“I take it you never get those kinds of requests, huh?”
Whelan chuckled. “You’re the first. I’m planning on a 0600 brief, if that’s not too early for you.”
“It’s not. I have to go check on the aircrews one more time, then I’m planning on getting some sleep, too. We’ll go back over the timing in a consolidated brief at 0900 and get your ass back to the field. We’ll kick off the attack at 1300. Our aircraft will be overhead at the same time.” I extended a hand, which he shook.
“Sounds like a plan.”
I grinned. “See you at stand-to in a few hours.”
“When were you a tanker?” Whelan’s face was white. “Stand-to. Nobody else uses that term but tankers. You pilot types are supposed to call it step times or something like that. You used stand-to like it was second nature. I bet you can tell me what a sabot is and what it means to tankers, too.”
There was no way I could lie, but I didn’t have to tell him anything about me in the process. “It’s French for shoes. It refers to a projectile round that uses detachable shoes to hold it in the tube. After being fired, the shoes fall away, leaving the projectile to travel by itself.” I lowered my head and tried to give him a little smile. “It’s not easy to explain.”
Whelan nodded. “I’m not going to push you, Kieran. It’s a matter of trusting you, and I can do that a little better because you know what I’m supposed to be doing. What my troops are supposed to do. You know what I’m going to see and what I’ll be thinking. I can’t do that with you up there. I’m a bit jealous.”
“I’m your eyes up there. That’s all. The rest of it is all yours, especially when they take me out again. You know it’s coming as well as I do.” Exercise controllers loved to go after combatant commanders to prove a point about succession of command. It was a trick as old as time itself.
“Yeah, you’ve got maybe ten minutes before something is going to happen,” Whelan said with a grin. “Unless you stay out of the fight.”
“I can’t do that.” I laughed. “Keep your head down when I come rolling in—I don’t want to hit you.”
Whelan smiled. “Hit the bad guys instead, will you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
The targeting group was busy but more subdued than I thought it would be when I stopped by. A couple of the lieutenants dismissed me immediately. A young petty officer approached and handed me an actual paper envelope.
“Admiral LeConté said to give you this if you came by. He said you would appreciate it.”
I took the file and thanked the petty officer. At a nearby table adorned with a portable coffeemaker, I sat and opened the envelope. There was a six-page document simple and typewritten on yellowed paper, entitled “Official Report of the Battle of Libretto.”
Holy shit. The TDF denied that a report even existed.
<
It only took me a few minutes to read it and commit it to memory, thanks to Lily. The commander of the TDF cavalry, curiously unnamed in the report, had seamlessly integrated air and ground forces by simple radio-frequency control. Exactly what we intended to do.
<
My task was simple: initiate the attack with coordinated Osprey sorties and orbital bombardment, just like before but with a few changes. Orbital bombardment would come in two fire missions. The first would target the air defenses along the canyon rim while the second would punch a hole in the outer defensive positions and obstacles, allowing Whelan’s lead elements to widen the hole. The Devastators would lay into the second element, the more fortified positions, while the Falcons remained overhead. The secondary Devastator sortie would follow a two-Falcon flight into the valley and lay a precision strike designed to propel Whelan’s force through the breach. Keeping the other Falcons above for air support would leave me and Jenkins to lead the main aerial attack as soon as Whelan and his tanks were ready for us.
<
I closed my eyes and tried not to groan out loud. Did Jenkins message me?
<
Remind me never to piss you off, Lily. After all the times I’d wondered if my current protocol could be as calculating as the last, I finally realized that indeed she could be.
<
Is Peck is my enemy? I hadn’t seriously considered it that way, but with his bed buddy, Bussot, and her aggressors sitting on the sidelines, I had to wonder if that was the case. Lily was silent, leaving me with my thoughts and the intense desire to be alone for a while.
I left the targeting group, taking the file with me. I imagined Peck trying to steal it from my room and me catching him. He might not be that dumb, but I couldn’t tell anymore. The walk to my quarters was relatively short and did not take me past the bar or anything else that could distract me. I slipped the plastic key into the lock mechanism, and the door slid open. Peck sat on the small couch in the common area, reading from his holotablet.
“Hey, roomie.” He grinned. “Looks like it’s you and me on the rotation tomorrow.”
I nodded. “Thought I had Jenkins on my wing.”
“Jenkins doesn’t like low-level flight. I told him to let me fly it. I mean, it’s just one pass through the objective.”
I shrugged and tried to play it off naturally. The only person to score lower than Jenkins on nap-of-the-Earth flying had been Peck. Maybe he wanted to raise his performance standing before graduation. He was right—it was a really simple mission, according to the plan. But plans never survived enemy contact.
“Maybe two passes. Then it’s just a matter of controlling forces in and out of the objective. If something happens to me, you think you can handle it?”
Peck positively grinned. “Of course I can. You going to tell me where you came up with this idea?”
“Long story. Just something I came up with after watching some old movies. Seemed like a concept that would work.”
“If it worked, then why weren’t the TDF and Fleet doing it all along?” Peck smirked.
I wanted to punch him with everything I had.
“I mean, you’re pretty much pissing all over them, Roark.”
With a shrug, I said, “Maybe I am. Or maybe someone will figure out a way to beat the Greys without sending tens of thousands of soldiers to die. That would be a pretty good start, don’t you think?”
“You’re a pilot, Roark. Why do you care if soldiers die? Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?”
My fists clenched, and I felt the rush of blood to my face. What did this smug little ass know of war? He’d never seen men cut down by cowards with suicide vests or with bombs built into cars. He’d never fought an enemy he couldn’t see for all the faces in front of him. He’d never valued the last opportunity to share a meal or a laugh with a friend who did not come home from a mission. I took a breath. “Ask your mother that question, Peck. If you find yourself on the ground, you’re just like a soldier, aren’t you? I bet your mother would think you were one of those throwaway casualties, too.”
I closed the door to my room and sat on the bunk, staring at the clock for an hour before I calmed down enough to try and sleep. Calling Berkeley wasn’t an option. The time there was 0200, and that would scare her. With any luck, I’d have a chance to call after the big mission and see how things were at home. I drifted off thinking about the surf at West Beach and, thanks to Lily, listening to the ocean pulse
against the shore.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
One of the approaching Dassault Enforcer aircraft took up a circular orbit around Ayumi’s position deep in the cemetery. Her retinal display streamed a litany of weapons systems the Enforcer could carry, but the actual information was not accessible. For a split second, she tried to engage the aircraft’s servers and find some way into the machines to bring them down. Nothing happened. The Enforcers sported Terran Council avionics and security programs under their sleek black hulls. Their presence was enough to confirm the camera in New York had successfully identified her. Now they wouldn’t stop pursuing her.
<
“Shut up,” Ayumi said aloud and sprinted to the base of a large tree for cover. The second Enforcer hovered over the tombstones. As it landed, several of the white marble stones snapped off at the base and toppled onto the grass. A fresh surge of rage took Ayumi’s breath away. When the troop door swung open, she was moving toward it. The three men who hopped out in extensive body armor from head to toe held their rifles low, muzzles down but ready to fire. Their black-and-red body armor covered their chests and heads with minimal weak spots. Face guards protected their lower jaws and necks, and the heavy lenses protecting their eyes were likely bulletproof, but the respirator assembly below them was not. Ayumi raised the pistol in her right hand and fired four times, and the first two men went down, clutching their faces. The third raised his rifle and fired. A hot dagger tore through the flesh of her upper right leg and spun her toward the man. Her left hand was a blur, and two more of her rounds hit their mark. The third man went down without a sound. At a sprint, she checked their vitals neurally and saw that none of them would survive their wounds.
Data poured in from her thigh. Eyes watering from the intensity of the physical pain, she glanced at the wound and heard Amy’s singsong voice again. <
Good.
The troop door on the Enforcer started to close, and Ayumi easily vaulted over the lower half of the door as it rose. One of the pilots stepped into the cabin with a pistol drawn in his shaking hand. The cockpit door slammed behind him. Stopping him with a kick to the faceplate of his helmet, Ayumi tossed him out of the aircraft as it rose from the ground. There were a few muted impacts on the hull, and she knew that more stones had been damaged, including Kieran’s and Amy’s.
That’s not your resting place.
<
I’ll find a way to upload myself again.
<
The cockpit door was two meters away. Within a microsecond, she downloaded the technical specifications for the Enforcer and traced the connection of the wires for the electromagnetic door lock to its parent circuit. Ninety centimeters to the right and down sixteen centimeters, Ayumi punched the wall and recoiled in pain. Blood streamed from the first two knuckles of her right hand. Tears filled the corners of her eyes. One of her fingers was likely broken, but her data was conclusive. Between her hand and her leg, the pain was sheer agony.
<
The Enforcer lurched into the air and tossed her across the cabin. Against the fuselage, she found a toolkit strapped to the floor and ripped open the cover. A long screwdriver and wire cutters in hand, she crawled back to the bloody spot on the bulkhead and plunged the tool through. With a twist, she wrenched the panel enough for it to bow outward and tear away from the rest of the wall.
<
The bundled wires behind the panel were easy to rip away and snip. The cockpit-door indicator lights winked off. Ayumi made it to the door and pushed it open. The female command pilot in the left seat tried to fight and control the aircraft at the same time, leaving her vulnerable. A single blow to the head with the wire cutters knocked the pilot back against the ejection seat. She was unconscious or maybe worse.
Ayumi didn’t care. She reached over the slumping pilot and opened the outer door. A few harness connections later, Ayumi slung the pilot onto the ground three meters below.
Warning klaxons sounded. The nose of the Enforcer was pitched down toward the Tomb of the Unknowns, and the aircraft wobbled. Ayumi’s hands found the throttle and control stick of their own volition. Nose up, power added, the Enforcer stabilized. The movements were natural and smooth. Amy’s training and experience came effortlessly through new hands. Cues in her vision identified the controls for both offensive and defense systems.
“Missile launch,” a male voice said on loudspeakers in the cockpit. “Missile launch.”
Ayumi punched the chaff button three times, launching small, thick clouds of metal strips into her slipstream in an attempt to confuse the inbound missile’s radar. Adding more power, she pulled the Enforcer nose-on to its counterpart and brought up her own missile systems. There were four onboard. She fired two, gauging the responses of the other pilot. Their slow reaction time and predictable bank to the right played into Ayumi’s hands as she fired a third missile. One after another, the three missiles slammed into the Enforcer and brought it down in the trees to the north of the cemetery.
Fresh radar contacts attempted to establish targeting locks. They were too far away to be seen or to get a lock on her. Ayumi accelerated as fast as the Enforcer could go, sliding past Mach 1 in the long valley near Kieran’s ancestral home. She pushed the nose forward until the treetops slid just under the Enforcer’s thick, stubby wings, and she watched the pursuing radar signatures fade into nothing. Alone, she disengaged the transponder and identification systems. The private neural network took three seconds to hack, and using it, she recoded both systems to provide a civilian signal for the aircraft.
The mountains raced by as she worked. Her body flew the aircraft in a flawless nap-of-the-Earth flight path. Her mind raced through the recoding procedures. In the three minutes away from the cemetery, before she left the Franklin Preserve, all was in place. Checking her onboard stores, she decided to lighten the Enforcer by ditching all weapons, except for the twin 30mm cannons, which she stored in their weapons bays. The revised fuel readings gave her satisfaction. Australia was completely possible without refueling.
Her right hand ached. Flexing it, she looked down and remembered the gouge torn out of her leg during the firefight. Ayumi stabbed the controls, initiating autopilot, and kept the same heading on terrain-following radar while she dressed the wound. The level of pain surprised her. Having watched Berkeley dress a deep slash on Kieran’s arm, she had some data about the process, but in that case, she’d had an almost-clinical detachment. Synapses firing in her own physical body made concentration on the process of cleaning, debriding, and dressing the bullet wound difficult at best. Fresh sensations alternately sent electric shocks through her teeth and caused random muscles to twitch. Biting her tongue, she finished cleaning the wound and applied quick-foam to seal it. She could check the wound after landing in a few hours.
<
Thanks, Amy. As the pain ebbed, she realized that she’d responded to Amy’s voice as Kieran had done to hers. That was irony.
At Mach 2.5, she raced south along the edges of the Appalachian Mountains through north Georgia, causing chaos in the aerodrome of Atlanta, exactly as intended. The mountains gave way to tidal plains, and what seemed like a mere minute or two later, a thin white ribbon of beach lined with enormous coastal housing developments shot past. The green-blue water of the Gulf of Mexico was placid compared to the raging seas of Esperanc
e. Kieran loved the water.
Kieran.
Brooks hadn’t said he was dead. She smiled. The urge to open communications channels and start a search came over her, and she shut it down. Surprise was her best offensive move. At this altitude and speed, she’d make Australia, undetected, in less than six hours. Somewhere near New Zealand, she’d climb up, as a normal intercontinental flight would, and land south of Sydney, maybe Wollongong. She’d enter the city completely unnoticed. When she made it to the Integration Center, Kieran might be there. If he wasn’t, she could find Berkeley and tap all the computing power in the world to find Kieran.
We’ll be together.
Her pulse quickened, and she trembled, imagining the touch of his skin to hers. If he is alive, what is he doing now? Is he even on Earth? Or has he already died again? None of that mattered, after consideration.
Pushing the throttle to the maximum that her fuel-consumption plan would allow, Ayumi watched the Mach meter move past 3.0, bringing her that much closer to answers.
<
Amy’s voice shocked her. “What are you talking about? I love him.”
<
“I have complete control over this body and this mind.”
<
For a long moment, Ayumi simply flew and let her thoughts drift. Wondering if she knew what love truly meant, she relaxed and slowly reveled in the feeling of control. She and the aircraft were one as they moved through the sky.
The flight computer ticked past six hours remaining, and the forward-looking radar warned of gathering tropical storm conditions ahead. Ayumi flexed her fingers on the stick. Flying ahead of the aircraft with everything in total control quieted her thoughts and silenced Amy’s voice. The more time they spent flying, the more they worked together. Successful integration required both body and mind to accept their fates. As the stolen Enforcer screamed toward the setting sun, the two halves of her unique being came closer together.
Vendetta Protocol Page 22
