Skyward
Page 42
“Understood, outpost forty-seven. Sending—”
“Sir?” the gunner’s voice said again. “Tell me you have that on radar.”
“What?”
I felt a chill.
“Debris fall,” the gunner said. “North of here. Hold on a minute, I’ve got some binoculars…”
I waited, tense, imagining a single gunner climbing over the wreckage of her destroyed gun emplacement.
“I have visual on multiple Krell ships,” the gunner said. “A second group, coming down far away from the battle for the shipyard. Sir, they’re coming in right where our defenses are out. Confirm! Did you hear me!”
“We heard,” Ironsides said.
“Sir, they’re heading right for Alta. Scramble the reserves!”
There were no reserves. The chill inside me became ice. Ironsides had committed everything we had to the battle for the shipyard. And now, a second group of Krell had appeared from the sky—right where the bomb had knocked out our defenses.
It was a trick.
The Krell wanted this. They wanted to draw our fighters into a battle far from Alta. They wanted to convince us that all of the Krell ships were engaged, so that we threw everything we had at them. Then they dropped a lifebuster on our AA guns to open the path.
That way, they could bring in more ships and another bomb.
Boom.
No more Defiants.
“Riptide Flight,” Admiral Ironsides said. “I want you back at Alta immediately! Full speed!”
“Sir?” the flightleader said. “We can disengage, but we’re a good thirty minutes out, even at Mag-10.”
“Hurry!” she said. “Get back here.”
Too slow, I thought. Alta was doomed. There weren’t any ships. There weren’t any pilots.
Except one.
Still, I hesitated.
I’d decided not to go with Nedd and the others because it was too dangerous. What about the defect?
In that moment, Hurl’s voice returned to me. A pact, she seemed to whisper. Brave until the end. No backing down, Spin.
No backing down. Alta was in danger, and I was just going to sit here? Because I was afraid of what I might do?
No. Because I didn’t know, deep down, if I was a coward or not. Because I worried not only about the defect, but about whether I was worthy of flying. In that moment, the truth struck me hard. Like the admiral, I was using the defect as an excuse to avoid facing the real issue.
To avoid discovering for myself who I was.
I stood up and dashed out of the restaurant. Forget the defect—they were going to drop a lifebuster to destroy both Alta and Igneous. It didn’t matter if I was dangerous. The Krell were far, far more so.
I raced down the street toward the base, a vague plan of going to M-Bot coalescing in my mind. But that would take too long—besides, he’d shut himself down. I imagined bursting into the cavern only to be confronted by a dead, empty piece of metal that wouldn’t turn on.
I stopped in the street, puffing, sweating, and looked out toward the hills—then toward Alta Base.
There was one other ship.
I dashed up the street and through the gates, flashing my cadet’s pin to gain admittance. I turned right, toward the launchpads, and scrambled up to the ground crew, who were launching medical transports to go to the AA guns. The bulky, slow ships rose smoothly into the air on large acclivity rings.
I spotted Dorgo, the ground crewman who often worked my ship, and ran up to him.
“Skyward Ten?” Dorgo said. “What are you—”
“The broken ship, Dorgo,” I said, puffing. “Skyward Five. Arturo’s ship. Will it fly?”
“We’re supposed to break it down for parts,” Dorgo said, taken aback. “We got a start on fixing it up, but shields are out and we never got replacements. Steering is compromised as well. It’s not battle-worthy.”
“Will it fly?”
Several members of the ground crew glanced at each other.
“Technically,” Dorgo said, “yes.”
“Prep it for me!” I said.
“Did the admiral approve this?”
I glanced at the side of the launchpad, where a radio like Arturo’s was belting out the flightleader channel. They’d been listening.
“There’s a second group of Krell heading straight for Alta,” I said, pointing. “And there are no reserves. Do you want to go talk to the woman who hates me for irrational reasons, or do you want to just get me into the scudding air?”
Nobody spoke.
“Prep Skyward Five!” Dorgo finally shouted. “Go, go!”
Two ground crewmen ran off, and I dashed into the locker room, emerging a minute later—after the fastest change ever—in a flight suit. Dorgo led me to a Poco that the crew was pulling out onto the launchpad with a ship tow.
Dorgo grabbed a ladder. “Tony, that’ll do! Unhook!”
He slammed the ladder into place even as the ship stopped.
I scrambled up and into the open cockpit, trying not to look at the black destructor scars on the left side of the ship. Scud, it was in bad shape.
“Listen, Spin,” Dorgo said, following me up. “You don’t have a shield. Do you understand? The system was burned out completely, and we ripped it free. You are totally exposed.”
“Understood,” I said, strapping in.
Dorgo pushed my helmet into my hands. My helmet, with my callsign on it. “Other than the shield, your acclivity ring is going to be your biggest worry,” he said. “It’s on the fritz, and I can’t say if it will cut out or not. Control sphere also got a write-up in our assessment.” He eyed me. “Eject still works.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you’re smarter than most,” he said.
“Destructors?” I said.
“Still functional,” he said. “You’re lucky. We were going to scrap those tonight.”
“I’m not sure this counts as lucky,” I said, pulling on the helmet. “But it’s all we’ve got.” I gave him a thumbs-up.
He raised his own thumb as his team pulled the ladder away, and my canopy lowered and sealed.
* * *
—
Admiral Judy “Ironsides” Ivans stood in the command center. Hands clasped behind her back, she regarded a hologram projected from the floor, complete with tiny ships in formation.
The shipyard had been a decoy all along. Judy had been played; the Krell had anticipated what she would do, and used that knowledge.
It was one of the oldest rules of warfare. If you knew what your enemy was going to do, the battle was already half won.
At her quiet order, the holoprojection switched to the second group of enemy ships that were approaching Alta. Fifteen Krell. Glowing blue wedges, now visible to close-range radar, which was far more accurate than the long-range ones.
It showed that one of those ships was, indeed, a bomber.
The ships inched closer to the death zone—an invisible line past which, if they dropped a lifebuster, they’d destroy Alta. The Krell wouldn’t stop there though. They’d fly inward and try to drop it square on top of the base. That way, their bomb would penetrate all the way down and destroy Igneous.
I have doomed all of humankind, Ivans thought.
Fifteen blips of blue. Unopposed.
Then, rising from Alta, a single lonely blip of red appeared. A Defiant ship.
“Rikolfr?” Ironsides said. “Did the private owners actually respond to my call? Are they scrambling their fighters?” There were only eight of those in the deep caverns, but they would be better than nothing. Perhaps enough to prevent a disaster.
“No, sir,” Rikolfr said. “Last we heard, they were planning to evacuate.”
“Then who is that ship?” Ironsides asked.
It was her.
“The defect,” Ironsides whispered.
“This is Flight Command,” Ironsides said on my radio. “Cadet, where did you get that ship?”
“Does it matter?” I asked. “Give me a heading. Where are those Krell?”
“There are fifteen ships in that flight, girl.”
I swallowed. “Heading?”
“57-113.2-15000.”
“Right.” I redirected and punched my overburn. GravCaps engaged for the first few seconds, then I gritted my teeth as the g-forces hit me. My Poco started to rattle under the strain, even at the relatively slow speed of Mag-5. Scud. What was keeping this ship together? Spit and prayers?
“How long until they’re inside the death zone?” I asked.
“Under eight minutes,” Ironsides said. “By our projections, you’ll reach them in about two minutes.”
“Great,” I said, taking a deep breath, inching my ship up to Mag-6. I didn’t dare go faster with the amount of drag on that burned-out wing. “We might have a few more reinforcements coming. When you see them, tell them what’s happening.”
“There are more of you?” Ironsides asked.
“I hope so.” Depended on whether Arturo and the others managed to steal some ships. “I’ll just have to hold the Krell off until then. By myself. With a ship that doesn’t have a shield.”
“You don’t have a shield?”
“I have visual confirmation on the Krell,” I said, ignoring the question. “Here we go!”
Krell ships swarmed toward me. I knew there were only fifteen, but flying there—alone, unprotected—it seemed like an entire armada. I immediately cut to the side, destructors flashing all around me. I picked up at least a dozen on my tail, and my proximity warning went insane.
I pulled into a hard bank, wishing there were debris I could use for faster maneuvering. I curved around—somehow avoiding being shot—until I saw it. One slower, larger ship. Plodding along with an enormous bomb held underneath it, nearly as big as the ship itself.
“Flight Command,” I said, pushing into a dive, destructors spraying around me, “I have visual confirmation of a lifebuster.”
“Bring it down, cadet,” the admiral said immediately. “You hear me. If you get a shot, bring that ship down.”
“Affirmative,” I said, and threw myself into a spinning loop. My GravCap indicator flashed, its brief dampening effect expended, and the g-forces flattened me into the side of the cockpit and my seat.
I remained conscious—somehow—as a couple of Krell ships cut across in front of me. My instincts were to chase them down.
No. They were presenting targets to draw me away. I dodged the other direction, and the ships behind me fired an insane storm of destructors.
I wouldn’t last long in this fight. I couldn’t hold out for Arturo and the others. The Krell would finish me off before then.
I had to get to the bomber.
The Krell tried to drive me to the side, but I dodged between two of them, my ship rattling as I crossed their wakes. That didn’t normally happen; the atmospheric scoops evened out flight wakes. Mine was still working, fortunately, but was obviously in poor shape.
Teeth rattling in my skull from the shaking, I cut around more ships and focused on my goal, unleashing a barrage of destructors.
A few hit the bomber, but were absorbed by its shield, and I wasn’t close enough for an IMP. The small, strange ships that accompanied the bomber detached and flew up toward me, driving me off to the side.
I swept in a long turn, trying to ignore the fact that I was now being chased by almost two flights’ worth of enemies.
I focused on my ship. On my maneuvers.
Me, the controls, and the ship. Together, responding to…
Right.
I dodged away just before a Krell ship moved to cut me off.
They’re going to fire all out. I dove underneath a sudden, concentrated barrage.
Left. I made a sweeping turn by instinct, spinning between two enemy ships—causing them to collide.
It was uncanny. But somehow, somehow I could hear it in my mind. Somehow I knew…the commands that were being sent to the enemy ships.
I could hear them.
* * *
—
Judy stood quietly beside the hologram, and slowly, aides and junior admirals gathered around. By now they’d disengaged all flights from the battle for the shipyard, and had sent them streaking back toward Alta.
They’d be too slow. Even Riptide Flight, which she had ordered back earlier, was too far out. Right now, all that mattered was one speck of red among the swarm of blue. One magnificent red speck that wove between enemy attacks, somehow avoiding destruction time and time again.
Somehow, she faced overwhelming odds and survived.
“Have you ever seen flying like that before?” Rikolfr asked.
Judy nodded.
She had. In one other pilot.
* * *
—
I couldn’t explain it. I somehow sensed the orders that were coming from above, telling the Krell ships what to do. I could hear them…hear them processing, thinking.
It wasn’t an overwhelming edge, but it was enough. Just that little bit I needed to fly my rattling Poco in another loop, where I fired again on the bomber.
That’s five hits, I thought as I was forced back once more by the four black guardian ships. The bomber’s shield should be nearly down. Cobb’s training kicked in, warning me to be ready to overburn away as soon as I dropped the bomber. Once the lifebuster hit the ground, the blast would…
“Spin?” It was Jorgen’s voice.
It almost kicked me out of my concentration. I spun my ship, dodging.
“Spin, is that you?” he asked. “My flightleader mentioned you were on the channel. What’s happening?”
“I’m…,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m having a blast without you. More. Krell. For. Me.”
“I’m with Riptide Flight,” Jorgen said. “We’re coming to help.”
Clever quips and bravado escaped me. “Thank you,” I whispered, sweat plastering the inside of my helmet as I tried to come around for another pass.
Red blasts descended upon me, slicing at my ship. But I could dodge them. I knew what they—
An explosion cut across my ship, blasting the tip off the nose of the Poco. Something had shot me, something I couldn’t anticipate.
My Poco rattled, nose trailing smoke, my console basically just a huge expanse of red lights. I still had maneuverability, however, and dodged to the side.
That shot, I thought. One of the black ships hit me—and I can’t hear its orders in my mind.
I rounded toward the bomber once again. I hit the triggers, and nothing happened. Scud…the destructors were on my nose. They’d been damaged in that hit.
My control sphere was rattling, threatening to go out. Exactly like Dorgo had warned.
“You have one minute until that bomber reaches the death zone, Skyward Ten,” Ironsides said softly.
I didn’t respond, fighting to keep ahead of the swarming enemies.
“If it gets past the zone,” Ironsides said, “you have full authorization to shoot it down anyway. Do you confirm, pilot?”
Lifebusters were rigged to blow if they were shot or if they hit the ground. So if I dropped that bomber once it got too close, the blast would destroy Alta, but protect Igneous.
“Confirmed,” I said, swinging around.
No weapons.
I could hear the rushing air almost
as if the canopy were gone. My nose was still on fire.
Under a minute.
I gained altitude, then turned into a dive, Krell ships still swarming behind.
That bomber’s shield has to be almost out.
I pointed my nose right at the bomber down below, then I hit the overburn.
“Cadet?” Ironsides said. “Pilot, what are you doing?”
“My weapons are gone,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “I have to ram it.”
“Understood,” Ironsides whispered. “Saints’ own speed, pilot.”
“What?” Jorgen said over the line. “What? Ram it? Spin!”
I dove toward the enemy bomber.
“Spin,” Jorgen said, voice barely audible over the blaring warnings and the roar of the air around my cockpit. “Spin, you’ll die.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “But I’ll win anyway.”
I streaked right toward the ship amid a column of enemy fire. Then—at long last, pushed too far—my poor, broken ship had had enough.
The acclivity ring cut out.
My ship pulled into an unexpected dive, and I undershot the bomber, missing it. Pummeled by the winds—and no longer held up by the acclivity ring—my ship started spinning out of control.
Everything became a blur of smoke and fire.
You weren’t supposed to be able to think during those moments. It was all supposed to happen in a flash.
My hand moved by instinct toward the eject lever between my legs. My ship was in an uncontrolled spin with no altitude control. I was going to crash.
I froze.
Nobody else was close enough. Without me to stop them, the Krell would fly on unimpeded to destroy Igneous.
If I crashed, that was it.
I slammed my hand back onto the throttle. With my other hand I flipped off my atmospheric scoop, releasing my ship entirely to the whims of the air. Then I rammed the throttle forward, going into overburn.