Buck Roger XXVC #01 Martian Wars #01 Rebellion 2456

by M S Murdock

  “Ground troops will not be able to pick up Krait,” said Huer. “Its stealth capabilities are much too sophisticated for portable sensors.”

  Buck regarded the Free Enterprise’s sensor read-out thoughtfully. A fine blue line circled the area that the sensors identified as the experimental fighters on the crater’s pad. According to the scan, there were eighteen of them, sitting in two rows of nine directly under one of the laser cannons. He looked at Wilma, the red glow from the viewscreen softening the exciting angles of his face. “Then we go for it,” he said.

  Wilma Deering smiled, her lips drawing together in the center like an innocent Cupid’s bow. “Why, Captain Rogers,” she said sweetly, “are you asking me to dance?”

  “Yes, ma’ am,’ ’he replied, anticipation building in his eyes like an electric charge.

  OOOOO

  “Sir, I’m picking up a shadow at point three-six. It’s big.”

  The Tharsian Plateau watch commander stopped In midstride. His pacing drove his subordinates mad, but it passed the often boring hours of duty. He looked over his shoulder at yet another nameless sensor technician. “How big?” he asked.

  “At least a RAM third-rater, sir.”

  “And a shadow. That means cloaked. Can you tell anything else about her?”

  “No, sir. The shielding is too good.”

  “Well, well. It looks as if this isn’t going to be a boring night after all,” said the commander.

  “Shall I alert the patrols?” asked the technician.

  “No. Alert the ship that we know of its location, then contact Falcons One and Two. Tell them their flight-tests are over. We’ll see how they meet a third rater’s challenge.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  OOOOO

  High above the Tharsian Plateau, in the vast darkness of open space, Buck Rogers and Wilma Deering launched their ships. The two Krait fighters slipped from the Free Enterprise’s lower cargo hatch and dropped toward Mars’s surface, each of them trailing an eight-person transport tube. They were careful to keep the troop transports hidden behind their ships. The Kraits had such advanced stealth capabilities it was unlikely the ships would register even a shadow on the RAM sensors. At one hundred kilometers above the planet’s surface, they leveled off, flying together like a team of high-stepping horses. Fifty kilometers from the rim of the Tharsian Plateau, they lined up in single-file, dove, and skimmed the highlands’ dusty floor. A thin ripple pattern appeared in the dust of their wake. Ten kilometers from the rim, they and their transports landed.

  High overhead loomed the laser cannons, their wicked mouths revolving slowly, hungrily, ready to spew lightning at intruders. The sensors, too, revolved at random, eyes watching.

  OOOOO

  “RAM Third-rater, identify yourself. You are approaching a classified area. We are aware of your location and will begin firing upon you in twenty seconds if you do not leave the area.” The technician’s voice was as cold and hard as he could make it. He waited five seconds and was about to repeat his threat, when a voice responded.

  “Eat nuts,” was all the gravelly voice said.

  The tech, not wanting to look bad in front of his commander, began counting down. “Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven-“

  “Don’t like nuts, huh?” came the deep voice again. “Then eat this!”

  As the technician counted down to five, he saw the third-rater appear from behind its cloak and begin spitting huge gouts of energy at the plateau headquarters. Reacting by instinct, he called, “Falcons One and Two, converge on RAM third-rater, Sector C, heading point three-six, and destroy.” No sooner had he finished the order than two Krait fighters appeared on his screen and began pummeling the now-visible intruder with firepower of their own.

  OOOOO

  As Buck and Wilma had finished unloading their transport passengers, Huer.dos popped into one of the screens in Buck’s fighter.

  “Buck! That pirate friend of yours has just declared war with the plateau’s headquarters!” Huer’s mustache twitched decidedly faster than the last time Buck had seen him.

  “Good old Barney, eh, Doc? We could use a little diversion right about now,” Buck responded.

  “Captain, you don’t understand! Two of the base’s Kraits have been sent to destroy the Free Enterprise! Its shields have weakened by ten percent already, and the aggressors show no sign of compassion.” Huer’s eyes flashed in and out of consciousness as he kept abreast of the pirate ship’s status.

  “Thanks for the message, Doc. We can’t let Barney Work himself into a tizzy when he’s still got another mission to fly.” As Washington’s troupe disembarked from the transports, Buck told them what was happening. Washington would have to lead the commando assault while Buck and Wilma rescued the Free Enterprise. “We’ll try to keep the base’s attention on us while you go in,” said Buck. “Move exactly as Doc’s map and timetable show, and you shouldn’t have any problems.”

  “Roger, Captain,” said Washington. He and his troops moved carefully into, the growing dusk, flipping their infrared visors down for night vision.

  Buck and Wilma climbed back into their fighters, blew the stern transport linkages, and lifted off. As they climbed higher, they reversed the path they had taken to the planet’s surface. At fifty kilometers from the surface, however, they sped in a semicircle around the Free Enterprise’s position, so they wouldn’t give away the ground force’s location, and rose to meet the RAM offenders.

  As Buck and Wilma arrived to help Barney, the RAM pilots broke off their attack and turned to meet them. It made sense to Buck that one Krait should be able to detect another, and he was sure the RAM pilots had seen his approach on their sensors. As the combatants met, Buck and Wilma split, both eager to see how each ship would handle in a one-on-one contest.

  Though the Kraits were at the plateau for rigorous field testing and were being flown by some of the base’s finest recruits, Buck and Wilma’s flying experience won out. The RAM recruits had had little training in aerial dogfight tactics and could not react fast enough to Buck and Wilma’s tight turns and fast shots. Their shields quickly dwindled. Buck saw Barney had resumed his attack on the plateau’s headquarters, and he recalled his promise to give Washington time to get near the other Kraits.

  As Buck tried to draw his battle out, his opponent made a fatal mistake. With shields at minimum, the RAM recruit veered into one of Buck’s purposely off target shots, catching it in his ship’s canopy. The cockpit exploded, and the ship’s corpse drifted toward the sun.

  Wilma, surprised that she and Buck had met such slight resistance, disposed of her opponent nearly as easily. She flipped her ship in a quick semicircle, came up behind her nemesis, and shot a quick burst into his engine compartment. The ship lit the sky with its eruption.

  OOOOO

  “Sir! Falcons One and Two have been destroyed!” The young technician’s voice sounded more shocked than dismayed.

  “Nonsense! They’ve merely tripped their cloaking mechanisms so the enemy can’t see them,” said the commander.

  “No, sir. I can still see them. They’re adrift, sir, with no signs of life!” The technician was obviously beginning to panic.

  “All right, send Falcons Three through Ten up to end this fiasco,” the commander said, letting rage overcome calmness. “Blast them from the sky!”

  “Yes, sir---”

  “Sir! Intruders on the pad!” cried another technician from across the room.

  “How?” asked the commander in frustration.

  “I don’t know, sir. The sensors should have picked them up! They shouldn’t have gotten past the cannons!”

  “Defense Code Two-A!” called the commander, invoking the strictest defense the base had, short of complete lock-down. “Exterminate the intruders! Get those Kraits in the air!” he bellowed.

  OOOOO

  Out on the pad, Washington was just thanking God and Huer.dos for getting him and his troops through the time-and-space gauntle
t and down to their destination, when his portable radio came to life.

  “Washington! Washington, come in!” said Buck.

  “I’m here,” he replied sourly. He was irritated. His feet hurt from tramping for what seemed like hundreds of kilometers across Mars’s least hospitable zone. He had waded through a RAM ground patrol in sterling imitation of Sherman’s march to the sea, while Buck and Wilma were rocketing across space, blasting RAM pilots into oblivion. “We met one patrol. It won’t be reporting back to headquarters, but there’s bound to be more out there. We need to get out of here.”

  “How close are you?” asked Buck.

  “Just on the pad-” Washington was interrupted by a blaring siren. “Gotta go, Captain! They’ve found us. Cover us if you can!” he said, and cut the transmission. To his troops he yelled, “Get to the ships! Immediate liftoff.” The fifteen NEO pilots scattered, each one heading to a different craft. As the last Krait cockpit closed, a stream of RAM guards flowed from various doors and hatchways, out onto the pad The NEO pilots had trained for such a scramble, and sixteen Kraits roared to life, throwing up dust in red clouds. With their defenses activated, the Kraits easily deflected the laser shots from RAM’s guards. But to evade anything more substantial, Washington knew, they would have to get off the ground.

  OOOOO

  Buck and Wilma, having disposed of the Free Enterprise’s attackers, left Barney to make repairs on his ship. They fell immediately toward the plateau and its laser cannon defense. The cannons’ sensors were oblivious to the approaching ships, but Buck and Wilma took no chances. They dove in close, getting under the cannons’ line of fire.

  Set between the rim’s cannons were others guarding the landing pad. These were the NEO pilots’ targets, and they charged them. Once the central gun’s sensors caught part of the ground ripple and fired, but the shot was so late the rain of dirt and gravel it created did not touch Wilma, who followed Buck.

  Buck and Wilma reached their targets simultaneously and sent laser pulses straight into the guns’ sensor eyes. They were so close when they fired, the sensors could not catch the blasts. The lenses exploded in fountains of crystal shards. The two guns were blind. The cannons whirled wildly, looking for direction. Before headquarters could switch them to the central sensor system, Buck and Wilma launched missiles. These deadly stingers rammed straight into the guns’ bases, at the juncture where the revolving cannons sat on stationary housings. They detonated, tearing away half the bases. The cannons wavered, slowly swaying back and forth, then sank inward, collapsing to the ground in thunderous crashes. Red dust boiled up from the surface in billowing clouds.

  Buck flipped the wings of his craft, and Wilma responded in kind. They did not dare use the communications link as long as headquarters had communications. She checked her computer clock, waiting for Huer’s programmed run at the rim’s sensor dishes. The clock ticked down, and the word “ACTIVATE” appeared on her screen. She pushed the stick forward, sending her fighter toward the center of the crater. Random fire from the rest of the cannons flashed above her. The destruction of the two guns set their automatic defensive program in motion. RAM’s ground troops needed to stick to the buildings, or they’d be burned. Wilma was nearing the halfway point of her approach to the dishes. It was here she and Buck faced the likeliest possibility of a hit by the remaining cannons. Her hands tensed on the controls, and she resisted the impulse to send the ship forward. Huer’s mathematical calculations were exact. Any deviation in speed or direction meant certain disaster.

  She had the first dish in sight, and she relaxed a notch, knowing her worst danger now was direct fire from the Tharsian Plateau’s headquarters itself. At least, she thought wryly, this is an acid test for our sensor invisibility. They can’t hit what they can’t see. She pushed the laser controls to automatic and concentrated on keeping her ship level. As they approached the first sensor dish, the Krait’s lasers shot out, burning the exact center of the dish. She continued on course, meeting Buck at the other side of the circle. He was flying immediately above her, so close the rush of the thin Martian atmosphere caused her wings to vibrate. Huer’s programming set their intersect point midway between two dishes. The lasers were inactive for all of six seconds. If the timing were not perfect, Buck’s lasers would fry her. His ship slid over her in a moment of breathless silence, then his lasers punched at the next dish.

  They met again, their run finished, and closed formation, charging across the open field of the Tharsian Plateau toward the docked fighters in an erratic evasive course. A bolt of laser light hit the ground in front of them, spraying them with a shower of dust. They flew through it blind, then veered away from another beam. In seconds, they had dispatched the cannons that held the remaining Kraits in check.

  “So far, so good,” said Buck.

  “Phase one accomplished,” replied Wilma.

  Buck and Wilma circled the base of the laser cannons, watching as the docked ships’ engines roared. Eight Kraits in the first row eased forward on their pressure blankets and rose almost straight up, then arced around the crater. Eight in the second row followed the first, doubling the formation. Buck waited for the dust to settle on the crater floor, then keyed in the radio frequency Huer had established for their escape.

  “Washington?” called Buck.

  “Ready,” said the veteran tersely.

  “Then let’s go home. Barney?”

  “All set, Cap’n,” rumbled the pirate from the bridge of his ship. “Phase two accomplished. Operation complete. You’ve got another mission to run. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Any time,” Barney grumbled in acknowledgment.

  The wing of stolen ships bunched up behind Buck and Wilma, waiting for an opening in the damaged laser cannons’ erratic fire. They were still blanketing the area with flak. “Now!” said Buck and the wing shot forward, knowing Huer’s calculations were behind the order. Lasers zinged over them. As they put distance between themselves and the rim of the Tharsian Plateau, the lasers picked up the ripple of their wake on the desert and fired. They barely distanced the shots, which punched into the ground behind them. “Home free,” said Buck lightly.

  Chapter 19

  Masterlink chewed on in frustration. Its searchers were still correlating their first impressions, and the process was too slow. Masterlink jangled angrily.

  “BE QUIET!” snapped Karkov.

  “QUIET YOURSELF? snarled Masterlink.

  “YOU’RE CREATING ENOUGH DISTURBANCE TO BLOCK SEARCHER TRANSMISSIONS. I DIDN’T SPEND MY ENERGIES TO SEND THEM OUT, ONLY TO HAVE YOU BLOCK THEM!”

  “YOU COULD HAVE GIVEN THEM MORE POWER.”

  Karkov ignored Masterlink’s petulance. Instead it began to run a sequential check on the searchers, calling the roll of its children.

  OOOOO

  “Sir! I’ve got a drifter on screen four,” cried Little, another of RAM’s millions of technicians.

  “Let’s see, Little.”

  Operational Supervisor Harpingdon slid into a chair beside the scanner. Little indicated the upper right-hand screen. A ship drifted across its field.

  “Power?” he asked. “None I can detect, sir.”

  “Then she’s in a decaying orbit.” “By my computations, she’ll come into atmosphere in one hour.”

  “Where will that put her?”

  “Right in the heart of Galveston-about four kilometers from here.”

  “Then we’ve got to pick her up. No one on board?” Harpingdon asked belatedly.

  “No. She’s abandoned.”

  “Strange she wasn’t detected and snagged before she got this close. Oh, well. I guess the trash sharks can’t catch them all. Can you get her markings?”

  “The computer’s picking them up now, sir.” Little waited until the cursor on his main screen stopped flashing, then called up the identification letters on the derelict.

  “Run her through,” said Harpingdon.

  Little obliged, and the computer
purred softly. Soon her last registered location appeared on the screen.

  “Chicagorg. Little, check her status.”

  Little punched keys, and the words “IN ACTIVE, TIED DOWN” appeared.

  “Great gods! It’s that stolen war memorial. And she’s up. How is beyond me. They’re supposed to pour concrete into the engine when they set up those monuments.”

  “Sir,” said Little, checking a list that was scrolling across a screen to his left, “there’s a priority code on that spacecraft.”

  “Who set it?”

  “Authorization sanctioned by Director Zonin, Chicagorg, with orders to relay any sighting to the regent.” Little’s voice dropped as he uttered the title,

  “Chernenko? I wonder what the regent’s interest is. He usually ignores petty theft.”

  “Shall I report the ship?” asked Little.

  “Of course. Add that we have authorized a tug to bring her in.”

  Little bent over his console.

  OOOOO

  “They’ve discovered her.” Baring-Gould peered into the Free Enterprise’s communications panel, squinting as he read the digital print. “They’ve sent out a tug to bring her in, and they’re contacting Chernenko.” A fearsome chuckle rumbled in Black Barney’s mighty chest. He was anticipating theft. It always made him cheerful.

  “The bait swims out,” said Arak Konii. “Now we have but to wait. The fish will strike.”

  “I’m just glad that report I dropped got through,” said Baring-Gould, Barney’s first mate.

  “If Chernenko is interested in that ship, it got through.” Konii’s tone was superior. “Even a rumor of Captain Rogers being seen in the area would be enough. Do you know what the captain is worth on the open market right now?”