Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [112]
Schofield fought desperately with the steering yoke of his hovercraft. The hovercraft screamed across the ice plain, a juggernaut out of control, ducking and swerving as it avoided the missiles that rained down all around it.
‘The trunk!’ Schofield yelled to Renshaw. ‘The trunk!’
‘Right!’ Renshaw said. He lifted a compact black tube out of the Samsonite trunk. It was about five feet long.
‘All right,’ Schofield said as he yanked hard on the steering yoke to avoid another screaming British missile. The hovercraft rocked sharply as it swung hard to the right. Renshaw lost his balance and fell against the wall of the cabin.
‘Lock the tube onto the gripstock!’ Schofield yelled.
Renshaw found the gripstock in the trunk. It looked like a gun without a barrel – just the grip and the trigger and a stock that you rested on your shoulder. The compact cylindrical tube clicked firmly into place on the top of the gripstock.
‘All right, Mr Renshaw. You just made yourself a Stinger missile launcher! Now use it!’
‘How?’
‘Open the door! Put it on your shoulder! Point it at the bad guys, and when you hear the tone, pull the trigger! It’ll do the rest!’
‘Okay . . .’ Renshaw said doubtfully.
Renshaw yanked open the right-hand sliding door of the hovercraft. Screaming Antarctic wind instantly invaded the interior of the craft. Renshaw struggled against it, forced his way toward the open door.
He rested the Stinger on his shoulder, shuffled it so that his eyes settled into its sights. Through the night-sights, he saw the lead British hovercraft from head-on, caught between a pair of cross-hairs. The British hovercraft glowed green –
And then suddenly Renshaw heard a dull buzzing sound.
‘I hear the tone!’ he yelled excitedly.
‘Then pull the trigger!’ Schofield called back.
Renshaw pulled the trigger.
The recoil of the Stinger sent Renshaw flying back onto the floor of the cabin.
The missile shot forward from its launcher. The back-blast – the sudden, explosive burst of fire that shoots out the back of a rocket launcher when it is fired – shattered the windows behind Renshaw.
Schofield watched as the Stinger spiralled through the air towards the lead British hovercraft. Its smoke trail looped gracefully through the air behind it, revealing its flight-path.
‘Goodnight,’ Schofield said.
The Stinger slammed into the lead British hovercraft and the hovercraft exploded instantly, shattered into a thousand pieces.
The other British hovercrafts continued relentlessly forward, ignoring their fallen comrade. One of the rear ones just shot straight through the burning remains of the exploded lead hovercraft.
‘Good shot, Mr Renshaw!’ Schofield said, knowing full well that Renshaw really had nothing to do with the success of the shot.
Schofield had guessed – correctly – that the British were firing Milan anti-tank missiles at him. But as Schofield well knew, Milans are made to hit tanks and armoured vehicles. They are not made to hit vehicles travelling faster than forty miles per hour. That was why they were performing so badly against Schofield’s speeding hovercrafts.
The Hughes MIM-92 Surface-to-Air ‘Stinger’ Missile, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. It was made to hit fighter jets. It was made to hit vehicles that travelled at supersonic speeds. As such, it was more than capable of hitting a hovercraft travelling at a mere eighty miles per hour.
What Schofield also knew was that the Stinger was potentially the most user-friendly shoulder-launched assault weapon ever made. You simply pointed the weapon, heard the tone and pulled the trigger. The missile did the rest.
In the cabin behind Schofield, Renshaw awkwardly got to his feet again. Once he had regained his balance, he looked out through the side door of the hovercraft and saw the fiery remains of the British hovercraft he had destroyed.
‘Yikes,’ he said softly.