There are three joysticks built into the console area, which is a little different from what I remember. Why the hell do I need three?
“Josh, you there?” I ask, tapping my earpiece when I get some static.
“I’m here,” he says. “Let me guess, your grand plan has hit its first stumbling block, in that you can’t drive the fucking tank you just commandeered. Am I right?”
“Now isn’t the time for rights and wrongs,” I say, dismissively. “Just tell me how to drive this damn thing?”
“The Goliath-class is slow but powerful,” he explains. “You need to keep it as straight as you can, turning as little as possible to be effective. The right hand stick gives you throttle and brakes. The left hand one is your steering. The middle one—”
“Blows shit up?”
“Exactly.”
“Why do they need two guys to run this thing then?” I ask.
“It’s much easier if you have one person navigating and one person shooting. There’ll be a secondary control system for the gun that the other guy can use.”
All the money this country has to spend on shit like this has really been put to good use. This thing is a beast! But it also looks like something off Star Trek, and I’m not a hundred per cent confident I won’t kill myself using it.
“Hey, Josh, they have a PA system built into it…” I say.
“Yeah, they’ll use that for crowd control, I suspect,” he replies.
I smile to myself.
I’ve just had the best idea…
I take my phone out and place it on the console in front of me, next to the microphone.
“Josh, can you send a song to the phone I’m using?”
“Erm, yeah, technically I could. Why?”
“I’m thinking I might go Apocalypse Now on these assholes!”
He laughs. “One second…” My phone beeps. “There you go, file sent. There’ll be a micro-USB docking port in the console. Stand your phone in it and play the file.”
I do as he says.
I move the right stick forward and the machine rumbles to life, juddering slowly out of the garage. I flick the switch so I’m broadcasting, then crank the volume all the way up, just as the opening of Black Betty by Ram Jam starts.
I carefully turn right, then left, lining myself up and approaching the facility head-on. Looking through the monitors, I see Josh was exactly right — twenty guys in total, spread around the main entrance under cover from satellite detection.
Whoa Black Betty! (Bam-ba-lam).
The music blasts as every single terrorist aims their weapons and open fire at me. The high-pitched whizzing sound of bullets bouncing off me rings out, but ultimately does nothing to deter me from unleashing Hell itself on these pieces of shit.
I take control of the middle stick, lining up my shot and firing once. The ka-boom is deafening, and the whole tank shudders as the ground to the left of the entrance explodes in a cloud of smoke and rubble and body parts.
The damn thing gone wild! (Bam-ba-lam).
I aim over to the right and do the same.
Ka-boom!
Another cloud of smoke and terrorists. I slow down as I approach the sidewalk that leads to the main entrance of the facility. I use the cannon to look around. The building is in a state of decay — the brick has crumbled and cracked pretty much everywhere, falling away in some places. It’s borderline derelict, but I’m assuming the underground section is much better preserved.
“How far down are they?” I ask Josh, tapping the earpiece a couple of times when I get some static feedback.
“Based on the thermal imaging scans, I reckon about three floors,” he replies. “I’ve got the layout up on my screen now.”
I aim the cannon at the main door and the last handful of terrorists who have so far evaded my wrath. I line up the shot and fire, blowing the entire front wall to pieces.
“Knock, knock, assholes.”
I climb out of the tank and drop down to the street, drawing my Beretta and doing a quick sweep. The entire area looks like a warzone. There are literally bits of people all over the place. Dark stains of blood cover the streets as I walk toward the hole that used to be the main entrance. I pick up one of the dead men’s assault rifles as I walk past. Somewhat typically, it’s an AK-47. It’ll do. I’d rather save my ammunition for when it counts. I scoop up a couple of mags as I walk on and slide them into a spare pocket on my body harness before checking the weapon’s locked and loaded.
With Black Betty still blasting behind me, I walk inside the building, checking every angle for signs of life. It’s a large, open-plan foyer — the right wall was once glass, floor to ceiling, but now the slight breeze quietly whistles through the place as I walk on. There’s a large front desk on the left and, beyond that, elevators and stairs leading both up and down.
I walk by some upturned chairs and tables. I catch one of the chairs with my right leg, and it makes a scraping noise on the floor, which sounds loud in the surrounding silence. I quickly drop to one knee, raising the gun up and preparing for any movement. I wait a few moments, but there’s still no sign of life.
Happy I’m under no immediate threat, I continue on to the stairs in front of me.
“All quiet here,” I whisper into my earpiece.
“The surrounding area’s quiet, too,” replies Josh. “Looks like you took out the bulk of the security perimeter.”
I reach the stairs and I lean over the railings, looking up and down and checking for movement.
“Looks clear,” I confirm. “I’m heading down. You say it was three floors?”
“Yeah,’ he replies. “We might lose comms, so stay sharp, okay? Don’t focus too much on Clara.”
“Copy that.”
I take a deep breath and head downstairs slowly, checking the angles and pausing at the bottom of each flight. As I approach the stairs down to the third sub-level, I hear the first signs of life.
“Josh, you there?” I whisper, but the line’s dead. I check my phone and see there’s no service. I take the earpiece out — no need to wear it if I can’t use it.
I climb down the last staircase and come out in a small, tiled lobby. The walls are showing signs of damp and decay, but the lighting works fine, and the floors look clean. It certainly doesn’t look abandoned, like everything else around here.
The lobby seems to act like a sort of hub — the stairs descend into the middle, with corridors and rooms off in every direction. I stand still, holding my breath and listening for any clue as to which way I need to go. With my back to the stairs, the corridor ahead of me is dark. I glance left and right. Both corridors are bathed in fluorescent light, from fixtures quietly buzzing overhead.
I step forward slowly, turning right and checking behind me. That’s well lit, too, but I hear something from the right that makes me turn. Just a faint sound of movement. I look at the sign on the wall, which says LEVEL 3—RESEARCH LABS. I take a step down the corridor, but stop when I hear more movement from behind me. I look over my shoulder, at the corridor facing the back of the stairs, and see two men walking toward me. They’re unarmed and appear to be deep in conversation, so I don’t think they’ve seen me. I press my back against the wall and listen for any clue as to which way they’re heading.
“He’ll be here soon,” says one of them. “The Fox said he’s already in the building.”
The Fox? Really?
Well, they know I’m here… or at least, that I’m on my way. I crouch down and carefully rest the AK-47 on the floor, keeping my eyes on the two men the whole time. They haven’t seen me, and they’re drawing level with me now. It’s amazing how invisible you can be when no one’s looking for you. They know I’m heading this way, but because they don’t think I’m here yet, it doesn’t enter their heads to look around, so even though I’m likely in their peripheral vision, they haven’t registered my presence. This is good news for me and, frankly, lethally bad luck for them.