Free REHO: A Science Fiction Thriller (The Hegemon Wars) by D. L. Denham Page B

traveled another block before being pinned down. Any farther and the Fighter would locate them. Above, the zeppelin had reappeared near the docks, away from the Fighter and most of the action.
    Sola swung her pulse rifle around in time to blast a soldier with a tall hat and carrying a strange rifle. Her blast sent him skyward, smashing ten feet high into a building. A group of figures appeared to the south. Reho assumed they were not from the same political party as the guy they’d just shot. It was next to impossible to tell people apart in the ash, but Reho could see that both their dress and their weapons were different. The Industrialists wore bowler hats and carried OldWorld rifles. The Monets had tall hats and were using pulse rifles as well as some sort of modified rifle that fired something Reho hadn’t seen before.
    According to Gibson, they could make it to the train station in six minutes if nothing interfered. But first, they had to get around the Fighter.
    Four Monets wearing black-glassed goggles, piped hats, and long coats fired from behind parked vehicles. Several shots from their modified guns ricocheted off the armored cargo vehicle. From around the corner, five more appeared.
    “Now we shoot!” Thursday said, sending a dozen pulses through the air, scattering the approaching men.
    Ends kept point, his eyes fixed on the Fighter.
    Thursday’s attention was drawn to three more Monets cornering their side of the street. Reho leapt, rolling through the ash to Thursday’s side, and released three shots from his rifle. Each shot opened a five-inch-wide cavity in the Monets’ chests.
    “You took my blasted shot!”
    “Didn’t look like yours to me , ” Sola said, smiling at Reho.
    The Fighter had now positioned itself directly ahead of them, but still unaware of their location.
    “There is no way this Fighter is going to let us stroll past , ” Gibson said.
    “We can’t wait it out?” Sola asked.
    “No,” Ends replied, recharging his blaster. “We’ll be swarmed by these guys if we pause any longer.”
    “Wait here,” Reho said. “I’ll take care of the Fighter. Get the cargo to the station . ”
    “How?” Sola asked.
    “Trust me,” Reho replied, grabbing two hand grenades off Gibson’s vest. He took the walkway leading to the Fighter, clipping the grenades onto his jacket. He stashed his rifle and pack against a hydrant a hundred feet from the Fighter. He unholstered his pistol and shot out the copper lamps ahead, blacking out the area.
    He heard the steam-mule move behind him. They would take an alternate route to the station. With any luck, they wouldn’t run into any heavy resistance.
    With their doors and windows closed off, frightened citizens waited out the violent conflict in safety. The new moon and thick clouds hid Reho as he skimmed the building’s wall, nearing the steam-fueled armored machine.
    He took a mental inventory. His pistol contained thirteen rounds, with two clips on his belt and two grenades dangling off his jacket’s zipper. He would need to get close to the Fighter to even have a chance at taking it out. The center of the machine was a cast-iron boiler, which powered the rest of it. Hundreds of pipes ran across the metal frame, each powering a different part. One main arm contained a spinning machine gun; the other was equipped with a pair of pincers big enough to crush a gasoline. Everything has a weakness.
    Reho had already spotted one of the Fighter’s vulnerabilities: it was built with human proportions. It had stocky, metal legs and a bulky, globe-shaped body, like a ball with massive, lethal arms. Its head was square and the size of a small car. Someone was in there, controlling it, defending the city from the Monets that were dropping from the sky.
    He fired several shots at the Fighter, drawing its attention. Its response was exactly what he had expected. Its torso moved, twisted, then its legs lurched forward. He watched as it scanned the darkness.