Rocket’s Red Glare

by David Hardy

  He was strapped in and wore a mask over his nose and mouth and fancy goggles covered his eyes. The goggles lit up with numbers and symbols, too, but Nualla told him how to turn them off, saying that they would just confuse him. He could familiarize himself with that equipment later.

  He was having so much fun he’d lost track of how long they had been out here, flitting around miles above the clouds, but finally he said, “Gimme the stick.”

  “You mean you wish to pilot the craft?”

  “You’re darned right I do.”

  “You would kill us both.”

  “Try me, lady. I can do this. I feel it in my bones.”

  Nose or no nose, Atascans could breathe deeply, too, when they were thinking about something. Nualla did so, then said, “Put your hands there in front of you. There, the red light, the blue, the yellow. I told you what each of them controls.”

  “I remember,” Malloy said. He extended his hands, spreading the fingers of the right one as much as he could to touch both the yellow and the blue light. Having an extra finger like the Atascans would have made it easier, but he managed. Not surprisingly, they had designed the controls for them to use.

  He moved his right thumb and the Whirlwind banked slightly. A slight touch with the little finger on that hand straightened it out. That was what Malloy intended, anyway. He guessed he give it a little too much juice, because the Whirlwind twisted back too far. He moved his left hand up, lifting the nose before the ship got out of his control. The Whirlwind climbed a little, then leveled off as he moved his hands on the lights.

  “See?” he said. “Piece of cake.”

  “Which means easy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Try doing it with a Zuliss dreadnought shooting at you.”

  Malloy was realistic enough to say, “That might be a little beyond me right now.” He grinned under the mask. “Give me a few days to practice.”

  “I have been flying a ship like this for eighty of your years.”

  That was a little surprising, but on the other hand, he had no idea how to tell the age of an Atascan. That gray hide looked like it wouldn’t weather much. He remembered what Colonel Crutcher had told him about the “little fellows” the Atascans put in a man’s body to repair the things that were wrong with him. They probably had the same critters in them, and that would make them live a long, long time.

  And so would he, he realized. There was no telling how long he would live under normal circumstances.

  But the Atascans were at war, so he wasn’t sure what “normal” was.

  He still had his natural pilot’s cockiness, though. The little fellows hadn’t cured him of that. He said, “Well, I have a knack for it. I don’t think it’ll take me that long.”

  “Oh? What does your knack tell you to do about this?”

  Nualla’s hands moved in the air, poking a light here, stroking a switch there, and suddenly Malloy’s stomach was in his throat as the Whirlwind turned on its nose and screamed toward the earth so far below.

  If he’d been in his Spad, the air pressure from the dive would have threatened to pull him out of the cockpit. The Whirlwind had a sealed cabin for its pilots, but Malloy seemed to feel the wind buffeting him anyway, even though he knew it was his imagination. He looked around at the lights and instruments, but right now it was all just a hopeless jumble to him.

  “Son of a monkey!” he yelled.

  Casually, Nualla played the lights floating in the air like a concert pianist, and the ship pulled out of the dive and leveled off. Malloy wasn’t sure how far they had fallen, but the ground looked about twice as close as it had a few moments earlier. His pulse hammered in his head. As he sat there trying to catch his breath, the drumbeat gradually lessened.

  When he trusted his voice again, he said, “Teach me how to do that.”

  Chapter 8: The Great War

  One thing Malloy discovered about having critters inside you that would keep you alive for a long, long time was that time didn’t mean as much anymore. He wouldn’t have been sure if weeks passed while he was learning how to fly one of the Whirlwinds, or months or even years, if it hadn’t been for Colonel Crutcher keeping him up to date on what was happening down below.

  As Crutcher had explained, the Atascans kept track of what occurred on Earth. They had tiny machines they sent down that somehow sent pictures back up to Admiral Romurr’s flagship, so they could watch the battles and read the newspaper headlines and get at least a general idea of what was going on.

  Because of that, Malloy knew that the war he had been part of continued to grind on. It would be over one of these days, but he wasn’t sure that when it was, it would have accomplished a damned thing.

  At first he’d had it in mind to ask the Atascans to take him back, to let him return to the life he’d been leading when they had snatched him out of thin air. He came to realize, though, that he had experienced too much for that to happen. He would never be happy on Earth again, gazing up at the heavens and knowing what was really going on out there.

  Besides, he had no family, no loved ones to return to. There had been a couple of girls back in Texas, but he had already left them behind when he signed up to learn to fly...

  Jalton checked up regularly on his condition. Nualla was in charge of his training, although he flew in the scout ships with other pilots sometimes. The captain still seemed to find it ridiculous that Romurr wanted Malloy to fight on their side, but she was a good soldier and went along with her orders, of course. From time to time the admiral had Malloy brought to the flagship’s control center so he could talk to him and find out how things were going.

  Malloy answered honestly that he was having the time of his life.

  His heart had sung when he was flying the Spad. It was like a dang choir when he was at the controls of a Whirlwind. He was flying higher and faster than he ever could have in one of those Earth crates. They seemed like children’s toys now.

  Malloy spent a lot of time talking with Colonel Crutcher, and it didn’t take him long to realize the Yankee cavalry officer had assumed the role of schoolteacher. He wondered if that was what Crutcher had been before the War of Northern Aggression... and wondered as well if the Atascans had assigned him that role now.

  Because Crutcher’s real purpose seemed to be to educate him about the conflict between the Atascans and the Zuliss.

  “The term the Atascans use in their language translates roughly as ‘Great War’, appropriately enough,” Crutcher explained. “Although I suppose ‘Terrible War’ would be fitting as well, considering that it’s gone on for so long.”

  “What started it?” Malloy had never been that fond of school when he was a kid, but he knew Crutcher was going to keep talking anyway so he figured he might as well cooperate. More painless that way.

  “Some of the star systems that now form the Zuliss Confederation were in negotiations to form a trade alliance with a group other than the Atascan Empire. The Atascans told them they couldn’t do that unless they withdrew from the empire, so they began proceedings to do that. The Atascans proclaimed that to be an act of war and sent forces to suppress what they considered a rebellion.”

  Malloy frowned and said, “Wait a minute. The Atascans told the Zuliss to leave, then went to war against ’em because they tried to?”

  “They believed the Zuliss would come to their senses when they realized the seriousness of what they were about to do and break off the trade negotiations with the Prraapp.”

  “The what?”

  “That’s just an approximation of the name of the group with which the Zuliss were dealing. I’m told it’s physically impossible to pronounce it correctly unless you’re actually one of them. At any rate, the Atascans underestimated the stubbornness of the Zuliss. And evidently, the Prraapp had led them to believe that if they left the empire, they would be welcome to join forces permanently.”

  “So they all went to war over this... over business... and have been fighting for thous
ands of years at a cost of millions of lives?”

  “Well, the Atascans had every right to be upset. The Zuliss worlds were part of the empire and couldn’t be allowed to withdraw.”

  “Seems pretty feeble to me,” Malloy said, shaking his head.

  “Well, it’s not,” Crutcher said, his tone sharp now.

  Malloy figured it would be better to change the subject. “Something else I’ve been wondering about, Colonel, and I mean no disrespect by this, but how come they wanted you? Why’d they pick you up off the battlefield and fix your wounds and then keep you around?”

  “I’m not the first such individual they’ve selected. They have a great interest in war, you see. Even with their extended longevity, many generations have lived with the great war against the Zuliss, so by now it’s ingrained in them. I’m told that everywhere in the galaxy where the conflict rages, they assimilate individuals from the indigenous races and study them to learn how they wage war. I’ve spent many, many hours with Admiral Romurr discussing military strategy and Earth history.” Crutcher added, “I’m sure he’ll have similar conversations with you.”

  The colonel didn’t sound completely convinced of that, however, and Malloy figured he knew why. Crutcher would think it only natural that an admiral would consult with him. They were fellow officers, after all. It was true that Malloy was a lieutenant, but he wasn’t nearly as high in the ranks as Crutcher had been. Hell, he was only one step above a sergeant, Malloy thought wryly.

  Although if Romurr and the other Atascans really wanted to learn about how wars were waged on Earth, they’d be better off talking to the sergeants...

  “I’m not sure they’re interested in picking my brain,” Malloy said. “If they’re not careful, though, they’re gonna make me into a pilot. I can handle one of those scout ships pretty well already. I call ’em Whirlwinds.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that. I suspect at some point, the Atascans may well announce their presence to the population of Earth and invite them to form an alliance. When that happens, it should make things easier if they already have some members of the human race working with them.” Crutcher smiled. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but Romurr is an ambitious man, and our solar system is considered, well, a bit of a backwater. He aspires to something greater, and eradicating the Zuliss from this sector of the galaxy and forging a potentially beneficial alliance would help him with that.”

  “I thought he was the admiral of the whole fleet.”

  “He’s the admiral of the fleet assigned to this sector, which, as I mentioned, is not considered of great importance. But it could be a useful stepping stone for him.”

  That was the way of things, all right, Malloy thought. The fellas who went out and did the fighting and the killing and the dying were stepping stones for the politicans and the officers.

  Seemed like some things never changed, no matter where you went in the universe.

  Chapter 9: Solo

  Malloy remembered his first solo flight in the trainer at the camp in Fort Worth. He wasn’t nervous. Hell, nobody who’d perched on the back of more than a thousand pounds of angry bull, waiting for the horn to sound so they’d turn the varmint loose to try to buck him off and stomp him to death, could get too nervous about climbing into a flimsy contraption of wood and canvas and soaring off into the sky. Worst he could do was crash and die, which was the same as bull riding. But he was eager to get it over with.

  He felt the same way about taking a Whirlwind out by himself for the first time.

  Except he wouldn’t be by himself. The Atascans weren’t going to trust him with an expensive ship. Captain Nualla would be there in the cockpit, too. But only as an observer, she stressed as they buckled themselves in.

  “I will take over only in the event of an emergency,” she said. “You should pretend that I am not here. After we take off I will not even speak.”

  “Well, that’s good, since you’re normally such a chatterbox.”

  By now he could read Atascan facial expressions well enough to know that she didn’t understand he was joking. He grinned so she wouldn’t be confused. She nodded, and he slipped on his mask and flight helmet.

  The hangar bay and flight deck of the Malagar were busy places most of the time as scout ships landed and took off. The flagship and its escort circled Earth, keeping track of the Zuliss presence... just like the Zuliss were keeping track of the Atascans, Malloy supposed. The whole thing seemed like a pointless dance to him. Earth didn’t really matter a damn to either side, but each cared about it because the other one did. And they had to have some reason to justify keeping warships in this sector just in case something important ever did happen in these parts.

  As Nualla had told him to do, he pretended she wasn’t there in the right-hand seat as he fired up the Whirlwind’s engine, engaged the tiny rockets on the undersides of its wings and along the bottom of the fuselage, and jockeyed it into position to exit the flagship. Nualla had picked a time when the launch bay wasn’t busy, so they wouldn’t be getting in anybody’s way.

  Malloy checked the heads-up display inside his helmet and saw they were almost ready for launch. The air-tight door had closed behind them, and the hatch in front was opening. He thought for a second about how much he had learned since he’d been here. So many words that would have been meaningless gibberish now made sense. So many concepts that just seemed loco were now everyday things he accepted.

  Well, sometimes they still seemed loco, but he tried not to think about that too much.

  Nualla was as good as her word. She didn’t say a thing while Malloy ran through all the preflight checks, or when he engaged the thrusters and sent the Whirlwind leaping ahead. They left the flagship behind. Malloy waited until he was well clear of the Malagar before he started putting the scout ship through a series of maneuvers that would have caused him to upchuck when he began his training. Now all his systems were stronger, and he took the bobbing, weaving, flipping, and rolling in stride.

  Nualla had told him before they set out that he would be flying a regular patrol today. At one time, that would have meant heading behind German lines to see what they were up to, maybe intercepting a flight of Gothas on a bombing run or dueling with some Fokker D.VIIs.

  Now he was on the lookout for Zuliss ships. Like the Atascans, they kept an eye on the war below and sometimes tried to sneak up on the Atascan fleet and do a little damage before running away.

  There was so much going on above their heads, and in the rest of the universe, for that matter, that the folks down on Earth had no idea about. And a lot of them might become unhinged if they ever found out, Malloy reflected. He supposed seeing the things he’d seen and learning the things he’d learned hadn’t thrown him for much of a loop because he was the hard-headed, unimaginative sort. Give him a job, show him how to do it, and he could do it. He was happy doing it. He’d never liked to be burdened with too much thinking.

  That was why he remained calm when Nualla broke her silence, despite what she had told him back on the flagship, and said, “Seven Zuliss fighters.” She added something in the Atascan language, which Malloy was starting to pick up on. He recognized what she said as coordinates and turned to look in the direction she indicated.

  He saw the Zuliss ships speeding toward them. All the crates from the two fleets were equipped with machines to make them hard to see from the ground. Not invisible, exactly, but difficult to spot except for the exhaust from their engines, which produced those greenish balls of fire Malloy had taken for flaming onions. The Atascan and Zuliss ships, though, had sensors that counteracted the camouflage, so as Malloy peered at the display in front of him he had no trouble spotting the Zuliss raiders.

  “Return to the Malagar,” Nualla said.

  “Can we outrun ’em?” Malloy asked.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Anybody on our side close enough to give us a hand?”

  Nualla called up one of the virtual displays and studied it for a couple
of seconds, then said, “Unlikely. We have traveled farther than we should have, and away from our normal patrol patterns.”

  “Did you know that?”

  “I was aware,” she said.

  “Then why the hell didn’t you say something?”

  “Pilots always learn how to get themselves in trouble,” Nualla said. “The good ones learn how to get themselves out of it.”

  “And the ones who don’t, die,” Malloy muttered. “Well, the hell with that.”

  “You should turn back to the ship now. The chances of being able to reach the Malagar before they destroy us are shrinking.”

  Malloy glanced over at her. “You knew I might be getting us in trouble, and you let me go ahead so you could teach me a lesson, even though it might kill you.”

  “My orders were to train you as a pilot,” she said simply.

  Malloy drew in a deep breath of the oxygen-rich air being pumped into his helmet. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the Zuliss ships screaming toward them through the blue skies thousands of feet above the French landscape.

  “The hell with this,” he said, and then he punched a ball of light hanging in the air in front of him and the Whirlwind zoomed straight ahead like a streak of light.

  Chapter 10: Dogfight

  “Yee-haaa!” Malloy yelled.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Nualla shouted right back at him.

  Malloy didn’t have time for questions. Anyway, he figured the answer was obvious. Sometimes acting loco was the only way to win a fight.

  The distance between the Whirlwind and the Zuliss fighters disappeared almost in the blink of an eye. Malloy didn’t bother trying to line up any shots. There was no chance during this unexpected charge to fire the scout ship’s guns.