Chapter 59 - The Ambush at the Viaduct
They departed the bunker in an armored Mercedes SUV, winding their way south toward Geneva via the remote alpine mountain passes to avoid the military blockades being established around the cities.
The weather had turned violent. A sudden alpine blizzard swept down from the peaks, whipping snow across the winding asphalt and dropping visibility to less than thirty yards.
As they reached the concrete expanse of the Chillon Viaduct—a high bridge spanning a yawning ravine two hundred meters above frozen rock—a sudden metallic thud struck the front grille.
"Spike strip!" Karl yelled, wrestling the steering wheel as the heavy run-flat tires shredded.
The SUV slid across the icy pavement, slamming hard against the reinforced concrete barrier at the edge of the abyss, sparks showering into the howling wind.
Instantly, two heavy black tactical trucks rammed through the blizzard from the opposite side of the bridge, boxing them in. Heavily armed mercenaries dressed in arctic camouflage poured out, raising automatic weapons.
"Stay down!" David shouted, shielding Veta as high-caliber rounds hammered the ballistic glass of the SUV, spider-webbing the reinforced composite.
"They aren't trying to capture Sterling’s data," Karl said grimly, firing through a reinforced gun-port in the door. "This is a scorched-earth ambush. They’re here to throw this car over the bridge!"
One of the mercenary trucks accelerated, dropping a heavy hydraulic ram down to smash the SUV over the ledge.
David’s mind raced. He looked at Veta’s auxiliary life-support system. It was equipped with the experimental high-frequency pneumatic pulse generator he had modified that morning—designed to aerosolize the cure, but capable of producing extreme directional shockwaves when overdriven.
"Veta, plug your ears and hold onto the floor anchor!" David yelled.
David ripped the emergency release valve off the unit, shoved the directional nozzle through the shattered side window, and cranked the power cell into a deliberate thermal overload.
"Eat this," David growled, depressing the trigger.
A concentrated acoustic shockwave—a concussive blast of compressed pneumatic force—erupted from the nozzle. The air rippled visibly in the blizzard. The lead truck's windshield imploded instantly, its steering mechanics violently sheared off their mounts. The truck spun sideways on the slick ice, careening directly into the second mercenary vehicle and sending both spinning across the viaduct, smashing through the safety barriers and dangling precariously over the frozen chasm below.
May you like
Karl didn't waste a second. He slammed the SUV into reverse, broke clear of the wreckage, and sped through the burning debris, disappearing into the whiteout of the storm.
***
