Space: Above and Beyond 1 - Space: Above and Beyond

by Peter Telep

  Hawkes squinted and choked up. The lens of the camera was like the muzzle of a large weapon.

  "C'mon, lieutenant. It's doubtful the enemy is monitoring this feed. The entire world wants to know what's going on. What can you tell them?"

  "I'm, uh, I don't think I'm supposed to say anything."

  "But think about the billions hanging on your every move. If you were one of them, wouldn't you want to know?"

  "I guess so but—"

  "Don't you think your family back home deserves to know what's happening to you?"

  Hawkes stepped forward, reaching to—

  "Hey, don't touch the lens!" the cameraman shouted.

  Suddenly, two MPs charged up and strong-armed the reporter and cameraman. "Guess you didn't read your visitor's pass. This area is a NO MEDIA ZONE!" the taller MP barked.

  The other MP flashed an apologetic look at Hawkes. "Sorry, lieutenant," she said.

  As the reporter and her accomplice were ushered away, Hawkes smoothed out his sleeve, then resumed his course.

  Weaving into the prep bays, he found himself elbowed and shouldered by the scores of flight crew personnel readying the many cockpits. Charging lines were already being removed from the first dozen pits, and Blue and White Wings were seated and buckling in. A small, one-person rover rolled by with a replacement canopy. Another rover tailed it, carrying a dozen long cylindrical laser cannon batteries. The driver of the rover wore an EVA suit and steered her vehicle into the air lock.

  Hawkes stepped deeper into the chaos, searching for the mobile bed that contained his cockpit. He spotted Damphousse, Wang, and Low, who were below their bed and double-checking each other's suits and helmets. He moved on before they saw him, wanting to avoid the good lucks and other words of encouragement that would, at the moment, make him feel awkward. Besides, he was trying to count that single second over and over. He caught sight of his cockpit two beds down on the right. He marched toward it.

  Ahead, two mechanics finished a conversation, and as they left, West appeared from behind them. He was headed straight for Hawkes.

  What do you want? You gonna say something to me? Wish me luck? Right. All I have to say to you is try not to shoot me...

  He didn't look at West as they passed, and perhaps Mr. Hotshot had done the same. Hawkes took the ladder up to his bed, noting that he was the first pilot to arrive, then paused to don his helmet.

  "Hawkes?"

  Recognizing the voice, he stiffened as he looked back. West was the only person in the prep bay not moving. What was that expression on his face? Mr. Hotshot was serious, maybe a little sad. Hawkes wanted to believe that when they got into the middle of the furball, West would be there. Was that what the Marine wanted to tell him? Maybe, but it didn't appear as if he would say anything else.

  Hawkes slowly nodded. West left.

  "Sir," a wiry crewman called, popping up from the other side of his pit. "You're all set, but I noticed you have a piece of unauthorized equipment aboard. Regulation 527 section B—I know it 'cause I had to look it up—states that any officer—"

  "Do you always obey your superior officers?"

  "Sir, without question, sir."

  "Good. I order you not to report your find."

  "But—"

  "Get outta here."

  The boy departed in a huff, head shaking. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see if Hawkes had turned the kid into a rule-breaker like himself. All the crewman had to do was obey his order of silence. If questioned, he could simply state he'd been directed not to speak. And it wasn't as if Hawkes's unauthorized equipment was a thermonuclear device. The crewman had just been too nosy.

  Helmet sealed, he lowered himself into his seat. The other pilots arrived and slid into their cockpits. As his canopy servos hummed, lowering the shield, Hawkes tossed a glance to the bed ahead of his.

  Shane was strapped in, her face all duty as she eyed her instrument panels. Then she looked at the pilot across from her, who had to be West, and lifted a thumbs-up.

  A Klaxon signaled the opening of the air lock. Shane's bed rumbled forward and soon was gone. Hawkes continued to count his eternal second, and then it was his turn. Beyond the lock, his cockpit was reattached to his Hammerhead, then the jet was lifted onto the flight deck. While the wing leaders waited for signals from the plane captain and bridge, Hawkes stared toward the edge of the solar system where a vast band of darkness eclipsed the stars.

  twenty-four

  This is what you wanted, Shane. It all comes down to this. What would Kim, Lauren, and everyone else think if they saw you now?

  They'd probably think I'm insane.

  Mommy? Daddy? I might be coming home soon...

  "What the hell's the delay?" Nathan asked, cutting into the static of her link.

  She adjusted the link's sensitivity and replied, "Cut the skipchatter unless you got something important to say."

  "Sorry, Sarge."

  Shane swallowed, checked her thruster console. Fuel full, thrusters idling at .01 percent.

  "Gold Wing you are cleared for launch."

  "Copy, tower," Nathan replied. "Gold Leader launching."

  Shane felt the flight deck vibrate under her jet as the thruster tubes of Nathan's Hammerhead flared bright blue. Then, with an incredible sudden burst, he missiled off into space. The other four jets of his wing chased close behind him, finally gathering into a string that turned as if under the direction of one mind. Shane knew that her own wing would look as impressive and powerful; she just couldn't believe she was a part of it. Six months prior she had been standing in a living room on a planet that seemed a lifetime away, screaming at the top of her lungs at her sisters. Five months prior she'd been thinking about going back to school and had even gone to the U.S.D. campus for an application, one she had never filled out. Four months prior she had quit her job at Virgosoft because they had kept pressuring her into taking a management position. Three months prior she had been working in a Mexican restaurant in Old Town San Diego and had served a table of Marines. They hadn't said anything to persuade her. She had just looked at them... and known.

  "Red Wing, you are cleared for launch."

  "Copy, tower. Red Leader go."

  When she had launched from Loxley she had groaned over how the jet had slammed her against her seat. Now, with only the tiny particles of hydrogen to slow the craft, particles that offered no discernible resistance, she slingshoted off the Saratoga at twice the speed, grinning instead of groaning. The supercarrier shrank to a gray pea floating before a massive orange.

  All right, all right, all right. Check your data bars. Get that HUD and LIDAR on line. Good. Count 'em off, one, two, three, and there's Hawkes pulling up the rear.

  "Gold Wing. ETA to Trojan: forty-nine seconds," Nathan said.

  At that, the asteroid field swept into view on Shane's HUD. She could look through the image at the actual jagged chunks of icy rock, but their representations on the HUD told her much more than her eyes. The pitching and yawing planetoids were instantly measured and their trajectories plotted by her NAV system. She took note of her own wing's ETA and reported it to them.

  "Gold Wing. Scatter," Nathan ordered.

  Like five specks of blue glitter tossed in the air, the jets of Nathan's wing dived into the cosmic refuse and vanished.

  Shane edged her stick forward. "Red Wing. Insert in two... one... go." She hurtled toward a gap between two great rocks that each had to be half the size of the Saratoga. With her NAV system beeping busily, plotting intercept course after intercept course, she made it past the rocks and found herself plowing through a cloud of small, fist-sized stones which struck her Hammerhead in a deafening roll of reverberating caroms. "Red Wing! Break off from leader and assume cover."

  The hull of her jet had been built to withstand small asteroid showers but she hadn't planned on testing its design. The cloud thinned, and then only an occasional chunk streaked by. She braked hard as she neared a massive rock mottled
with ice. A data bar listed its diameter at .0879 kilometers. It would do. She clicked on her retrorocket system and felt the little blasts of power from her ship's nose, tail, and wings as she guided her stick, mirroring the erratic course of the asteroid.

  "Gold Leader to Red. My wing's in position."

  Shane checked her HUD. Everyone but Hawkes had found a hiding place. Hawkes's thrusters were idling and he drifted aimlessly. "We're almost there ourselves, Nathan." Then she switched her link to the wing's independent channel. "Come on, Cooper. Hurry up!"

  "Don't rush me!" he fired back. "I'm looking for the right one."

  "Blue Wing making insertion," Mordock said.

  Shane watched her HUD as the five jets of Blue Wing began their descent. Mordock's jet threaded deftly into the complex maze, but the fourth pilot in his wing was straying dangerously close to a long, jagged rock that resembled the blade of a dagger. Shane dialed to Blue Wing's channel. "B-Four! Watch your NAV. Nine o'clock! Nine o'clock!"

  "Get out of there, Lindquist!"

  "There's something wrong with my—I can't—AHIIH-HHHHHHHHH!"

  The errant Hammerhead careened head-on into the asteroid, and as it did, Shane saw the backside of the stone as it became haloed in light and twinkling, polymeric shards of hull. Ohmygod.

  'We lost Lindquist! We lost Lindquist!"

  "Lindy, acknowledge! Lindy!"

  "Shuddup! She's gone!" Mordock screamed.

  "No," another pilot argued, "she might've ejected!"

  "Negative," Shane said. "There's no beacon, and there was no e-seq signal on my HUD."

  "I don't give a shit about what you got, Vansen. Get on your own channel."

  "I don't wanna hear nothin' outta your mouth, Perry," Mordock interjected. "Got me?"

  Mordock's hysterical personnel were his own problem now. Shane switched to Red channel, which still kept her in contact with each wing leader. "Nathan?"

  "I was listening," he said. "Forget about it. Just keep hidden. And keep watching."

  "Wing Leaders. Hold positions. You should be picking up the enemy attack force on LIDAR," Commodore Eichner informed.

  Three alien hiveships grew ominously into view on Shane's HUD. Each blue-gray vessel was shaped like a pair of massive isosceles pyramids glued at their bases, their tops sheared off at forty-five-degree angles. A long seam divided the upper and lower pyramids, and it was from this gap that a flurry of alien fighters spewed into space.

  "Saratoga... this is Gold Leader. I'm tied on."

  "Copy, Gold Leader," communications officer Nelson replied. "Correct for course—"

  Shane frowned and adjusted her link. "Nathan, what happened?"

  "It's not our link. It's him. Wait. I think I know why. Check your LIDAR."

  The enemy armada was moving off its predicted course. If they continued, they would avert the asteroid field.

  "Saratoga. LIDAR shows the enemy to be—"

  "Affirmative, Gold Leader. Will advise," Nelson replied unemotionally.

  "ADVISE? They're moving away!"

  "Nathan, sit tight," Shane said. "Command knows what they're doing."

  "The hell they do! We're sitting here for nothing! Gold Wing. Prepare to move!"

  "No, Nathan!"

  "Gold Wing... hold position," Nelson ordered.

  Shane heard Commodore Eichner, who must have been near Nelson, ask, "Could they know we're here?"

  "No, they'd attack," McQueen answered.

  "Nathan?" she called.

  He swore through a sigh. "Holding."

  The problem posed a single question that command needed to answer: How could the enemy's course be diverted?

  Then Shane had part of the solution. "Something's gotta bring them our way."

  twenty-five

  The asteroid dipped suddenly, exposing Hawkes's Hammerhead. Frantically, he released his stick and hit retros to drop. The edge of his wing brushed ever-so-slightly against the icy surface of the stone, and he corrected course to achieve at least a two-meter gap. Hiding had been, thus far, an exercise in reflexes, and an exercise that now might prove futile.

  Marine intelligence had screwed up again. Surprised? Hawkes wasn't. Pilots knew more about the war than generals. Pilots like Shane. She'd been right. Something would have to bring the enemy their way. Hawkes reached into the hip pocket of his flight suit.

  "Commodore. We can't sit here. We gotta act!" Shane protested.

  "Negative. This is not a suicide mission. That's an order! Repeat. Hold your position."

  Hawkes took a brief look at the gold micro-CD before sliding it into his unauthorized disc drive. He hit PLAY and smiled knowingly.

  The opening guitar barrage of The Ramones' "Blitzkrieg Bop" blared through the link.

  The officers back on the Saratoga's bridge were probably looking at one another, puzzled. They hadn't been present to see Pags's performance of the song. They'd been too busy making feeble plans.

  A light flashed on his link's console. Someone was trying to communicate with him on another channel. He dismissed the request, hit full thrusters and pictured himself burning rubber away from his asteroid, singing, "HEY, HO, LET'S GO!" with The Ramones.

  He put the long field of rocks mined with Hammerheads below him, and the three hiveships scrolled into the center of his HUD. Hawkes switched link channels so that he could hear both the music and skipchatter. "Fifty-eighth. I'm baitin' them past you."

  "I'm coming to help you out," West said.

  "Negative, Gold Leader," Shane countered. "Hold your position! He'll bring 'em past. Wait 'til we all can go."

  Hawkes's LIDAR picked up so many contacts that its blipping rolled into a single tone that said get the hell out of the area. The HUD revealed a black tsunami of planes that was about to come crashing down on him.

  Hey, ho, let's go!

  He banked hard, riding a wall of space as if he were a bobsledder taking a seventy-five-degree turn. By flying under the first attack wave he was able to roll around behind them. The HUD told him that the wave was still too far from the asteroid field, and not only that, they hadn't spotted him. Only one way to truly draw their attention.

  Squeezing every ounce of speed out of the Hammerhead, Hawkes armed all weapons systems and maxed the volume on his micro-CD player. "I'm goin' in! Fangs out!"

  Rocketing above the rear squadrons of alien craft, he directed his plane at the lead wing. Target locks floated and—

  Guns! Guns! Guns!

  Hawkes strafed the craft, gritting his teeth and narrowing his gaze on the HUD. The dorsal wing of the first fighter disintegrated and it went spiraling out of formation. Another enemy plane attempted to avoid Hawkes's fire and banked left—directly into its comrade. The sharp wings of both ships became entangled, and the two rolled end over end to finally separate. Hawkes got a lock on one and put an abrupt end to that pilot's wild ride. Then he jinxed hard right and rolled away, scanning the HUD.

  Come on, sucker. Come on. I know you want payback as badly as I.

  The wing leader wheeled around and leveled off in pursuit of Hawkes. The rest of its squadron dispersed to follow.

  Hawkes knew he had to bring them very close for the ambush to happen. If he could just hold out long enough...

  Lieutenant Colonel Fouts had said that the Hammerhead was more maneuverable than the enemy's fighters. Hawkes needed for Fouts to be right. He spotted a particularly large asteroid on the fringe of the field and tapped two buttons on his NAV system's console.

  WARNING: DEVIATION COURSE NOT LAID IN. AUTO-OVERRIDE DISENGAGED.

  Another look at the HUD was cause for minor celebration. "Wing leaders, they're locked in!" he reported excitedly. "Approaching position."

  "Wait for it," Shane ordered.

  PROXIMITY ALERT. FAILURE TO DEVIATE FROM PRESENT COURSE WILL RESULT IN COLLISION.

  The NAV system wasn't happy about flying head-on at an asteroid without assisting the pilot.

  TRACKING... TRACKING... LIDAR JAM INEFFECTIVE. E
NEMY CRAFT FIRING...

  And Hawkes wasn't thrilled about the eruption of alien laser fire.

  With both hands on the stick, he watched as the asteroid filled his canopy like a great hand of gray stone and opaque ice, ready to close its fingers around him. He made out tiny fissures in the rock and soft, rolling patterns in the ice as he taught the aliens his version of follow-the-leader.

  PROXIMITY ALERT. COLLISION IMMINENT.

  But that was what the NAV computer thought, and it wasn't flying the ship. Hawkes had the choice to dive or climb. A data bar reported the dimensions of the asteroid and his course toward it.

  Someone was screaming in his link, but, as though in one of his rages, he heard only the racing rhythm of his heart.

  Picking the shortest path of evasion, he held his breath, thought of backing off the thrusters, then thought to hell with it. He steered down, turning his fighter into a roller coaster thundering over tracks engineered by a psychopath. Above, the surface of the asteroid wiped by. Ahead, open space waved him home. A concentrated flash originated from behind him. Got one.

  But then a look to his HUD indicated that at least six more jets still vied for a piece of him. He pulled up, leveling beneath the asteroid field. Both sides of his canopy lit up under weapons' fire that came so close it would have fogged his glass in an atmosphere. He cut left into a roll—

  —but a bolt struck the Hammerhead where the canopy's seam met the hull. Talons of energy pried into the ship and played across his console. He came out of his roll, hit forward retros, then pulled back.

  No response from the jet. His stick was dead.

  The NAV system control panel flickered, went dark for a moment, then flickered again.

  "My control's froze," he screamed into his link.

  TRACKING SEVEN CONTACTS. LIDAR JAM INEFFECTIVE. SUB-CHANNELS JAMMED BY ENEMY.

  He beat a fist on the NAV panel, which continued to short-out.

  TRACKING THIRTEEN CONTACTS. LIDAR JAM INEFFECTIVE. SUB-CHANNELS JAMMED BY ENEMY.