Tommy Thorn Marked (25 page)

“Tommy, select a missile,” Rahagin said, almost casually.

Sure enough, he still had the blasters selected, but not being able to get the Rapier’s nose pointed at the maneuvering target, he needed something that could track—a fin. Without taking his eyes off the Venom, Tommy slid his gloved thumb over and toggled missile select.

“In range,” the computer announced as the diamond symbol began to flash red, and Tommy let loose with two missiles.

The weapons leaped from the Rapier’s center-line weapons bay, and darted abruptly to the right, pulling into the Venom’s exhaust ports—two hits. “Scratch another Venom!” Tommy yelled.

“Six is clear, Tommy, but we got trouble, bearing zero ninner zero,” his tacnav said, totally immersed in his display—a 360 degree holographic projection of the area around their Rapier.

Tommy rolled his fighter over, wings level, and tried to control his breathing. He was no longer in contact with Wagner, lost in the confusion. The sky was full of Venoms and dead or dying Storms. Comm had become unusable, full of useless chatter, screams for help, and shouts of target info. Emergency beacon signals wailed, and potentially deadly ground fire was beginning to bracket his ship.

“Now would be a good time to do some fancy flying, Tommy,” his tacnav mused.

As if being doused with cold water, Tommy snapped out of his momentary fog and yanked the Rapier up into a vertical roll, narrowly missing a transport. Already burning, the badly damaged ship was evidently heading for the relative safety of the sea in an attempt to escape the relentless ground fire, and a pair of very persistent Venoms.

Tommy got a quick lock on the trailing Venom, and fired two more missiles!

The enemy fighter’s shields partially deflected the first missile’s warhead, but it had nothing left for the second. BOOM! Tommy flew right though the ensuing fireball. His only thought was to kill the remaining fighter, which was still tormenting the crippled transport with lethal doses of blaster fire.

“Steady,” he said to himself, lining up the Venom and switching to blasters. He wanted to gun this SOB, but then he remembered that he was only shooting metal.

Blaster bolts were soon slamming into the fleeing Venom’s left wing, which quickly folded into a tangled mess before breaking off and tumbling past Tommy’s canopy as he continued to poor blaster bolts into the flaming wreckage. What was left of the unmanned fighter finally broke up and plummeted out of sight, trailing a long thick tail of black smoke—but his efforts were too late to save the battered transporter.

Flying high over the Star Force ship, Tommy could only watch as the barge began to spin, the gyrations becoming so violent that it was soon tossing its passengers out of the damaged and partially opened rear hatch. The doomed infantry solders screamed as they tumbled hundreds of feet, only to be impaled or crushed on the city’s pristine white buildings before the transport barge, mercifully, impacted with a long, magnificently arched bridge and exploded, killing any that were left still clinging to the tattered seating.

“Picking up two more, Tommy—they’re tracking,” Rahagin said even as blaster rounds began to ricochet off their Rapier’s rear shields.

Somewhere deep under Stone Wood, Vecta-Bah popped the canopy of a Venom’s virtual cockpit, pulled off the massive interface helmet, and wiped away large amounts of sweat.

“What is that, three?” a Vargus air ops tech seated next to the bulky device asked while making entries into his control console.

Vecta-Bah reluctantly smiled and held up all four of her fingers.

“Well, you’re all set on number five. Try not to get this one shot down.”

Vecta-Bah gave a half grin, pulled her fleshy ear flaps back under the helmet, and closed the cockpit. Somewhere in an underground hanger bay, her fifth Venom of the day spooled up and headed out into the fray.

Wolfe put as much back pressure on the control stick as he could before letting go and trying to adjust the throttles with his same right hand. This difficult task made necessary because what remained of his left arm hung uselessly at his side and his now-headless copilot, body flapping awkwardly as wind poured in from a gaping blaster hole, would be of no further help.

“Captain, it’s going to be rough,” Wolfe announced to the warrior commander in the back of the barge.

He wasn’t at all sure that the captain was still alive, or indeed if any of the five hundred or so warriors were still living. But he had to try and get on the LZ. It was, after all, what he had trained for and devoted his life to.

“Come on, Wolfe,” he yelled between clenched teeth as the barge’s nose closed in on Phang.
Too steep, TOO DAMN STEEP
, he thought and desperately pulled on the stick.

Sloan continued to look on the scene below with a mixed sense of horror and disbelief.

“LT, it’s time to move…”

As if in slow motion, another transport barge hit the ground nose first, bounced, then slammed into a hover tank before bursting into flames. It then started to roll, the flaming hulk crushing hundreds of Vargus troops while at the same time throwing its cargo of burning and mangled Tarchein Warrior Corps out onto the landing zone, now littered with men and machines. Phang had become a deadly killing ground.

“Sir!” Sergeant Decker yelled while shaking Sloan.

“Lieutenant Steel!”

Sloan looked up at Decker, said nothing, but jumped to his feet.

“Round up what’s left of the team, Deck. We’re moving out of this deathtrap.”

“Which way, LT?”

Sloan glanced toward the team’s pods, all poised to launch from the same spots they had come to rest.
We’ll never get to our cans
, he thought. Then turning, he looked back over his shoulder toward the mountains. “Up,” he said, “we’re going up…”

“Mayday, mayday,” Tommy repeated over his comm. “Cat zero two—mayday!”

“I’ve got you, Tommy.” Gary’s familiar voice came across his comm.

Gary had just blasted a Venom off his friend’s Rapier and now pulled up alongside with Bo in tow.

“You’re really venting, Tommy. How do the controls feel?” Gary asked.

“Not good, Cruiser!” Tommy grunted into the comm as he heaved back on the stick, the Rapier rolling upright just feet above the rolling plains west of the landing zone, and began a shallow climb. His battered fighter barely responded. “Hang in there, Rahagin, I’ll get us home,” he said over the intercom.

Rahagin adjusted the blood-soaked wad of bandage that he had hurriedly stuffed into a gaping wound. “Never going to happen, Tommy.” His voice was raspy and strained. “The D-drive’s had it, grav-gen is on aux power, and what’s left of our shield is fading fast. There is no way this sieve is making it into space. Just grab some altitude. We’ll punch out and catch a ride home…”

The image of Rahagin, faceplate open, working to stay conscious, convinced Tommy that his tacnav would never survive an ejection—assuming their pods would even fire—and if they got separated.
No, I’ll have to bring us down. Besides
, he thought as he struggled to gain enough altitude to clear the approaching mountain.
I don’t like our chances if we drift down anywhere near this landing zone.

“I’m going to ditch, Rahagin.”

“Lieutenant Thorn, I’m ordering you to eject.” Rahagin mustered enough strength to sound official.

Tommy looked down at the little monitor. “Now you’re trying to pull rank. Remember, we’re in this together, all the way, you said.”

Just clearing the first of the mountain’s lower ridges, Tommy banked sharply and set the Rapier up for a long curving descent, which would line them up for an approach into a U-shaped valley just coming into view.

“I’m going to have to ditch, Cruiser. My tacnav’s in no shape to punch out.”

“Copy that, Tommy,” Gary responded, and he and Bo slid their Rapiers in a little tighter.

“What do ya think of this valley?” Tommy asked, hands working the damaged Rapier’s controls.

“You pick ’em good, Tommy,” Bo said. “Just take it nice and easy.”

Tommy dipped his starboard wing panel, giving Rahagin a chance to check out the site.

“What do you think?” he asked over the intercom.

Rahagin peeked at the site before going back to his displays. “Looks good, Tommy. Get us as close to that wooded area next to the stream as you can,” the tacnav said, then looked down at his wound. “Nobody dies today,” he whispered.

Just then, their D-drive, with one last terrible whine, gave out completely. “D is gone, looks like a dead stick.” Tommy announced what was obvious to the veteran tacnav.

“All right, Tommy. Fuel convertors cycle to off.” Rahagin had already started, with some effort, configuring the Rapier for a ditch and now began on the checklist.

Tommy took his hand away from the now-useless throttle and punched the fuel convertor symbol. “Off,” he said, continuing to fight with the fighter. The Rapier was losing altitude quickly now with the sporadic operation of the graviton generator.

“Landing skids stowed, shield to max—guess we can forget that one.” Rahagin managed a chuckle then coughed. “Harness adjusted and locked—get it as tight as you can, Tommy, our dampers are toes up,” the tacnav continued.

“We’ll make sure you get out, Tommy, but then we’re bingo. Sorry, buddy,” Gary transmitted.

Hearing that his friends were low on fuel did not surprise, Tommy, but he wished they could stick around a bit longer just the same. “Understood—thanks, guys, for sticking with us.”

“We’ll get rescue back here as quick as we can, Tommy,” Bo added.

An image of the destruction on Phang and in the skies above the cities came to mind.
It may
be a long wait
, Tommy thought.

“I’ll fly it myself if I have to,” Gary said. He raised his visor and saluted before he and Bo backed off, gained some altitude, and left their friend and his tacnav alone.

Easing the stick to the left, Tommy leveled out the fighter, but without thrusters and an intermittent grav-gen.

“Popping the boards, hang on!” Tommy yelled as the Rapier made initial contact with the sand in the high mountain valley, bounced several times, and began a long slide toward a stand of trees.