"Richard Harding - Outrider 02 - Fire And Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harding Richard)

belt of ammunition into the auto-feed and leaned against the rollbar. The snow
beat him about the head, catching in his hair. The lights grew brighter. Big
tough men, thought Bonner, bent low over their bikes, just like those raiders
on the lake bed, riding hard, determined to prevail. What they didn't know was
that they were doomed to failure. In a few seconds they were going to ride
into a firestorm that would suddenly heat up a very cold night. The engines
were louder now. "Starling," yelled Bonner, "you start it off." "Will do."
They were closing, the lights splitting the snow, rushing toward doom. Bonner
cocked the big gun. The growl of the engines drowned out the snap of
Starling's bow. The first arrow dashed into the center of the lights, hit
something-man, machine-and blew. The sheets of falling snow turned a
washed-out pink. A light went out. A man screamed, the tortured sound rising
above howling, racing engines. The headlights shot off at a half-dozen crazy
angles. Brakes wailed. The long barrel of Bonner's gun started spitting
flame. The attackers, whoever they were, were skid-ding and slipping on the
road. The big bullets slammed into chilled flesh and hot blood spurted out
onto the snowy road. Another Starling special exploded in the midst of the
tortured mass of men and metal. Bonner twitched the heavy machine gun across
the downed riders, sending gouts of paving, blood, and flesh up into the
curtains of snow. The Mean Brothers jumped up, waving their crude weapons.
They wanted their fun too. But to Bonner it wasn't fun. It was part of the
code he lived by: kill or be killed. "Get down," Bonner ordered. The Mean
Brothers hunkered down in their seats, shoulders hunched like chastened
dogs. The big gun continued to chatter, its powerful kick jacking Bonner back
and forth as he drew the smoking barrel across the bodies of the dead end
dying for a final sweep. You could never be too careful, although it had
ceased to be battle and had become instead merely slaughter. "Think you got
'em," observed Starling. Bonner stopped firing. Snowflakes drifted down onto
the gun and melted. "Now, let's find out who the fucks are," said Starling.
He and Bonner, trailed by the Mean Brothers, advanced. Bonner held his Steyr
ahead of him, ready. Starling's fist was filled with a huge Dan Wesson Magnum.
Both were ready to start blasting again. A groan broke from the shattered
body of one of the riders. Bonner knelt by him and looked at the wide exit
wound that stained the man's back. It was , as wide as a pie tin and the
fibers of the man's heavy coat had knit themselves into his slashed flesh.
Blood, thick as gravy, poured out onto the frozen road. Bonner figured he had
about three minutes to live. Starling kicked over a body and stared, not
altogether sure he could believe his eyes. "You see what I see?" Bonner
nodded. "I see it." Starling wandered around and kicked over a few more
bodies. "See? Every single one of them." "Yep," said Bonner. "I'm surprised
they fought with lights in a snowstorm." Experience had'taught Bonner that
the best men could oftentimes be relied upon to do the wrong thing, to make
the move that would lead to their being brought down. "They're Lightning
squadsmen from the Snow-states," said Bonner. "They only fight in the snow.
They probably got cocky. They figured we were no-account raiders on the road
too late in the season." "What is the squad doing in the Slavestates?" Bonner
was silent a moment. Listening. On the edge of the snowy breeze came the sound
of a lot of engines. "It doesn't matter," said Bonner. "There are plenty of
them out there." Starling listened. "You know, you might be right." "Time to
go," said Bonner. "Right again," said Starling. Chapter 8 They were still