The Vulture Car

The soldiers following Augustus sobered up instantly upon hearing his words; with so many people sprinting through the streets like they were on a forced march, it was as if they were terrified the Military Police wouldn't notice them.

Consequently, every dozen steps or so, a group would peel off into a different street or alleyway. These were active-duty soldiers who knew Braddock well and understood exactly where to run.

The remaining twenty-odd recruits, however, were completely lost. They had no choice but to keep following Augustus, pinning their hopes on his ability to lead them away from the Military Police's pursuit.

Augustus had also arrived in Braddock for the first time that day. He realized that the most logical course of action was to stick to the main thoroughfare, as they had no idea where the side streets and alleys might lead. Yet, unless he could outrun a motorized vehicle, they would be caught sooner or later.

"I have an idea," Raynor, who was right behind Augustus, suddenly said.

"If you've got an idea, spit it out!" Harnack shouted from the side, his breathing ragged.

"Those MPs came in vehicles," Raynor said. "I'll bet the cars are still parked outside the bar. They're too busy rounding people up inside to worry about their rides."

Augustus came to a halt, and the men behind him stopped in confusion, though not a single person dared to push past him to keep running.

"Follow me." Augustus turned left at the T-junction ahead, stepping into a dark, deep, and narrow alleyway. It was so cramped that two recruits could barely walk side-by-side.

Although the recruits behind Augustus didn't know what he was planning, after a few seconds of hesitation, they followed him closely. No one asked why; they just followed. In reality, they had only run about a hundred meters; they could have doubled back to the bar in no time, but returning now would mean running straight into the pursuing forces.

Augustus ordered everyone to stay quiet, so the alcohol-reeking recruits huddled in the alley, motionless. There were no lights here, and the space between the alley walls was covered by blue corrugated plastic sheets, blocking out even the moonlight.

The recruits waited anxiously for two or three minutes until they heard the sound of the Military Police scout vehicles approaching from a distance and then rapidly driving away.

"Everyone out, head back!" Once the engine noise had completely faded, Augustus whispered.

The group rushed out of the alley and sprinted back in the direction they had come. The recruits' movements were no longer as chaotic as when they had first fled the bar, though they still resembled a swarm of scurrying cockroaches.

At that moment, two MPs with red shoulder boards were standing at the entrance of the bar. They watched in astonishment as over twenty soldiers in Marine recruit uniforms ran past them, wondering if their eyes were playing tricks on them.

Augustus found the Military Police vehicles under a makeshift shed outside Bloody Mary. Most of the vehicles had been taken, but five Vultures and one standard nine-hundred-pound capacity Battle Assault Vehicle remained. The MPs likely hadn't expected the fleeing recruits to double back, and no one had been left to guard these "unclaimed" vehicles.

The Battle Assault Vehicle still moved on four wheels that hugged the ground, while the Vultures were hover-vehicles shaped like sharp, three-sided spikes.

Vultures hovered a few inches above the ground via magnetic levitation. When equipped with plasma thrusters, these machines—which rampaged across battlefields—could reach speeds of two to three hundred miles per hour.

The military Vultures were far wilder than the modified motorcycles Augustus had ridden at Korhal Sterling Academy, and they were more dangerous and thrilling than any custom hover-bike the noble scions at the racing tracks took pride in. Lacking armor, Vultures were typically used for scouting, but in the hands of Marines, they were always subjected to all sorts of bizarre and illegal modifications.

"I'll take the grey-green one," Raynor said, selecting a Vulture. "I spent half my life driving a combine harvester back on the farm; this shouldn't be too hard. What do you say, boys? Who wants to ride shotgun?"

"I'm afraid you'll need to fit three on your bike; we have too many people," Augustus told him.

"Raynor, Londerstein, Omo, Benjamin, and I will drive. Three to a Vulture is the weight limit. The rest of you take that assault vehicle. Brandon, that one is yours."

"I don't know how to drive a Vulture." Tom Omo blushed. He had driven harvesters and cargo trucks, but he had never tried the "real man's bumper cars" modified from magnetic motorcycles at the Shiloh underground racing circuit like Raynor had.

"I'm not confident."

"I'm glad you had the courage to say that, or someone would have ended up in trouble." Augustus nodded at him, and the others laughed at his joke, leaving no time for anyone to mock Omo.

"I'll do it. I've driven something similar. Those were the glory days," a recruit with greying temples said calmly amidst the laughter. Augustus didn't recognize him; he was from another recruit platoon.

"Get on the vehicles, they'll realize what's happening soon," Augustus cut off the laughter and climbed onto a Vulture with a bright red shell and blue seat. The others immediately followed suit.

Connor Ward sat on the seat behind Augustus. The Vulture was a single-person combat vehicle, and the seat could barely accommodate two. Ilya Kurovsky had no choice but to lie flat on the hood. To ensure he wouldn't be thrown off, Augustus hopped off and used a restraint strap found on the seat—intended for prisoners—to lash him tightly to the Vulture.

The Vulture sank slightly under the excessive weight, and the control panel beneath the windshield flashed red, emitting an unsettling alarm. Augustus didn't care. He pulled up the 3D map of the town and had the smart computer list several routes back to the fortress.

Augustus then started the engine and fumbled to open the plasma thruster's jet valve. The Vulture beneath him immediately "flew" forward, reaching two hundred miles per hour in a heartbeat and continuing to accelerate.

Augustus's Vulture was like a jet fighter taking off from the ground, speeding through the narrow streets of Braddock at a terrifying pace. Ward clutched Augustus's waist, his face ashen, as if he had lost the ability to breathe.

Kurovsky, usually the bravest in his squad, was pinned to the hood and looked as if he would be flung off at any second, forcing him to let out a high-pitched, distorted scream like a woman's, convinced he was on his way to heaven.

Only Augustus remained calm and composed; once his hands touched the steering grips, driving the Vulture felt like instinct. Driven by his interests, Augustus had started driving hover-racers as a child, and none of the racing cars in his family's private underground garage back home could be compared to the "toys" of ordinary street racers.

In the night of Braddock, almost every townsman heard a series of clack-clack sounds. It wasn't the engine of the Vultures, but the sound of their chassis scraping against the ground due to the heavy load, sending sparks flying. The sheriff's old motorcycle was no match for these speed demons.

"Whoo-hoo!!!"

Harnack let out an excited scream.