The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

  "Yes, sir. Probably. But you aren't my pilot."

  He kissed her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth. His right hand moved down between her thighs and began rubbing her, making her squirm. She broke the kiss and turned her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. Hinds wiped her face with his left hand.

  "Hey, what are these tears all about?" he asked softly. "Am I that ugly?"

  "N-No, sir."

  "I've already given you a promotion. I've rescued you from months of drudgery. I can do a lot more for you, Wendy. All you have to do is be nice to me once in a while."

  If he'd made her nervous before, now she was literally afraid of him. But what could she do? He was a very big man, a physically powerful man, and even with her combat training she knew she was no match for him if it came to that.

  She groped for something to say, but he wasn't waiting for that. He was already tugging her panties off, and when he climbed onto the rack she discovered he'd removed his pants before he woke her.

  "Please don't order me to do this, Colonel!" she sobbed.

  "I won't. I can't order you to do this against your will." He settled his body down onto hers, effectively pinning her under his weight. "It has to be voluntary. All I'm asking is that you keep an open mind."

  He sucked her ear into his mouth, then walked his lips down her neck, stopping at the hollow of her throat, where he sucked gently. Wendy stared blindly into the darkness, sobs wracking her chest.

  "Colonel — I'm still a virgin!"

  Hinds stopped and raised his head, holding perfectly still for ten seconds.

  "In that case," he said, "this is truly your lucky day."

  Chapter 11

  Saturday, 15 August, 0240 (PCC) — UFF George Bush, Parking Orbit, Vega 3

  The Sophia Alps stretched across Vega like the spine of a prehistoric animal, effectively splitting the continent in two. The Southern Plain and all points south were now in Federation hands, but the densely populated north was still a hornet's nest of hostile defenders. The Alps themselves bristled with Vegan mountain troops, making it extremely difficult to cross them without making airdrops in the north.

  The Sirians had faced the same problem in 0195, and elected to fight their way through the Alps rather than split their forces. They had badly underestimated the Vegan Guard, however, and paid the price in blood. The Federation had no intention of repeating that mistake. With fresh transports arriving almost daily, a massive landing was planned north of the Alps. Those holding the mountains would be isolated and starved out.

  ZF-111 flew close ground support for several days prior to the landings, attacking ground to air missile (GAM) sites and disrupting the flow of supplies. It was dangerous, dirty work, but necessary. Onja lost two pilots and two gunners to ground fire, and was lucky at that — other squadrons fared worse.

  Onja stepped down from her gun turret at the end of the final mission of the day and sagged against Tommy Royal. He slipped an arm around her as they walked toward the exit from the hangar deck.

  "Long day, Major."

  "They keep getting longer, Tommy."

  Debrief was numbing, and Onja got away as quickly as possible. She showered, changed into a fresh uniform, and reported to her office. She was several days behind on datawork. It was nice to be the CO, but life had been much simpler when she had nothing to do but eat, sleep, and fly missions.

  She'd barely settled behind her desk when a knock came at the door, and Lt. Wendy Smith stepped inside. Onja looked up.

  "Colonel Hinds sends his compliments to the Major," she said woodenly, "and requests the pleasure of her company for dinner at 1900 hours."

  Onja stared at the young woman a moment and her eyes narrowed.

  "Front and center, Lieutenant," she said quietly.

  Lt. Smith stepped forward and came to attention.

  "At ease."

  Wendy Smith looked like a shell of the girl who, six days ago, had been bubbly and giggling at Onja's birthday party. Dark rings under her eyes left the impression she'd been ill for months, and her listless expression screamed that something was wrong.

  "What's the matter, Lieutenant?"

  "Ma'am?" Wendy Smith's eyes looked suddenly fearful.

  "You look like hell," Onja said. "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Yes, Ma'am. I feel fine. Thank you for asking."

  Onja regarded her for a moment, then leaned back in her chair.

  "Sit down."

  "Ma'am, Colonel Hinds is expecting me to …"

  "Sit down, Wendy. I'll cover for you with the colonel."

  The girl settled onto the edge of a chair, her body rigid. Onja saw her tremble slightly. Whatever was bothering her, she was barely holding it together.

  "Talk to me, Wendy. Something is seriously wrong. What is it?"

  "It's nothing, Major. I'm … I-I mean…"

  "Something has happened to you. And you're scared. What is it?"

  The girl closed her eyes and swallowed.

  "Ma'am, I r-really can't t-talk about it."

  Onja leaned forward, her hands flat on her desk.

  "Yes you can. There's no one here but you and me, and you can trust me completely."

  Tears slid down Wendy Smith's cheeks, and she blinked them away. Onja saw misery in her eyes. Her lips parted, her chin trembled, and she began to sob. It took her a moment to regain control, and when she did she gazed into Onja's eyes again.

  "I'm sorry, Major. It's just … I'm so terribly afraid!"

  * * *

  Onja didn't bother to knock on Hinds's door — she just walked in. He was at his desk, and looked up. He hid his surprise with a small grin.

  "Onja! Did Lieutenant Smith find you? I sent her with message."

  "She found me, Jack. Dinner at 1900?"

  "Yes, if you feel up to it. I thought you could use a relaxing evening."

  Onja nodded, her posture stiff. She was standing at parade rest.

  "I could use a relaxing evening," she said.

  Hinds nodded, then glanced around her at the doorway.

  "Did you happen to see which way Wendy went when she left your office? She was due back here thirty minutes ago."

  "She's resting in sickbay, Jack. She won't be coming back today."

  His brow knitted and his eyes narrowed.

  "What's wrong with her?"

  "Aside from the fact that you've raped her six nights in a row, she's doing quite well."

  "Raped her?" He grimaced. "Is that what she told you?"

  "That's what the physical exam concluded," Onja said. "Severe vaginal bruising and lacerations, severe physical exhaustion, severe emotional distress." Onja's blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Anything to say, Jack?"

  Hinds stood up, rising to his full six feet two.

  "I think it's time you called me 'colonel'," he said. "I smell disrespect in the air."

  "You got that right!" she said angrily. "We're back to square one, Jack. Just like we were nineteen years ago. You're still the son of a bitch I remember."

  "Now what the fuck are you talking about? You and I have been getting along great!"

  "Yes, we have. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, because even the Fighter Queen can make a mistake. You didn't deny that you wanted to get into my pants, but I even overlooked that. I was even thinking about giving you what you want, but you couldn't wait, could you? You went and jumped a nineteen year-old rookie gunner! A virgin, no less!"

  "Listen, Onja …"

  "Goddammit, Jack! What goes on in your fucking head? There are Pink Ladies on this ship! Use them!"

  Hinds took the time to draw a deep breath to suffuse his anger.

  "You're making some serious allegations here," he said. "What are you planning to do with them?"

  Onja took a step forward, up against his desk.

  "Think back to the first time we met at 131," she said. "You remember?"

  "Of course I remember."

  "You were suspicious of my si
mulator scores, you were suspicious of my Vegan heritage, you even called me an enemy agent. Remember?"

  He nodded. "So?"

  "Do you remember asking me about the drill instructor I killed? I told you I'd been cleared of that."

  "I remember! Get to the point!"

  "He was a lot like you, Jack. I killed him because he was raping female recruits. I put a bayonet straight through his fucking heart!"

  Hinds's eyes widened marginally. "You admit you murdered him?"

  "I admit nothing! The case is closed, it was a training accident."

  "You just told me you killed him on purpose."

  "Prove it. You repeat it, I'll deny it. And who do you think they're going to believe? Some two-bit pussy colonel or the Fighter Queen?"

  Hinds's face slowly turned crimson. He only glared at her.

  "Lieutenant Smith doesn't want to press charges," Onja said. "She wants a transfer to another carrier, and if I were you, I'd give it to her."

  He frowned, then shrugged. "Okay, fine."

  "And if I ever hear that you've raped another girl, or even pressured her into going to bed with you, I will personally stick a bayonet through your fucking heart!"

  Onja turned and walked to the door, then looked back.

  "As you were!"

  Sunday, 16 August, 0240 (PCC) — Camp Hope, Missibama, Sirius 1

  The barrack room was filled with tobacco smoke; fifteen soldiers sat or lounged around in various states of undress. A naked slave girl lay on a nearby bunk, resting on her elbow as she watched a crap game in progress. Capt. Easton had the dice, shook them vigorously, and tossed them against the wall. A shout went up from some of the men, a groan from others, and money changed hands.

  Landon stepped through the doorway with a bottle of Lightning in his hand, and stood silently. The noise began to abate as the infantrymen noticed him, and finally Easton twisted around to look over his shoulder.

  "Private party?" Landon asked casually.

  Easton glanced about the room. "Well, there goes the neighborhood!"

  The men laughed uneasily. Easton met Landon's eyes.

  "Are you expecting me to salute, Colonel? I'm a little busy right now."

  "Actually, I was more interested in having a drink." Landon held up the bottle so all the men could see. Several pairs of eyes glazed in anticipation of a shot of alcohol.

  "Well, goddamn!" Easton rose to his feet, pushed a soldier off a chair, and turned it around for Landon. "Welcome to the party, Colonel! Rodriguez, go see if you can rustle up some cups. Is there enough for everyone, Colonel?"

  "It's a full quart," Landon said. "Enough for a shot, anyway."

  Rodriguez returned a moment later with a stack of paper cups and passed them out. Landon dutifully splashed a little liquor into each man's cup, including a double shot for Easton.

  "Compliments of the Fighter Service," he said.

  Easton held up his cup in a toast. "To the flyboys!" he said, and everyone drank.

  Landon handed the bottle to Easton. "For later," he said.

  "So, where'd you get the bottle, Colonel? From Krieger?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes."

  Easton's eyes widened. "No shit? You two must be pretty good buds!"

  "We have a similar perspective on a lot of things."

  The two men regarded each other for a moment. Easton spoke first.

  "Well, thanks for the drink. It's been a long time for all of us."

  Landon eyed Easton narrowly.

  "Krieger knows about your planned escape," he said without preamble.

  The room went absolutely still. Fifteen men exchanged glances, then watched Easton for his reaction. The captain never took his eyes off Landon.

  "How'd he find out? You tell him?"

  "How the hell could I tell him? You never told me."

  "Maybe some of those fucking jarheads told you."

  "Maybe they did. But you should have told me yourself, Captain. You shouldn't keep your CO in the dark."

  Easton shook his head slowly. "You ain't my CO, Colonel. I already told you that."

  "You're going to get your people killed, Easton. Every last one of them."

  "They're my men. My responsibility is to them, not to you."

  "As the ranking prisoner in this camp, I'll be held accountable after liberation if you lead them into a slaughter."

  "I'll give you a letter to cover your ass."

  "Which will only prove that I knew your intentions. Won't fly."

  "Then I'll testify at your star-court."

  "You won't be alive at my star-court. Your bones will be scattered all over the Outback."

  "That's your opinion. We'll make it."

  "You'll have space fighters all over you. They'll shoot the shit out of you before you get within a thousand miles of the Outback." Landon stood and looked at the men around the room. "Listen to me, all of you. Your captain means well, but this is suicide."

  "We gotta get out of here, Colonel!" a private said. "When liberation comes, how do we know the Sirians won't kill us?"

  "Why would they keep you alive this long just to kill you? We haven't been treated that badly. Hell, they feed us, they house us, they even give us women. The only thing they ask in return is a little farm labor a few months out of the year, and even that isn't excessive."

  "Colonel," Easton sneered, "you sound like a commercial for the Confederacy! You gone over to the other side?"

  Landon pinned him with a cold stare. "I'll pretend you didn't say that," he said.

  The silence stretched for several seconds, tense and strained.

  "You can come with us, Colonel. You and all the jarheads. There's enough men in the camp to make up a full battalion. We could operate as guerillas, disrupt the enemy a little."

  "You're dreaming," Landon insisted. "How're you going to arm even a hundred men? Where will you get supplies? The Outback is a wasteland, from what I've heard. No cities down there, no supply depots. Just a few scattered prospectors and scientists. Who, incidentally, will sound the alarm if they spot you."

  "It's every soldier's duty to escape if captured," Easton said.

  "Granted. If you want to escape after the fleet arrives, then I might be persuaded. But not until there's some chance of making contact with friendly forces."

  "Hell, that might take years!"

  "It's my understanding that we're on Vega right now. The whole system is cut off. Half the planet is in our hands already, so I'm willing to bet we'll start seeing space strikes here in another year."

  "We've been here four years, Colonel!" a corporal complained.

  "The Star Marines have been here eight," Landon told him. "I've been here ten, and other camps before this. Nineteen years in all."

  The corporal's eyes widened in wonder.

  "We can wait one more year," Landon told him. "Even two."

  "And what if you're wrong?" Easton asked.

  "Then your men will be bored, but alive."

  Easton seemed to waver, but shook his head slowly. His men were watching, and he dared not show any weakness.

  "We've been planning this for some time," he said. "We're almost ready to go."

  "Then put the plans on ice. We can still use them, when the time is right."

  "I dunno …"

  A movement at the door pushed a soldier aside, and two Star Marines stepped through.

  "Look at it this way, Captain," Rocky Yamaguchi said, "there's six hundred Star Marines in this camp, and we ain't gonna let you go."

  Easton's eyes narrowed. "You think the Infantry cares what you guys think?"

  "We outnumber you," Kevin Willis told him. "Six to one. I was you, sir, I wouldn't want to test those odds. After all, we're supposed to be on the same side."

  "It won't do no harm to wait," Yamaguchi added.

  "So how about it, Captain?" Landon said. "Can I count on you to postpone your plans?"

  Easton looked angry, but after a moment's thought, he simply shrugged
.

  "One year," he said. "After that, all bets are off."

  Book Three: Conquest

  Chapter 12

  Monday, 15 February, 0241 (PCC) — UFF George Bush, Parking Orbit, Vega 3

  Onja Kvoorik knocked once on Col. Hinds's door and stepped inside. He was standing at the observation port, gazing down at the planet, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned as she entered and a cloud passed over his face. They'd had little to say to each other since the Wendy Smith incident, and then only in the line of duty. Onja was certain Hinds now hated her more than she hated him, which was a relief in its own way.

  "Permission to speak to the Colonel," she said crisply, standing at parade rest.

  "What is it?"

  "Sir, I'd like to request some time off."

  Hinds peered suspiciously at her, his expression close to a scowl.

  "We're in the middle of a war, Major. Your squadron isn't scheduled for R & R for several months yet."

  "I'm aware of that sir. But I need to make planetfall."

  He strolled over to his desk and settled into his chair, his fingers steepled.

  "For what purpose?"

  "As you are aware, sir, I was born on Vega 3. I still have family down there. I'd like to see if I can locate them."

  Hinds shook his head. "I thought your family were taken as slaves."

  Onja's eyes widened fractionally. "How did you know that? I never told you."

  "I believe Ursula mentioned it. Years ago. In any case, if you have any family, I would expect you to be looking for them on Sirius, when we get there."

  "I will be. But my father is still on Vega."

  "If he's still alive, you mean."

  "Yes, sir. That's what I need to find out."

  Hinds sighed. "Well, you picked a piss-poor time for it. We still have the Washboard Mountains to clean out and I need your squadron for ground support."

  "Captain Najarian is more than capable of handling the squadron in my absence. I've already discussed it with him."

  "How much time do you need?"

  "I don't know exactly. A few days, maybe a week. We've captured Reina, and that was my home."

  Hinds spun his chair to stare out at the planet again, his expression guarded.

  "How long since you've seen him?"