by Peter Telep
Cocking his head, Hawkes gaped at the triangular formations of black claws. His breath quickened. Then he lost it. "I'm dead."
"KILL RIGHT THRUSTERS, YOU STUPID TANK!"
The cool, reserved veteran never sounded more emotional. Obeying McQueen, Hawkes was slammed back into his seat as he shot far ahead of his pursuers and discovered that control was once again his.
But what did the right thrusters have to do with the NAV system? That console was steadily illuminated now, and a data bar stated: SHORT BYPASSED. RIGHT THRUSTER CONTROL DISENGAGED. Hawkes realized that he must have been hit in the tail, and it was that bolt which had temporarily off-lined his NAV.
"Downtown!" Shane yelled, and Hawkes saw her fighter jinx left and out of the asteroid field.
At the moment, with more than a dozen of the enemy still on his rear, Hawkes decided to once again test the bugs' driving skills... and bravery. He adjusted the micro-CD player to repeat the "Blitzkrieg Bop," banked sharply right, then pointed Pags's Payback at the aliens. With drums pounding, vocals resounding, and targets locked, he let his rage consume him as he cackled and released his first salvo.
twenty-six
"I want you to team up. Golds One and Two... Go. Golds Three and Four... Go," Nathan commanded, then watched as his wing broke off in pairs, Carter and Low to the right, Wang and Damphousse to the left.
What Nathan feared almost as much as the alien laser fire was flying into one of the craft. His NAV system made vector corrections, but a hit like the one Hawkes had taken would send Nathan out of control into the dozens of individual dogfights. To call the battle a furball was an understatement. He would make it a point to tell Sergeant Bougus to invent a new word.
"Three on our six," Damphousse accounted shakily. "Carter? Low? Can you help us shake 'em."
"I'm going to roll back for a shot," Wang said.
"Hold off a mike," Low told him, "I'm locked and... FIRING!"
"Holy... Good shot, Low!"
"Thanks, but there's—Wang! LOOKOUT!"
"Cutting... away... and"—Wang hissed—"THERE." Laser fire blazed from his ship and struck one, two, three alien fighters which melted off Nathan's HUD. "HOO-YAH!" the young Marine yelped.
"You been taking lessons from Coop?" Damphousse asked Wang.
"Speaking of him," Carter said. "He just buzzed about twelve of 'em and took out at least half. But check your HUDS. They're running him ragged."
Shane's fighter sliced across Nathan's path, and he turned his head to watch her zero in on three enemy planes. "They do fly in gangs," she murmured, then followed up her words with a pyrotechnic eruption from her guns that sent one of the fighters tumbling and shedding glowing splinters of its hull. The remaining two ships veered off to avoid Shane's cannons and the debris of the destroyed jet.
"This is R-Three," Hawkes identified. "I'm defensive. Little help!"
Nathan's NAV system traced the signal and displayed the tank's ship on the HUD. Bucking and rolling, Hawkes was unable to evade the seven, no, now eight ships in diamond formation that hunted him. A round of alien fire glanced a forward wing on his fighter's nose.
"Hang on, Hawkes," he said, then executed a rolling climb to put him over the tank's coordinates. Once above the fray, Nathan brought himself around to descend at a forty-five-degree angle upon the alien wings' six. There wasn't much distance between the lead fighter and Hawkes. Nathan opted to intercept that craft first. His Hammerhead vibrated as he increased velocity and swooped, target locks swirling, swirling, but failing to lock.
Dammit!
His mouth went dry as he decided to strafe the jet anyway, but his volley of bolts either fell short or merely grazed it. Nathan soared over the craft then nudged his stick to climb.
Engines flared as the alien fighter lifted away from its wing in pursuit.
Nathan pulled himself into an inverted loop, and while upside down he nervously checked his HUD. The alien was a wasp buzzing intently about his neck. As they pulled out of the loop, the enemy plane shot after him, sewing up the gap to half a ship's length. The NAV system console beeped.
PROXIMITY ALERT. COURSE—
There were more words on the screen, but Nathan didn't waste time reading them. The view through his canopy was inevitably clear:
Hawkes's Hammerhead strung along two remaining aliens and all three were on a collision course with Nathan.
He gasped, two-handed the stick and slammed it toward the instrument panels. "HAWKES! HIT THE DECK!"
Nathan revved his thrusters and simultaneously nosedived with Hawkes. Their fighters passed within ten meters of each other, and the long shadows of the tank's plane cast Nathan's cockpit in gloom. Warnings spilled across the NAV system's screen as Nathan flicked his glance between it and the inverted SA-43 overhead.
Behind them, the alien plane that had been on Nathan's tail collided with the other two jets, sending an expanding ball of metallic smithereens in all directions. The thruster tubes of Nathan's ship were struck by some of the wreckage, jolting the craft repeatedly before the fragments were either melted or floated away.
Nathan threw back his head. "Yeeeeeeahhhhhh!"
A war cry from Shane echoed his.
"Not so fast," Hawkes said. "Bandit is locked on you, Shane. Check six!"
Nathan's LIDAR sounded an alarm.
"You see it, West?"
"Yeah," Nathan answered. "I'm on it."
"In your trail," Hawkes replied.
"Your NAV system up for it?"
Hawkes snickered. "We'll find out."
"MARK!"
Nathan arced wide under the belly of the battle. Blue and White Wings had joined forces and furiously engaged a score of alien craft that were attempting to run a pinwheel formation around them. Hammerheads spat glowing venom at the aliens, tearing their ring to shreds.
"Nice counter, Mordock!" Nathan complemented the other wing leader.
"Can't talk to you now, West," Mordock said, his transmission breaking up. "I'm hit. HOTAS control gone. Bypass ineffective."
"Get the hell out of there!" Nathan cried.
Two contacts neared Mordock's ship, then it disappeared soundlessly from Nathan's HUD.
"I've got her course plotted," Hawkes broke in. "ETA; thirteen seconds... twelve... eleven..."
Shane was beginning to panic. "Can't jink him!"
"You're running at eighty-five," Nathan said, feeling his hands begin to shake as he read her velocity from his HUD. "Max those thrusters!"
"They are!" she argued. "This is all I'm getting! He's firing!"
"Evade," Nathan shouted. "Brake and yaw!"
"We got about five seconds to do something, West," Hawkes observed bleakly. "And I don't know about you, but this bug's got my target locks jammed solid."
"Pull up alongside me," Nathan ordered. "We'll run an X-pattern in front of him... draw him away."
"Copy."
"Go!"
Nathan and Hawkes came up on the alien's tail like madmen, howling in their links and laying down wild fire. They burst in front of the ship, cutting across the alien's path in scissors-fashion. It was up to the alien which target he'd choose to follow.
But the son of a bitch kept on Shane's six.
Nathan banked wide and came up once again on his quarry.
Hawkes's Hammerhead was high and astern, but it was rising and falling as if riding on tall waves. "West, my NAV's freaking again. I can't get to her."
"Hold position. I have an idea."
With that, Nathan swept forward, skimming over the alien and Shane, then yo-yoed inside behind Shane, putting the bug on his six. He thumbed a button on his thruster control, then tapped in two numbers to jettison .08 percent of thruster coolant, hoping to confuse or slow the alien. He broke rapidly away.
The alien knifed through the liquid blob and continued doggedly after Shane.
"Gotta go for a shot, West," Hawkes said.
Nathan circled and put the alien in front of him. A fraction of a degree
mistake would send his fire toward Shane. Gooseflesh fanned across his shoulders as he thought of how he'd nearly killed Hawkes by making a similar shot. "She's in my line... if I engage I could hit her!"
"Just do it, Nathan!" Shane pleaded.
Nathan reached inside himself, wanting to pull out his demon. He couldn't. She was too close. She would die in front of him. He had to shoot. No. The cockpit was suddenly too small. His eyes were watering now.
There was nowhere to run.
A spate of laser fire suddenly reached out for Shane's craft, promising to cripple or destroy it.
Noooooo!
But then each bolt was systematically picked off before it struck Shane while a volley of fire rained down from above and tore the alien ship in half.
Nathan rocked sideways to avoid the glistening hulk which tumbled away from him.
"HOO-YAH! POPPED 'IM GOOD, NATHAN!"
Frowning, then double checking his weapons console, Nathan answered, "I didn't fire!"
"Who got the kill?" Hawkes asked.
"Uh, why don't you guys check your three," Shane suggested.
Nathan felt an adrenaline rush as he watched four immense supercarriers advance in box formation from behind the alien hiveships. In the minutes that followed, a fleet of Hammerheads wove tight patterns through the asteroid field and emerged with laser cannons pumping enough fire to sweep clear the remaining alien jets. The supercarriers bombarded the hiveships in a spectacular hail of fire that brought daylight to the heavens. Outnumbered, the hiveships recalled the fighters launching from their bays and fled toward the dark side of the Jovian moon Ganymede.
Falling into a wedge pattern with Hawkes and Shane, Nathan leaned back and took in a long breath that he'd put on hold since leaving the Saratoga.
Communication officer Nelson's voice came over the link. "Fifty-eight... this is command. Damage is nominal. Enemy in retreat. Return to base. Objective achieved."
The supercarriers continued to target the enemy, only now it wasn't a battle but a distant fireworks show of celebration. Nathan joined the rest of the fighting fifty-eighth, who cheered in the link as they headed home.
Mom, Dad, everyone. I made it. I'm all right.
twenty-seven
The United States Marine Corps Space Aviator recruit depot, Loxley, Alabama, radiated in more than just the sunlight of a perfect afternoon. The eyes of everyone in the fifty-eighth squadron shone with a brilliance that Nathan knew was seen by every applauding Marine and civilian seated in the bleachers. He spotted Mom, Dad, Neil, and John, and surprisingly, Kylen's father, who winked and waved a fist. Nathan wanted to lift the gleaming medal hanging from his neck to make sure they saw it, but certainly they did, and besides, he was at attention.
Behind the line of Marines facing the audience was a stage erected on the tarmac. American and Earth flags served as backdrops, and beneath these was a podium at which Spencer Chartwell addressed the audience. "Welcome. I don't usually attend these sort of things, but the extraordinary work of these brave young men and women demanded my presence. Today is a special day for all of us. Because of the valiant efforts of the Marine Corps fifty-eighth squadron, the many peoples of Earth breathe a single sigh of relief. And now, at their graduation ceremony, we honor them."
Nathan saw Shane's eyes swell with tears, then he looked quickly away and held his head rigid.
"I believe the great twentieth century leader Winston Churchill would agree: 'Never in the field of conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few.'"
The audience applauded, and Kylen's father got those around him to their feet. It took nearly a minute for the clapping to subside.
"We of Earth are proud and grateful. Celebrate well, although I suppose the break in the storm is momentary. The thunder shall return. The lightning will certainly strike again."
Nathan would completely enjoy his respite from the war, for the truth in Chartwell's words was disturbingly plain. At least when the thunder and lightning did return, the Marines would be ready for it, and the proof flew overhead.
New and old members of the Angry Angels swooped out of the sun and roared across the sky. As the squadron passed over the crowd, they executed a single, perfectly choreographed barrel roll in recognition of the fifty-eighth.
Sergeant Bougus came down the line of Marines, pausing to acknowledge each with the snap of his white-gloved hand to his forehead. Members of the crowd stood and saluted the squadron. Bougus arrived in front of Nathan. The sergeant gave a slight nod after his salute, a nod that presumably meant Nathan had done all right.
By nightfall, the carnival atmosphere had moved to the apron outside an empty hangar, where a bar had been set up and two Marines with synthesizers played popular songs. Some pilots danced with their spouses or friends, while others sat at tables chatting and drinking with their families. Nathan saw one old man roll up his sleeve for his grandson to reveal his eagle, Earth, and anchor tattoo, which he boasted he'd had done on the Mars colony.
Mom, Dad, and his brothers soon went back to the hotel for a swim, and they took Kylen's father with them. The man did not want to be too far from his television. Feeling a little lost, Nathan wandered over to the bar, where Wang and Damphousse stood listening to Low tell her animated and perhaps slightly exaggerated account of combat.
"And then I cut left retros and he's right there, the idiot, and I have him locked. One, two, he's gone," she said, spilling her drink on her wrist, not out of intoxication but excitement. "Oops."
"At least you control your plane better than that glass," Nathan chided with a grin.
"Here," Shane said, coming from behind him and handing him a drink. "We're gonna have a toast."
Hawkes, who'd been sitting alone at the other end of the bar, responded to Shane's nod and joined them. Glasses were lifted.
"Here's—" Shane began, then broke off as McQueen stepped up.
Nathan and the others straightened in the veteran's presence, and Nathan, like everyone else, did so not out of military protocol but out of deep-felt respect.
McQueen allowed himself the trace of a grin. "Congratulations." He shook hands with the group, finishing with Shane.
"Sir. I... your advice, those words in the orientation room... they kept us alive," Shane said. "And we appreciate your saying them."
"Save it. You'll have all the chances in the world to thank me. I've just been assigned as your squadron commander."
Brows lifted in pleasant surprise, and Nathan found himself chilled over the prospect until—
"And if you people ever pull anything like what you did under my command, the only metal you'll be wearing are cuffs in the stockade." He moved toward the end of the bar, gestured to the bartender for a drink, then faced the group, ready to join the toast.
Wang regarded McQueen with a shrug. "At least he doesn't yell."
Shane raised her glass, her gaze trained on the veteran. "Here's... to being alive for one more hour." Nathan clinked glasses with the rest, then watched as Hawkes and McQueen subtly raised their glasses to each other. Moving to the bar, Nathan took a sip of his champagne, then set down the drink.
He had been happy, truly happy, for most of the day. But now he couldn't help but notice his photo tags tangled with the medal on his chest. Had he already forgotten that the reason he'd joined the Corps was the possibility of seeing Kylen again? For a short time maybe he had. He untangled the tags and lifted her picture. Shane slid a hand onto his shoulder, and he offered her a wan smile of thanks before moving away.
"Where are you going?"
"I forgot something."
epilogue
Nathan lay prone on his cot in the dark barracks. A small flashlight rested at his elbow, illuminating his journal. He rubbed the flat end of a pencil tip over a blank page, revealing the imprint of words he had written to Kylen. He remembered most of them, but he wanted to be sure. When he was done, he copied the letter onto another page and pocketed the journal.
After hiking
to the far north end of the base, he looked back at the victory party, now just a blanket of tiny lights and muffled sounds. Then he considered the glimmering stars, stars thankfully at rest. He gripped his photo tags in one hand, the medal in the other, and thought of the end of his letter.
Elsewhere... stars are born. Other systems, much larger, much older, continue to breathe.
He imagined a brilliant flow of yellow and red gas drifting before distant stars. The gas dissolved into the image of a spiral galaxy, a beautiful celestial flower in full bloom.
The solar system dies of crib death... if that's what it takes, then okay.
A comet trailing a brilliant ice blue tail streaked toward a dimming Earth.
If I must wait that long, then all right. Because when I think of this... nothing is more desirable than the hope of watching that last day when the sun flickers out, with you beside me. We'll sit alone on a dark chunk of ice at the top of the world and...
Reeling from a burst of loss and longing, Nathan tore the medal from his neck and pitched it with all his might at the bright blue star that was to have been his home. He watched the medal fall light-years short of Kylen, but that didn't matter. He whispered his promise:
"The stars above, below, and between us will never shine brighter... as we drift away... into space."
Peter Telep has written for the television shows In The Heat of The Night and The Legend of Prince Valiant. He is the recipient of the John W. Steinbeck Award for fiction, has been a winner in the Writer's Digest magazine contest in both the fiction and script categories, and holds a B.A. in English from the University of Central Florida. His other novels, Squire and Squire's Blood, are also available from HarperPrism, as will be the forthcoming Squire's Honor. Mr. Telep lives in Orlando, Florida, with his wife Nancy.
Table of Contents
prologue
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven