Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [121]
Shit.
No helmet. He couldn’t get in contact with the others.
Another impact. Harder this time.
The hovercraft slid sideways again.
Five yards from the edge.
Schofield looked out to his right, out through the hole in the side of his speeding hovercraft, and saw the black British hovercraft whipping across the ice plain beside him. He saw it widen the gap between the two hovercrafts and then suddenly rush back in at them.
The two hovercrafts collided again and Schofield felt his hovercraft jolt another couple of yards towards the edge.
Two yards to go.
The two hovercrafts raced along the edge of the clifftop, three hundred feet above the churning white waves of the Southern Ocean.
Schofield was still watching the British hovercraft alongside him.
As it widened the gap between the two hovercrafts once more – like a boxer pulling his arm back in preparation for the next blow – suddenly Schofield saw another hovercraft materialise in the distance beyond the black British hovercraft.
Schofield blinked.
It was the orange French hovercraft.
The orange hovercraft? Schofield thought.
But the only person in that hovercraft was . . .
Renshaw.
Schofield saw the gaudy orange hovercraft pull alongside the speeding British hovercraft. Now there were three hovercrafts travelling side-by-side along the edge of the ice cliff!
Suddenly, the British hovercraft rammed them again and the skirt of Schofield’s hovercraft jutted out over the edge of the cliff. Large chunks of snow were thrown off the edge. They became tiny specks of white as they disappeared into the churning foam of the sea three hundred feet below.
‘Come on,’ Schofield suddenly grabbed Kirsty’s hand.
‘What are we –’
‘We’re leaving,’ Schofield said.
Schofield pulled Kirsty over to the gaping hole in the right-hand side of his hovercraft.
He saw the British hovercraft pull away from them again, preparing itself for the killing blow.
Schofield swallowed. He would have to time this just right . . .
He drew his Desert Eagle pistol.
The British hovercraft rushed in toward them.
The two hovercrafts collided and in that instant, Schofield leapt across onto the skirt of the British hovercraft, pulling Kirsty with him.
They landed on the skirt of the speeding British hovercraft just as their own went careering off the edge of the cliff. The empty hovercraft rolled through the air for an instant before it plummeted three hundred feet straight down. It hit the water with a stunning impact and smashed into a thousand pieces.
Schofield and Kirsty never stopped moving.
They skipped across the roof of the British hovercraft and as they did so, Schofield pointed his pistol straight down and fired three quick shots into the roof beneath him and then suddenly they were on the other side of the hovercraft and Schofield could see Renshaw’s hovercraft in front of them.
The orange hovercraft swung in closer just as Schofield and Kirsty leapt off the skirt of the British hovercraft. They landed safely on the skirt of Renshaw’s hovercraft and it instantly peeled away from the black British hovercraft.
Schofield looked back at the British hovercraft – saw a star of blood on the forward windshield. Someone inside the hovercraft was still moving, clambering forward in an attempt to grab the steering vane.
Schofield figured that he must have hit the driver and now whoever was still in there was desperately trying to regain control of the –
Too late.
The British hovercraft looked like a stunt car leaping off a ramp as it shot off the edge of the cliff. It sailed through the air for a moment – soaring high – before gravity took its course and the hovercraft began to arc downwards. Schofield caught a fleeting glimpse of the man inside it as the hovercraft dropped below the edge of the clifftop and disappeared forever.
Schofield turned to see the sliding side door of the orange hovercraft open in front of him and he saw Renshaw’s smiling face appear.
‘Can I drive this thing or what?’ Renshaw said.
Now there was only one British