A Vow to Sophia

by John Bowers

  "Transports!" Onja gasped. "Johnny, they are planning an invasion of Mars! Those ships must be carrying ground troops!"

  Johnny's heart pounded and his face felt numb.

  "Input: compose fleet message! Compute exact composition and location of enemy fleet. Transmit simultaneous burst data to taskforce, Mars, and Luna. Execute!"

  Johnny waited five seconds.

  "Info: burst transmission complete."

  Good. No matter what happened to him or Onja now, the Federation would know about the enemy force.

  "Johnny, I've got to have those transports," Onja said.

  "What's our shield status?"

  "They still won't open."

  Christ!

  "It doesn't matter, Johnny! We can still use them for defense. We just have to drop them when we shoot."

  He felt his skin crawl; that convoy carried a lot of firepower.

  "Attent: enemy fighters inbound, range forty thousand."

  "Input: shut down active Ladar."

  The enemy convoy disappeared from the HH. Johnny chinned his transmitter.

  "Section 3, Railsplitter. Check your Heads-Up, bearing three five one offset double zero three negative. That's a Sirian convoy, maybe headed for Mars. We're going after the transports. Any questions?"

  A chorus of exclamations followed. Johnny gave specific orders, then took a deep breath.

  "Onja," he said, "I love you."

  "Get me in close, Johnny."

  A full squadron of enemy fighters was headed toward them, now invisible because the Ladar was shut down, but no less deadly a threat. Section 3 turned toward the Sirian convoy and applied power.

  "We've got to get past those fighters without engaging them," Onja said.

  "I know."

  "I've got a full load of deceptors. If I fire them all at once, we might slip through."

  Deceptors were a new tool introduced with the QF — tiny rocket projectiles that, when fired, echoed a Ladar image exactly like a Lincoln fighter. Neither Johnny nor Onja had ever used them before.

  Onja keyed in codes and several small pods opened along the fighter's outer skin. Each pod contained six deceptors.

  "Ready to deploy," she reported.

  "Stand by."

  They closed the gap rapidly. Enemy fighters began painting them with active Ladar, allowing them to judge the range as the sweeps hit them. The bigger ships were still invisible on the holos.

  A trickle of sweat tickled insanely near Johnny's ear; Onja watched calmly with optics, her eyes steady and cold. The range to the fighters dropped under ten thousand miles.

  "Attent: enemy warheads inbound, ETA nineteen seconds!"

  "Fire deceptors," Johnny said.

  Onja punched the firing button. Seventy-two small rockets fired at once, spreading out, each moving generally toward the convoy. It was enough to terrify the Sirian pilots.

  Johnny kicked harder thrust as soon as the deceptors were away, taking full advantage of their confusing images to cover as much distance as possible. Onja suffered the acceleration, never taking her eyes off her optics. Confused by the deceptors, the inbound warheads lost their lock and began erupting prematurely. Enemy fighters began vectoring toward false targets.

  Johnny and Onja plunged through the enemy line undetected. Nothing but empty space now lay between them and the convoy.

  * * *

  Johnny switched on his active Ladar long enough to pinpoint the transports. Two were located at each end of the convoy, each covered by a destroyer. He shut down the Ladar again.

  "Here we go, Onja. Two enemy transports dead ahead. Are you ready for this?"

  "Get me in close. If we don't come back, at least we'll take a couple of Sirian divisions with us." She was already keying in codes that told the AI to isolate the transports.

  "Fuck! They know we're coming," Johnny said. "Those destroyers are moving out to intercept."

  "Don't let them get too close. We don't stand a chance against them."

  The massive lasers used by capital ships could slice the shields to hash.

  "I know. But maybe we can fuck with their heads a little."

  Onja frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "They know we've spotted the transports; they won't expect us to go after the destroyer instead."

  "Johnny, don't screw around! You're going to get us killed! I want those transports!"

  "Are your tubes loaded?"

  "Yes, but —"

  "Then hang on!"

  Killing his thrusters, Johnny rotated the fighter thirty degrees, aiming at the nearest destroyer. He fired the ion drive again and the QF surged straight at the looming warship. Onja's eyes widened in alarm as the distance fell away at fifty miles a second. In her optics the destroyer looked like a star going nova —

  "Jesus, Johnny! They're scanning us! They've got target lock! They've got target —"

  Johnny fired his rockets and steering jets at the same instant, jerking the QF six degrees to the left — just as the first massive laser shot flashed out from the destroyer. Two seconds later a second bolt fired, and then a third — but each one missed by yards as Johnny jinked the QF with rockets and steering jets. Onja watched in horror, certain they'd be fried at any second.

  "Hit 'im with a Yin-Yang!" Johnny shouted. "He won't miss forever."

  "Johnny, it'll just bounce off his —"

  "Hit 'im, goddammit!"

  "Input:" she said quickly, "shields down! Tubes 3 and 4, fire!"

  As the torpedoes sprang out of the tubes, Onja raised the shields again. Half a second later they took their first hit, the QF staggering under the blow. The shields sagged to forty percent.

  "Another hit and we're finished!" she yelled.

  But now the Sirian gunners had to divide their attention; the Yin-Yang streaked toward the destroyer like a pair of hyenas, looking for an opening. For ten eternal seconds nothing happened as the range closed, and then everything happened at once. The Yin darted straight for the destroyer, the enemy gunners fired at the QF, and Johnny Lincoln made his move.

  "Input: active Ladar, execute!"

  The laser shot missed, but only because Johnny had abruptly changed course; the QF raced under the destroyer's belly and streaked straight for the nearest transport. Onja's vision blurred under the crushing G forces, but she now understood his strategy. Even as her lungs labored to supply her brain with oxygen, she kept one hand on her firing key and her eyes fixed to her holos, now blazing with target information.

  The Sirians were taken by surprise. As desperate laser fire reached for the fighter from another destroyer six thousand miles away, the speeding QF darted the last few hundred miles toward its target.

  "Okay, Onja," Johnny shouted. "He's all yours!"

  "Input: Shields down! Tubes one and six, fire! Reload standard warhead!"

  Two Yins leapt out of the tubes, one streaking for each transport. Onja waited breathlessly, counting down the seconds. The targets were so close she wondered if the EMP would affect the QF. Johnny continued to jink, though the laser fire had stopped — the nearest destroyer had been holed and was spewing debris into space.

  During those final seconds Onja Kvoorik lived the most intense moments of her life. With her own survival hanging by a thread, her heart raced with excitement as she held thirty-five thousand enemy troops in her sights, recalling the most terrible times she'd ever known.

  Two brilliant nuclear flares erupted ahead.

  "That's it!" Johnny shouted. "Their shields are down!"

  Onja began unloading torpedoes, firing everything on board, striking a blow of revenge for the millions who'd never been able to fight back.

  "Torpedoes away!" she shouted. "Remember 131!"

  On board the transports, thirty-five thousand Sirian troops sweated isotopes as they sat in their pressure cubicles, praying to whatever gods they served that the fleet gunners could fight off the attack. They had no way of knowing how many fighters — or how few — were attacking, or th
at a single nineteen year-old girl held their lives in one slender, delicate hand.

  As Johnny corkscrewed again and passed underneath the nearest transport, the first torpedoes began to hit. Holes opened up along the hulls in a dozen places, too many and too fast for automatic damage control to have any effect. Compartments depressurized explosively, bulkheads collapsed, and both ships began to disintegrate.

  Onja watched on her optics, now only a spectator as Johnny began a slow, difficult turn in a bid to escape. Internal explosions ripped the transports apart, debris and bodies spraying out into space. Even under magnification, the damage was too massive to comprehend. For nearly a full minute she watched, her blood turning cold.

  "Goddess Sophia!" she whispered, suddenly drained.

  "What was that? Did we get 'em?"

  She only nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her.

  Johnny was too busy to repeat the question; he had to return to his own convoy without engaging any more fighters. Thankfully, Major Hinds and the other fighters of Section 3 kept the enemy busy long enough to affect his escape.

  But Polo's gunner, Trish de los Santos, was killed.

  * * *

  Surrounded by a mixed crowd that included debrief officers and other fighter crews, Onja sat in the center of a wardroom aboard Mandela, a coffee mug in her hands. Debrief didn't take long; both Onja and Johnny told their story, and the AI aboard the QF confirmed the rest. Onja Kvoorik had, almost single-handedly, destroyed two troop transports loaded with elite fighting men. Not since the war began had the Federation inflicted such a blow on the enemy.

  "Is there anything else you can add, Lieutenant?" Cdr. Tchakarian, the fleet S-2, asked when Onja had finished speaking.

  "No, sir," she replied in a small voice.

  He nodded and started to rise.

  "Except —"

  "Yes? Except what?"

  She looked up at him, her blue eyes sincere.

  "That's a lot of people to kill, isn't it? All at once?"

  "You did what you had to do, Lieutenant," he said gently.

  Onja stared forward again and sipped her coffee.

  After Tchakarian left, some of the pilots and gunners crowded closer to congratulate her, but she was hardly aware of them, and they soon drifted away. Johnny sat nearby, anxiously watching his gunner. He'd never seen her like this. Exhilarated, sullen, depressed, angry — never like this.

  Hinds sat in a corner, intently watching the blonde in the middle of the room. Next to him, Captain Negus regarded Onja with a hard stare.

  Hinds got slowly to his feet and walked toward Onja. He looked at Negus and nodded toward the exit. She left with a scowl, and he turned to Johnny.

  "I'd like to have a word with the lieutenant alone," he said.

  "I don't think she's up to it, Major," Johnny said.

  Hinds pinned him with angry eyes.

  "That was an order, Lincoln!"

  Johnny frowned unhappily, wavering. He looked at Onja again, listless and vulnerable.

  "I'm sorry, sir, but —"

  "I'm her commanding officer," Hinds said testily.

  "Sir, I just think —"

  "Get the fuck out!"

  "Johnny." Onja touched his arm. "It's okay."

  Johnny hesitated another second, then got up and wandered outside. Hinds glared until he was out of sight, then settled into a chair facing the girl. He took a moment to let his anger settle. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

  "You did good today," he said.

  She nodded.

  "What you did today was a great strategic victory. It could be the turning point of the war. But more than that, you made me look very good. I may get a promotion because of you."

  She looked at him as if he were a stranger, but said nothing.

  "I'd like to express my gratitude, Onja," Hinds said. "I'd like to take you with me when I get promoted. You and I can kill a lot more Sirians together."

  "Railsplitter is my pilot," she said woodenly.

  Hinds's jaw tightened ever so slightly.

  "Let's bury the lasersaw," he offered. "Put the past behind us. Start over. I want you to be my gunner."

  "You only want my body, Major." She stared at him listlessly. "Let me make this easy for you: I will never fly with you. I will never sleep with you."

  Hinds's face grew slowly crimson, his jaw locked tight for more than a minute. With a tremendous effort of will, he stood slowly and took a step back.

  "I hope you never have reason to regret your decision," he said quietly, his face throbbing. "I can do you a lot of good in the service. I can also make things very difficult for you. You'd be well advised to remember that."

  She stared at him in silence, waiting for him to go — and he did, leaving her alone with her coffee. She sipped it again, set it down, and hugged herself tightly with both arms. She began to tremble, lightly at first, then more violently.

  "Onja? Are you okay?" Johnny entered the wardroom and knelt by her, pulling her against him to steady her. She sat with eyes closed, shivering hard.

  "Come on," he insisted. "Let's get you to quarters."

  He helped her down the companionway to the lift, and down three decks to their quarters. It was a tight little cube that reminded Onja more of AB-131 than anything she'd seen since; it made their Luna quarters look like a real suite.

  Johnny helped Onja out of her flight suit and into a pair of baggy pajamas. She offered no resistance, nor did she speak. She seemed almost in shock, numb from her encounter with the enemy. He helped her into her rack and pulled a sheet over her.

  "Johnny? Don't leave me."

  He sat on the edge of her rack and took her hand.

  "I won't leave you, honey."

  "Lie down with me. I need you."

  "Are you going to be okay?"

  "How many did I kill, Johnny?"

  "I don't know. Maybe a division on each ship, plus the crews."

  "They were just Sirians, Johnny. Why do I feel this way? Like I did something wrong?"

  "I guess it isn't natural for people to kill people," he said.

  "All my life I've wanted to do something like that. I used to dream of killing Sirians. And today I killed several thousand, all at once." She turned to him and shook her head. "I never told you, did I?"

  "Told me what?"

  "Why I became a gunner?"

  "No, I don't think you did."

  "Because they took my mother and my sister. They raped them both and took them as slaves. They would have taken me, too, but I was too young."

  He shook his head slowly, hurting with her pain.

  "So that's why you hate the Sirians so much."

  She nodded. "No one hates Sirians as much as a Vegan does. No one else has as much reason to hate. But that was still a lot of people to kill all at once."

  Johnny stared at her, kissed her hand gently.

  "Kiss me, Johnny. Make me forget for a while. Help me live. I have to live for all those people who never had the chance."

  Johnny Lincoln leaned over and kissed her. When he pulled back she looked into his dark eyes with her spectacular blue ones, and her lip trembled ever so slightly.

  "Johnny? Johnny…"

  "What is it, honey?"

  "Johnny…I love you."

  He stared at her with eyes that suddenly misted, his heart singing. He felt a lump rising in his throat.

  "Do you mean that?"

  "I've never told you anything I didn't mean, Johnny. I would never hurt you that way. I love you. I have for a long time."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I had to let go of the Major first. I didn't want to give him up, but I know he's gone."

  "What made you let go of him now?"

  Her lips curled only slightly in an attempt at a smile.

  "You did. You're so good to me, Johnny. No one has ever treated me better. Not even the Major. How can I not love you?"

  "Onja…"

  "Love me, Johnny. Love me!"
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  "To my last breath, Onja. I swear to god I'll love you forever. Burn me in hell if I don't!"

  She placed a hand behind his head and kissed him, then released him and closed her eyes.

  "I'm tired now. Stay with me. Don't leave me."

  "For the rest of my life," he promised. "I'll never leave you."

  He lay down beside her, and two minutes later she was asleep.

  Chapter 27

  ~

  GIRL GUNNER SAVES MARS!

  Fighter Queen Gets Sirian Transports,

  Runs String to 66

  ~

  World and Federation news holos carried a variety of stories about the encounter with the Sirian taskforce, now dubbed the "Battle of the Belt", after the convoy returned to Luna. The public had been hammered by repeated Sirian strikes over the past sixteen months and was eager for good news. Military analysts concluded that the enemy force had probably been an invasion convoy bound for Mars. After the destruction of the destroyer and transports it had turned back, disappearing into hyperspace before further attacks could be launched. The public ate it up.

  When the 213 returned to Luna 9, minus gunner Trish de los Santos, the squadron went on stand-down for thirty days. Most hadn't been granted full liberty since the war began, and all hands were given leave. Onja Kvoorik was ready; her nerves were frayed and she needed a vacation.

  Wednesday, 2 January, 0222 (PCC) — Oslo, Norway, Terra

  Johnny had never been to Norway, though he'd flown over it once during combat. It was a beautiful, fascinating country, a land of sharp mountains, deep-water fjords, and quaint architecture; a land that for centuries had bred warriors and hardy seamen. Viking country.

  Onja's adoptive parents lived in a small town just outside Oslo, and Johnny felt awkward with them at first. They were elderly, and it was quickly obvious that Onja was their pride and joy. Mr. Kvoorik was a quiet man, not given to emotion, yet he quivered with pride when the stunning blonde came through the door and hugged him.

  Mrs. Kvoorik was almost a stereotype — round, white-haired, grandmotherly. She wept when Onja hugged and kissed her, then turned to Johnny and kissed him. Taking his hand, she drew him into the sitting room where she fussed about until everyone was seated, then hurried out to the kitchen and returned with a whistling teapot. She poured steaming cups for everyone.