The artificial gale eased then stopped. I staggered to my feet, gulping deep breaths of thin air. The air conditioners hissed, and the air pressure began to return to normal. The deck was lopsided, but walking was possible once the blast doors had sealed it.
Will raced past me on the way to his squadron.
“No one else can get into the flight deck,” I shouted after him. “And from the sound of things out there, we’re losing. We need more pilots.”
“Help the deck crew. You may not fly,” Will shouted back. He reached the stairs and clattered down to the lower deck, taking them three steps at a time.
I waited until Will had put on his overalls and taken his helmet before I followed. If the deck was chaotic before, it was even worse after the explosion. Many of the planes were damaged, and the crews attending to them hurriedly tried to get the best of them ready to fly. Too many of the techs were clearly injured, though, limping or trying to make repairs with one hand. The Eisenhower itself was gradually leveling out, though it still suffered from unexpected lurches as the attack continued outside.
I climbed down the stairs, went to the uniform rack, flicked through them until I found a name of one of the pilots who was close my size, and pulled it from its hanger.
The assigning officer came over to stop me. “You can’t take that.”
I didn’t know him, but he clearly recognized me. I read his name from his tag. “Lieutenant Johnson, I’ll need that for a sec.” I grabbed his tablet off him before he could object, and scanned down through it. “There’s no one down to fly Gamma 5, and it’s fueled and ready to go.”
“You aren’t allowed fly.”
“This is no time to worry about the rules. We’re under attack and might not survive. The blast doors are down, no more pilots can get in here, and we need every V-Tip in the air, fighting.”
“Can’t let you take a plane without authorization. Don’t care if we’re outnumbered a thousand to one.” Johnson reached for his tablet, but I pulled it away from him.
“I’ve been given permission by Captain Will Saunders, Gamma Squadron Leader, but he doesn’t have time to sign any forms.” I raised the tablet in the air and waved it at Will. “Hey, Will, tell this paper pusher that you’ve given me authorization.”
Will stood at the ladder of his plane. “What is it?” he shouted back.
“Tell this guy that I have authorization to take a plane.” I lowered my voice for the last few words, hoping that Will would think I was looking for permission to help out with the ground crew.
“Yes, yes, just get on with it.” Will clambered up the ladder and into his cockpit.
I handed the tablet back to Johnson and climbed into the overalls. “Sign me in for Gamma 5.”
He hesitated.
“Quickly, man. Don’t make me have to go over your head.”
The deck shuddered long and hard, and both of us struggled to hold our balance.
“There’s a battle raging outside, men dying. Just do your damn job.”
I handed the helmet over to Johnson. He made a note into the tablet, signed it with his thumbprint, then swiped the tablet across the helmet’s permission chip. There was an accepting beep from the helmet, and I took it back off the lieutenant. I left at a run before turning back hurriedly after only a few paces. “Where’s Gamma 5 parked?”
“Red 15.” Johnson still looked uncertain; I just had to hope he didn’t change his mind and revoke his permission.
I sprinted to Red 15, which was empty, with Gamma 5 instead straddling Red 12 and Red 11. V-Tips were fat squat planes, with short wide wings and a flattened nose. At the end of each wing, the metal curled up in the V shape that gave the planes their name. They weren’t as quick as spy planes, but their maneuverability was incomparable. Other planes could do loop-the-loops; V-Tips could doodle the sky like a pencil artist on acid.
“We ready to go?” I asked the two techs working on something in the side panel.
“Gamma 4 and Gamma 5 collided earlier. We’ve tightened up a few things, but we haven’t checked everything,” the nearest tech said, popping his head out of the side of the plane.
“Just close up the panel. There’s no time to fix anything else.”
The tech looked as if he were going to argue, then he shrugged. “Your funeral.”
I pulled on the helmet. It was a bit of a squeeze. I climbed the ladder to the cockpit and touched the crown of the helmet against the door sensor. The cockpit didn’t beep open. I glanced back to see Lieutenant Johnson talking with Colonel Gleeson. Shit! He might have rescinded his permission. I butted my helmet against the door, and it finally beeped open. I scrambled inside, strapped myself in, and went through the pre-flight checks in record time. I hit the ignition switch, and the twin engines roared into life.
“Mother to Gamma 5. You do not have permission to take off. I repeat, you do not have permission to take off,” Colonel Gleeson ordered.
Damn it! Well, no turning back now.
I eased the throttle forward and taxied across the deck. Several techs had to jump out of the way to avoid me. I chose the nearest available launch tube and aimed the nose of the plane in that direction. It was Tube A34, which was fitting. The same one had led Darius to his death. I felt a catch in my throat at that thought, and my vision blurred. I shook my head to clear it. This wasn’t a time for grief—it was a time for action.
“Return the plane to its bay, Lieutenant Roberts. This is a direct order. You will, I repeat, you will face a court martial if you refuse.” The repetition wasn’t necessary. Colonel Gleeson didn’t make idle threats.
I pressed the transmit button. “I am going to fly this plane out of A34 or crash it into the tube’s outer doors. They are the only two possibilities right now. Over and out.” I shut off the radio.
I nosed the plane into the entrance of A34, eased back on the throttle, and took a deep breath. A light shudder through the Eisenhower reminded me of the battle raging outside. I pressed forward on the control stick, and the plane sped toward the closed tube doors, faster and faster. Previously, I’d charged at the doors with the certain knowledge they would open in time. But, without permission, I wasn’t sure what would happen. The gray metal outer doors rushed toward me at ever-increasing speed. I resisted the urge to close my eyes.
The doors flashed open, and the world turned sky blue. Sunlight streamed into the cockpit, blinding me for an instant, then I could see—and wished I couldn’t. Dog-fighting V-Tips danced across the sky. Laser beams streaked back and forth between them. All the fighters had either the dark green of Territories’ forces on their wings or the deep blue of our forces. The splashes of blue were far and few between.
A spinning V-Tip hurtled just past my windshield then exploded just off to my left. The blast washed across the cockpit and buffeted my plane, forcing it to twist right. There had been blue on the wings, and I saw no sign of a parachute opening. Likely, someone I knew had just died in front of me.
Gamma 5 rolled almost all the way over, so I nudged the control stick back to the left. But the plane didn’t respond. I tried again then realized that the plane wasn’t the problem. My arms were locked in place. My hands were still holding the control stick, but they felt as if someone else owned them. The howl of the explosion continued to reverberate through my brain, blocking out almost everything else. A small part of me was screaming at myself to take control, but that part didn’t control my limbs.
Blood rushed to my head then returned to my feet.
“Pilot, your plane will soon be in an uncontrollable death roll,” the mechanical voice of the autopilot said. “Please respond if able.”
I stared at the backs of my hands, willing them to move, but it was like attempting telekinesis; they refused to respond in any way. My country was fighting for its survival, my fellow soldiers were dying around me, and I couldn’t even move a finger to help. Frustration raged within me, but that part of me was disconnected from my body. I was letting everyone
down, and I could do nothing except sit like a statue. My stomach lurched at another flip, then I could feel control return to the plane.
“No response from pilot. Protocol C-43 in effect. Autopilot taking control and bringing Gamma 5 to the nearest safe dock.” There was a pause. “The devastator Eisenhower.”
The plane eased itself out of the roll, and once it had steadied, it banked to the right until it pointed toward the Eisenhower. Plumes of smoke dotted the outer shell of the devastator, and it was listing hard on one side. The ship was designed to be compartmentalized, and several chunks of it had been jettisoned, leaving it with a strange uneven shape.
Safe dock indeed, I thought. Stupid autopilot. Still, I was glad that the plane was returning. Better to get shot out of the sky than to make a cowardly retreat in the middle of the battle. Again, I strained to move, but the thinking part of my brain was locked deep down inside me.
Most of the Eisenhower’s guns were still operational, and they blasted away, creating a ring of explosions around the ship, but the enemy V-Tips easily dodged the heavy artillery. We needed our own V-Tips for protection, but there weren’t enough in the sky.
The radio crackled into life, and Will’s voice filled the cockpit. “Leaders of Alpha, Beta, and Delta squadrons, respond. Are any of you still in the air?”
Silence.
“Okay, I’m Gamma Squadron Leader, and I’m taking control of all the squadrons. All planes are ordered to break off from your dogfights and return to mother. We will then circle the Eisenhower, and only engage planes as they attack the mothership.”
I hope you know what you are doing, Will. That was the tactic for only the truly desperate. Planes would find it difficult to safely break off from individual battles, and if they stayed close to the ship, they would risk friendly fire. It went against all standard operating procedure.
“And if there are any other devastators in the area, I hope you have already sent reinforcements. Otherwise, it’ll be too late.” With that, Will acknowledged that the situation was as bad as it seemed. “Now, let’s send these traitorous bastards straight to hell. Freedom is not free.”
“Freedom is not free!”
“Freedom is not free!”
The other pilots offered the same response in a series of overlapping replies. They had a choked passion their voices; they knew they were possibly going to die but were willing to lay down their lives for their friends and their country.
“Correction,” the autopilot said. “Nearest safe dock is now Under Nyork. Recalculating route.”
Gamma 5 banked away. No! that little part inside me screamed. I couldn’t turn around and go back just as Will and his men were making a heroic stand. But the rest of me didn’t hear. My arms hurt from being locked in place for so long, but they still refused to budge. Just as the battle left my field of vision, I saw another V-Tip get shot out of the sky, and the Eisenhower jettisoned two more compartments from its body. Escape pods left the first falling compartment, not the second. The Eisenhower was only three-quarters of the size it was when the battle had started, and still, it fought on. How far are those reinforcements?
The Eisenhower was the newest and biggest devastator in the American Conference’s fleet, and, despite everything, I still couldn’t believe we were going to lose it. Old devastators had been decommissioned due to age and battle damage, and its parts had been reused, but a full devastator had never been destroyed in battle in my lifetime. It seemed almost inconceivable.
Gamma 5 broke through the light cloud cover into bright, sunny skies. If there ever was a time for sunshine to be inappropriate, that was it. The sea seemed to have a smooth glassy surface from so high up. Every sea had a slightly different color, and the dark rich blue of the North Atlantic was one of the more distinctive. In the far distance, the Eastern Seaboard of America was coming into view. I didn’t know how I was going to show my face in Under Nyork when the autopilot brought me there. Perhaps the inevitable court martial would do me the favor of putting me out of my misery. Since the accident, I’d turned into someone who lived only for the next drink, convincing myself that everything would change when I was reinstated.
That was before. When I landed, I would be a disgraced pilot who’d stolen a plane then fled the battle like a coward, leaving his devastator behind to be destroyed. I doubted Will or anyone else I knew from the ACM would forgive me. I would never fly again, never leave the undercities again. Even Christina wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye.
“All fighters,” Will’s voice came through the radio again. He sounded weary. “Escort the escape pods back to Under Nyork. Do not engage the enemy unless you have no other option.”
That was it then—the Eisenhower was gone. The autopilot began the descent, and the coast drew closer. I just stared out the front window. Gradually, I realized I was returning to normal and that I could move my arms and legs again. I flexed my fingers, letting the blood flow through them. They felt cold and rubbery. I held them over the control stick then let them fall into my lap, deciding to let the autopilot bring me in. What else could I do? The battle had been lost, and while I was tempted to try to make up for everything by returning for a solo attack on the Bolivar and going down in a glorious hail of laser beams and missiles, I wasn’t sure that I could hold it together long enough to do that. Plus, Gamma 5 didn’t deserve that fate, and every plane would be needed in the fight ahead.
The shattered skyscrapers of the Eastern Seaboard came into focus as the plane continued its descent toward Under Nyork. The streets were strewn with rubble and twisted metal. Anything intact was noticeable because of its rarity inside the broken cities: a rusting yellow car that somehow hadn’t been crushed in all these years; an office block that had fallen down, yet still seemed undamaged, just horizontal instead of vertical; a hollow depression with a single standing house in the center and everything else flattened around it.
I normally didn’t like to look at the cities much—they reminded me of what we had lost, but right then, I preferred to watch the ground rather than the sky.
I glanced down at the red autopilot light, remembering what had happened before, when I’d crashed. Then, the autopilot had crashed me—this time, it was bringing me back in disgrace. Celeste, I thought. They were behind my crash, and they were probably behind the attack. The Territories had no reason to attack us. There had to be something more to it. I didn’t see how Celeste were involved; they normally attacked by hacking into defense networks and disabling them, and nothing like that had happened, as far as I knew. Still, Celeste had to be involved in some way.
In the center of the city, a giant crater had been converted into the entrance of Under Nyork. The V-Tip descended vertically into it. Large gun barrels at the sides of the craters twisted to follow the plane’s trajectory. The guns decided not to shoot, despite me mentally daring them to, and the giant metal doors below opened enough to allow Gamma 5 through, then closed up behind us.
The autopilot settled the plane down on the landing bay of JFK flight deck. I didn’t attempt to get out; I just sat there waiting.
After a while, the cockpit opened, and a stern-faced corporal glared down at me. “You aren’t dead,” he said.
“I wish.”
“You’ll need to come with me for a debriefing.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a drink first? One that dilutes in the bloodstream.”
The corporal’s face darkened.
I would need a more sympathetic judge at the court martial.
Chapter 4
A thick layer of goo coated the inside of my mouth—or at least that’s what it felt like. I opened my mouth wide, stuck out my tongue, and dry coughed like a cat with a fur ball. It didn’t help. I groaned and buried my face in a pillow. I had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there, and I feared I didn’t want to remember.
When my body refused to fall back to sleep, I turned onto my back and pushed myself up on one elbow, massaging a throbbi
ng temple with my free hand. The good news was that I was in a familiar room—my bedroom, I realized after a moment. It shouldn’t have taken so long to figure out where I was, but my thought processes were traveling through my fogged-up brain at glacial speed. I had moved in with Christina after we got married, though I hadn’t spent more than a few weeks here total. Why am I not still on the Eisenhower?
The memories flooded back, and I sank back onto my pillow with another groan. The unexpected visit from Darius. The ambush by our allies. My brother’s death. Stealing the plane. Freezing up in the middle of the battle. The loss of our flagship devastator. The court martial—oh hell, the court martial! I jammed my eyelids closed and covered my head with my blankets, trying to blank my mind. Unfortunately, behind closed eyes, the memories became even more vivid. I saw Transport One explode and the V-Tip that hurtled past my windshield go up in a blaze of fire and smoke. I remembered the ring of fire that the Eisenhower’s big artillery had created and how the enemy fighters were still able to get behind its defenses and blast away at the giant ship.
I threw off the blankets and stood. Hiding under the covers hadn’t solved any of my problems—at least not since I was six years old. What I really needed was a drink. I stumbled toward the bathroom, and at that moment, Christina walked in.
We just looked at each other for a moment; I wasn’t sure what reaction to expect. Then she ran to me and threw her arms around me.
“I’m so glad to see you on your feet,” she cried. “To be able to hold you again. I was so worried when I heard the Eisenhower went down.”
“I’m glad to be alive.” A herd of tiny elephants were doing somersaults inside my head, and my tongue was coated in thick tar. I had just lost a brother and betrayed my country. So “glad to be alive” fell into the white-lie-the-size-of-Antarctica category.
World War 97 Part 1 (World War 97 Serial) Page 3
