"

  Sure enough, her spine stiffened. After a few seconds, she bit back, "It’s my chair and I’ll play with it if I want to."

  Chuckling, Dillon set about unstrapping himself very carefully, bracing to keep from falling across the car. Once that was done, he pulled himself out through the driver’s side window.

  The front of the car was almost pointed at the center of the circle they’d been driving around, where the Patrol IFV sat. Looking around, he realized there were no more cyclists moving around. In fact, the soldiers were moving among them, checking to see if any were faking. He removed his helmet and set it carefully on the frame.

  One of the Patrol approached the car, waving his hand to get Dillon’s attention. "Hey. You okay there?"

  Dillon waved back. "Nobody’s hurt. Just our pride." He waved at the car. "Helluva position to end up in."

  "At least you’re alive. You guys one of those racers from Denver?"

  Dillon shifted a bit, holding out a hand to help Kayla extricate herself. "That’s right. Although I’m not sure how much more racing we’ll be doing."

  Another soldier walked over to report that none of the gang members were alive. Meanwhile, the team members carefully slid down the front of the car. On the ground, they could see that the turret kept them from tipping all the way over. The edge resting on the ground was ground down, although it didn’t look like the integrity was compromised.

  They walked around to examine the damage to the right front wheel, and the two soldiers came to stand beside them. The radial was gone, shredded to pieces from the blast. Nothing remained of the protective wheel hub, and the armor surrounding the wheel well was blackened and shot full of holes.

  Kayla tapped the shredded tire and shook her head. "Well, we have a spare. I’m more worried about any internal damage to the motor. Is this thing stable enough for me to get a closer look?"

  Dillon and one of the soldiers steadied the undercarriage while she got down on one knee to examine the damage up close. She wasn’t down there for very long and stood up shaking her head again. "There’s some shrapnel damage, but without taking off the wheel and opening up the motor, I can’t tell how bad it is. We need to get the vehicle lowered so we can change out the tire, at least. Then I can run internal diagnostics and see where we’re at."

  Dillon gritted his teeth and checked his watch. If they weren’t moving by midnight, they would be eliminated from the rally. He looked around the square, noting the sounds of combat in the distance. The sergeant that greeted him noted it too. He held out his hand to Dillon.

  "Sergeant Mason. Our radio is still working, so we called for a pickup and recovery vehicle. Took a rocket in the transmission. It’s toast but we still have power. They should be here inside an hour, assuming they don’t find trouble along the way. We can take you with us, back to base."

  Kayla stood up suddenly. "A recovery vehicle? You mean an M98?"

  "Yes ma’am. Standard Patrol recovery vehicle."

  She looked at Dillon. "They’ve got a 70-ton rated winch. More than enough to get us righted and support the car while we replace the tire with the spare."

  "Wait. You mean we still have a chance to stay in the rally?"

  ***

  Jacob was only able to contact one other car after several minutes of fighting. The AADA racers were brutally effective, he realized. They were more heavily armed and armored than his cars, and no one reported being able to take one down.

  It was time to cut his losses. Besides, the video footage might be worth something to Vernon. The old wolf knew all tricks for showing their opponents in the worst possible light. Decision made, he told the other car to break off their attacks and recover the data drives and personnel from the wrecked vehicles. One battle did not win or lose the war, and he was sure Vernon planned for other avenues of attack. He just needed that video footage to make it happen.

  ***

  The news helicopter landed at the Grand Junction airport within minutes of the battle ending. Rebekah didn't quite run, moving decorously fast to the hangar where a makeshift studio was set up, and people moved out of her way or found someplace else to be. Her mid-battle reporting needed a follow up, now that the city was saved from the Red River Riders. Her mind raced, while she summarized what she’d seen and thought about how she wanted to report on it. The local news stations would carry the personal angle for the people of the city, while she was going nationwide with this report. It wasn’t very often that a reporter was on scene from start to finish of a major battle like this, and she wasn’t going to waste her chance. The fact that Jeb faked out the Patrol and hit the city from an unexpected direction was central to her story; that, and the role the Dead Man's Run crews played in stopping the attack.

  She waved off the hair and makeup team, opting to go with the helmet hair and unretouched makeup. It would give her more of a martial air, she decided. Here she was, coming to tell her viewers about a battle she personally witnessed. One that saved a city.

  The camera went live at her signal. "Good evening, Colorado. This is Rebekah Walton, reporting to you live from Grand Junction, a city formerly under siege. Our earlier reports told you that the notorious Jeb Cannon was going to attack this city and did he just that this afternoon."

  Her producer switched to the camera footage they’d shot of the beginning of the attack. Multiple dust clouds from racing motorcycles and vehicles studded the horizon, all headed toward the camera. That footage came from a military feed, since she'd been stuck at the airport when the gang started its attack. Rebekah’s voiceover overlaid the shot. "Dozens of wasteland bandits launched their attack, intending on destroying this former Colorado city. The Deseret Patrol, under the command of Brigadier Hollend stood firm, ready to repel the assault."

  The camera panned over the defensive positions, and then that view was replaced by a quick turning shot. The camera panned to one side, new smoke clouds appearing in the city suburbs. Her voice continued. "The Deseret forces were outmaneuvered, when a hidden force appeared in the eastern suburbs. Fortunately for the good people of the city, our Dead Man's Run teams were ready. Conscripted by the Deseret Patrol to fight for the city, your teams made a good accounting of themselves."

  A quick series of video clips played now, showing the Angels, Flammo, and Quikshred all dispatching multiple bikers. Then the parade finished with shots of three badly damaged vehicles, and finally on the ATSS car, resting on its side.

  "Unfortunately, the threat posed by the Red River Riders was no idle one. Four of your teams suffered severe damage to their cars. It’s unknown at this time whether any of them will be able to continue the competition."