by T. C. Edge
Chloe and Nadia rushed down the passage, locking themselves into their harnesses. The beeping got louder, more aggressive, until suddenly it shut down, Ragan slamming a hand onto the controls to end the racket.
He looked over at Tanner.
“It’s gotta be Quinn,” he said. “They’ve tracked us again somehow.”
Tanner took a breath, setting the falcon into forward motion, and immediately banking hard to the left. The jet turned with a burst of noise from the thrusters, the blinking light on the map approaching fast.
Suddenly, a new alarm blared. A different sound, more manic. A series of shorter beeps following each other in quick succession, growing quicker with each passing note.
The two men looked at the screen.
“Shit,” growled Tanner. A small line was headed their way, stretching quickly from the blinking light that chased them. “They’ve fired on us. Hold on.”
He turned the wheel again, the jet curving suddenly right, and up, shooting up into the heavens. The clouds were thickening, growing heavy with rain. From several huge cloud formations, jagged bolts of lightning shot, illuminating the darkened skies.
They barely noticed the booming thunder that followed, not over the roaring engine. The line on the screen continued to follow, turning as they did, chasing them down. The beeping alarm grew more frantic, each sound growing so close until they came together as one, becoming a single, unending note.
“Hold on tight,” roared Tanner, voice carrying over the din. He turned again, swerving left and down this time, forcing the pursuing missile to change course. “Ragan, activate countermeasures. On my command.”
Ragan reached forward, activating the falcon’s defensive systems. His hand waited patiently, still as an oak tree, above a red switch.
“Ready,” he said.
Tanner’s eyes were keen, staring into the dark abyss ahead. He continued to swerve through the clouds, seeking spaces between thicker patches. Up, down, left and right he went, Ragan’s insides thrown off into all directions. He spared a thought for Chloe in the back, unused to this sort of aggressive change in motion, direction, and velocity. But he didn’t look back, eyes darting from screen to windshield, watching the world rushing by one minute, then checking the position of the chasing missile, and aircraft, the next.
The missile was getting near, faster than the falcon over short distances, and more manoeuvrable too. Tanner swerved up once more, seeking a longer stretch of clear air. The falcon burst from a thick mass of condensed vapour, the windshield splashed with a spray of water. The jet straightened, holding its form. The missile was getting close.
Tanner’s eyes flashed on the screen. The alarm was a constant whine now, reaching a deafening pitch. His eyes narrowed; Ragan’s hand hovered. And then Tanner shouted.
“Now!”
Ragan’s hand slammed down on the switch, releasing a small, defensive missile from the rear of the jet. Tanner needed to wait for the chasing missile to get close before giving the order, making sure it locked on. It was one of several countermeasures available to the falcon, and could be the most effective when used right. It required timing, and bravery, but would always hit its mark.
The much smaller missile shot from the jet, seeking the heat given off by the approaching missile’s combustion. It was close enough now that the two collided only a second or so after release, meeting with a sudden explosion that ripped through the nearest clouds, vaporising mist and rain alike. The force of the blast spread quickly, causing a shudder to ripple through the jet. Ragan felt his fingers digging into his armrests, knuckles white.
Then, the shudder ended abruptly, and the roar of the storm, and engines, replaced it. The falcon continued to shoot off, Tanner now swerving violently to the left in a steep bank. Ragan took a breath, brows bunching as the plane turned on its side, the world upending. The force of the motion was extremely unpleasant, the pressure quickly building in Ragan’s head.
This time, he did look back at Chloe. She was locked into the back of her seat, eyes shut tight, holding Remus protectively in her hands. Nadia was sparing her a look as well, lips moving, seemingly talking her through it.
“Cliff…” Ragan managed to grunt. “What are you doing!”
Tanner seemed the least affected. He had more experience than most in jets of such speed, and his natural penchant for dare-devilry had made such unpleasant aerial acrobatics more commonplace for him. Squinting, he turned his eyes back to the screen. Ragan followed his gaze, and noted that he was trying to outmanoeuvre their pursuer. He was trying to get behind them.
Suddenly, the alarm started to cry out again, another missile shot. No…two this time, one following quickly after the other! It was a counter to their first countermeasure, making the use of the anti-missile option impossible. They wouldn’t have time to fire at the head missile, and then lock onto the next before it hit.
Tanner’s face didn’t show surprise or concern at the sight. He was in his element, born for such combat. He swerved several more times, changing direction, attempting to force the chasing missiles to fly near enough to each other to become a single threat.
“Flare, Ragan,” Tanner called.
Ragan immediately turned his attention back to the defensive panel ahead of him. He altered the settings.
“Ready!” he shouted.
Tanner continued to fly wildly, though with precision and control. He was capable of pushing the falcon to its absolute limits, maximising its ability to change course quickly without losing speed or stalling. In other hands, such aggressive manoeuvres wouldn’t work.
The g-force, however, was becoming unbearable. Ragan’s head felt like it was going to explode, his vision starting to form into a tunnel, his peripheral sight darkening. He blinked hard, trying to hold off the effects, as the jet lifted suddenly, then swerved sharply to the right, avoiding a series of white shards of lightning cutting from a thick patch of black cloud above.
“Hold yourself together,” Tanner called through a grimace, noticing Ragan’s discomfort. “Don’t you pass out on me!”
He levelled out, as if to give his co-pilot some respite. Ragan heaved a quick breath into his lungs, as if he wouldn’t get another chance, and glanced back to see that Chloe’s arms were now hanging loose, her head rolled to one side of her neck. His eyes sharpened and grew strained. Nadia, sitting next to her, was holding on for dear life, eyes tightly shut as she tried not to pass out.
“She’ll be fine, Ragan,” said Tanner. “She’s just lost consciousness. Now eyes front, soldier!”
Ragan, by force of habit, snapped his head back forward, his head still muddy but beginning to recover. The missiles were now closing fast. Ragan could suddenly hear the wailing alarm again in his ears, forgotten for a moment as his senses took a brief hiatus. It was a single note, a horrible din. He glanced to the screen and saw the missiles approaching, closer together now. Tanner’s skilled manoeuvres had somehow worked.
“When I tell you, release the flare,” Tanner shouted, voice controlled. He was almost like a different person in this state. Focused, face grim, not a note of humour about him.
The jet continued in a straight course, working through a thin patch of grey cloud and bursting into a clearer space ahead. Ragan’s hand hovered, shaking a little now. His eyes went from the screen, to Tanner, and back again.
“Now!”
He flicked the switch, and the flare was loosed. It flew back from the jet in a slight arch, the incoming missiles heading straight for it. As they drew near, the flare suddenly exploded like a firework, a beautiful pyrotechnic display, creating a mist of flak. The first missile punched through, but didn’t get far. It detonated as it burrowed into the fog, causing another rumble to shudder. The second followed a moment later, both missiles dealt with.
“Great work, Ragan,” shouted Tanner, giving praise where it wasn’t due. This was all Tanner, Ragan knew. Without him, they’d be dead.
Ragan was about to remedy the
undeserved plaudit and turn it around the other way, when Tanner suddenly carved a new path once more, this time rising high and executing something resembling a twisted barrel role as he attempted to outmanoeuvre the jet behind.
Ragan’s words were choked down, locked into his throat. He turned his attention to survival once more as the falcon swept and swooped and surged like its namesake, carving up the clouds. During one particularly stomach-churning pass, Ragan caught a glimpse of the following jet through the windshield. It was brief, only, but enough.
“It’s the golden eagle,” he murmured.
“You sound surprised,” said Tanner, glancing over. “You said it was Quinn following. They were always going to chase us down using the best jet available. After this baby, of course.” He reached out and tapped the dashboard affectionately, holding himself together so well.
Then his eyes crafted themselves into a focused glare, his jaw stiffened, and he spoke a few words of warning.
“OK, hold on,” he said. “Things are about to get hairy.”
About to? Thought Ragan, quaking. What had they been so far!
The next couple of minutes were an aerial dance of violent, gut-wrenching tension. Ragan could do little but cling on for dear life as Tanner played a game of chess up there in the storm, desperately trying to work behind the chasing eagle in order to avoid any further fire.
Ragan’s mind was such a blur that he couldn’t think properly, couldn’t quite compute of what Tanner was actually doing. Through his muddled thoughts, he wondered why they weren’t trying to outrun their pursuers, being the quicker jet. He wondered, too, whether now might be a good time to call back to base and tell them to cease the chase.
Was all of this just a misunderstanding? Did Slattery really want them dead?
His ability to work through the problem was stunted, his attention quickly snatched away again as his vision started to close in. He managed to look back once more to find Chloe’s body still limp, arms and neck dangling. Nadia, too, appeared to have passed out, unable to hold on any longer. Even Tanner was having a bit of trouble, his eyes increasingly intense.
“Cliff…” Ragan managed to grunt through gritted teeth. “We can’t go on like this much longer.”
“Won’t take much longer,” said Tanner, staring. “I’ve got them outflanked. I’ll be in position soon.”
“In position,” repeated Ragan. “For what?”
Tanner looked over as if the question was a foolish one.
“To fire, obviously.”
“What!”
The vocalising of Tanner’s intent lit a new fire inside Ragan. He managed to spark back to life, overcoming his troubles, fog fleeing from his head.
“You can’t shoot them down, Cliff!” said Ragan. “They’re our men!”
“They were our men,” corrected Tanner coldly. “Now they’re our enemy.”
“We don’t know that yet! There must be a dozen men on that jet, men we’ve served with, lived with. We can’t kill them.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Tanner, voice firm. “All it takes is the push of a button.” He flicked a dial to his left, activating weapons mode. The falcon had an array of them, many devastating. The eagle would be unable to withstand a barrage for long, not now that Tanner was positioning himself to their rear.
“Cliff, listen to me,” said Ragan, voice catching as the jet suddenly went left. “We’re behind them now, so we don’t have to do this. We can get away without killing them. If you do this, then we’ll all be banished from the Crimson Corps for good. Is that what you want?”
“I want to kill those who are trying to kill me,” said Tanner, teeth bared. “You saw what happened at the farm. They shot without even giving us a chance to surrender. They tried to murder us, Ragan! Quinn’s never liked either of us, and neither has Slattery. Now he’s got his chance to take us out without anyone questioning it.”
“And what about the other men? Forget Quinn. What about the rest? You’re going to kill them too?”
“If…I have to,” said Tanner, slightly less sure.
“Well you don’t,” said Ragan. He reached to the controls ahead of him, and took up a pair of earphones, fiddling with the settings.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to patch myself into the eagle, tell them to hold off.”
“Are you mad! They won’t listen to you.”
“We need to explain what’s been happening. Things have gotten out of hand.”
Ragan continued to work the comms settings, trying to get a signal with the eagle. All he heard was static. He tried again, then several more times. Nothing.
“Goddamnit,” he roared, pulling the headphones off. “Storm’s screwing up comms. Too much interference.”
“Or they’ve just blocked any signal from getting through. A storm like this shouldn’t effect comms at this range.”
Tanner spoke matter-of-factly, but the implication of that didn’t sit well with Ragan. They’re not even trying to let us communicate, he thought. They really do want us dead…
Tanner saw the realisation spread across Ragan’s face. He huffed.
“You see. They don’t care about us anymore. Who the hell knows, maybe Martha isn’t the only one who’s betrayed us. The council’s become a pit of snakes, Ragan. Slattery, Oppenheimer, Westham. They’re all as bad as each other. Power hungry men who probably want the data for themselves to trade for profit. It’s all these rich people care about.”
He spoke with a heavy note of bitterness, a symptom of being raised poor, tossed from one foster home to another. His eyes glared and he continued the chase, the eagle now coming into sight through a clearer patch in the storm. Tanner smiled, a callous grin.
“I have you now,” he growled.
Ragan disappeared to his thoughts. Maybe this was right. Maybe Project Dawn did have more than one member working for themselves. If Martha could deceive them, then anyone could. He’d trusted her above all others, and she’d betrayed him, given him up to be feasted on by Mikel. Given Chloe up, Tanner and Nadia. All of them, and for what? Why, Martha, he found himself wondering. Why…
He came to, watching through the windscreen. The eagle was close, shining gold as a silver streak of lightning lit up the skies. Tanner’s hand was ready, eager to attack. His thumb hovered over a button. It pressed slowly, hesitating. Was he having doubts?
Ragan looked over again. Tanner’s eyes weren’t quite so narrow now. He held the look of a man battling an internal decision. One he clearly didn’t want to make, no matter what he said.
“Don’t, Cliff,” Ragan said quietly. “You don’t want that on your conscience. Trust me.”
Tanner looked over.
“My conscience is plenty dirty already,” he grunted. “A few more kills won’t change that.”
“But that was war, Cliff. This isn’t. This is something else.”
“Is it, Ragan?” asked Tanner, flashing him with another glare. “War is a state of kill or be killed for grunts like us, nothing more. And if we don’t kill them now, then…”
“Then what?” cut in Ragan. “We can turn, and escape. We don’t need to do this. All we need to worry about is finding the data. What else matters?”
Tanner’s face curled up, a heavy frown falling over his eyes.
“That goddamned data,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “It’s cost so many lives. Maybe it’s best to just let it play out. See what the hell happens.”
“You’re not serious?”
“I’m dead serious,” said Tanner. “Look at this storm, Ragan.” His eyes looked out upon the dark skies, heavy with rain, lightning, thunder. “We can’t hold back forces of nature like this, and we can’t hold back progress either. Whether in a week, month, year…whatever, someone’s going to unlock Professor Phantom’s secrets. All of this is probably just for nothing.”
The two men fell silent for a moment, the storm seeming to calm. Tanner’s thumb loosened a little on the button, d
rawing back. Ragan stayed quiet, thinking. Chloe had said the very same thing only days ago. Was this cause really worth it? Was it worth killing for, dying for? Would their efforts really come to nothing after everything that had happened?
He couldn’t bare to think like that. If he did, then who was he? A man who’d betrayed his own country? A spy in the CID, working for a cause that might just be corrupt? A soldier, hunting and killing to try to hold back an impossible tide? A tide that, as Tanner said, as Chloe had said, would come anyway. A tide that was inevitable.
He shook his head at the thought.
“I can’t believe that,” he said eventually, voice quiet. “I…won’t.”
“Well, it hardly matters now,” said Tanner. “The data’s gone. We’ve failed. And our own people are hunting us. All this data’s done is ruin lives.”
Ragan looked back at Chloe once more. Ruined lives. Such an irony that her father destroyed hers, when he was only trying to protect it.
He looked back round, setting a gentle, coaxing tone to his voice.
“Cliff, the girl’s are out, they’re unconscious,” he said softly. “Look.” Tanner glanced back. The sight of Chloe and Nadia, heads rolling on shoulders, arms limp, had some effect. Some of the anger seemed to be drawn from his face, some of the hate vanquished. “Come on,” went on Ragan carefully, “let’s just turn around and get out of here. If we shoot down the eagle, they’ll just send the rest of the corps after us.”
Tanner blinked slowly, still battling. He looked reluctant to withdraw, but couldn’t bring himself to fire. He let out a puff of air, a heavy sigh. And drew his thumb away.
Ragan sucked in a long breath, shutting his eyes, and Tanner quickly turned. The motion was sudden, taking Ragan by surprise, the jet carving off as they passed through a thick cloud, covering their retreat. Tanner set a straight course again, and then put on the afterburners. There’d be no catching them now.
He looked across to Ragan, the speed of the falcon levelling out, the pressure fading.
