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fifty-round burst of mixed explosive and armour-piercing shells struck the side of a brick-built tractor shed in front of the leading American skimmer. Part of the structure’s
corrugated iron roof was blasted off, and the second vehicle of the racing pair had to plough through an avalanche of falling bricks and beams as the decayed fabric of the building collapsed into its path.
    The enemy gun-layer made a fractional adjustment to his aim, and his second burst caught the tail-end vehicle of the file as it turned into a narrow alleyway between a row of houses and a church.
    Six of the high velocity shells smashed into its port engine, two more gouged their way across the skimmer’s roof behind the turret. An explosive round self- destructed amid a tangle of externally stowed equipment, sending saws and hawsers and shovel handles spinning away into the night. The last three armour- piercing shells plunged in through the vehicle’s rear plate, between the engine exhausts, their impacts marked by showers of white sparks.
    Its remaining engine screaming at full power the hovercraft, towing thick white smoke, careered through a wild tight turn and thundered into the front of a boarded-up store. Its speed took it right inside and clouds of dust hid where it came to rest. A massive explosion lifted the building and bright flame bubbled from every window. The roof sagged, and then the whole property crashed down to bury the wreck.
    ‘You’ll have to pull forward. I can’t see the bugger.’ Burke made no move to do as their turret gunner urged, and drive the Iron Cow from the cover of the derelict cottage so that Libby could retaliate with their cannon armament.
    Revell was standing looking out of the command cupola, just forward of the main turret. He watched as the other remaining skimmer took up a position across the street, nestling against a row of deserted houses. ‘We’re not going anywhere while he’s out there.’
    Hyde had been watching the scanner console over Howard’s shoulder. ‘Might be an idea to try though, Major. That flak tank is calling for help.’
    Revell surveyed the country ahead. It was half a mile to the next substantial cover, a belt of woodland flanking the road.
    ‘Aw, Major,’ Dooley had been listening, ‘we ain’t gonna get in a fire fight with a flak wagon, are we? Jesus, that thing fires four thousand rounds a minute. All we’ve got is one barrel against their four, and three-round clips against their belt feed.’
    Now that he had at last realised that they had stopped moving, Cohen began to take an interest in what was going on. ‘Yeah, and they’ve got micro-wave radar. So it’s not too hot in the ground mode, but we ain’t got any.’
    The mound of blazing rubble that marked where the last skimmer had come to rest illuminated a considerable and expanding area in the centre of the settlement. Buildings adjoining it were already steaming and were liable to add their fuel to the conflagration at any moment.
    ‘I don’t think we have any choice.’ Even as Revell made up his mind, there was a massive detonation and the cottage alongside dissolved inside a roaring ball of fire. Bricks and slates crashed on to their hull and turret and rained down in the road.
    Two more similarly massive concussions cratered the road behind them and blasted out the end wall of the church.
    There was just time to grab a handhold before, on the major’s command, Burke sent the machine surging forward. Like the others, they knew that those first gigantic blasts were just the ranging shots, the precursors of a much larger salvo of 240mm rockets to come.
    Through a rear-facing periscope Revell saw that Windle’s skimmer, though slower off the mark, was following.
    More of the huge fin-stabilised rockets began to fall as they cleared the last of the straggling buildings. The houses were torn apart, their roofs lifted off and their contents scattered across the streets and gardens. Trees and telegraph