Rawlins, Zentraedi Triumvirate: Dolza, Breetai, Khyron
Rick, Ben, and Max-the newly formed Black Team-were ordered to defensive positions in the Fourth Quadrant, close to the fortress and too far from the main fighting to suit Dixon. He was anxious to get into the thick of it.
Below them, between the SDF-1 and Mars, Skull, Red, and the other squadrons were engaging enemy pods. From his vantage point, Rick could make out a cat's cradle of interlacing laser light punctuated by brief spherical flashes of death, but most of the battle information came to him via the aircom net. It was beginning to sound like the boys had the enemy on the run; indeed, the explosive bursts seemed to indicate that the pods had fallen back to positions closer to the planetary rim.
As the exchanges continued to diminish in size and frequency, Rick
began to worry that Gloval was permitting the VTs to fly right into a trap, or worse, that he had ordered offensive action against one of the mother ships. Dixon was ready to join them nevertheless.
"Can't we get into some of that?" he wanted to know.
"We have our orders," Rick told him sharply. "Now, stick close to me and stay alert."
On the bridge of the SDF-1, Gloval was studying the deployment of pods and Veritechs on the threat board. The enemy was trying something new. Instead of assaulting the fortress, as was their usual routine, they were keeping their distance, perhaps fearful that the main gun had been repaired. Would that that were the case, thought Gloval. But the more he studied the screen, the more suspicious he grew. The enemy wasn't turning tail to avoid battle. Gloval shook his head in amusement. Did they really think him such a fool? It was obvious that they were hoping to lure the VTs away from the fortress in order to open up a second front.
He was ready to issue a recall order when new data verified his hunch.
Vanessa announced, "We have an attack force of enemy pods at our stern."
Gloval ordered that the Gladiator force be called up, and Dr. Lang was requested to shunt sufficient energy from the shields to arm the main batteries aft. The second enemy wave was coming in from the relatively unguarded Fourth Quadrant, where Hunter's Black Team was on defensive patrol. As this sector was put up on the screen, the bridge crew readied themselves to render assistance.
Rick received the communiqu?from the bridge and moments later had the enemy assault team on his cockpit radar display.
"Company's coming," he told Max and Ben. "Let's show them how we treat party crashers."
Locked into the bridge command center, the three Veritech pilots swung their fighters toward the advancing pods. They were still too distant for visuals, but Rick was soon facing those characteristic pinpoints of explosive light that signaled laser bombardment.
A nanosecond later the bolts reached them. Rick ordered his men to begin evasive maneuvers to lessen the staying power of the charge. Some of his own circuits were already fried, but it was nothing he needed to worry about.
And then they had a visual on the pods: There were only a dozen of them, including an Officer's Pod. They came into the quadrant, weapons blazing, the Black Team ready for them.
"I'm gonna fly rings around these guys, Lieutenant. Just watch me go," Rick heard Ben say.
Dixon fired off a cluster of heat-seekers and attempted to roll out. But the enemy had outguessed him, and two of the pods were following him through, positioning themselves on either side of his mecha well inside the lethal cone.
"Break across that seven o'clock bandit, Ben," Rick shouted into the net. "Don't get cute, they're going to catch you in their cross fire!"
Dixon realized he was in trouble and called for an assist. The two pods were practically on top of him, pouring particle-beam energy at his booster pack. A Veritech could stand only a few seconds of this; ultimately, structural molecules would be altered and the ship would come apart. Ben would be fried alive.
Rick kicked in his aft boosters, found one of the pods in his reticle, and loosed two missiles. They caught the pod at its weakest spot, just where the cockpit cover was hinged to the main body of the sphere. The hatch blew open, precious atmosphere was released and the pilot inside clawed frantically at his controls. Soon the lifeless thing was drifting aimlessly out of the arena.
The second pod was still throwing heat into Dixon's fighter, but the pilot, realizing that he was now outnumbered, began to drop away.
"I'm going to save your skin, Ben. Just retro when I give the word." Rick haloed the ostrich and shouted, "Now!"
His thumb came down hard on the Hotas trigger. Two missiles dropped from their pylons and connected with the pod, blowing it to pieces.
While Ben was thanking him, Rick looked around for Max. There was a lot of activity going on off to his right; as Rick was soon to realize, Max was at the center of it.
The corporal had shifted to Battloid mode and was using the gatling cannon to take out pod after pod, executing evasive maneuvers the likes of which Rick had never seen. Max was pushing the Veritech into reverses Rick wouldn't have believed possible. He had heard about pilots who could totally surrender themselves to the alpha state, but he had never seen anything like this with his own eyes.
"Look at him go!" Dixon was yelling on the tac net.
Max had second sight, eyes behind his head, a sixth sense...the enemy mecha couldn't get near him. He was polishing off the last of the assault group, and Rick was on the horn congratulating him.
"I'm happy I was able to help out," came the humble reply. "Now I'll show you something I learned in flight school."
Rick was amazed: Max was literally about to talk Ben and him through a maneuver; it was difficult enough to control the complexities of the Veritech weapons system and answer to the demands of the mecha, but to have anything left over for movement, let alone human speech!...But here was Max, explaining every move as he went after two new entries. He drew the enemy in, then suddenly inverted himself, firing his thrusters so that he was coming right down their throats with his weapons blasting. The two pods were taken out, along with a third that had appeared at Rick's port side unannounced.
Rick's jaw went slack.
"It's called Fokker's Feint," said Max. "You have to confuse them. And while they're looking for you, you come up behind them and tap them on the back!"
Lisa Hayes was suddenly on the net at the same time, berating Rick for his poor response time. He offered as an excuse the two inexperienced pilots he had with him, listening to himself while watching Max execute a flourish of moves.
Maybe this was one of the advantages to being a superior officer, he thought. Foul up and you could lay the blame on your men; succeed, and their victories were your own.
Khyron was observing the progress of the battle from his Officer's Pod. The diversionary strategy wasn't working out exactly as he had hoped, but it had opened up a few holes in the fortress's defensive perimeter. Most of the Micronian mecha had been successfully lured far from Zor's ship, and those few remaining fighters were rapidly being eliminated. The second assault team had taken the sting out of the main batteries of the SDF-1, and the mecha dispatched to slow their attack had been eliminated. Now it was time for the coup de grace: Khyron's special elite assault team would storm the fortress and put an end to this game.
It was almost too easy...
Through his headset, Rick heard the voice of Lisa Hayes:
"Enemy forces have broken through our defenses in the Third Quadrant. You're our only hope, Black Leader."
"We're on our way," Rick told her.
Ben was out front, making up for lost time with continuous fire, little of it effective. Rick warned him not to waste his ammo. Max, meanwhile, took two pods off Rick's tail and asked Rick if it was all right to fire when it wasn't a waste. Rick ignored the joke and ordered Max and Ben to split up, hoping they could drive a wedge into the attacking enemy units.
Only a few of the Phalanx and close-in guns on the SDF-1 were capable of giving them cover fire, and most of those had sustained so
me damage. Destroids and Gladiators floated above the ship, pieces of debris, sparking out as they drifted toward oblivion.
Rick, already reaching out for the B mode lever, ordered his team to switch over to Battloid. He watched as the tailerons of Max's fighter folded down and the wings swept fully back to lock into place. Next, the entire
undercarriage, including the twin aft thrusters, swung down and forward, riding on massive pins located beneath the cockpit module. As rear thruster sheaths chevroned to become the Battloid's feet, the ventral fuselage halves split away from each other and spread outward to form the arms. Hands slid out from armored compartments. Inside the mecha Max's seat would now be riding upward along a shaft that would reposition the pilot inside the head-a minute ago the undercarriage laser-gun bubble. Rick's own fighter was going through the same changes. He could sometimes feel his own body react, as though unseen hands were at work on him.
Thus reconfigured, the three members of the Black Team touched down on the SDF-1's hull and brought their gatlings to bear on incoming enemy pods. Ben stood his ground, screaming curses at the ostriches as they made their approach. Initially he was positioned near one of the damaged phalanx guns, his cannon at high port, but he stepped out into the open. to trap-shoot an incoming bandit just as a second flew in from behind and dropped him with a blast that caught the Battloid full in the back. Rick winced and tried to raise him on the net.
"Ben, are you alive in there?"
Dixon answered weakly; he was hurt but had somehow managed to survive the hit.
Rick was moving in to lend a hand, when several pods appeared over the horizon of the ship. High-density transuranic slugs from the gatling brought two down. Two others loosed their rockets ineffectively and streaked overhead, but the Officer's Pod that led them seemed determined to go one on one with him. It was the second time that day that Rick was to witness incredible maneuvering.
The Officer's Pod-not spherical like the others but somewhat elongated and fishlike above its legs, with twin "hand-gun" arms and a top-mounted long-muzzled plastron cannon-toyed with him, dodging each of his shots as though the pilot inside could read Rick's mind. The pod leaped over a conning tower and came down behind him; Rick turned and fired, but the enemy was already spaceborne again and swooping in, clawed legs swinging
back and forth, discharging rounds from its hand-guns.
Rick's mecha took several hits through the torso; then the glancing blow of a projectile sheared off the Battloid's left arm. Rick thought the damaged vehicle down to one knee as the enemy pod came in to finish him. When it was within reach; he brought the Battloid to its feet and used the useless cannon to bat at the thing. He connected, driving the ostrich into a spin that brought it crashing down to the surface of the ship, minus one of its own cannon appendages.
The two mecha faced each other across a distance of about 200 meters-a showdown on a western street. Rick worked frantically at the controls, trying to divert power from the main mechamorphosis systems into the main gun, but all his efforts proved futile. He stared out of the cockpit faceplate of the Battloid as the enemy manning the Officer's Pod raised the muzzle of the one good arm and prepared to fire...
Onboard the Zentraedi flagship Breetai was informed of the battle being waged against the SDF-1, in direct violation of his orders. He rushed from his quarters to the command bubble, where Exedore was waiting for him, watching images play across the projecbeam field with growing disgust.
"It is as I feared, Commander. Khyron has taken matters into his own hands once again."
Breetai stood, arms akimbo, regarding the action as explosive flashes of light reflected in his faceplate.
"So this is Khyron's idea of war games?" Breetai snorted. "Again he has the temerity to disobey my orders!"
"I suggest that we recall him...before he succeeds in destroying the ship."
"The fool, I warned him." Breetai turned away. "Use the nebulizer to override the astrogational systems of his attack force. We'll pull this offensive out from under him."
Exedore moved to the nebulizer controls. "Ready to initiate on your
command."
"Mark!" Breetai shouted to the screen.
Warning lights were flashing on the bridge of the SDF-1. Sensors were picking up energy readings of an extraordinary type. Astrogational and engineering were reporting dangerous fluctuations in the drive systems; it was as if all control had been lost.
Meanwhile, on the skin of the ship, Khyron was taking aim at Rick's Battloid.
The Zentraedi commander felt the pod suddenly surrender itself to a higher power and knew at once what had happened: Breetai was recalling them. On the very brink of victory, and the fool was recalling them! He could do nothing; the nebulizer had even neutralized the weapon system of the pod. This fortunate Micronian pilot would live to fight another day, Khyron said to himself as the Officer's Pod rose involuntarily from the skin of Zor's ship. He could see the Battloid lift its head in some gesture of wonder or amazement and could only guess how the pilot inside was reacting
Rick would recall his feelings later, too stunned at the moment to analyze his reactions.
In the aftermission debriefing room they would all report the same thing: that the pods had suddenly abandoned their attack and lifted off, as though they had been given some sort of recall signal.
While Dr. Lang tried to postulate the cause of the strange readings he had received and Gloval asked himself why the enemy had called off its attack, Lieutenant Hunter had a private session with his two new charges in the mess hall of the Prometheus.
Ben's head was bandaged. On the positive side, it seemed that one of those blasts had finally gotten it through the corporal's thick skull that discretion was the better part of valor. Max, on the other hand, credited with at least nine kills, was basking in self-adulation, wondering only half in jest whether the brass might not end up promoting him from corporal to
general overnight.
Still amazed by what he had seen Max accomplish during the battle, Rick found that his respect for his fellow pilot was marred by feelings of jealousy. But he was too exhausted to dwell on it; he had just enough residual energy to carry him to his quarters. He was already thinking about crawling into his bunk and courting sleep.
An hour later he was standing in the doorway to his room, reaching in to hit the light switch. One step inside and his eyes fixed on the bed and the invitation laying there, paste-on red heart seal still unbroken. He groaned: Minmei's birthday present! It was like a bad dream, like being up in your Veritech and suddenly realizing you'd forgotten to ammo up.
Rick started pacing the room, trying to recall the mental list of gift possibilities he'd composed earlier. What was it-shoes, jewelry, clothes? He checked his watch: twenty-two thirty. He knew he didn't stand a chance, but he had to give it a go.
He rode an empty tube into Macross City and ran up and down the streets searching for an open store, cursing EVE with every step, because before these artificial sunrises and sunsets the city had rocked twenty-four hours a day. Now you were lucky if you stumbled on a place that served hamburgers past midnight. Then he spied a robo-vending machine on one corner and called to it; he would swear that the thing turned and looked at him before streaking away. Why did they do this? Rick asked himself as he gave chase. Human and animated robo-vendor ran for several blocks through the late-night deserted streets of Macross, Rick calling out to it, pleading with it, and ultimately cursing it. But the device managed to outrun him.
He caught his breath and began heading in the general direction of Minmei's apartment above the White Dragon. He was going to have to tell her something-anything but the truth: that he'd been too busy doing battle with the enemy to get her a gift. Of course, there was a chance that she was already asleep. Maybe he would just sort of lurk around underneath the balcony of her apartment, see if there were any lights on up there...
As if on cue, though, she came to the window, saw him out there under the
streetlight, and threw open the balcony doors, calling to him.
"Rick, I knew you wouldn't forget." She was checking her wristwatch. "Five minutes to go. What did you bring me?"
He started to trip over his words. "Well, look, Minmei, about your present, you see, I was planning...er, that is, what I meant to tell you before..."
She laughed. "Come on, Rick, don't be a jerk. I don't care what you brought me. It's the thought that counts. Now, throw it up here. Come on."
Rick's arms fell to his sides in a gesture of complete helplessness. But his right hand had found the boxed Medal of Valor in his trousers pocket. He pulled it out and regarded it in the streetlight. The brass had given him this to single him out; it said: Listen, you are something special, you've been of extraordinary service to all of us in this war we're waging, wear this and be proud, wear this and be recognized by your fellow comrades.
So why couldn't it say the same thing to her: By giving it to her he was saying that she was really the special one, that his bravery and valor were in her honor, that she was his inspiration, the person he returned to-the reason he returned.
Battle Cry Page 9