Prisoner's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 3)

by David Feintuch

  It was a beautiful day. Flying high, we’d have a better view. At the controls of a heli I felt none of the trepidation I knew driving an electricar. Airborne, I wouldn’t have to contend with other vehicles careening alongside; perhaps that made a difference.

  “Mr. Tolliver, advise Hopewell Plantation of our ETA, please.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He keyed the caller. A red light on the control panel began to blink. He froze.

  The puter came alive. “Enemy radar lock! Commencing evasive action!”

  “What—?” I gaped.

  “Reset the puter,” Tolliver said. “It caught a radar from one of the plantations.”

  “Yes,” I said doubtfully. The heli was military transport, programmed to be wary of hostile attack. If we’d entered Hopewell’s radar field the heli would assume enemy sensors had locked on us. “Disregard radar signal,” I told the puter, switching off the warning light. “Do we have Hopewell’s transponder yet?”

  “We should pick it up any—”

  The heli lurched. “Missile launched! Automated evasive action sequenced! Transponder off!”

  I said, “Listen, puter, there’s no missile out—”

  “What’s that flash, sir?”

  I peered. “Lord God! It can’t be!”

  “Contact estimated fourteen seconds!” The puter’s tone was calm.

  “Jesus.” Tolliver.

  Should I let the heli do the evasives or take manual control? The puter could run evasive maneuvers faster than I could and more accurately. But its reactions were programmed, and the missile’s attack program might anticipate them.

  What was after us? A heat seeker? Laser lock? I tried desperately to recall our lessons at Academy.

  In the back seat Alexi clutched the safety bar as the heli swooped. The attacking missile was a dim speck, a dot, a stubby black slash hurtling toward us.

  “Take over!” Tolliver shouted. “Don’t wait for the puter!”

  “Contact eight seconds.” The puter. “Evasive program C12!” The jet engines whined as the puter put us to full power in a shallow climb.

  “Four seconds.”

  Tolliver shouted, “Seafort, do something!”

  I stabbed at the manual override. Before I touched it the engine noise fell; we dropped like a stone. The missile flashed past the cockpit. The engine roared. I twisted around. Behind us, the missile was executing a long, slow turn while it climbed.

  This time it would come at us from above. The speaker blared, “Radar lock reacquired!” The missile had found us anew.

  I switched off the automatics, holding us in a tight turn to the left. I couldn’t find the missile. My eyes darted between the screen and the horizon. Was there time to set us down?

  “Contact sixteen seconds.”

  No time. Where had the missile come from? Who fired it? Never mind that. I jammed my foot on the tail rudder, yanked back on the collective. We veered suddenly to the right and climbed.

  “Radar lock. Contact eleven seconds.”

  “Christ, Seafort, let me take it!” Tolliver leaned across the seat.

  I throttled down, slammed the stick forward. We dropped. The missile made a slight correction to follow us.

  “Contact eight seconds!”

  “You’ll get us killed! Give me the frazzing controls!”

  I shook my head. “No time.”

  Tolliver unhooked my seat belt, hauled me out of my seat with manic strength. “Move!” He threw me aside, swung into the pilot’s seat. At full throttle, he spun us a hundred eighty degrees to face the missile.

  I screamed, “Are you crazy?” Flung against Alexi, I clawed at the handholds.

  “Shut up!” Tolliver’s every muscle was tensed.

  “Contact four seconds. Three.”

  I braced for the inevitable.

  “Two.”

  My heart shot through my throat as we dropped. I could hear the throb of the missile’s engine past the roar of our own. It missed us by scant inches.

  “We have a few seconds to put down,” Tolliver shouted. “Jump the instant we hit!”

  I peered out. “It’s all forest!”

  “There’s got to be someplace flat!”

  “Radar lock!”

  “Christ damn it.” Tolliver banked to get a better view of the terrain. “Look ahead, about half a mile.” A small clearing, light green against the dark of the trees.

  “We don’t have time!”

  “It’ll be close,” Tolliver acknowledged.

  “Contact twelve seconds.”

  “Seafort, get on the horn, tell Centraltown!”

  I cursed; I should have thought of that myself. I reached over the seat, grabbed the caller, trying to remember Naval frequency. No, idiot, use the emergency channel. I thumbed the caller. “Centraltown Control, this is Naval heli eight six oh Alpha, Captain Seafort, we’re under missile attack from unknown source, location approximately one hundred twenty miles west of Hauler’s Rest. Mayday! Mayday!” No answer.

  “Contact nine seconds.”

  We were a few hundred yards from the field, closing with dreamlike slowness. “Hurry, Tolliver!”

  “If I don’t bleed off speed we’ll crash.”

  “Contact six seconds!”

  “Crash, then!” Better that than dissolve in a ball of fire.

  “Hang on!” We swooped toward the field. A hundred yards.

  “Contact three seconds! Two!”

  Tolliver hauled back on the collective. We shot into the air. Through the rear transplex I saw the missile turn upward to correct course. Tolliver slammed down the stick and we fell toward the edge of the field.

  The missile had no time to correct again. It shot over the cab of the heli. A thud, a burst of light. Fire. The engine screamed. The heli lurched, spun, dropped. Tolliver slapped off the switches. “Brace yourselves!”

  We slammed into the ground on our landing gear, bounced, struck again. Flames soared from the mast above the cab.

  “Out! Get out!”

  I flung open the door, stumbled out, rolled away from the blazing heli. Tolliver pushed Alexi out, leaped to follow. He dropped on top of Alexi, jumped to his feet, thrust Alexi clear of the flames.

  We ran.

  Sixty feet away, we turned to look at the fiery wreckage.

  “Jesus, Lord Christ!” I gasped for breath.

  “Amen.” Tolliver was grim.

  “Keep moving, there may be more coming!”

  “Radar showed only one missile, Mr. Seafort.”

  “But who in hell was shooting?”

  Tolliver shrugged. “Mantiet?”

  “But we’re the Government!” I realized how fatuous I sounded. “You’re probably right. He tried to kill us before.”

  Alexi stared at the debris.

  Tolliver asked, “How could he get hold of a missile?”

  “The planters helped move supplies to the Venturas Base.” I kicked at a smoking piece of rotor blade. “Someday I’ll settle with him.”

  “Mantiet may come looking. Let’s get out of here, sir.”

  “He’ll have heard my Mayday. He’ll expect U.N.A.F. to send a heli, fast. I doubt he’ll risk showing himself.”

  Alexi fell to his knees, retching. Tolliver put his hands on Alexi’s shoulders. “Easy, Mr. Tamarov,” he said gently. “We’re safe.”

  I stared, realizing, as I calmed, what Tolliver had done.

  Alexi coughed, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

  Tolliver released him. He glanced up, saw my expression. He faced me and sighed. Slowly he unholstered the laser pistol at his belt, handed it to me, butt first.

  “Follow me.” I turned, strode to the edge of the field without looking back. When we were out of Alexi’s earshot I stopped. My voice grated. “What charges should I file, Lieutenant?”

  “That’s for you to decide, sir.” He was pale.

  “Answer.”

  “Mutiny. Insubordination. Striking a
superior officer. Uninvited physical contact with the commanding officer. Three of them are capital. Does it matter if there are more?”

  I snarled, “If I say so, it matters!”

  “Aye aye, sir!” His eyes held mine. “Disrespectful speech and conduct. Unlawful usurpation of authority. I can’t think of others, sir.”

  “Your excuse?”

  “I have none, sir.”

  “Belay that! Answer!”

  His smile was bitter. “You were always a lousy pilot. You had the lowest ratings in our barracks.” And I’d spent many hours working off demerits as a result.

  “So?”

  “My taking over was our only chance.”

  “You were so sure I couldn’t outmaneuver that missile?”

  “Yes. Weren’t you?”

  I was silent, then sighed. “I should have handed over to you immediately.” I bunched my fists. “But I didn’t.”

  He shook his head. “No, sir. I made a split-second decision. I know the consequences.”

  “Do you?”

  “You’ll have me tried for mutiny or the other capital charges. I have no defense. I’m dead.”

  “Yes.” He winced, but didn’t look away. I turned my back, thrust my hands in my pockets, paced with head down. I wanted so to hurt him, to revenge the humiliations he’d inflicted on me as a cadet. He’d given me an unparalleled opportunity. I could have him put to death, and no one would question my motive. None would know how much my hatred moved me.

  The temptation was unbearable.

  I whirled. “Do you demand court-martial, or will you accept summary punishment?”

  “Summary—?” He gaped, hardly daring to believe his fortune. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Had he chosen court-martial his execution was a foregone conclusion. On the other hand, a commanding officer might issue summary punishment without a trial, but the penalties were far less severe.

  “Very well.” I faced him, hands clasped behind my back. “When were you commissioned lieutenant, Tolliver?”

  “On the way out to Hope Nation, about a year ago. Captain Hawkins—”

  “You’re back to middy, as of today.” My voice was harsh.

  “I’m twenty-five, sir.” Midshipmen who hadn’t yet made lieutenant by that age rarely did so after, and we both knew promotion to lieutenant was the ambition of every midshipman’s life.

  “You heard me,” I said. He’d unceremoniously hauled me from my seat. That couldn’t be borne.

  His jaw clenched. “Aye aye, sir.”

  “You’re docked two months pay, and I reprimand you for insolence. You’ll have to sign acknowledgment, of course. If you prefer, you go to court-martial.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” He stared at the ground. “Thank you,” he muttered at last. I understood. Though the reprimand and loss of rank would blight his career, he was fortunate to escape with his life.

  I blurted, “God, I despise you!”

  A momentary look of dismay flitted across his features, but he said only, “Yes, sir.” I held his eye a moment longer, then stalked back to the clearing. Tolliver followed.

  Alexi waited, pale but composed, near the wreckage of our heli. “What do we do now, Mr. Seafort?”

  “We—” I looked around. “Anyone know where we are?”

  “About thirty miles south of Hopewell Plantation,” said Tolliver. I marveled that while jinking the aircraft to avoid an incoming missile he still kept track of his position.

  “Too far to walk,” I said.

  “Did you hear an answer to your Mayday, sir?”

  “No.” I found my legs trembling; I squatted against a tree. “We should wait, I suppose.” As soon as I spoke I realized it was foolish. As my Mayday hadn’t been acknowledged, help lay elsewhere. “Which way to Plantation Road?”

  “It should be north, sir.”

  “How far?”

  Tolliver looked at me strangely. “About thirty miles, sir.” Of course. The road ran directly in front of Hopewell Plantation, and he’d just told me the distance.

  I got to my feet. My chest ached. “If they didn’t catch our signal we’ll need to hike out. The sooner we start, the better our chances.”

  Tolliver ventured, “But if they did hear us, we’ll lose them in the woods.”

  “It’s my decision, Midshipman.” My tone was curt.

  Tolliver’s look was sullen, but he said at once, “Aye aye, sir.”

  “We have no food or water,” Alexi said.

  “No.” We hadn’t carried much in the way of supplies, and the heli’s emergency kits were lost in the fiery wreckage. We would probably run across a stream, but we’d have to do without food. Two days walk. Surely we could manage that. “Let’s go, then.”

  Tolliver looked back at the smoldering heli. “We should leave a signal.”

  He was right. “An arrow, scratched into the turf?”

  “There’s scrap metal from the rotor housing. We could use pieces to make a sign.”

  “Very well.” He gathered the scraps and arranged them in an unmistakable arrow, pointing north. When he was done we trudged across the clearing. I stopped at the far edge to stare back at the wreckage. If it weren’t for Tolliver we’d be cremated in what was left of the heli, yet I’d savaged him for saving us.

  We hiked into the silent woods.

  11

  I SET THE PACE, doing my best to hide my weariness. It was late afternoon; we kept the sun on our left. If we headed north, eventually we’d cross Plantation Road.

  Alexi said, “Mr. Seafort, why does Mantiet want you dead?”

  “I don’t know. Leave me be.” I tried to ignore his hurt expression.

  For two hours we pushed through dense brush. In the hilly terrain the vegetation was fiercely competitive. Above, vines drooped from thick ropy limbs of towering trees. We had to duck under, climb through, brush aside undergrowth with each step.

  “What’s that?” Tolliver.

  I stopped to listen. It might have been rotor blades, far in the distance.

  “Should we go back?” Alexi asked.

  “We’d lose two hours, if no one’s there. Let’s go on.”

  The sun was noticeably lower; I wondered how much farther we’d get before nightfall. And how long my stamina would last.

  As I flagged, Tolliver took the lead and began holding vines aside so I wouldn’t have to stoop. We made better progress. My breath rasping, I did my best to keep up.

  A distant sound became a rumble, then the unmistakable whap of heli blades overhead. We stopped, listened. I squinted at the canopy above but could see nothing through the dense foliage. Above, the heli circled.

  “Find a clearing.”

  Tolliver peered in all directions, then pointed. “Perhaps that way, sir. The light seems a little brighter.”

  “Hurry.” We stumbled through the silent vegetation.

  The heli blades receded, returned. Finally we reached the spot we sought, but the canopy there was only slightly thinner. We couldn’t be seen from above. “Isn’t there another place—”

  Tolliver waved us silent. “Listen!”

  A woman’s voice was almost lost in the engine’s drone. “Captain Seafort! Return to your heli! We can’t find you in the trees!”

  I cursed. We’d come too far to retrace our steps by nightfall.

  Tolliver said, “U.N.A.F. would have gear to locate us, wouldn’t they? Infra sensors and the like.”

  As if in reply the voice from the heli resumed. “Captain Seafort, can you show yourself? This is Laura Triforth. We heard your Mayday. Return to your heli or show yourself. Signal with a flare or fire.” The message repeated, sometimes almost directly above us, sometimes distant as the heli roved above us.

  “We don’t have a flare or fire,” Alexi muttered.

  “I know. Head north, and hope we find a clearing.” We resumed our trek. After a time, the growl of the heli faded.

  I struggled to keep up. It was darkening fast, and still we groped through
thick vegetation. “I need to go slower,” I panted. The admission came unwilling from my lips.

  Obediently Tolliver slowed.

  Eons later, engine sounds overhead. A heli. I peered at the darkening sky.

  A speaker crackled. “Captain Seafort, this is U.N.A.F. rescue heli three oh two. We are above you and tracking. Proceed northeast about half a mile; we should be able to see you.”

  Thank Lord God. With renewed strength we veered to the east in the fading light. After half an hour the disembodied voice guided us again, toward a clearing visible from the air. Dizzy and sweating, I staggered into the welcome glade. An outcrop of rock formed a steep hill, where the tall trees couldn’t root. It was fully dark.

  Two helis circled overhead. One swooped low, its floodlight searching. We waved until it fastened on us. The heli dropped lower, and the speaker boomed. “Captain, we can’t hear you from here. Is anyone injured? Hold your arms straight out for yes, up for no.” I swung my arms up. “We read a negative. Do you have food or water?” Again I raised my arms. “No food or water. We can’t land here, Captain; there’s no level ground. It would be safer to wait until daylight and lower you a rope. Can you wait until morning?” I held my arms straight out.

  “Don’t worry, Captain, we won’t abandon you. I’ll remain overhead for now. The second heli is returning for emergency supplies. We’ll drop you what you need for the night. Remain in the clearing.” I signaled affirmatively to show I understood, then let my arms sag. Trembling, I let myself down. The ground was cold and damp.

  “You all right, sir?” Tolliver.

  “Yes.”

  “You look ill.”

  I waved him away. He squatted, waiting.

  My teeth chattered. I sat hunched against the cold while the pilot circled endlessly overhead. From time to time he aimed his searchlight; one of us waved. It seemed forever before the second heli returned.

  I stared upward at the two searchlights circling in the darkness overhead. One of the helis began a cautious descent. The speaker blared. “Captain, we’ll lower your supplies. Stand clear; we’ll cut the line when the pack is near the ground.” I gripped Alexi’s arm, pulled myself to my feet. From the heli bay a large bundle began to emerge, swinging with the motion of the airship.