The Fighter Queen

by John Bowers

  Johnny felt weak. His heart still hammered from the close call, his mouth so dry his tongue seemed stuck to his lips. He had the awful feeling that he could use at least an hour in the head.

  Checking his nav holo, he wasn't sure of his position, especially in relation to the rest of the squadron. By now several more pairs of PFs would have hit the target, but where were Onja and Tommy?

  * * *

  Flying strictly on jets, Tommy Royal had pulled up to twenty-six thousand feet, closely monitoring his cockpit sensors and taking readings from his AI. It quickly became apparent that his problems weren't over; not only had the port rocket engine failed, but his port jet engine had also sustained damage. It was still turning, but the temperature had risen alarmingly. Tommy gritted his teeth and began to sweat. He leveled off at thirty thousand and babied his engines, flying back into the rainstorm to cool the portside jet. As yet he was still unaware of Johnny's problems.

  But Onja was aware of them. Her VR holo showed Johnny's sudden desperate climb, and she could see why — three GAMs were after him, and Onja felt her heart stop. If he was triangulated …

  She wanted to call out to him, but years of experience told her he had his hands full — he didn't need advice from a spectator. Instead she watched silently, following him electronically, and prayed to every god and goddess she knew of. She saw him elude the first two and then begin his twisting, dodging run to safety from the third.

  She didn't see how it ended, for at that moment her own alarms went off. Swinging around to her other holo, she saw a GAM streaking up from the surface after her and Tommy.

  "Incoming, Tommy!"

  Tommy already knew; his HH showed the rapidly closing missile. He quickly forgot about babying his engine and banked hard left, away from the GAM, jamming maximum throttle to both jets. He managed to make mach 2.2, but that was all. He climbed, but the GAM was still closing. He turned and dove again, turning left, trying to keep the damned thing behind him. If he turned the other way, the missile would cut him off, so he kept bearing left, watching the temperature climb into the red on the port engine.

  "This isn't looking too good, Major!" he reported tersely. "You better stand by to eject!"

  "I'm not ejecting over Sirian territory," she told him bluntly. "I'll go down with the ship first."

  "Better to get captured than to get killed!" he said.

  "There's a price on my head, Tommy. You know what they'll do to me."

  "I know. But they won't kill you. I don't want you to die, Onja."

  "Then outrun that missile!"

  He tried. He really tried. As the warhead approached ever closer he lit the starboard rocket, letting it push him to the left. At least it was pushing him away from the GAM.

  But it wasn't enough. To outrun one of those things you needed both rockets, and it didn't hurt to have a good head start. Thirty thousand feet wasn't much of a lead.

  * * *

  "Joanne, can you pick out the Major's fighter?" Johnny asked as he skimmed the tops of the clouds at forty-three thousand. "We need to form up on them."

  There was a brief hesitation, then his gunner's voice came back, fraught with tension.

  "They're about ninety miles dead ahead, Johnny! God, it looks like they've got one after them, too! They're evading, but it's gonna get them!"

  Johnny's heart froze, and he increased thrust on his rockets. Five seconds later he saw them burst out of the clouds thirty miles ahead, a single plume of rocket exhaust gleaming in the sunlight. He frowned; why weren't there two rocket exhausts? He began to climb after them, closing the range to twenty miles.

  Johnny saw Tommy climb to sixty thousand, staggering to the left in a steady slow turn, depending on a single rocket engine. He also saw smoke trailing from the port side. The jet engine was billowing black smoke, and then he knew they'd taken some kind of damage on their attack run.

  "Look out, Johnny! The missile …"

  He saw it through the cockpit window on the left, a pencil line of white exhaust as it leaped out of the clouds and continued to pursue his flight leader …

  … as it continued to pursue Aunt Onja.

  Johnny saw the weapon's incredible speed and intuitively realized that Tommy Royal wasn't climbing nearly fast enough. He didn't have a prayer of outrunning that thing. In fifteen seconds, maybe twenty …

  Johnny made no conscious decision. Without warning he veered hard left, into the path of the rising GAM. He passed across its trajectory, within five thousand feet, then jammed jets and rockets to maximum thrust, driving everything past the red line, ignoring his AI's squawks of protest. Joanne's gasp over his headset told him she realized what he was doing, but there was no time to worry about her. Right or wrong, he'd done it, and there was no taking it back.

  Now he had to fly.

  * * *

  The GAM's sensors picked up the new heat source and took a fresh fix, breaking the lock on Tommy Royal's crippled fighter. Now the GAM twisted after the new, closer target, and the chase was on.

  Johnny had no time to climb. Instead, he punched over and screamed for the ground, pulling six G's as he doubled the redline speed set by the Lincoln engineers for that altitude. The GAM followed, momentarily unable to close, but keeping up. Johnny felt sweat slide down his face into his collar, felt the PF buck and protest. He retracted wings to fifteen percent to reduce drag, barely enough to maintain lift, and as the ground rushed at him on his HH he sensed the missile begin to lose ground.

  Then the mountains were right in front of him. He leveled off at three thousand, dodging and turning as he danced between the peaks. Ground fire began to reach for him, including several laser beams, but he was going far too fast to track.

  But the missile was still there; Johnny rolled to the right and streaked down a narrow mountain valley in Confederate territory, dimly aware of rain‑soaked villages and towns that swept past beneath him. The missile was still on his tail, and a quick glance at his fuel revealed that he had perhaps three minutes of rocket fuel remaining. Not really enough to regain orbit, unless he climbed to extreme altitude on jets first. That's what he would do, but first he had to lose that missile.

  Dead ahead, appearing out of the rain and mist, Johnny saw a glimmer of light. A second later the light became a gout of flame pouring from a smokestack. It was some sort of factory, perhaps a war production plant. Johnny flew directly over it and immediately cut all engines, canceling his heat trail. At the same instant he opened wings to eighty percent and pulled up, his extreme airspeed lifting him like a glider, and banked hard right, soaring up to nine thousand feet within seconds.

  It worked. The GAM lost sight of the PF when the engines quit — and found the towering flame from the smokestack. The GAM's heat sensors locked on and it dived into the factory, obliterating two thirds of the installation in an explosion that rocked the mountainsides.

  As the shock wave reached him, Johnny reignited his jets and began to climb, trembling with adrenaline. He climbed hard to get above effective GAM range. He had neither the fuel nor the desire to outrun another one. Within moments he burst out of the clouds into the sunshine … and still he climbed, until he reached ninety thousand, where he leveled out and began breathing again.

  Gradually, reality began to seep back to him, and he heard transmissions over his radio again. Over his intercom, he could hear Joanne sobbing in the back. He didn't blame her; he felt drained.

  "Royal Flush, Timberwolf," he transmitted, hearing the quaver in his own voice. "Where the hell are you?"

  * * *

  Tommy Royal used his starboard jet to limp back to an altitude from which he might achieve orbit. The rest of the squadron had caught up, minus Timberwolf and one fighter that had fallen to laser fire, and Onja ordered them back to the carrier, under Captain Najarian's command. They went on their way, leaving the command fighter behind. If Tommy and Onja failed to make orbit, they could always land at a base in Federation territory.

  When Johnny Lin
coln II called, Tommy gave him a fix, and in short order the two fighters were again in pair formation. With Johnny at his side, Tommy fired his starboard rocket one last time and struggled toward orbit. He made it with very little fuel to spare. Johnny arrived with empty tanks, but once in space both ships switched to their ion engines.

  Johnny landed first, in case the cripple should crash and block the flight deck. He was recovered and whisked away to the hangar deck to await Onja and Tommy. As soon as he shut down systems, Johnny sat back in his seat and closed his eyes, totally wasted.

  His first mission.

  If every day was going to be like this, he wanted to go home.

  Right now.

  The hatch to the gun turret popped open and Joanne Lewis stumbled out. She dropped off the wing to the deck, tugged off her helmet, and looked around the hangar deck as though she'd never expected to see it again. Johnny released his harness, popped his own hatch, and climbed out onto the wing. The girl looked at him with an expression he'd never seen before. Wordlessly, as Tommy Royal's fighter rolled off the lift toward its parking space, Johnny jumped off the wing and stood in front of Joanne.

  "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

  She stared at him in silence for perhaps five seconds, her eyes haunted, her lips twitching. That she was upset was obvious, and Johnny reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

  "You son of a bitch!" she screamed, flinging her helmet into his chest. "Who the hell do you think you are?" Her face had gone ugly.

  "Joanne …"

  "You almost killed me down there! If you want to be some goddamned hero, go ahead! But I'm a part of this crew, too! You didn't even ask me!"

  "There wasn't time …"

  "Shut up!" She glared at him with horror in her eyes, tears streaking her cheeks. "Don't talk to me! Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't touch me! I hate you!"

  Johnny stared at her in shock. At his elbow, he was suddenly aware of Onja Kvoorik's arrival. He glanced at her guiltily, then back at Joanne, who stood trembling with a complexity of emotions.

  "Are you okay, Lieutenant Lewis?" Onja asked gently.

  Joanne snapped to attention, still trembling, and snapped off a salute, her eyes now staring at a point in the distance.

  "Permission to be excused please, Major?" Her voice cracked as she said it.

  Onja returned the salute quickly and nodded.

  "Permission granted."

  Joanne snapped her arm down and spun on her heel, running toward the exit that would take her back to quarters. Johnny watched her go, torn between anguish and relief. At the moment he didn't really know how he felt about his gunner, but it was crystal clear how she felt about him.

  "Well, Johnny," Onja said, and he turned to face her, still stunned by Joanne's verbal attack.

  But Onja was smiling. Really smiling. She reached up and kissed him firmly on the cheek.

  "It's been more than eighteen years since I've seen anyone fly the way you flew today. I literally owe you my life."

  Johnny felt a warm glow spread through him, replacing the ambivalence of moments earlier. Coming from the Fighter Queen, those were words of high praise.

  "Thank you, Major," he said, keeping militarily correct, at least in Tommy Royal's presence.

  "I couldn't be prouder if you were my own son. You are definitely Johnny Lincoln's kid."

  He lowered his head and grinned, feeling foolish.

  "I take it you didn't consult with your gunner before running interference for us?"

  He shook his head. "There wasn't time. That missile was about five seconds away from your afterburners."

  Onja glanced at Tommy, who stood grinning at the rookie pilot.

  "At the risk of offending Lieutenant Royal," she said, "I don't think there's another pilot in the Fighter Service who could have done what you did today."

  "Best natural pilot I've ever seen," Tommy Royal agreed.

  "I'm dying to hear the details," Onja added. "But I'll wait to hear it at debrief. Which is where we should be right now. Let's go."

  Chapter 21

  UFF George Bush, Parking Orbit, Sirius 1

  After debrief, Onja returned to her office. The moment she arrived, her squadron clerk alerted her to an urgent dispatch that had come in while the squadron was out. Onja took the data chip to her desk and plugged it into the viewer.

  The message was short, terse, and to the point. As Onja read it she sagged into her chair, her previously high spirits giving way to a sense of despair. After all they'd been through already this day, it had to end with this.

  She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry. Sometimes being the CO was more trouble than it was worth.

  She placed a call to General Osato, then printed a hardcopy of the dispatch. Feeling a weight upon her chest, she left the office again and headed for quarters.

  Tommy Royal was just getting into a clean uniform, his hair still damp from the shower. He grinned when Onja entered the bedroom, reached out and slapped her on the bottom.

  "Hey, Major. Decide to take a couple hours off for some of my famous loving?"

  Onja didn't answer right away. He moved in front of the mirror and ran a styler through his hair.

  "I can take this uniform off," he added. "I know how combat affects you sometimes."

  "Sit down, Tommy."

  He turned abruptly, arrested by her tone. His grin faded when he saw her eyes.

  "What is it?" he asked. "Bad news?"

  "Sit down," she repeated.

  He looked at her in alarm. His tongue unconsciously traced his lips as he settled onto the edge of his rack. She held out the dispatch. He took it uncertainly, glanced at her again, then bent to read it. Twenty seconds later he put it down and took a deep breath, biting his lip.

  "Tommy, I'm so sorry!" Onja whispered.

  He nodded, still biting his lip. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side.

  "Both of them!" he gasped. "Just like that!"

  "Tommy …"

  "You know, I told him! I told Dad last time I was home. He should replace that turbine. It was flaky even then, and that was over three years ago. But he always figured he could fix anything."

  Onja put both hands on his shoulders and bent to kiss the top of his head. He lowered his face and placed one hand across it, trying to fight back his emotions.

  "I talked to General Osato. They're going to separate you from the service as soon as you get back to Luna," she told him, aware that at the moment he probably didn't care. "You don't have to finish the war. You've done an outstanding job. We can take it from here. The younger kids at home need you."

  He nodded, unable to speak. Onja sat down and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.

  "I'll miss you, Tommy."

  He nodded again, wiping tears from his eyes. He looked at her with all his feelings on display.

  "Not half as much as I'll miss you," he said in a choked voice. "God, I love you!"

  "I love you, too, Tommy. Not in the same way, but you know I do." She kissed him gently. "I'll look you up after the war."

  "I'll hold you to that." He tried to grin. "Who's gonna keep your beautiful ass out of trouble without me around?"

  "I'll find somebody. I always find somebody."

  She stroked his hair in a motherly way.

  "I'd rather lose you this way than the other way. You're only the second one to get out of my cockpit in one piece, did you know that?"

  "Believe me, Onja, the risk was worth it. I'd be willing to pilot you anywhere. Even into hell."

  "We've already been there, Tommy."

  He nodded. "Yeah. Well, you take care of yourself. I don't want to hear about you going down in flames, you understand?"

  "Tommy, I've fought too many battles and traveled too many parsecs to get killed now. When this thing is over, I'll still be standing. That's a promise."

  * * *

  "What's the problem?" Onja asked, pinning the girl in t
he chair with her direct gaze. She could hardly believe how her day was going.

  "I don't want to fly with Lieutenant Lincoln any more," Joanne Lewis said uncomfortably.

  Onja's gaze didn't waver.

  "He scared you down there today."

  "Yes, Ma'am. He scared the hell out of me."

  "Combat can be pretty scary, Lieutenant."

  "Yes, Ma'am, but — Major, we almost died today. On our first mission! I understand the risks, and I know people die. I can accept reasonable risks, but he was crazy!"

  Onja said nothing, waiting her out.

  "I'm glad he was able to pull that GAM off your fighter. But it scared me. Scared me really bad. I felt … I don't know, I felt … used! He didn't ask my opinion, he just did it. And he put my life in danger when he did. I'm sorry if that sounds selfish, but …"

  Onja shook her head.

  "I understand what you're saying. I should point out, though, that he really is an exceptional pilot. I don't know anyone else who could have done what he did today."

  Joanne nodded slowly.

  "I always knew that. But he knows it, too. I'm afraid he'll take unnecessary chances. I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I don't want to die with him."

  "All right. I can send you to the gunnery pool until we find you another pilot. Is that acceptable?"

  "I guess so. I'd rather be flying, but — not with Lincoln."

  "Okay. Clear out your gear. We have replacements coming in a few days, so you'll get a shot at a new pilot then."

  "Thank you, Major." The girl stood and saluted, then she was gone.

  * * *

  "You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?" Onja looked up at Johnny Lincoln II from her office chair and returned his salute.

  "Yes, Ma'am!"

  "At ease. Sit down."

  Johnny dropped into the chair facing her and regarded her frankly, observing military protocol to the hilt.

  "What's on your mind?" Onja asked, feeling drained and depressed, wishing she could curl up in a hot bath twenty light years from the war and never have to go back.

  "Permission to speak —"

  "Fuck that!" she snapped in sudden irritation. "Just talk to me."