Thanks to: Shadow914, shiningpearls, Guest, 6000j, Alchemechanist, Spencerblue, Fowl Fox, Steinbock and kunoichi - seriously guys, I can't thank you enough, you're amazing. Thank-you for making me check my emails a dozen times a day and grin like a loon. You know I'll reply individually if I can, but for all of you: it's so nice to see old buddies pop up in the reviews again and again. Hope you're all doing well.

WARNINGS: badassery, carchassery, tenacity... all of the asseries.

I hope this lives up to expectations!

CHAPTER FOUR

'COLLISION COURSE'

Definition: On an approach likely to lead to conflict

Rural Lanes, Outskirts of Dublin

The car roared and the safety strap cut into Dom's neck, but he didn't scream. He knew that might distract his uncle from some vital aspect of the dark and winding road they were careering down at speeds approaching triple figures. So, unlike Artemis and Sophia, Dom kept his mouth shut and his teeth gritted against the slinging movement of the tail end of the Bentley.

The pursuing cars were relentless. With their high beams blindingly bright through the back window, they dogged the Fowl bodyguard's every move. He knew the roads, but not as well as those close to Fowl Manor – which he was not about to draw their hunters anywhere close to. Being midwinter and a less-frequented lane, patches of ice and hard frost had him feeling the Bentley's wheels judder and skid, spitting up week-old salt and tiny stones from the last gritter to have passed this way, tinkling against the undercarriage as he fought to keep them on course.

The Major dipped his rearview mirror to stop the headlights dazzling him, throwing his view of the children into dim shadow - not that that was too much of a bad thing. He was under enough pressure as it was without their pale faces staring back at him in his peripheral vision as a constant reminder of what was at stake.

He glanced over at the car in his wingmirror, which was attempting to force its way between the Bentley and the tall hedgerow that lined the lane, with near-suicidal determination.

Objects in this mirror may be closer than they appear, Myles thought grimly, as he gave an inch or so to avoid a collision.

That was all the vehicle needed, ramming itself alongside and suddenly becoming on the mirror, rather than in it.

"Keep your heads down!" he barked, as he caught a glimpse of a something that reflected the moonlight, sticking from the passenger window of the other car.

Something pinged off the Bentley's metalwork, a second noise like the smack of a heavy glass jar hitting the tiles, spider-webbing the window. Myles grabbed the lever at the side of his seat and leaned back so that he was covered by the door pillar.

"Junior - gun, please," he said, as calmly as possible given the circumstances. "Quick as you like."

Drawing his own weapon would have required taking his hand from the wheel for much longer than it took Dom to unclip his belt and pass him the one he had been carrying since the theatre box shootout.

"Safety off!" Dom said quickly, as he handed it over.

"Good lad. Hold on."

Dom braced himself against the back of the chairs, trying to remember if he was supposed to grit his teeth or slacken his jaw in the event of an impact. As it was, he needn't work it out, for at that moment, The Major did several things so consecutively, they seemed almost simultaneous. The first was to drop an elbow onto the 'fancy' (as his father had branded them) button which would electrically open the driver's side window. The second was to break sharply. The third was to fire three shots into the other car as it shot past them as intended and, just as the centre of the vehicle drew level with the nose of the Bentley, he accelerated again, drawing on much of the large engine's considerable power to ram the front wing.

The tyres bit into the rough tarmac, propelling the car into its opponent.

Sorry baby, The Major winced, as the front headlight blew with a crunch.

The other driver over-compensated - a death-sentence for their pursuit intentions on the icy roads - and veered off, mud slinging from its wheels before was stopped very suddenly indeed by a thick, tall shape in the darkness. They passed by far too quickly to see how badly it was damaged, but it most certainly brought their pursuing vehicle count down by one.

"Back in your seat, Junior," he warned, as they hurtled on into the night.

Dom wisely obeyed, clipping his belt just in time as the car sped up behind them.

"Hold tight. This might get rough," The Major warned, dropping a gear to make the oncoming corner and anticipating the jolt as their enemy hit the bumper, threatening to spin them out of control.

But Myles Butler hadn't attended Madam Ko's Academy and not learnt every trick in the book when it came to driving. Just like when his brother had tried to T-bone him on the final lap of one of their very many scrap-car races designed to practice their defensive, evasive and offensive driving - and referred to fondly by the students as 'Collision Courses' - he turned into the skid and accelerated, only forced to brake for the near-hairpin bend. The other driver had clearly not attended the same classes as he and their car went off at a tangent, smashing straight through a five-bar gate into the field beyond.

Which would have just fine, had there not been a van parked perpendicular across the icy road ahead.

"Brace!" he had time to bark, slamming his foot down on the brake and aiming for the rear of the vehicle, which should in theory lighten the impact than hitting the engine blocks together full on.

Though that wasn't to say there was no real impact at all.

The back of the van appear to implode, the panels crumpling as the Bentley plowed on. But even the great beast of a machine that it was couldn't stand up entirely to a collision of that magnitude. Something gave - a track rod, the steering arm, maybe - and the steering column lost all efficiency. Myles had time to think that his beloved vehicle would most definitely need its tyres realigning after that, before they slid uncontrollably sideways into the dark.

Unfortunately for them, it wasn't just the dark.

More by luck than judgement, although when he replayed it in his head The Major would be quietly confident it would have been worse had it not been him driving, it was the front and mid-section of the car which took the brunt of the damage. Had it been the rear, the results could have been much more catastrophic. The airbags deployed with a bang and as it was, the worst the passengers in the back would receive was friction burns from their seatbelts and a mild case of whiplash. Even the driver was mostly protected by his faithful vehicle, as it ploughed broadside into a large sycamore just beyond the apex of the bend in the road. Which was fortunate, for he was about to be even more needed than he already was.

"Everyone alright?" he shouted, almost as soon as the sound of the crash had stopped ringing in their ears. He pushed his hand into his jacket for his gun, ripping his seatbelt off and spinning around to do a visual assessment of the damage.

The children groaned in confirmation, two rubbing their necks, the third copying his uncle and undoing his belt to slide forward in his seat. But before they could do anything else, there came a sharp noise like gravel being flicked against the side of the Bentley. Only these missiles were definitely not made of stone.

"Get down!" The Major ordered, gesturing them – his gun already in-hand.

Artemis and Sophia unclipped their seatbelts frantically and crammed themselves into the footwells alongside the bodyguard's nephew. More bullets ricocheted into the Bentley's paintwork, but the bullet-proofing held. For now. The Major gritted his teeth. They were sitting ducks. There was only one way out of this…

The passenger-side door had crumpled considerably on impact, leaving a possible gap in their defences, but as the car had hit the tree a lot more glancingly than it would had it been piloted by an average driver, it had thus slid forwards, rather than remained pinned against the wood and it was feasible it would open with some force. The Major was going to make it his mission that it only opened from the inside. And only once.

"Right," he said, exhaling heavily, as one may when they are about to give a particular kind of unavoidably bad news. "I'm going to ask you to do something now and you must do it no matter what goes on on the other side of these doors, understood?"

"Major, I…" the Fowl boy started.

"No talking now, Artemis. Just answer me. Have I got your attention?" he said, crawling halfway through the gap and leaning over the top of them.

"Y… yes," Artemis faltered, flinching as more bullets hit the side of the car.

They could hear voices now. Getting louder. It would be a matter of moments before it would be too late to operate his plan and The Major didn't plan to waste a single second of them.

He opened the drinks cabinet and for a moment Artemis almost laughed at the bizarre notion that his bodyguard was planning on taking a quick snifter before saving the day as he always did. He did not expect the man to jam his hand upwards and puncture a hole in the ceiling of the small cupboard. Nor did he expect there to be a gun concealed in there, which The Major ripped out and tucked into the empty holster under his jacket. Seven guns, now. His two, his father's, Bates', Gary's confiscated gun and the one he had taken from the dead guy, the concealed one from the Bentley… Plus two magazines for reloading. He took a glance through the window. It was possible even that wouldn't be enough.

"Good. I need you to stay put. To stay low. If you lift the bench seat there, there's a blast-proof compartment. It's designed for one adult, so at least two of you should fit at a squeeze."

"But Major there's three of…"

"I am aware of that, sir," the Butler said curtly, turning to his nephew. "Junior – you remember where all the pieces are?"

Dom nodded. His eyes were like black holes in his pale face, but his voice didn't waver as he rattled an affirmative.

"Good lad," The Major nodded back at him. He didn't need to ask if he remembered how to put them together, or tell him to do so. "You know what to do."

"Pieces? What pieces? Major?" Artemis said – the reality of what his bodyguard was about to do; about to sacrifice, becoming all too clear to him in that moment. "Surely we should all just wait here until help…"

"Not an option, Artemis," the Blue Diamond said, though not unkindly. "My father is dead and we can only hope that yours is in a better state. Help…"

Help may not be coming, is what he thought to say, but he altered it for his present company, glancing at the Bentley's dashboard where a red light blinked, signalling the heralding of assistance from the manor.

"… help will be on the way," he said instead; the white lie the least of his worries right now.

Two of the children believed him at least. The other boy knew that although the Bentley's emergency beacon would have begun transmitting after the crash, whether there would be anybody able and assist them from the receiving end was only a slight possibility. They would come, for sure. But in time? That was a different matter.

"So for now stay down and whatever happens – whatever happens," The Major reiterated. "Whatever you hear, whatever you see, whatever you think – you do not get out of this car until I come back. Do you understand?"

All three nodded.

"And if I don't," he paused only to look pointedly at his nephew. "If I don't come back, you boys know what to do. Look after eachother and Miss Sophia and stay safe until someone can get you out of here."

Artemis and Dom, looked at each other. They had both been given very thorough kidnapping training indeed. Artemis began to wish he'd taken it rather more seriously than he had. Sophia began to wish she had been given any such training at all. Dom was fervently wishing he wouldn't have to use what he had learnt.

"Those are my instructions. Now give me your word that you will follow them," The Major said, seeing the Fowl boy's brain beginning to whirr behind his eyes.

"Major…"

"Your word, Artemis," he said firmly.

"I…" he paused, but another bullet hit the glass and this time a single speckle of a shard fell silently onto the leather seat above them.

"There isn't time for arguing. I cannot protect you if you do not follow my instructions to the letter and if I am thinking about whether or not you are safe, I cannot be thinking about doing the things I need to do to keep you safe," Myles told him – a long explanation in the circumstances and not entirely true, but if he at least could pretend he believed the Fowl boy would do as he asked, he could dedicate less brain-space to wondering if he had. "Do I have your word?"

"Alright," Artemis said, reluctantly. "Alright, Major, you have it."

"Thank-you," he said, relieved although he still didn't quite believe it. It was no small thing to trust a Fowl. "Now sit tight and all being well I'll be back with you momentarily."

Sophia was reminded of the stories of menfolk going to war and writing letters back to their families. Letters of hope and promises of return… She tried not to think of how many of those never did, for although he said it almost jovially, the fact he reached through the seats and squeezed his young nephew's shoulder – just for a moment –before he prised open the passenger door and slid out into the night, spoke more of what the man expected than words ever would.

He shut the door behind him. With any luck the mechanism would jam even more the second time, trapping his charges inside, sure, but inside was better than outside in this situation. Even if the bullets penetrated the Bentley's outer shell, the fuel tank was reinforced against everything up to and including a grenade and if their latest enemies happened to have a rocket launcher with them, then it was all over anyway.

It's not over until the fat lady sings, Myles thought, unable to believe that a mere forty five minutes or so ago he was stood next to his father in a cushy box at the opera theatre, hearing him mutter those very words, quipping back a snarky response, his father giving a dry snort in place of laughter. His father. Pa…

He refused to think any more about it. In fact, further contemplation may aid his swift following of his father's untimely demise and that would only serve to severely anger the man's spirit, for sure. If there was an afterlife, he wasn't certain a clip around the ear would hurt just as much non-corporeally, but he equally wasn't keen to find out.

OK then, let's see what you've got, he thought to himself, crawling behind the wheel of the big car, putting two alloys and an engine block between himself and enemy fire. He made a swift reccy of the situation, bobbing up above the bonnet and firing two shots at the closest attackers. One found its mark particularly well and the body dropped to the floor. The Major would have felt some pity for the man going down so easily, had he not been part of a team attacking everything he was born to protect.

His retaliation stopped the frequency of the bullets, but redirected those that still came.

Good, he thought. The more bullets coming this way, the less hitting the already at-breaking-point window to the rear of the car.

He fired shot after shot, but they had the advantage of numbers and double-handedly he was getting through his ammo faster than they were. Two of the guns – the ones he had confiscated from his enemies – hadn't had as many bullets in as he hoped. Bates had done him well and his father's of course, but reloading wasn't going to be much of a possibility.

"Junior – I'm going to need that other gun!" he bellowed, hoping his nephew would hear him.

Inside the car, Domovoi did indeed hear. And he had already been busy collecting the parts of the gun.

"What are you doing?" Artemis hissed, dragging at his arm – Dom shrugged him off.

"Getting a gun together. My uncle needs it."

"Well I'm sure he's going to have time to piece all that together," Artemis snapped sarcastically. "Get down, Junior! For goodness sake!"

"He won't need to," Dom said, laying out the pieces on the seat cover. There was something missing.

"And I suppose you're going to put it together for him?"

"Yep," said Dom, realising the piece – and also where it was hidden – he had already pulled the seat forward to get to the one in the boot. "I've been putting guns together for ages now."

Not exactly true, but a white lie. He knew what he was doing. Mostly.

"Now please can you pass me the slide – it's under the floormat you're sat on."

'Slide', in normal seven-year-old jargon would never mean anything more than a piece of playground equipment, but Artemis shuffled and moved himself around until he could peel back the mat and – sure enough – there was a metal oblong concealed in a recessed pit underneath.

"I've got it!" said Sophia, retrieving it for him and passing it to Artemis.

"Honestly, Junior – remind me to stop making fun of your family's paranoia…" he muttered, as he handed over the missing piece.

Dom added it to his display. He picked up one piece, hesitantly... Then he put it down and picked up another. This was easy. It was easy. Why couldn't he do it properly?

"I thought you said you could build it," Sophia said, shuffling over for a look herself.

"I can," Dom growled. "I just…"

"It's the environment," Artemis informed him. "You're having a mental block because of the stress. Just try to concentrate…"

"I am trying!" the boy snapped, ghosting his hands over the top of the pieces to check they were laid out how he wanted them.

"Junior – gun, ASAP!"

The Major was suddenly at the passenger window once more.

"I… I can't build it. I just…" he shouted back, feeling his throat tighten.

But his uncle didn't chide him.

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice never wavering as he took three more shots over the roof of the Bentley, then crouched down to cover.

Dom looked at him through the glass and shook his head.

"My head's all fuzzy… I can't…" the boy almost whimpered.

"Yes you can," The Major repeated. "Now listen to me. Close your eyes."

"Close his eyes? I fail to see how…" Artemis began, but he petered off as Sophia shushed him urgently and the Butler boy did as he was told.

"Closed them?"

"Yeah," Dom said, hesitantly.

"Good. Now take a deep breath and ignore everything," The Major shouted, taking another potshot over the roof. The enemy were getting closer. They knew he was running out of bullets. Out of time. Guns lay scattered, abandoned in the leaf-litter - about as much use as water balloons if he was to lob them. "You're at home. You're in the gun room. I'm right opposite you. Pa… Pa's right next to you."

Artemis noticed the hesitation and the name he had only overheard them use a handful of times in front of him and suddenly remembered the noise of Butler hitting the floor. Of what it meant. Not only to him and his family – particularly his father, who had spent barely a day out of the man's company, his protection, in his life, but of what it meant to his own bodyguard and the young boy next to him.

"You can do it, Junior," he whispered to his lifelong friend. "I know it."

"I've got the stopwatch. You're going to try to beat your record. Are you ready?" The Major called from outside, and if he was concerned about his current lack of gunpower, he didn't show it. Though he didn't wait for confirmation from his nephew, either. "OK, three, two, one – go!"

Dom took a breath and, keeping his eyes closed, did exactly as he was told.

And suddenly he could do it.

His hands flashed across the seat, snagging pieces here and there as they went, sliding them together with clunks and clicks… the only difference he felt was that the magazine was heavy with live rounds. With a series of sliding clicks and clunks, he had the weapon assembled.

"Done!" he yapped out of habit, his brain almost filling in the beep of the stopwatch timer being pressed to record his record attempt. "Uncle – I did it!"

But there was no reply from outside the car.

Myles had the very rough workings of a plan. Unfortunately, the others involved in it weren't co-operating; as people tended not to, when their deaths were a part of his scheming.

"Shite," he muttered under his breath, realising that – as quick as Dom was – his enemy had taken advantage of his lack of firing response to come closer, perhaps thinking he was out of ammo. Or dead.

Rather too shortly than he would like, he could be either.

He had so far taken out any stupid enough to try to get close to the car, as well as both drivers of the enemy vehicles and one who had tried to come around the side of the van and the other who had been mud-coated enough for him to guess had come through the vehicle that had gone through the gate. Presuming they were operating a dozen-man team, he had killed at least four out here, plus the three in he'd taken care of back at the theatre and the man he had left with Bates... Plus the one Bates himself had shot down, which brought the total kill count to nine. According to his 'dozen man team' information, that could be just three more men between him and the secured safety of the charges...

He popped up once more, taking two more shots and a mental picture for a headcount.

His heart sank. Apparently the collision with the tree hadn't been as fatal has he had hoped.

He counted almost half a dozen guns pointed in his direction. And they were close now. Far too close. If he rushed them, he'd be cut down instantly. If he tried to shoot them from behind the car, they would duck down out of the way until he was out of bullets. If he made a run around the perimeter to ambush them, not only would take too long, it would also mean firing directly at the car itself and risk hitting the charges with friendly fire.

It left him with one viable option.

And it wasn't much of an option at that.

He clicked his last two magazines into his guns.

It was stupid.

It was unlikely to work.

It was kamikaze.

But he wasn't in a position to be fussy.

Pulling his last hope from a concealed pocket in his jacket, he pulled the pin out with his teeth and waited just long enough for the fuse to run down. Then he leaned around the back end of the stricken Bentley and rolled the rounded shape into the middle of the men approaching the vehicle. Only one saw it, barely having time to give warning before it blew.

But it wasn't an explosive grenade – he wouldn't risk that so close to the vehicle with his charges inside. Instead it was one that emitted a cloud of thick, grey smoke, completely obliterating everything inside a ten-metre radius.

And into the confusion, though he could see nothing himself either, strode Myles 'The Major' Butler, gun in either hand and teeth bared in a grimace.

Six against one. Practically even-stevens.

There was an explosion. There was screaming. Yells. Bullets firing.

And then, at long last…

"Do you think…?" Artemis began, very quietly, once the silence had reigned on too long for him to bear it anymore.

There was a heavy thud as something landed forcibly against the side of the Bentley, followed by a dragging slide of a noise.

Sophia let out a scream and the three of them shied away from the window.

Whatever was outside had slid down the side of the car and collapsed heavily to the floor.

Silence again.

This time, it was Dom who broke first.

"Stay put," he said, creeping back to the front of the car. "I'm going to see what's happening"

"Major said stay, Junior! You gave your word!" Artemis said, as sternly as he could muster.

"No, Tim," said Dom, listening very carefully to the woodland on the other side of the door before attempting to open it. "You gave your word. I didn't give anything. If I don't come back, please get under the seat and stay there until it's safe."

And with that he cracked open the door.

"Junior - who do you think you are? You are not your uncle! You are seven years old for Christ's sake - get back here!"

An owl hooted somewhere in the silence of the darkness.

"Junior!" Artemis hissed again. "I am ordering you to stay in this vehicle!"

"Tell me again in ten years," Dom quipped, and got out of the car.

So... didja like it? Didja? Didja?

Wolfy
ooo
O

06/12/18