Tommy Thorn Marked (20 page)

“You guys aren’t going anywhere without me,” Bo chimed in. “What’s the plan, Tommy?”

What’s the plan
? Tommy thought for a moment. “Computer, lock up that beacon and display flight path.”

“Beacon is an escape pod bearing two three five mark one six nine at sixty-seven miles.”

“All right,” Tommy finally said. “Let’s go find Mags.”

“And then what?” Gary said, rolling inverted to follow Tommy’s Lancer as it darted back into the field.

“Try and save, Mags,” Tommy said as he streaked, still inverted, into the asteroids.

“Yes, save, mags, but could you add, not get us killed in the process?” Gary smiled behind his mask as the three dodged several large frozen rocks.

After some aggressive flying, Tommy at last spied Magnus’s pod and maneuvered into a position alongside it, thrusters working hard to get his Lancer slowed down and stable.

“Magnus, how you doing?” Tommy asked this even as the little escape pod bounced off another small rock.
He’s being beaten around like a pinball
, Tommy thought. Mag’s pod was already showing the signs of the several small impacts.

All three pilots were working hard to stay with Magnus and at the same time avoid the asteroids as they flashed by—but there was still no reply from their stranded squadron mate.

At least his forward momentum slowed with the ejection
, Tommy thought. But he didn’t like the looks of the battered pod.

“Could have been knocked out, Tommy,” Cruiser said as he went up and over a large asteroid.

“Or comm could be in-op. I mean look at the damage,” Bo added.

Something had to be done if Magnus was going to survive this—suddenly, Tommy had a thought!

“Gettin’ kind of close there, aren’t ya, Lead?” Gary said tensely as he watched Tommy maneuver his ship next to Mag’s slowly tumbling pod.

“I’m going to use my bird to move Mags up and out of this field. It’s his only chance,” Tommy replied, already easing the left wing panel of his Lancer under Mag’s damaged escape pod. He was trying to match or at least stabilize its movement, but he just couldn’t seem to stop the pod’s roll, let alone guide it out of the field.

“I see what you’re trying to do, Tommy, but you’re going to need some help,” Gary said as he pushed his trainer up and under the other side of Mag’s pod.

“Thanks, Cruiser, I think this might just do it,” Tommy said as they managed to finally stabilize Mag’s pod and started to gingerly move it out of the field, clear space just becoming visible through the tops of their canopies, when Gary gasped.

“Rock!” he yelled.

Tommy took his eyes off of Mag’s pod, just for a moment, and saw a large asteroid on a collision course!

“Tommy, we’ve got to let him go,” Gary pleaded as the asteroid loomed ever closer.

“Negative, Cruiser—we’re almost there!” Tommy said, bracing for what seemed like an imminent impact. “Get your shields full forward!”

“I don’t think shields are gonna help a full-on impact with that giant, Tommy!” Gary yelled, trying not to focus on the house-sized tumbling boulder!

Both returned their efforts to getting Mags up and out.
Just a little farther—faster,
Tommy thought.
Faster!

Tommy closed his eyes to slits and braced for impact, but just then…

Flashes of light and an explosion!

Bo had used her cannon and twin blasters to blow the rock into small pieces that bounced harmlessly off Gary’s and Tommy’s shields, just moments before impact.

“Wow, great shot, Bo!” they both said, almost in unison.

“Splash one asteroid!” Bo shouted as she flashed up over both Lancers and the pod—all now out of danger.

“Nova rescue to Saber Hawk Lead, we see the pod, have him locked, and will be there in two mikes.”

“Copy that rescue, thanks,” Tommy said and realizing that he’d been holding his breath, took a moment to relax as the three Lancers drifted along near Mag’s now stable escape pod—still no movement from behind the canopy.

“Hope Mags is okay.” Bo said out loud what all three were thinking.

Several days later, Tommy paused for a moment to adjust his uniform before tapping the small comm box on the side of Commander Vance’s cabin.

“Come in,” Vance said as the light gray hatch silently slid open.

Tommy entered to find Commander Vance packing.

“Mr. Thorn, those wings look mighty fine on you.”

“Thank you, sir. I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your help—wouldn’t have them without you.”

“Nonsense, Thorn—you’re a great stick. You didn’t need anyone’s help.”

“Even so, sir, I’m grateful,” Tommy said while watching Vance stuff uniforms into a hard-backed compact traveling duffel. “Going on leave, sir?”

Vance stopped, taking time to look directly at Tommy. “I’m being transferred, Mr. Thorn.”

“Transferred? I thought you had another year here.”

“As did I. Guess Maco’s dad, the general, didn’t like me giving you the Firebird.”

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry about that…”

“It’s all right, Thorn.” Vance raised a hand. “You deserved it. Ask young Mr. Magnus—I’m sure he would agree with me.”

Tommy tried to smile, although his heart was full of guilt over the commander being reassigned.

“You saved him, Thorn,” Vance said, pointing a finger to add conviction. “You and the others.” He waited for Tommy to look up, eye to eye. “And congratulations on the Bronze Dagger, they don’t just give those away—oh, and on getting Bo reassigned to your new squadron.”

“We both know she belongs in a gun squadron, sir.”

Vance smiled. “I guess having a chairman for a father comes in handy sometimes.”

Tommy smiled again. “Well, sir, it doesn’t hurt.”

Vance put aside his packing for a moment, but continued to fiddle with some item in the duffel. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Mr. Thorn…”

“Sir?”

“If it had been Mr. Maco floating among the asteroids.” Vance paused for a moment. “Would you have risked so much for a Tarchein?”

“I’ve given this a bit of thought, sir, and I can honestly say—I would have. He is a squadron mate, and that’s all that matters.”

“I believe you, Mr. Thorn, but I don’t think many others in your position would have acted as you did.”

“I don’t know, sir—“

Vance raised his hand. “It’s all right. The fleet has brought this on themselves. They segregate and elevate the Tarchein stature—based on nothing more than race—then ask alien comrades to die with them as equals.”

Vance paused, again looking directly at Tommy. “Have you been to the Tarchein student quarters?”

“Once, sir, I dropped off a duty roster, and—”

“Then you are aware of the disparity.”

Tommy nodded, not at all sure how to respond, but desperately wanting to change the subject. “What’s your new assignment?”

“The Jackknife.”

“The Jackknife—that’s a frigate.” Tommy knew Vance was well aware of the ship’s configuration…

“That’s right, Mr. Thorn, I’ll be flying a Darkstar,” said Vance, closing up the duffel and grabbing a few random personal items.

Tommy thought for a moment, trying to figure out how, or if he should even try, to console the older officer.

Darkstars are deep-space, four-man recon birds, very dangerous isolated work. They deploy for months at a time, often on the wrong side of a treaty boundary. Many, many Darkstar crews launch and are never heard from again. This assignment was made even more difficult by the fact that Commander Vance had been a Starbird pilot.

“It’s okay, Mr. Thorn. I’m going to be working in your area though, so keep an eye out for me. You can buy me a cold one when next we meet.”

Tommy nodded as Vance stuck out his hand, which meant a lot, as typically only Humans used a handshake as an acknowledgment of friendship.

“Good-bye, sir, and good luck.” Tommy shook the commander’s hand and smiled, but inwardly he had a feeling that he was seeing Vance for the last time.

“You too, Tommy. I’ll be seeing you,” Vance said and left the room.

The TB-144 Firestorm long-range tactical bomber represents the latest design of its type in the fleet, and as such are assigned exclusively to Tarchein squadrons. Equipped with two massive Kigder D-445 dark-drive engines, the heavy bomber, although quite maneuverable, has an impressive, although classified, maximum sustainable velocity. Heavily shielded and capable of carrying a large number of lethal weapons launched from a pair of integrated weapon bays, the tactical bomber was designed to operate and deliver its deadly payload equally effectively in either deep space or under atmospheric conditions. The Storm, as it is often called by its crews, is also equipped with an impressive array of internal weapons, including four synchronized, forward-firing, medium-yield energy blasters, and four plasma cannons mounted two each in pods located just aft of the forward avionic bay and below the slender main fuselage.

All Firestorms carry a crew of two, seated in tandem, under a long, teardrop-shaped, clear steel canopy, which is positioned forward on the bombers’ tapered forward fuselage, providing outstanding visibility. So impressed with the Storm was Admiral Ty that after his first flight he insisted that every battle cruiser in the fleet should be equipped with at least one squadron of the increasingly popular spacecraft.

First Lieutenant Steel walked between rows of sealed insertion capsules for one last inspection before the drop. Not that they needed to be checked again—there wasn’t anything he could have seen with this casual look that would not have been caught by internal monitoring systems. Still, it gave the Q commander one more chance to make eye contact with his team before they were hurled thousands of miles through space, only to be deposited on the surface of a very unfriendly alien planet. Besides, it had become a kind of good luck thing that he always did, and luck, he thought while nodding at First Sergeant Decker through the small clear porthole, was something they would all need today.

“Coming up on the drop point, Lieutenant,” the captain of the Ghost assault drop ship said over Steel’s comm.

Sloan acknowledged Decker’s thumbs-up before moving on to the last open capsule. His eyes had long since grown accustomed to the shadowy red illumination that bathed the thirteen neatly spaced canisters, allowing him to take in the ready-cocked and eerily quiet drop bay before stepping into his flat-black command can.

“Raiders, arm and check in,” Sloan commanded as his capsule’s curved hatch unhinged, slid into place, and sealed forward with a hiss.

They all responded. Sergeant Decker’s fire team was followed by the other two in quick order. As usual, they all sounded calm and ready to go. It was what he had grown to expect from these young warriors, and it was why he had wanted the Q.

“Raiders are ready,” Sloan transmitted to the captain, lowering his visor. He could feel the pressure of the restraining bars snugging him in and against a small seat pad that had deployed when the hatch had closed.

“Copy, Lieutenant, we’re green across the board. Stand by for the mark and good luck,” the Ghost’s captain responded.

“Luck is for rabbits, Captain,” Sloan responded, knowing his Q would be monitoring.

The captain, hearing Sloan’s response, smiled and pointed to his copilot. “Punch up the firing sequence.”

“Drop bay pressure stabilization complete, launch in ten seconds,” the drop ship’s computer announced.

Sloan always hated these last few seconds, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because any time prior to being shot out the bottom of the drop ship, any member of the team had only to hit the abort button and it would disarm his or her individual can.
Maybe that’s it,
he thought, eyeing the large abort handle, glowing red in the otherwise darkened cylinder.

Six, five…

Sloan could hear the distant sound of a muffled metallic latch and knew the circular door beneath his command capsule had slid open to reveal the curved, darkened surface of Vargus, some two hundred thousand feet below.

Four, three…