The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [78]
Whether Max had also been hit was impossible to say.
He was no longer to be seen, certainly.
The two bodyguards, hampered in their flight by the necessity for keeping an eye to the rear, were still in plain view. When the orange tree exploded, they swung round with their guns at the ready; seeing Maggie on top of the wall unleashing another bolt towards the grove, they opened fire.
Almost at once, she fell to the ground, knocked backwards by the force of the round which had hit her in the shoulder. But with a cry of rage, she scrambled up, ran in a crouch to the battlement and let fly again.
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Human flesh was evidently as vulnerable to the power of her attack as living wood; momentarily screaming as they flared up like petrol-soaked torches, they were silent in an instant as they were vaporized, leaving nothing to show that they had ever stood there but a wisp of blue smoke and the twisted remains of their half-melted guns.
Great Heavens, thought the Brigadier, that thing inside her gives her more firepower than a tank; thank the Lord it was aimed at their enemies, rather than themselves.
As the thought crossed his mind, he saw down the hill the giant figure of Max emerging from the far edge of the orange grove and running for the helicopter, which was waiting for him in the middle of the field.
Maggie had seen him too, for she raised her arm as if she was going to fire at him. But she must have decided that he was too far away. She stood up, clambered into the embrasure of the battlements through which she had been firing, and jumped off the wall.
The Brigadier ran to the front of the tower, expecting to see her body lying limp on the ground. But no; she had landed lightly on her toes and was starting to move away in the direction taken by her former protector.
But she’d left it too late. Already the helicopter was rising into the darkening sky. She stopped; and the 273
Brigadier could see her watching as it cleared the trees and flew towards the castello.
Almost lazily lifting her arm, she aimed at the machine.
‘So long, Daddy-o,’ she said, and let fly.
But she missed.
Or so it seemed for the moment, for the chopper did not burst into flame as the Brigadier expected. But she must have caught an arm of the rotor. The helicopter slipped sideways and tumbled out of the sky like a shot pheasant.
Landing with a screeching cacophony of tortured machinery, it somersaulted a couple of times and came to a stop, a smoking wreck, some thirty yards from the castle wall. In the silence a thin cheer arose from the castle walls from the watching defenders, who seemed to have regained a modicum of courage as the battle turned in their favour.
The Brigadier didn’t join in; but he was just as chuffed, he decided. Surely nothing could survive such a crash. Max must be dead at last.
But no. Rising from the wreckage, the giant figure stepped to the ground as if he were a gentleman of old alighting from his carriage. Seeing Maggie raising her aim again, he lifted his chin and arrogantly awaited her attack, like a duellist who has expended both his bullets and awaits his inevitable end.
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But when she fired, the effect was very different from the earlier attacks. The bolt of fire hit Max full in the chest; but he did not fall or burst into flame. He staggered slightly with the sheer force of the impact, but the energy seemed to be sucked into him, vanishing into his body.
Good grief, thought the Brigadier. Here we go again: an invulnerable enemy. He even looks larger