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Angel 6
by David Wainio |
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Stark Hills near Holth Forest
Tukayyid
19 May 3052
He was too washed out to even open his eyes. But his nose was working. There was smoke. And there was heat. Hell was what his mother had always said it would be. Somehow that thought was almost comforting.
Terry Quina, wake up MechWarrior.
Mike? Was that Angel Three – Mike Chang? He sounded like he was muffled somehow. Far away.
Move it or lose it MechWarrior.
Terry forced open an eye. Smoke blurred his vision and made the eye water. Was he still alive? Then a heavy cough sent pain shooting through most parts of his body and he knew he was still alive. Or someone in Hell was very damn clever.
“Let’s go Terry” insisted the faint voice. There seemed to be some faint banging on the hull but that could have been expanding metal, exploding electronic parts, or many other things.
Terry felt at his leg and throat and came away with bloody hands. He was hurt. Probably bad. And he was still strapped in his Mech cockpit. Which seemed to be in danger of being engulfed by flames raging deeper down inside his busted up Hussar. His old friend and motivator fear returned as reason flooded back to his consciousness. He was sitting in a burning ‘Mech. Mike was right – he had to get out of there.
Struggling with weak hands he finally managed to get free of his restraints and crawl awkwardly across the blistering hot floor of the cockpit’s cabin to the exit hatch. Power was down so he’d have to manually crank the release dogs. He pulled with his waning strength but the wheel refused to budge. The smoke was getting thicker and licks of flame where starting to dance up from the mail control panel at the front of the cockpit.
Terry pounded on the hatch with his fist in desperation.
“Mike, Help,” he screamed in a horse whisper though his shattered throat. “I can’t turn it. It’s stuck.”
His head slumped in despair as no answer returned. Mike couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t help him.
Then suddenly Mike’s faint voice could be heard above the crackle of the fire.
“On three,” it instructed, “heave. I’ll help from this side. One…Two….Three.”
On one Terry had grasped the ring. On two his grip tightened. On three he pulled with every last ounce of strength left in him. The wheel stayed stubbornly stuck. Then just as Terry was about to collapse and give up the effort it jumped free with a screech. Palming it with his better hand Terry wheeled it the rest of the way open and basically fell out of the open hatch. He bounced off of a number of things including a heat vent that left a nasty burn on the back of his shoulder. But the way his ‘Mech was laying had left the hatch fairly close to the slope. It was not a very long fall.
He just lay there coughing for a moment, taking better air into his lungs. His vision was better but still a bit blurry. Finally he looked around and discovered a good amount of debris littered the area. It seemed that the Ghost Bears had not risked walking down into the steep
crevasse his Hussar now laid in but had blasted his downed machine a few times where it lay for good measure. |
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