Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (11 page)

He returned to the hangar to see
Angel
's shuttle finishing its warm-up. Without breaking stride, he climbed in. He sat down in one of the rear seats of the shuttle, across from Captain Litovio.

“Why is he called
Angel
?”
Litovio
said.

Bophendze shrugged.

Angel
called back. “Bophendze. I'm short a co-pilot. Why don't you sit up here in case I need you?”

“I don't know the first thing about being a co-pilot.”

“I don't expect you to. This will give you a chance to see what it's like. In case you ever decide to stop being a barnacle.”

Bophendze barely avoided shaking his head in surprise.
A chance to become a pilot?

You don't need pilot training. I can fly this shuttle.

Bophendze did not see the text. It was Smee speaking to him. The voice was oddly comforting and chilling at the same time.
You can speak now?

Of course I can speak. What should be more amazing is how you hear. Your brain's aural connections are like spaghetti. Once I figured out how to tap in, it was easy. Given a bit more time, I can help you fly this shuttle.

I don't know if I want that. Why can't I learn on my own?

Why would you need to with me around? You don't really know what we can do together.

Bophendze did not have a good answer. He climbed out of his seat and moved forward to the cockpit. As he sat in the seat, he started to put on his harness. He looked over at
Angel
, who was finishing his pre-flight preparations.
Angel
did not have his harness on. Bophendze decided to mimic him by not putting his on.

“Ready?”
Angel
said.

Bophendze nodded.

The shuttle lifted slightly off the hangar and forward into the airlock. The hatch closed quickly and the air was sucked back into the ship. The outer hatch opened. Bophendze watched
Angel
throughout the process, and beyond.
It can't be that hard to be a pilot. I can do this.

It's not hard, with me you can fly in your sleep.

Back in my element,
Angel
thought as he slipped the shuttle out of the hangar. He increased thrust as soon as he cleared the hangar danger zone. Imperceptible to most, he felt the controls relax as the shuttle cleared the cruiser's slight gravity well. With a flick of the controls he inverted the shuttle, putting the planet above the shuttle.

He pulled one earpiece out and looked back to
Litovio
. “We'll be entering atmos in about 5 beats. Then another 20 beats to the surface.”

“Fine.” Litovio replied.

Angel
put the earpiece back. “Control, I'm starting my descent.”

“Roger,
Angel
. You are now flagged as planetside. Since you chose not to show up to the pre-flight, be advised there are ongoing combat operations.”

Angel
might not have gotten his pre-flight, but he knew it was a hostile system. Guna had a reputation as a meat grinder. “Any immediate threats along my flight path?” He tried to suppress excitement in his voice.

After a long pause, the voice in his headset replied, “based on your planned flight path, there are three bogies on the deck, around 10,000 meters. You should be able to avoid them.”

“What are they doing?”

Flight control took a longer pause. “You won't believe this. It looks like they've got fighters linking up with bombers on what appears to be a run for the planet's capital. Ground states that our response fighters are out of position and won't be able to respond in time. The ADA (air defense artillery) bubble isn't fully re-established there after the last exercise. You're flying into a danger zone, so you might want to return. Looks like they caught our guys with their pants down.”

Angel
smiled.
Not if I can help it.
He checked his distance from the cruiser.
I just cleared flight control's jurisdiction and I'm officially planetside. Ground control can't direct me yet, either. I'm captain of my own ship.

“Control, please send me the coordinates for those bogies,” he paused, realizing they could try to order him back. “I need to get my cargo planetside in a hurry so returning now is not an option.”

A beat later, his tactical display refreshed to show the enemy fighters, to include a data bubble indicating that they were
F-837
.
Air breathers. Perfect. They won't know what hit them. This is going to be fun.

Angel
started to fasten his harness. He yelled over his shoulder, “we are about to engage in high-delta maneuvers. I suggest you both put on your harness.”

“What do you mean?” Litovio said

“I mean, Sir, that we're about to get into combat.”

“We've got the cruiser to protect us.”

“Sir, the fight's on the planet.” He pointed up for emphasis.

“I thought you said we would not be planetside for 30 beats?”

“Change of plans, Sir.”

“Then how long now?”

Angel looked at the coordinates for the enemy fighters and the flight planner's recommended course. He waggled his head a bit as he adjusted the course in his head. “We'll be on the deck a whole lot faster.”

Angel
glanced over to check that Bophendze was buckling his harness. Satisfied,
Angel
tweaked the collective and pushed the throttle to 100 percent, while pulling back on the cyclic to point the shuttle's nose straight at the planet. He rotated a dial on the collective, adjusting the gravimetric barrier to insulate the nose from atmospheric friction.

A beat later, the view out of the shuttle started to flicker red, yellow and orange.

“What's that?” Bophendze said.

“Atmos. I've got the throttle against the firewall, so things are going to heat up.”

As if on cue, the navigation alarm started a rhythmic bleating. Somewhere between a complaint and a plead. The shuttle's viewscreen completed filled with burning, ionized air.

“What's that bleating?” Bophendze asked.

“The nav computer doesn't like how fast we're falling. It can't track due to the ionization, so it's telling me to slow down.”

“Are you slowing down?”

Angel
chuckled. “If I go in too slow their sensors could pick us up. I'm coming in like a meteor. That should fool their sensors into thinking we are a meteor and give us the element of surprise.”

“But why do we need—”

“Look! I need to concentrate. The nav computer is blinded, so I need to time when to pull up. Otherwise, we will be a meteor crater.”

Bophendze fell silent, leaving
Angel
to focus on the nose dive.

The display reported that his insulating gravity barrier was deteriorating. He pushed the dial further, hoping it wouldn't increase their signature too much. Too much gravity would start to affect the shuttle's integrity. He kept the barrier just above failure, periodically adjusting the dial.

Angel
flipped the protective cover off of the gun control, exposing the trigger. He started humming a song to himself, using it to time the descent.

As the song he hummed ended, he knew it was time to pull up and avoid striking the ground.
Angel
pulled up on the cyclic and jammed the collective forward. The shuttle pitched, and speed rapidly bled off from kilometers per second to meters per second. The ship protested being pushed beyond its design limitation by vibrating violently.
Angel
eased the braking maneuver until the vibration relaxed enough. The shuttle wavered in its response. He kept the shuttle above its rated top speed in atmosphere with the gravimetric barrier to buffer from the wind.

The seconds ticked by. The shuttle slowed enough that the view started to clear. The nav computer chirped as it started to reacquire their position.
Any second now those fighters will know they've got company, unless I timed it right.

The last flickers of heated atmosphere ended as the shuttle pitched up.
Angel
pulled up instinctively at the sight of a mountain dead ahead. He then turned the shuttle to the right in a wide arc for 90 degrees to give him time to orient. He scanned the sky and observed the three enemy fighters heading away from them. He pulled the cyclic to pursue from a low-rearward position.

Angel
pressed a button on the shuttle console, flashing the gun reticle onto his HUD view. The reticle started tracking toward the right of the three fighters as the gunnery computer assisted in tracking the target.
They said I was silly for mounting guns on a cargo shuttle, and insane for installing a gunnery computer.
He smirked.

The shuttle continued to bleed speed as it closed the distance to the fighters. To anybody else, the shuttle was moving too quickly.
Angel
timed his shot expertly, squeezing the trigger at the only moment available.

The two guns tapped out a short burst of 30 millimeter shells as the shuttle rocketed past the fighters.
Angel
felt the tingle of excitement. He knew the shells found a target without looking.

“I think they know they're in trouble now,” he said.

He pulled back on the cyclic, climbing the shuttle to bleed off remaining speed so he could actually maneuver. Once the shuttle slowed enough for realistic air combat,
Angel
banked the shuttle to the right and pulled back on the cyclic to tighten the turn and re-engage his prey. Even with the gravimetric compensators easing the G-force on the shuttle occupants, he found himself squeezing his legs and growling to fight off effects. His focus pushed aside any thought about whether his passengers had passed out during the turn.

Completing his 180-degree turn,
Angel
saw the remaining two fighters and a smoke trail where their comrade fell.

The fighters split off in two directions.
Trying to bait me to pursue one so the other can engage me? Fine, I'll bite.
Years of combat experience told him how to respond. He flicked the cyclic to pursue the fighter in the stronger tactical position, nerfing its threat value. He pushed the throttle to close the distance quickly.

As he got into combat range, his quarry started ducking and weaving chaotically.
Why start Guns-D unless you're trying to line me up?
Angel
remembered the F-837's nimble maneuvering, a feature which made it the king of air combat. Rather than follow the maneuvering,
Angel
made slight course adjustments and eased forward on the speed. It made him an easier target, but slowly reeled in what looked more like a flopping fish than a real threat. As he banked the shuttle to keep in pursuit, he kept an eye on the display to maintain a sense of where the wingman was.
Finally turning around to get me. Thinking of closing the trap?
Rather than play the expert hunter he was, he threw in the occasional over-maneuver.

His quarry turned sharply left and dove as if trying to break contact—or line up a kill shot for his wingman. Instead of following the turn,
Angel
flipped the controls into a climbing right turn. Soon after, he rolled the shuttle upside down and pulled the cyclic back sharply. The shuttle grudgingly responded to the loop maneuver.

As
Angel
came out of the loop the fleeing fighter returned into view. The gunnery computer quickly tracked the reticle to the target and locked.
Angel
squeezed the trigger and watched the shells stream to the target. The fighter split in half, one part exploding.

Angel
turned sharply to the left, hoping he had not lingered too long on target. The display dutifully reported that the remaining fighter was firmly behind him.
Angel
reversed his turn sharply to break contact. The fighter kept right behind him.

The F-837's nimbleness was now a credible threat.
Angel
reversed his turn, forcing the fighter to follow him into a flat scissors maneuver. The series of reversing turns created a weaving pattern as the fighter tried to leverage its turning ability to get into a firing position. Each iteration improved the enemy fighter's position and weakend Angel's.

“Think you've got me now?”
Angel
yelled. “I've got you just where I want you!”

He banked the shuttle up and pushed into a full-throttle climb. He added the gravimetric collective to assist in the climb by pushing away from the planet.
Angel
turned the climb into a loop, which allowed him to look up at the ground below at the apex. He watched as the fighter turned into another iteration of the scissors, then leveled off.

Trying to find me, aren't you? Not used to a ship that can climb out of atmos, are you? Pity.

Angel
resumed the loop, allowing him to line up behind the fighter from a guns-high position. He then swooped down into a powered dive, closing the distance and altitude quickly. His smile broadened when he realized the sun was at his back.
Can't see me. But you can still feel me.

Angel
accelerated to time the intercept. In a flash of a second, the gun reticle locked on the fighter. He squeezed the trigger, the shells exploding around the fighter.
Angel
pulled up into a zooming climb to slow the shuttle and regain potential energy for another attack in case he missed.

Another pass was not required.
Angel
looked down to see the fighter spinning out of control. The pilot ejected, his camouflaged parachute blossoming open.

Angel
looked at the navigational display.
The pilot would land in his own territory, protecting him from capture.
Angel
smiled. “Live to fight another day, eh? I just gave you a story for your grandkids.”

He turned the shuttle toward the capital and resumed level flight. The admiral awaited them, one-hundred kilometers ahead. He looked over at Bophendze, whose face was blanched white from fear.