She noted the gray-haired man, whom everybody but Rock deferred to, was also standing still, receiving the incoming data. When they were finished, she said, "So am I ferrying missiles, troops, or yes? I can at least start refueling."
"There's a ballistic incoming. That's our real target; it has the puppet government for the Feds onboard. Everything else is a distraction." Blondie said.
Rock nodded. "You're going to be taking my best troops to wherever it lands, so we can capture them. Remove them from the equation, and they can't hand the country over to the Feds."
"Wherever it lands?" She turned to look at the holo; more birds were crashing, people dying.
The gray-haired man spoke up. "They weren't expecting this much resistance at Anueterriza; they'll regroup at an alternate airport to keep the proxies secure. There are four alternate airports that can take a ballistic transport in this country. Mister Miller informs me that you are our expert opinion on ballistic flights, and can tell us which way to jump." He gave her a full-wattage smile with gleaming white teeth, pouring on the charm.
She glared at him and took a sip of coffee without breaking eye contact. "Who the hell are you? Who let you in here even if you're not a civvie, and why should I tell you to jump any other way than go to hell?"
That got her a surprised look, and Miller stiffened at her side. "Sir…"
"No, no, I deserved that one." He chuckled, and dropped her a small bow to acknowledge the hit. "I am Sir John Moses Cooper, an ambassador of the Imperium. May I have the pleasure of your name?" He held out a hand, at an odd 45 degree tilt to normal for shaking.
Miller squeezed her shoulder, and when she looked at him, jerked his head toward Cooper with a rather emphatic look. She wished she could interpret it, but she could follow his lead all the same. So she transferred her coffee to her left hand, and took his hand. "Michelle Lauden. Lately of this airline, and prior to that, TransCon. The last flight in here with them was where I met Miller, here."
The ambassador had been clearly briefed on that fiasco; his eyebrows shot up. "Captain Lauden. It is an honor to make your acquaintance." Instead of the firm shake she was expecting, he dropped a bow, raising her hand and kissing the back. "We are in your debt for saving the lives of Nueva Terra's ministers, and especially for saving our own Imperial citizens onboard."
That startled her; she froze, until Blondie shoved her shoulder forward and down. "Bow back." That was right, she remembered watching Imperials do that in the airport. So she carefully bowed, and Ambassador Cooper helpfully straightened, tugging her up before she got too low.
"The honor is mine, sir. I was just doing my job." She didn't even remember who was in the back; it hadn't made a difference other than in weight and balance.
The ambassador smiled even wider, pouring on the charm. "Ah, madame, you are too modest. If we can ever repay you, please, let us know." She nodded, not sure how to answer that, and he thankfully let her hand go. "In your expert opinion, madame, which alternate airport will the ballistic pick?"
"What was their departure airport?" She tried to sound as patient as she ever did when dealing with VIP pax.
"Oh!" He turned to Miller, "How would we find that?"
She shook her head, and accessed the infonet in the building. "Do they have a transponder on?" Hitting the gate tracker and riffling through the tables was easy; she'd done it every day for years. "Oh, they're using 1667, the alterday. Makes sense… yeah, straight out of Lasku as normal." When she refocused her eyes, Miller, Cooper, and Rock were staring at her - and so were the other soldiers nearby. The holo was filled with people cheering and waving their guns in the streets, but the soldiers weren't cheering anymore. They were staring at her. "Which airports are you pulling for alternates? They're using standard codes, not anything military."
Rock spoke. "Four longest runways in the country, didn't you? Port North, Roundtop, Terci… what?"
"Not even at full tanks! A commercial ballistic? Tercia's the only real alternative. They'll be coming here." She frowned, then, at Miller. "Same reason I did."
"You were pretty shot up, though, and they're…" He stopped at her headshake.
"It's a trajectory problem. You're not just looking at runway lengths, you need approaches and missed requirements, and runway orientation. Check the orbital slot they pulled; they can't turn enough to get to Port North, and Calm Bay is at the extreme edge of range if they turn hard. No second chances on landing there. Roundtop has the length for cargo, but the mountains behind it make it no-ballistic. Tercia is safe, long, in range for at least two missed approaches if they have full fuel. If they don't want to risk their pax, they're coming here." She held out a hand to ping the data to him. He took it, uploading to the military net by the looks of confusion and enlightenment spreading around the room.
"Thank you." Miller looked at Cooper. "We can take them out when they come in to land, sir."
"We need you, if at all possible, to capture them alive." Cooper grimaced. "We need them alive long enough to formally renounce power and hand it over to the Independence government, all on live holo with due ceremony." Cooper grimaced. "Otherwise we're down to contesting claims and this becomes another Westerling."
Miller winced. She wondered if he was thinking of the burned-over wasteland left by the war there, or… When he spoke, his voice was as dry as air at altitude. "Capture them alive and visually unharmed. Yes, sir. We aim to please, sir. Anything else?"
"If you could seize the plane such that we can fly it home as a war prize, that would be appreciated." Cooper held out his hands, palm up, in a shrug, and she wondered how Miller didn't hit him.
Rock cleared his throat, and when they looked at him, said, "Seize the plane, is it?" He was silent for a moment, then said, "My lady. Rumor mill says you seized a plane last night, and locked the other pilot out of accesses."
He did not look toward the chief pilot, so she didn't, either. "I did. But he's got a lower-level nerve net than me, and he wasn't expecting it, and…" She trailed off at the way the men were smiling at her.
"You're higher-tuned than anybody I've met outside of a jump pilot. And I guarantee they won't be expecting it… all I need to do is get you to an access port?" Miller's smile was getting truly predatory.
"Don't need a port for TransCon; I have remote access to the whole fleet. It's so I can start preflight as soon as I walk on the pad." She looked between him and Rock, stomach sinking as their smiles only got more toothy. "You can't be serious. You're not planning…?"
"Lauden, we need to have a little talk. Come with me." Miller draped an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her away toward the door to the VIP conference room. Rock laughed, and followed suit, flashing a handsign that invited several others to stand up and join them.
34
"Tercia Tower, TransCon 1667 Heavy, Final, Runway 06 Right." They could see the plane incoming; it was a bright gleaming speck rapidly growing bigger and bigger over the water, acquiring shape and solidity despite the glare from the evening sun.
"TransCon 1667 Heavy, Tercia Tower, wind 040 at 4, cleared to land." The tower had the perfect mixed of bored and competent in his voice, and Michelle relaxed at that.
"Cleared to land 06 Right, TransCon 1667 Heavy." The pilot replied, and followed with, "Is there fighting here?"
"TransCon 1667 Heavy, Tercia Tower, negative on the fighting, but we have taken missile strikes to terminal and surrounding areas. Expect progressive taxi to North Ramp and services will be brought to you. Coastal 1492, Cleared to cross 15."
"Cleared to cross 15, Coastal 1492." The local pilot jumped on frequency hard, almost stepping on tower to make sure he got the runway crossing before the ballistic replied.
"Expect progressive to north ramp, TransCon 1667 Heavy." The ballistic pilot replied, sounding just exactly as annoyed and resigned as she expected. Miller was looking at her, and she nodded.
"All good so far." They were standing next to the terminal, looking like any other gro
up of ramp rats bored and waiting for their flight. The fire teams were tucking themselves into the baggage igloos, out of sight and ready to deploy as soon as the signal was given. The airport buses reserved for the purpose were parked on the north side of the terminal, looking innocent. Miller's team was back in safety vests, hearing protection muffs around their necks, sunglasses on and proving that just like ramp rats, they too were well versed in the art of lounging. They'd just finished a crash course on driving the equipment, and actual rampers for Coastal were still with the team, looking uncomfortable at letting newbie drivers approach the most expensive ship they'd ever seen.
The ballistic landed out on the longest runway with the whining roar of thrust reversers, and slowed down to a gentle jog for the high-speed taxiway exit. Miller raised his voice, carrying easily across the tarmac. "All right, showtime. Wait until she's well clear so we don't get hit with jet blast, and follow."
As they taxied away from the terminal, she could see the smoke still rising from the two hits it had taken. Fire suppression had turned the smoke mostly the whitish gray of under control, but the ramp still had shattered glass from the windows that had exploded outward, and detritus of paperwork and trash rolling in the breeze. The belt loaders led the way to the ballistic. Behind them, several tugs with all their igloos, another tug with a ground power unit, ramp stairs, lav truck, and so on all followed in trail like a parade of aircraft services.
Miller sat next to her as they trundled across the tarmac. "I never thought, before, just how much it takes to keep a plane running."
"This isn't all of it. You see all the other equipment by the terminals that we didn't bring with us?" She smiled, then. "Pilots get all the glory, and all the blame, but we're just the face for the entire team."
As they approached, he tensed, studying the bird. "This had better work. I hate linear assaults."
"Relax. You're bored and frustrated." She pointed at the white box marked on the ground. "There. Swing around so the start cart is dropped precisely in that white square."
"Got it." He handled the bulky tug with surprising grace for such little experience, and she made a surprised noise as he coasted to a stop to plant it dead center. "Haven't driven one of these before, but it's not that different."
"Good. Drop the pin, and leave the tug here while you wander a circuit with the cones. Tuck 'em under your arm, not over your shoulder, while you're swinging the chocks in your hands." She smiled, and hopped off the tug, making a show of pulling out the marshaling wands and snapping them out to full length. She queried the plane, and the accesses opened up like a flower to the sun, allowing her in.
"Why? It's stupid."
"Exactly. You're not a professional, you're a ramp rat." She grinned at him. "I'm in. Pax are all seated, pilot's still doing shutdown and crew is trying to figure out hotels in the area."
"Bless you. Monitor while I unprofessionally amble my way around." He hopped off, setting the first cone on the ground and tucking the other two to stick out ridiculously underarm. "We've got to get you tied into the combat net."
She shrugged, the motion emphasized by the wands in her hands, and walked over toward the baggage hold, waving to direct the jet stairs to hold off and the belt loader to come in at the cargo door first. Someone - she thought it might be Twitch, under that ridiculous do rag - hopped off the jet stairs and sashayed forward, flipping his wands in a completely ridiculous and very twirling version of follow-me. Any other time she'd have been torn between laughing her ass off and reminding him about professionalism. This time, it was perfect to draw pax attention as the others drew into position. She could watch through internal cabin cameras as a few passengers pointed at him and made comments she didn't need audio to interpret.
Miller met her under the belly of the aircraft, after dropping the last cone in front of the nose. "Can you find where the proxy government is seated?"
"First class. You think they'd ride economy?" She laughed. "Twelve of 'em on the manifest, and they've got some bodyguards right behind them in the business section. You know, dressed in suits, but they sit like you do." That got a quick, understanding nod. "Rest of business are people who look like politicians, but the guards are focused between first class and outside, and ignoring everybody else, except… Rows 6 -8, A-C, has the Fed ambassador and his aides." She held up a wrist to ping the manifest to him, and a few captures of the internal cameras.
"That's a lot of people on that manifest." He grimaced, "How many do you think are expendable?"
"Oh, easy. Here. let me re-sort for you." She highlighted all the VIP tickets in one color, all the security in another, overlaid it on a seating chart, and then re-sent.
"How the hell did you do that so fast?"
"This is what I do for a living." She smiled at him. "Now, you can stand here while I plug in. Because I'm already in, but the pilot doesn't need to know that!" He nodded as she popped open an access and tapped in a patch cable. As she did, she realized the pilot wasn't going to notice her pulling accesses, because six other people already were, and all with combat net architecture. "Good afternoon, Cappy. Welcome to the north forty. We've got terminal buses rerouting on the way."
"Why can't we park at the terminal? My passengers are not going to be happy about the delays and additions."
"Bosses figured you wouldn't enjoy eau de smoke and fire foam, with a side of roof falling in on the pax. They get picky about that. Why the hell is Centralia hitting the damn terminal with missiles, anyway?" She returned his grumpiness with a slap-happy cheer fading to grumpiness back. "And are they going to stop that shit, or are you a target along with us?"
"I sure hope we’re not." She got the sense he was all too aware of the listeners on channel. "How long til bus arrival?"
"Wait one." She triggered the handheld comm, where he and the listeners could easily hear it, like she'd forgotten they could. In her most bored tone, she pressed send. "Bus fifteen, Ground North Forty."
The handheld crackled "Bus fifteen's passing A gates now, five minutes out. They've got the gates running on this side again, but nineteen and forty-one are still at the turnaround."
"Copy, thanks." She clicked twice, and spoke into the patch like they hadn't just heard. "Five minutes out for the first one, and the next will be about ten minutes behind that. We're going to hook you up to ground power, so you can keep the pax cool while they wait." As she said that, several team members and one actual ground crew headed over to plug the plane in.
"Ground, the passengers just came on a long haul flight. They want out now." The voice that came on wasn't the captain's.
She sighed. "Cappy, you want a normal day, you land sometime nobody's shooting missiles at us. Right now, you're not the only bird we're trying to service, and you can damn well take what we can scare up. The faster we get the others outprocessed, the sooner we'll have a second set of jet stairs and more buses freed up for you, so just sit tight. Oh, and customs will want to know, do you have anything to declare?"
"We're Fed! We don't have to put up with customs!" That voice was truly outraged.
"Yeah, yeah, tell that to customs, not me. I got a checklist I got to ask of all incoming now. Anything to declare?" She rolled her eyes, and did not look at Miller. He looked like he was desperately trying to keep a straight face, but his lips were quivering.
"No!"
"Cool. Do you need fuel, catering, or lav services?" She rattled it off in the same bored tone she'd heard a thousand times before on frequencies.
The pilot broke back in. "Definitely need lav, and will need fuel and catering before departure."
"Cool. We're ready to for you to pop the doors and start deboarding and baggage load-out. Ground out." She knocked twice on the airframe, and pulled the patch cord.
"Now what?" They'd briefed this five times, but she was the pilot on the ground for changing situations.
"Cargo first - see, Dizzy's walking up the conveyor. He'll get up in the hold, and almost everybody els
e round up around the belt for when bags start coming down. At least two down by the end of the stairs, to greet the pax coming out, and two more to marshal in the buses. Form a line for them to stand in, stretching twenty people in front of the stairs straight out, so they can just hop on the bus when it arrives. In fact, let me grab a spare cone to mark the start of the line." As she started walking toward the tug, she said, "And for heaven's sake, grab that clipboard."
"Got it. Why the clipboard?" He grabbed it off the hook as she retrieved the cone, and looked through the pages clipped in. "It's just signoffs and preventive maintenance.”
"Because then you can stick close and nobody's going to look twice. Riffle through the sheets occasionally and consult with me. Ideally, grab a cup of coffee in the other hand."
"You're making me useless management? Oh, now that's dirty."
"Thought you said you were an officer?" She shot him a smile, not looking over at the passenger hatch as a cabin crew opened it up.
He lowered his voice til the mutter through gritted teeth barely made it to her ears. "Chief Warrant Officer. I'm not a damn lieutenant!" The look on his face made her laugh. She turned, still laughing, to find six muscular men with the badly fitting bulk of armor plates under cheap suits making their way down the jet stairs, eyeballing everything with their hands hovering at the opening to their suit jackets.
"Welcome to Tercia! The first bus will be here shortly! If you gentlemen would please come this way, we're starting the boarding queue at this cone, right here!" She emphasized that by plunking it down, and waving them toward it. Softly, she said, "Those aren't first class." It wasn't soft enough - several of the men looked at her, and one slipped his hand inside his jacket to the gun. Of course; with combat nets, they'd be listening just as hard as technologically possible for anything going wrong. She turned to face Miller, and shrugged. "That's weird; haven't seen anyone beat first class in a boarding exit before. What's the world coming to when we don't have first class first?"
Going Ballistic Page 19
