Night's Pawn (17 page)

Chase started to reply, but Blanchard's chuckle cut him off. "Naw, it'll be slick," he said, and Chase remembered that the headsets were voice-activated. "Assuming they don't notice us."

Cara rolled her eyes and tried to make herself more comfortable in the chair. She was strapped in using a standard cross-x upper-body harness, a design that was effective but uncomfortable.

Chase felt the T-bird's power plant increase its output and the resulting acceleration as they eased into a left turn. The video monitors near Freid showed bright Texas terrain blurring as they sped past. For the first time, Chase noticed the row of hanging souvenir toys above the monitor row. He chuckled to see Freid moving her head side to side as she panned through the optical port she commanded. She smiled slightly as he watched, then rotated her chair to face forward. Did his watching distract her on some level?

Gordani's electronic voice cut through his thoughts. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "welcome to Aztlan. I hope your passports are in order."

The first problems came a little more than half an hour after they entered Aztlan. They'd passed easily through the permanent sensor lines; the crew knew where they were and how to avoid them. It was the unexpected things deeper in-country that would be a danger. The first word was Blanchard's announcement over the comm net.

"I've got what looks like a DEW craft at nine thousand meters, bearing two-eight-nine, heading one-nine-seven, relative."

Cara glanced questioningly at Chase. He reached up and toggled his microphone off the network before responding. He didn't want to distract the crew.

"DEW craft," he said, "defensive early warning. Basically a plane with air and ground-search radar. Not as sophisticated as the regular EW craft, but dangerous enough. If it spots us, it can direct other units to our general area. A regular EW craft could pass on telemetry information that units with that capability could use to attack us from a long distance. Even kilometers away. They wouldn't have to see us as long as the EW craft could."

Cara'd listened to him without commenting, and when he was done she turned away to look at Freid's monitors. Chase suspected she was scared. He knew he was.

The
Rapier's Touch
traveled for several hours at reduced speed to cut down on their electromagnetic and acoustic signature. Anything that could be done to reduce the chance of the DEW craft spotting them was done. Gordani took Chase's and Cara's microphones off the comm network to cut down on any unnecessary chatter and electrical signals.

Twice, the DEW craft changed course in their general direction, and Blanchard thought it might have picked up something worth investigating. Twice Gordani changed their own course to see if the plane matched them. It didn't.

They continued on, leaving the Aztlan patrol plane behind.

Four hundred kilometers in from the point where they'd crossed the border, Gordani turned the T-bird west.

"We may be in luck," his artificial voice said. "I've been monitoring Mexican Free Radio and they're reporting that Aztlan forces are going head to head pretty heavy with one of the rebel armies way east of us, south of San Antonio."

Chase nodded. "That makes sense. There's a lot of support for the revolutionary factions in the occupied Texas areas."

Cara looked at him. "There are still Americans there? I figured they'd have left by now."

"Most have," Chase told her. "A lot, though, don't want to leave their homes. Some figure Texas will eventually win back the area—"

The T-bird lurched suddenly to one side, tossing Chase and Cara about in their seats. Something large flashed by on one of Freid's monitors, and then they were past it.

"FRAG!" Gordani yelled. "What was that! Somebody tell me what that was!"

Chase could see something, maybe a vehicle, receding quickly in Freid's rearview monitor. As he watched, the image grew as she triggered magnification lenses into place.

"I read it as a truck. Two tons, maybe," came Blanchard's voice. Chase heard a faint mechanical noise over the roar of the engines: the main turret was traversing to the rear.

"Jam them!" said Gordani. Blanchard's back-up data screens flashed angrily as he enacted the pilot's command.

"Confirm truck," said Freid. Her optical image had stabilized some, and the camera was tracking the truck even though Gordani was putting them through heavy evasive maneuvers. Cara was doing all she could to avoid being beaten senseless against her chair. Chase's more powerful muscles had him braced and secure now that he knew what to expect.

"One truck, standard size, about a ton and a half. I see crew. And passengers. Soldiers."

"Hit 'em!" Gordani barked again.

Chase could barely make out anything on the blurred and jittery monitor, but Freid's analysis made sense. The truck seemed to be parked on the side of the road. He could make out figures, many of them, climbing out the back of it. Then suddenly Freid's body moved oddly. She spoke, and there was a blue-white flash of magical energy at the rear of the truck. The soldiers coming out of the truck fell to the ground as though they'd been hit with a bat; a few even fell back in or fell out face-first onto the dusty ground. The canvas back of the truck shredded.

The monitor flared again, this time to pure white before the systems compensated for the glare of the missile launched from the rear rack. It sped toward the truck, and was lost from sight as the T-bird changed course again. The optical cameras tried to reacquire the truck, but it was hidden by intervening terrain. Nonetheless, Chase clearly saw a flash and an explosion just beyond some rocks as they completed a turn.

"Hit!" exclaimed Blanchard.

"Status!" came Gordani.

"Can't tell. Too much in the way," the gunner replied.

Gordani again. "Freid?"

"Checking!" she yelled, and Chase saw her hands move in tight, practiced gestures, her head turning this way and that as if she were looking for something. Sweat poured out from under her goggles. Chase glanced at the monitors and saw only blurred ground. Whatever she saw wasn't on those monitors. Cara too stared at the monitors, her face ashen.

"The truck is scrap," Freid said, strain evident in her voice. "Some of the soldiers are still alive, but only one or two seem up and about. I count maybe five dead outside the truck."

"Can you do anything?" Gordani asked.

"Negative. I don't have line of sight."

"Frag it to hell!" the pilot said. "Blanchard, it's your call. Tell me what you want."

"We're jamming," Blanchard said, "but that means that if the Azzies are looking this way we're lit up like a skyscraper. Turn us back in. I'm going to pop a drone."

Gordani cursed again, but Chase felt the LAV turn quickly to one side. Some mechanism clanged in the wall to the right of his head, and one of the few dark monitors at Freid's and Blanchard's stations burst to life. At first it showed sky, nearly cloudless and spinning overhead, but then it stabilized as the camera dipped toward the ground. The Aztlan landscape glared brightly in the midday sun as the camera's image systems struggled to balance the bright ground and the brighter sky that still filled part of the picture.

"Drone's away!" yelled Blanchard. The
Rapier's Touch
carried two remote-piloted drones, one in a covered rack on each side. The right rack, the one that had launched, carried a short-duration, solid-fuel winged drone that was more like a rocket than a small aircraft. It was designed to do just what it was doing: carry a video camera quickly to something the T-bird wanted to see. A single, small electric motor controlled the drone while it loitered over the target, but its flight time was very limited. It had one weapon, the equivalent of an assault rifle.

The left rack carried a much heavier combat drone. Designed to fly along with the T-bird, the combat drone mounted a pair of light machine guns and its own onboard autopilot and targeting system. Blanchard could command it directly, or give it a general order that it would then carry out to the best of its dog-brain ability. The combat drone was very expensive and used only as a last resort.

"Over target!" Blanchard yelled again. The drone's video feed was coming over clear on the monitor near Freid. The truck was on its side and burning. A complete ruin. Two figures could be seen moving near the truck, trying to drag injured or dead comrades clear of the wreckage. The camera zoomed in to one of the soldiers. He seemed to be alternately talking into, and banging on, what could only be a handset radio.

"Damn," continued Blanchard. "There's at least one radio."

"I confirm," said Freid. "Can't tell if it's working."

"Roger that," replied Gordani. "Take them."

The drone suddenly dropped low and fast, but kept itself centered on the men. There was no way to tell how far away they were; the level of magnification in use wasn't displayed on the monitor when the gun fired. Chase saw only the telltale plumes of dust and blood rise up around the soldiers. The drone shot over the wreckage and then began to work its way around.

"Again," said Freid.

The drone turned hard, and the burning truck came quickly into view once more. Blanchard angled it clear of the plume of smoke and brought it in for another pass. On the screen Chase could see a soldier crawling for the truck. Even though it was afire, it still offered some degree of refuge. Dust burst up from the ground near him, his body jerked, and he stopped crawling. The drone continued on.

After a moment, Freid spoke. "That's it."

"Roger, angling for drone retrieval," said Gordani.

Chase felt the LAV slow as Gordani turned the vehicle away from the drone and allowed it to catch up. He'd match its speed and then Blanchard would land it back on the rack, ejecting the now-useless solid-fuel booster just before he did. Then, Chase surmised, Gordani would open up the throttle to get them as far away as possible from wreckage.

Though they'd jammed any radio alerts, the dark plume of smoke winding its way into the sky spoke loud and clear, one of the most ancient of all warning signs.

14

Cara wasn't hard to find: there were only so many places where she could be inside their temporary shelter.

The capture net had malfunctioned as they'd tried to recover the drone, and both the drone and the rack were damaged. They'd continued on for some time with the rack open and the drone jutting out from it because Gordani wanted to put the burning truck as far behind them as possible. As night approached, Blanchard detected no signs of pursuit so they decided to ground the T-bird for repairs. After landing the craft into a space between two large outcroppings of rock, they made camp.

Chase walked around within the camouflage tent that covered the vehicle in its entirety, masking both its silhouette and its heat from possible observers. The thermal covering also created an almost-comfortable warmth. Blanchard was working on top of the T-bird, methodically repairing the drone rack. Gordani was alternately inside and outside the
Rapier's Touch
, trying to rig the electronics for something Chase wanted to try. Chase had offered to help, but the pilot had politely refused, seeming to take the offer as a personal challenge. Freid had been sitting inside too, periodically projecting herself astrally and surveying the area for pursuit. She'd been the one to suggest that he talk to Cara. Chase had also noticed that Cara continued to be upset following the one-sided fight with the truck, but he'd been reluctant to attempt a talk ever since their confrontation over her chips.

She was seated on a small rock half, jacked into her simdeck. Chase froze and watched for a moment, but this time her body language was different. She seemed tense and excited by what she was sensing from the chip, but the stress Chase had observed the day before was absent. He moved forward carefully, until close enough to see that the chip in the deck was one of the brightly labeled commercial ones he'd seen in her bag. He was torn between whether to leave her alone or to risk another confrontation when she reached down and poked the disconnect switch. She blinked a few times, and Chase could see the traces of barely formed tears glinting in the shafts of the crew's work lights. Then she breathed in sharply, her body shaking once, spasming, before its natural looseness returned. She turned and looked over at him. In her eyes he could read nothing.

"What were you chipping?" Chase asked, trying to keep his voice even. He didn't want to set her off.