"They're
closing in," Tricia informed him, "Keep them on the right."
George
did as instructed.
"There
should be an indicator on your HMD showing the direction of our gun."
George
saw the indicator. Tricia was aiming the weapon to the right, where
the opposing vehicle was. If gun were to be fired to the right, um,
because of the conservation of momentum, um, there would be an
opposite reaction so the pickup would swerve left. Thus, he should
turn right.
Tricia
fired a burst.
In
response, George guided the pickup right to compensate. However, when
the weapon stopped firing, the vehicle lurched further in that
direction.
"Whoa,
not so much," Tricia told him, "Turn gently."
The
pickup shuddered as another burst hit its side. George gave a
high-pitched little-girlie squeal in surprise.
"Damn,
the fuel tank's hit," Tricia reported. She pushed virtual
buttons on the screen of her datapad. Somewhere below the pickup,
whirling noises started. "I'm moving the fuel into the remaining
tank. It's on the left of the vehicle - don't let them near it."
Their
opponent closed in on their left.
"Try
turning right, gently," Tricia suggested, "Turn our left
away from them." She fired a few short bursts from the mounted
machinegun.
The
station wagon tried to keep up but eventually ceased their attempt to
pull alongside the Vixen vehicle. Instead, it approached again from
the right.
George
was about to turn left but Tricia stopped him. "It may be a
feint. If you do it wrong, they may suddenly end up on your left."
Then
George realized why the Vixen wanted to protect their left. Not only
was their remaining fuel tank on that side, he himself was there too!
There
was not anything that George could do other than to let their
opponent draw close on their right. They fired their mounted
machinegun. Tricia returned fire. George tried his best to absorb the
recoil. Several times the pickup shuddered as bullets hit the
vehicle's protection.
He was
in a firefight. And there was nothing he could do but drive straight.
Would he get hit? Would it end!?
Just
when frustration was about to consume him, the waster station wagon
slowed and pulled away.
"That's
a relief," Tricia commented as she glanced back, "I wonder
if I hit something vital... Let's get out of here."
After
George had driven far enough that the waster vehicle was obscured by
distant clouds of dust, Tricia gave him a new heading. "We'll
need to stop somewhere and check the damage."
***
They hid
the pickup among an outcropping of rocks.
George
got out and had a good look at the condition of the vehicle. Most of
the damage was on the side and rear armor, which held fine. The
exception was one spot on the right side at the bottom where two
bullets had penetrated the armor and poked holes into the fuel tank.
It was
fortunate that he had brought his toolbag.
George
checked the wheels. The right rear wheel had a few bullets in its
solid tire. The tire seemed fine, even after he had pulled the
bullets out.
Tricia
showed George a few pieces of plate that he could weld over the
weakened sections of armor. The plates were unsuitable for patching
the damaged fuel tank - something more ductile was needed. George
made a note to bring some suitable material in the future.
As
George worked, Tricia consulted the database in the pickup's
computer. "From the markings on the wasters earlier. I think
they were the Insect Clouded Terror." She blew an amused snort.
"Sounds like they chose the name from a random name generator.
Maybe that's why they didn't announce their identity up front."
After
George was done welding on another plate, Tricia mentioned,
"Diagnostics say there's something wrong with the nitrous
system. There's a pressure drop at the intake."
"I'll
take a look when I'm done," George said, "Will we be in
time to pick up the others?"
"There's
still time," Tricia replied.
There
was a beep in George's helmet.
"Hang
on, we're getting a call." Tricia tapped on her datapad.
"We
need pick up, now!" Mabel's voice rang in both their helmets.
"And
time's up," Tricia said.
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