YUKIKAZE (15 page)
Ahead of him, flashes of light ran left and right along the forest edge, their centers forming expanding blue white hemispheres. The explosions merged into an intense ball of light, too bright to look at directly.
Cease fire. Check the displays. The standard radar remained silent, but the passive airspace radar detected something.
A bright point appeared in front of the symbol marking their plane’s position. The point became a disc, and then the disc rapidly expanded.
Outside the plane, it was getting brighter and brighter. A line was moving across the display toward the mark indicating the plane. The shock-wave front was sweeping toward them. There was no way to avoid it.
There was a violent impact. The engines stalled.
Yukikaze was in the air. She was in free fall.
The engines automatically restarted.
“Lieutenant? What’s going on?”
“It looks like I’ll be able to get you back on schedule.”
They were in the skies of Faery. It was near sunset. Rei checked his instruments. The warning tone and the HUD display were telling him to pull up, signaling that if he didn’t the system would automatically do so at four Gs. Air intake temperature had risen to nearly 700°C, but it was still running a little cold. Before exceeding an airspeed of 250 knots, he lifted his leg. No abnormalities. The only indication of the extra time they’d spent was on the onboard clock.
“It really was a fairyland,” Lander muttered. “If it wasn’t for this injury, I’d swear it was just a hallucination. I still can’t believe it.”
Rei felt the same way.
THE FAF SEEMED ready to believe that the incident had been real. As a TAF plane escorted them back, Rei told the authorities what had happened. Upon landing, Yukikaze was washed down with enormous amounts of water to neutralize any possible radioactive contamination while Rei and Lander were isolated for biohazard prevention. Lander’s hand was operated on by a surgeon wearing what looked like a space suit for protection. Rei used the copious time he spent in the tiny isolation room to finish up his written report and answer all sorts of questions.
It was three weeks before the two men were let out of the isolation chambers and released from the tedious examinations. They drank a toast, and true to his word, it was on Rei. Afterward, Lander returned to Earth and Rei returned to normal duty.
Rei was subjected to more psychological tests by Dr. Halévy. They were cognition games designed to produce mock abnormal events to tax his mental processes and then gauge his reactions. It seemed nothing more than child’s play to him. Compared to the actual abnormal events he’d just survived, the doctor’s tests seemed positively innocent by comparison, and so Rei played along as best he could out of a curious sympathy. As a result, the tests proceeded well and he was free of them sooner than he had expected.
About a week later, he was eating in the mess hall and thinking about what the hell that yellow swamp was when Major Booker clapped him on the shoulder and sat down next to him, handing over a magazine as he did.
“‘A Report from the Front Lines of Faery,’ by Mr. Andrew Lander. Read it yet?”
“Does he mention me?”
“Not at all, but he wrote a lot of good things about Yukikaze. Aside from that, it’s his usual stuff.”
“I wonder how his injury’s doing.”
“Fine, I suppose. The doctors here are used to trauma like that. But they were mad that you didn’t bring his hand back with you.”
“There was nothing to bring back. It was weird. Everything past his wrist was just gone, like it had evaporated.”
“Yeah, I saw that in your report. I don’t know if I’d believe it if you didn’t have Yukikaze’s data file to back you up. You know how the ADC dealt with it when they lost track of Yukikaze? You’ll love this. They decided their displays were malfunctioning. Even though a plane had just vanished from this world for thirty seconds.”
The Tactical Air Force was smarter in its reactions than the Aerospace Defense Corps. Their tactical computers had picked up Yukikaze the instant she escaped from hyperspace— Yukikaze’s combat data system automatically linked up with the TAF computers—and had dispatched the nearest interceptor to assist them.
“The generally accepted conclusion,” the major said, assuming an air of mock pomposity, “is that you single-handedly assaulted and neutralized an enemy intelligence center. You might get a medal for it. You should be glad.”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“Figured you’d say that.”
“It wasn’t me that did it, anyway. It was Yukikaze.”
Rei thought that the JAM may have been trying to thoroughly examine an Earth combat machine in an attempt to find out how humans thought and maybe even how to remake them.
The moment they know that’s impossible,
he thought,
their tactics will change.
“The JAM haven’t attacked Earth directly yet.”
Booker looked at him like he was crazy. “What, they’re not attacking directly enough for you now?”
“It’s still an indirect invasion. There’s an intense battle that’s moving into an arena we humans can’t perceive. When they lose there, the target of their attacks will change. They’ll definitely go after humans then. That’s what I think, anyway.”
The annihilation of mankind. Would national patriotism or human solidarity help them survive? “Hell no,” Rei muttered. In the end, it would be the machines that would survive. Machines equipped with intelligence and fighting ability.
“I see,” said Booker, with the barest hint of a smile. “Then I suppose we should eat while we still have the chance.”
The major’s tray was an impressive sight today. No doubt he’d won at cards again and had someone else paying for the grand repast, which was in marked contrast to Rei’s modest meal of soup and cornbread.
“Say, Jack, what’s that book?”
Aside from the magazine with Lander’s article in it, Booker had with him a thick hardcover book.
“Oh, this.
Mrs. Mead’s Home Cooking Encyclopedia.
I’ve gotten into cooking as a hobby lately. What do you think?”
“Knock yourself out,” said Rei, taking a bite of his cornbread. “By the way, where do you think this corn was grown?”
“Haven’t a clue,” answered the major. “Lander would know more about that. You should have asked him.”
The cornbread caught in Rei’s throat, choking him slightly.
To him, tears were simply a bodily necessity, the fluid that protected his eyes and allowed him to see. Nothing more. Emotions knew no place in combat. Therefore, he knew no sadness.
THE FAF’S AEROSPACE Defense Corps and the JAM were joined in battle.
Captain Munch nudged his beloved Sylphid’s side stick. Responding immediately to the slight increase in horizontal pressure, the side force controller engaged, and the Sylph slid right, keeping its nose facing forward. Dogfight mode. Enemy in sight. The targeting reticule’s distance gauge shrank. He pulled the gun trigger. The airframe shook. A flash, then black smoke.
“Got him! Good kill!” yelled his EWO, Second Lieutenant Chu, from the rear seat. “That bandit’s toast. Let’s head home.”
“Roger that,” the captain replied. The combat airspace was too large for him to be in visual contact with the other planes in his squadron, but here and there across the sky he could see clouds of black smoke marking their defeat of the JAM aircraft.
After a while, his comrades’ planes began to gather from all points. They retook a tight combat formation—maintaining a scant hundred meters from wingtip to wingtip—as they headed for Banshee-IV, their flying aircraft carrier.
“The enemy today didn’t seem too tough.”
“That’s ’cause they’re no match for the Sylphs.”
“Check it out,” said Chu, gesturing upwards with his thumb. “The tourist’s going home.”
A Super Sylph passed high over Echo Squadron, moving at supersonic speed.
“It’s one of the SAF pukes from the Tactical Air Force. Boomerang Squadron.”
“Huh. He’s fast. I doubt we could catch him.”
“No joke. He’s strapped onto twin Phoenix Mk-X engines. Those things’re built for supercruising.”
“But they’re meant more for speed than for mobility, right? We probably couldn’t take him at distance, but I bet we could if we lured him into a dogfight.”
“He’d just bug out of there immediately. I could hit my V-max switch and he’d still be able to outrun us at normal power without breaking a sweat. Pisses me off, though. Him just bailing on us without a single word.”
Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta wings of Echo Squadron rejoined. The SAF Super Sylph was now beyond their radar range. No sign of it remained.
“Home, sweet home, dead ahead.”
“Back in dear Banshee’s belly,” sang Captain Munch, in high spirits. “We drink, we laugh, and we party. She swallows us whole, and—” He laughed. “Man, all I need is my guitar and it’d be perfect.”
“Screw the guitar. It’d be a helluva lot more perfect if there were some hot girls.”
Lieutenant Chu checked the radar display. They were sixty klicks out from the flying carrier, a giant, nuclear-powered air base that stayed aloft in perpetual orbit around the FAF’s air defense zone.
The carrier sent out an IFF query signal, and Chu confirmed that their response equipment was functioning. The entire procedure was completed automatically. Or it should have been.
“That’s funny. Banshee’s being really insistent.”
“It didn’t make a mistake with the IFF code, did it?”
“I doubt they’d forget to check if the code was changed. What’s going on over there? Banshee, this is Echo 1, come in.”
“Banshee, honey, your husband’s home. How about you—”
“Cut the chatter!” Lieutenant Chu yelled. “Multiple mediumrange missiles, closing!”
“No welcome-home kiss, huh? Oh man, tell me this is not happening.”
“Shit, why’re they shooting at their own people?!” The combat support lines were now cut.
“What the hell’s going on with Banshee’s crew?”
Missiles exploded in front of them.
“They got Alpha 4!”
The RWR warning tone was blaring. Captain Munch snapped his plane over into a power dive, dumping chaff as he went. They plummeted toward the forests of Faery until at the last moment Munch lit the afterburners. As they kicked in the Sylph rocketed into a turn and climbed. Flying through the glittering chaff, the missile lost track of the plane for a moment. It quickly reacquired the target and began maneuvering to resume its pursuit, but it ran out of time and plunged into the forest.
The Sylph shuddered in the shock wave of the explosion.
“That was some high-power missile. Way better than what the JAM use.”
“This is no joke! Everyone’s gonna get shot down at this rate.”
“Lieutenant, plot a return course.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m gonna reacquaint the lady with her husband’s face.”
Munch shoved the throttle forward. The induction temperature rose and low-altitude air turbulence shook the airframe as the engines keened.
“Hang in there, you suffering bastards. Don’t you disgrace the Phoenix name.”
“This isn’t a Super Sylph, you know!”
They were now in visual contact with Banshee. It was black, massive in scale, with broad flight decks and huge, angled wings that made it seem as if it were flying upside down.
Munch kept his distance and flew around it.
“Wish we had some binoculars. Shit, can you see anything?”
“Careful. The point defense system is activating.”
Radar-linked machine guns opened fire, narrowly missing them as Munch kept them out of range.
“Jesus, they’re throwing 20mm rounds at us. They all gone nuts in there? They damn well know who we are. Now I’m starting to get pissed—”
“Short-range missile, closing! Break, starboard!”
They juked to the right.
“No good! It’s got us!”
The missile’s VT fuse activated and flames burst from Munch’s starboard engine. The fuel supply automatically cut off and automatic fire extinguishers activated. The black smoke pouring from the engine changed to white. It held out only for a moment though, and then caught fire again. The fire warning alarm began to wail.
“Captain, we have to punch out!”
The
EJECT
warning lit up on the display.
In the backseat, Lieutenant Chu checked the ejection control lever. It was in the pilot command position, which meant that if he pulled it only his seat would be ejected.
“Captain!”
Chu slid the control lever to the flight officer command position, and the eject indicator changed to FO command mode.
“Wait!” yelled Munch. “We’re still going too fast. I’ll do it!”
If the pilot executed the eject command, both seats would be ejected. The lieutenant obeyed his captain. The plane was barely holding level.
“Here we go.” Munch raised his fist, the sign that they were going to eject.
He reached up behind him and pulled the face curtain down over his head, which automatically initiated the ejection process. The kinetic inertial reels of their restraints activated, slamming them back into their seats. The sill lock released, the canopy blew off, and the catapult gun ignited.
Lieutenant Chu went first, rocketing up and to the right, followed a half-second later by Captain Munch, up and to the left. The IFF and ECM equipment self-destructed. Under each ejection seat, a gas generator activated, igniting a rocket that hurled the men far from the disintegrating plane.
The drogue guns on the ejection seats fired out their chutes. At the same time, the harnesses and lap belts released. The small drogue chutes opened, and after a programmed time delay drew the main chutes out of their canisters. The shock of the main chutes opening released the sticker clips, separating the men’s bodies from the seats. As Captain Munch descended, he glanced back at the Sylph, now engulfed in flames. He said a silent farewell to his beloved plane and watched as it exploded, the fragments scattering as they fell.
I won’t forget this, Banshee,
he thought to himself.
I’ll rip your guts out, you murderous bitch.
