Onyx Javelin

by Steve Wheeler

  He took the Maul down and hovered a few metres above the crushed, mangled wreck of the Saluki.

  'Cockpit is crushed under that slab of rock. They are tough machines but not that tough. No way the pilot is alive.'

  Viggo was about to reply when Evan spoke. 'Saluki seventeen does not look flight able. We recover must pilot's Soul Saver. No signal for life from her. Wait there I come.'

  Nico lifted up and out from the cliff face. 'How come Evan is not using the translation systems like the rest of us? You know, speak in his own language and we hear in ours with all the niceties and simple language it creates.'

  Viggo chuckled. 'Just wish that you are never invited to work under the Aquila and, in particular, the brigadier. He insists that everyone learns and practises languages. Says it is the best thing for mind development.'

  Nico shook his head. 'Nahl Rather drink beer and eat steaks than do that shit.'

  Hovering, they watched the salvage craf t slide across the mid-af ternoon sky, long sinuous black ropes dropping down from below it. The ropes curled around the slab of rock, looking for and finding purchase, then slowly tugging at it, trying to lift it up. 'It came up a little over one and a half metres and was then jammed by other rocks, unable to go any higher. Other ropes came down from the machine to grasp the smashed helicopter and lif t away most of the wreckage, but the cockpit remained wedged into the rock.

  'Viggo. I must ask that you go to pilot and get Soul Saver. Trapped it is. You can do this, yes?'

  Viggo sat for a long second, wondering, then mentally slapped himself for being selfish. He reached up and unlocked his canopy. 'Nico?' he said.

  Nico lowered the machine and slid it sideways until the gun pod was almost touching the jumbled rocks.

  The canopy above Viggo swung open and he stood up and climbed out onto the rocks, instantly feeling the biting cold on his face. His helmet responded quickly, sealing him off from the cold as he scampered down the rocks and carefully walked under the slab, looking at the crushed cockpit. Finding a large space under the rock he pulled aside the shattered canopy and looked down at the form of the beautiful woman who lay, seemingly asleep, in her ejection seat. He reached down and touched her, feeling with sadness the crushed bones down her side and decided that she was certainly dead.

  He reached under her helmet, feeling for the releases and was startled when her right hand weakly grasped his. She turned her head ever so slightly as her eyelids fluttered. Viggo swore, looking down again, and hoping that her biomed systems were performing OK as he could see the suit was damaged.

  'Viggo! Get out! One minute. Aftershock! Move it!'

  Viggo growled, reached down, hit the seat releases and grabbed the woman by her suit's shoulder-lif ting straps and hauled her out of the wreck, stumbling back and cracking his helmet hard on the slab above him.

  'She's alive!' he yelled. 'Can't leave her! I know her!'

  He heard Nico yelling, then Evan trying to say something. A rock bounced down the cliff and into the hollow, smashing into his side and he felt his ribs breaking as another hit, crushing his feet. He fell on top of the woman pulling her to him as what felt like snakes wrapped around him constricting his breathing. As he passed out, he had the sensation of flying, but not being able to breathe, so he told his biomed-unit to conserve his blood oxygen.

  Minutes later he came to with the woman lying on top of him on a hard deck. He was shivering with the painkilling drugs flooding his system and numerous voices asking if he was alive.

  'For pity's sake, leave me rest.'

  Pairs of hands lifted him into a coffin-like medical unit and, as he drif ted back into unconsciousness, he could see in his mind the very beautiful face of the woman he had spent one glorious night with twenty years before, and whom he had never gotten over.

  Nico, circling high above, saw his friend on the deck of the salvage craft, swore to himself and broke away, climbing his damaged Maul and setting a course for Haast.

  Bob Thompson watched Bravo two heading south. He looked again at the Aquila salvage craft to watch it start to climb and head east. He tapped the icon for the brigadier's private comms channel. Seconds later, the face of the older man appeared.

  'Ah, Bob, just the man I need to speak with. I note that you are still orbiting the recovery scene. I will personally thank each of your crew who helped us, as soon as you identif y them to me, please. We still have, at best, an hour before repairs to our landing gear on the carrier are complete and we are moving towards Haast, anyway. Would you like to join me for a coffee, maybe?'

  Bob looked at the brigadier, noting a slight change in his demeanour and wondering if he had managed to gain a little respect from him.

  'Thanks.' He nodded. 'We have a bit to discuss, so why not do it face to face. I am on my way. See you in ten or so minutes.'

  The screen cleared and Bob called Haast.

  'Flight, this is Aurora one. Put me through to Major Warne, please.'

  He turned the aircraft, which was one of his favourites to fly, being slightly old school with its contra-rotating pusher props, and looked for the identity signal of the Aquila carrier headed towards it. Nick Warne's face appeared in the comms screen.

  'Commander.'

  'Nick. I am heading across to Berkut for a short conference with the brigadier. Have you recovered all our damaged craf t?'

  Nick Warne sent the screen of information directly to the Aurora. 'Bit of work for the repair crews, quite a lot of actual damage, and of course there were two that hit the ground. What I am interested in, is why Games Board did not recover anything for their post-battlefield auctions as a chunk of the equipment is stuffed. Oh, we also picked up the Aquila crews and the craf t that could not fly back to their carrier. Those earthquakes are still rattling through and I was worried that they would be swallowed up as well.'

  Bob frowned, shaking his head. 'Good work. Yeah, know what you mean about the Games Board. That Francis John is a very strange fish. 'It is almost as if he is up to his armpits in something nasty that is far more interesting to him than this little battle of ours. Make sure that you give my congratulations on a battle well fought to the Mauls as soon as they are onboard. Nico and Anneke, in particular, did very well. Not that I am surprised; they are all as aggressive as hell. I shall let you get back to it. Bring Haast as close as is practicable to the Aquila.'

  Nick's image nodded and the connection was broken. Bob pushed the throttle open and climbed up over one of the higher mountain ranges, watching yet another major aftershock charge through the landscape below and shivered at the thought of being alone on the ground caught by such a force. He tapped the comms icon for the Aquila carrier.

  'Berkut flight, this is Aurora one inbound five kilometres out. Joining and landing instructions, please.'

  'Commander, this is flight. Welcome to you. Join sector two. Clearance landing deck five. Wind from seven five at twenty five.'

  Bob looked at the navigation displays in his HUD, seeing the carrier in the distance. He swung a little further to the west until he had the aircraft in the correct sector and lifted the nose, washing speed off and powering up the antigravity system. He warped the wings of the Aurora, slowing further, until he was approaching the large discus-shaped carrier at thirty-five knots. He tapped one of the screens to zoom in the forward-looking external cameras, seeing one of the massive extended landing struts surrounded by repair and maintenance antigravity sleds, all furious with activity.

  He dropped the nose and extended the wings down, lowering the wingtip skids while looking out at the eight radial landing decks extending out from the central command hub of the carrier. He could see the deck officer waiting for him as he came in over the landing deck and took a little more care than he normally would to execute a perfect landing on the spongy deck. He held the aircraft down with the engines still at high power until the officer gave him the engine stop signal, knowing that the landing skids would have been tied down. He switched off everything, sea
led his helmet against the cold, and opened the canopy and climbed out of the aircraft.

  The burly officer met him, saluting him, which Bob returned then shook him by the hand.

  'You Commander Mr Thompson,' the officer said. 'Most pleased I am to say hello. Boris Kalashnokov to serve. May I and my fellow look at Aurora, please. It is most pleasing aircraft, yes.'

  Bob opened his visor instantly and felt the biting cold. He looked up into the eyes of the man with his furred hood and ruddy face, then laughed. 'Pleased to see you, Major Boris. Yes, of course you are most welcome to look over the Aurora. I too love the aircraft.'

  The man smiled down at him, gesturing him to proceed to the central hub where the suited brigadier waited for him. The slightly built man shook Bob's extended hand warmly.

  'Good to see you, Bob. Come, coffee and some excellent real butter shortbreads await us.'

  Bob followed him through the double airlocks, where he brought up his flight suit controls in his head, telling the suit to uncover his head and hands. They went up a few flights of spiral stairs, through the bridge, where the brigadier quickly introduced him to smiling senior officers, then up another set of stairs into the brigadier's ready room. The ceilings were much lower than those on Haast, but Bob liked the look of the segmented room with its high-class, tasteful feel of controlled opulence. He sat in the armchair opposite to the brigadier, who poured coffee, adding a single teaspoon of sugar and a dash of cream, just the way Bob liked it. He passed it across and poured his own, then raised his cup.

  'A toast, commander,' the brigadier proposed. 'You and your crew are to be congratulated on a series of engagements well fought. I have to admit that some of your inventiveness took us by surprise. If any of your crew should ever wish to serve with the Aquila, they would be made most welcome. Shortbread?'

  He lifted the platter across to Bob who took one.

  'Yes, thanks. Well, I am sorry about some of that. They are an enthusiastic lot. In spite of me carefully asking them to be restrained, they did some damage.'

  The brigadier smiled widely. ' 'Itwas good AV, Bob. Easily some of the best, in spite of what the Games Board has said. But we are not here to talk about that. I have been told that the landing strut that was damaged by a flying piece of rock - yes, we were too low, filling our water fuel tanks from an ice covered lake, when the earthquake struck -will be repaired soon. How is your fuel situation?'

  'Good. We are full again.'

  The brigadier nodded, drained his coffee cup, refilled, took another biscuit and leaned back in his chair, looking keenly at Bob. 'The two monitors your crew saved and the director wrote off. What are your intentions for them?'

  Bob raised his eyebrows a fraction, wondering what the brigadier wanted to know. 'Well,' he began, 'we repaired their hardware, our doctor and her staff brought the biological parts of them back to full health, and since then they have been making recording equipment which they have been splicing into all of our craft. They then take the AV, edit it and are hoping to sell it on the open market when we make it back to the inner core of the Sphere. Why do you ask?'

  The brigadier's smile was wide and he pointed a half-eaten shortbread at Bob. 'Knew you were smart! Good! So all that has occurred here has been recorded independently. I am most pleased. You think that they will continue to do that, even ifthey will be placing themselves in danger on Storfisk?' Bob nodded slowly and cautiously. 'Yes. I believe that they will. But what I am more interested in is what are we to do when we get to Storfisk?'

  The brigadier drained his coffee, popped the last of his shortbread in his mouth, chewed slowly and swallowed. He stood up, gesturing for Bob to join him at the window. He pointed out to the side and Bob could see Haast coming over the top of the mountain range towards them.

  'It is a fine ship, Bob. Purpose designed, good firepower, excellent range, great crew and you are in command. Now, my young friend, I must ask you to consider allowing yourself and your ship to come under my command.'

  Bob drained the last of his coffee and carefully placed the cup on its coaster on top of the beautifully polished walnut table. He straightened, letting out a long breath and wishing that he had Nick Warne beside him, along with at least three of the other majors on his crew, to advise of what he should do. He looked across at the brigadier, who was still gazing out of the window. His mind was racing with the possibilities and he knew that he would have to make a decision then and there.

  He swallowed, looked at his hands, then across at the brigadier, who was looking evenly at him.

  Bob gave a short affirmative nod, hoping like hell that he was not going to regret the decision. 'It would be wise if we were under your command, Roger. 'It would be wise if for no other reason than I do not know exactly what we are up against and I have a suspicion that you do.'

  The brigadier slowly reached out his hand for Bob to shake. 'Like I said: you are a smart man. Very well, effective immediately you are now my second-in-command for both carriers. You need to return to Haast, brief your crew, climb to vacuum and, once we are underway, you and I will set up command and control structures and get our crews working together. Does make it easy that we are mercenaries ... we all think pretty much the same.'

  Bob nodded, agreeing. 'We have injured crew of yours aboard Haast. Shall we transfer them?'

  'No, Major Aydon is quite possibly the finest field doctor and surgeon that I know. They will be fine with you. In fact, I was going to ask to transfer all the injured here to your medical unit. I need the room for the Tengu.'

  Bob cocked his head to one side. 'Seems that one command structure is already in place. Very well. Would it also be a smart move to split half of the Tengu and transfer them across to Haast as well?'

  The brigadier tapped his lips, nodding. 'Yes. Good. Return to your carrier, commander. We shall speak shortly.'

  Bob gave the brigadier a formal nod and turned, walking to the door. Just as he was about to pass through, the brigadier called out to him.

  'Bob. You have made the right decision.'

  Their eyes locked for a second, then Bob turned to be met by Boris Kalashnokov.

  'Yes, commander, come. Come, to your beautiful Aurora we go. I was second-in-command and now third I am, but this way I shall get to fly beautif ul Aurora as it is nice plane, yes.'

  Bob, in spite of being nervous about what his crew would say when they got the news, laughed. 'So, major, you want my aircraft? Do you have facilities to service it here on Berkut?'

  The burly man looked over his shoulder at Bob and gave him a slightly reproachful look. 'Commander,' he said, 'all aircraft we love on Berkut. This is aircraft nirvana. Yes, I want one. Very slightly superior to our reconnaissance craf t. More beautif ul as well.'

  'Very well. You take that one for the duration of the action. I shall return to Haast onboard the lander that the Tengu will no doubt already be waiting in?'

  Boris shook his head. 'No, they wait, but they will bring more than just lander. Equipment and craf t they will take to you. It is good plan. Be waiting please ...'

  He turned and had a quick conversation with the brigadier, Bob presumed.

  'No, commander, you take my craft. You kind to allow me yours. Fair it is. We make ready for you. We wait here for two minutes on bridge.'

  Bob looked around the circular command unit of the Aquila with its individual control pods not unlike those of Haast, in that they were also individual survival pods in case the carrier was destroyed. Every piece of equipment and structure surrounding him was just a little more robust than those on Haast. Every crew member who saw him smiled and nodded, but stayed in their pods carrying out their duties.

  'Commander Thompson.'

  He turned to look eye to eye with the Tengu, who was wearing light battle armour.

  'May I take this opportunity to introduce myself, sir. I am Major Annabel Graham. I command the Tengu here and am second-in-command to Colonel Bierwage who is away on Rose Foxtrot with the rest of the detachment
. My troops are ready to deploy to Haast on your command.'

  Bob gave the major a formal nod and extended his hand. The Tengu's claws retracted and she took his hand, shaking it. Bob grinned.

  'It is rapidly turning out to be a most interesting adventure this whole mission, major. I am pleased to meet with you. How many in your detachment?'

  'Sixty-five, sir. Plus individual short-range aircraft, twenty of the latest Mace, two troop landers that also act as lifters for the Mace, and our own personal weapons.'

  Bob mentally went through the space available on Haast. He tapped his left wrist and the data screen rolled up. 'Link the aircraft types and sizes to me, please, major. Accommodating you, the Q will be easy and we have space for the aircraft. Just a little concerned about the lifters. Hold on.'

  He scrolled down through the decks, seeing what could be moved around, as a second later the lists of what the Q had with them also appeared on his screen. He introduced the files to each other and asked his wetware to integrate the forces. An instant later, the solutions were there. He transferred the loadmaster files back to the Q major.

  'OK, major, there are the layouts. I had better get moving. 'It would be a bad look to send your people over without warning my own crew. Pleasure to meet you. See you on Haast.'

  The Q gave him a formal nod and moved quickly off the bridge and down the stairs. Boris watched her go.

  'She good woman in other body. Very good. Come, fighter ready for you. You like him. I know these things.'

  Bob followed the major down the stairs until they were one deck below the landing area. They passed through an airlock and into a segment of Berkut where a portion of the carrier's fighter aircraft were sealed in opaque, individual heavily padded cells, against the walls, with the deck number four prominent on the floor and end walls. He looked at the aircraft which waited on one of the two elevators and grinned from ear to ear.

  He looked at the powerful form of the Lunev, which was made by the same Gjomvik Corporation that created the Hawk. Bob had always considered the Lunev as a Hawk on steroids. In its overall dimensions, it was not that much bigger, but it was even more purposeful-looking and came across as an almost brutal aircraft.