Battleship Raider, Paul Tomlinson [inspirational books for women .TXT] 📗

blade sliced through a door panel of the damaged tractor, cutting through the metal cleanly.

I ducked back as the robot headed towards my hiding place. On the plus side – no cannon. And it could only use the blade at close quarters. On the minus side – the blade was almost the size of a surfboard and could slice through metal like a spade through warm squit. The robot had been reduced from a tank to a giant gladiator, but it was still deadly. I needed a plan, but all I could come up with was ‘stay out of striking distance.’

I turned and ran. The steady thud of the robot’s footsteps followed me. It didn’t run – it didn’t need to. Its steps were three times the length of mine. Sensing that it was close, I ducked, throwing myself forward. I hit the ground and rolled onto my back. The massive blade sliced through the air where my neck had been a moment ago.

The giant cleaver rose high above me and came whooshing down. I rolled at the last moment and the blade crashed into the metal deck sending up sparks.

Desperate to find some sort of cover, I crawled towards a flatbed trailer that was loaded with crates. There was just enough room for me to slide underneath it. I lay on my back and watched the unhurried approach of the robot’s giant-sized feet. I tensed, ready to move again. The robot swiped the heavy crates off the trailer, sending them tumbling and crashing across the deck. Then the cleaver whistled down, biting into the trailer’s flatbed. The gleaming edge of the blade came through the underside, stopping less than an inch from my nose. I uncrossed my eyes and shuffled sideways away from the robot and out the other side.

The robot lifted the trailer and threw it aside. It raised the cleaver, ready to strike down at me – but I was no longer there. I scrambled to my feet and ran.

Watching two evenly matched robots fight it out in an arena can be fun. Being in the arena and completely outmatched by your opponent – not so much. I had no sword of my own and no shield. But I did have a pistol loaded with six explosive shells. I ducked behind one of the metal crates the robot had scattered across the floor, drew my gun and aimed at rampaging robot. The first shot bounced harmlessly off its chest plate and exploded off to one side. Not a surprise – the pistol wasn’t powerful enough to launch armour-piercing rounds. I braced my arms on the crate and targeted the joint in its groin – all is fair in robot wars – hoping to damage its leg and at least slow it down. This time the shell exploded against the robot and I saw it stop and stagger. I didn’t wait to see what came next – I used my momentary advantage and sprinted away from it.

The repaired wound in my thigh was only a dull ache and my damaged fingers felt fine. Things would probably be different once the adrenaline and painkillers wore off. Assuming I lived that long. I glanced back. The robot was still standing – the explosion hadn’t even knocked it off its feet. And when it started moving again, it wasn’t even limping. My little handgun was no good against a military robot.

In front of me were the massive steel doors that were open onto the launch deck. I could get outside – but then what? If I tried to climb down to the jungle the robot would just jump down and be there waiting for me at the bottom. My best chance of escape probably lay in heading back into the ship where I could lose the robot in the labyrinth of corridors. But my failed attempt to flatten the robot with a truck had brought me to the wrong end of the hangar. The doors into the ship were almost a quarter mile away. There was no way I could avoid the robot and cross that open space.

There were metal walkways around the walls of the hangar some thirty feet or so above the deck. If I could get up there, I might stand a chance of running the length of the hangar. The robot’s size gave it an advantage on the open hangar deck, but its weight and bulk would slow it down on the narrow walkway. There were metal staircases at various points around the hangar, but I would have to reach one well ahead of the robot. Otherwise it would tear the stairway down before I managed to climb up to the walkway. How could I slow it for long enough to get across to the nearest stairs and safely up them? Hitting it with a truck hadn’t worked.

I dodged behind another crate, thinking of trying a shot at the eye screens in the robot’s head – they looked much less substantial than the rest of its armour. But there was every chance they were formed from some sort of synthetic diamond rather than glass, so I decided to save my shot. I needed explosives. A big bomb. Not for the first time, I wished I had my backpack with me – though I wasn’t sure that the little limpet bombs that I had managed to scrounge up for this trip would have been enough. But it would have been nice just to have something. Even the red fire axe strapped to the back of my pack would have been better than the nothing I had in my hand at that moment. I would far rather go down fighting than be a sitting duck waiting to get picked off.

Thought of the axe triggered another idea in my brain. There would be firefighting equipment in the hangar – and it might include something I could use against the robot. Dousing it in fire extinguisher foam might slow it down.