Tommy Thorn Marked (24 page)

“Go ahead Wolf, this is Cat Lead.”

“Change of plans, Wags. Looks like the Vargins got some guns the intel boys overlooked. We need your Rapiers to cover the drop.”

Each transport barge, currently carrying five hundred fully armed and armored-up warriors, was fairly quick but lightly armed and not well shielded—definitely not designed to fight their way into a hot LZ.

“Getting pretty lonely up here, Wolfe,” Wagner said as his squadron flashed past another burning frigate hightailing it to safety.”

“Copy that, Wags, but orders is orders.”

“Roger that, but it’s just us till they get Cabit’s T-darts launched, and they’re still pushing barges off the top,” Wagner said, easing his formation under Werewolf Flight’s trailing barge.

“Understood, just keep the Venoms off our backs long enough to get boots on the ground,” Commander Wolfe responded just as an errant flash of blue-green light shot between him and the number two ship in the formation.

Wagner, who had now pulled up alongside Commander Wolfe’s transport, raised his faceplate and looked over at his longtime friend.

“Situation normal, eh, Wags,” Wolfe said looking over at Wagner.

“Yea, it’s a total cluster, Wolfe ol’ buddy,” Wagner said.

“Let’s push it, Wags. I want to expedite getting into the atmo and away from these damn guns.”

Wagner nodded. He had known Wolfe since the Slate; got drunk with him when he got orders to fly barges—
hell of a pilot though,
thought Wagner.

The fourteen transport barges were spread out in a trailing formation, giving them room to maneuver, but they would be hard to cover. The big guns on the ground posed little or no threat to either his Rapiers or the barges as long as they kept moving, but once the group hit the atmosphere—well, the Venoms would be another matter.

“Push it up, Cats. Section leaders spread out, stay close to the transports,” Wagner commanded.

Wolf Flight held seven thousand warriors
, Wagner thought while casually watching another burning gunner spiral into the atmosphere.
Even if we get them on the ground, how long can they last without fire support?
Not a good day to be flying barges,
but then again
,
when is
it ever a good day to be flying barges?
The thought brought a smile. But then as the formation began to slice down through thin white wisps of clouds, swarms of enemy fighters becoming visible, Wagner had another, more desperate thought.
Who in the hell came up with this plan?

Admiral Kada had stood to get a better look at the destruction being displayed in the area around the projected globe, when his hatch chime sounded.

“Enter.”

Kada’s aide rushed in, breathless. “Sir, their guns.” He took a moment, putting his hand to his chest. “The planetary batteries…”

The Imperial admiral did not look at Colonel Franza, but instead continued to stare at the nightmarish scene unfolding on the slowly rotating holographic display.

“We must withdraw the fleet, sir!” Franza continued.

Kada stared, unblinking, and said nothing.

“Sir,” Franza pleaded.

Suddenly the admiral regained a measure of alertness. “Wait for all transport barges to get underway, then rally the fleet.”

“But sir, without the gunners—“

“We’ll support the landings with Firestorms and fighters!”

“But, sir—”

The admiral cut the colonel short, putting a long bony finger against his aide’s chest. “Listen to me, Colonel.” Kada then turned and waved his hand at the projected flashes of light coming from dozens of locations on the planet. “These guns are too slow to target the fighters. I have already ordered the barges to press on to their assigned landing sites—now get my fighters launched!”

Franza straightened and waited for a couple heartbeats before unconsciously smoothing out his uniform jacket. “Admiral…the fighter launch will be delayed until all of the barges are underway. We haven’t neutralized their shielding, and with their underground—“

The admiral’s large pale head began to turn a shade of purple, with tiny veins appearing around his temples. “The Corps will open up the shields with disrupters, Colonel—it’s the only way to get to those damn guns. And when we do, I will flatten their cities. They will kneel before me, Colonel Franza,” Kada said while clenching his fist in uncontrolled rage.

The colonel raised a hand, began to say something, then thought better of it.

“I will have this wretched planet, Colonel, if I have to lose half our squadrons and dozens of gunners. I will have this victory!”

Colonel Franza bowed his head slightly, turned smartly, and moved out of the ready room, only to pause by the closed hatch. Muffled sounds of explosions, coming from the admiral’s tactical projection, filled the hallway.
This is madness,
he thought before shaking his head and moving hurriedly down the corridor.

Sloan edged up over a rock and centered his targeting sight on a mammoth hover tank flanked by a half dozen giant walkers, which were leading, he guessed, maybe three thousand troops into the LZ. Plus, in the far distance, more enemy assault transports could be seen heading toward Phang.

“LT, I still can’t raise fire control. I think we lost ’em,” Decker said.

“What do ya mean, Deck, lost fire control?”

“Just that, sir—the beam is dead.”

“Okay, Deck, how about the Hammer-Blow.”

“Sir, I can’t make contact with any of our annihilators—nobody is responding…”

Sloan took another peek at the advancing horde of troops. “Well, try Strike Control. We had better find a way to rain some destruction down on these guys, Deck—and I mean soon!”

“Raider, from Werewolf. Come in, Raider.” Commander Wolfe came up on Sloan’s comm.

“This is Raider actual, go ahead Werewolf,” Sloan answered, continuing to focus on the advancing force.

“I’ve got fourteen big uglies inbound for Phang.”

“Negative, Werewolf, the LZ is not open, and we are unable to call in fire support. I say again—Phang is closed!”

“I copy ya, Raider, but no can do. We’re coming in—over.”

Commander Wolfe pulled back on the stick, his transport straining a bit in the thick Vargus air. “Okay, Wolves, on me but keep it loose.” He then glanced over at his young copilot. “Easy, kid, they can kill us, but I don’t think they can eat us.” He paused. “Wait a minute, I think intel said that Vargins just might, given a chance, chow down on us.”

The copilot laughed and nodded, some of the tension leaving his face.

“Don’t sweat it, kid, I’ll get us in,” Wolfe continued.

Far below, the sky was filling up with small black dots that the copilot knew would soon grow into squadrons of vicious Venoms. Getting in didn’t concern him as much as getting out at this point.

Wolfe reached up and tapped a switch on the overhead panel. “Captain, you better get your warriors tucked in—it’s gonna get a bit bumpy.”

“Roger, Cap’n—the sooner we’re engaged with the Vargins the better, so how about a little chop, chop.”

Wolfe looked over at the smiling copilot. “Warriors…”

Tommy’s Rapier sliced through the clear blue Vargus atmosphere while heading toward the southern seaboard at over 35,000 feet. Before him lay the heavily defended cities of the southern hemisphere. Stretching out between the mountains and the beautiful turquoise-colored sea, they included hundreds of densely populated artificial islands, all covered with towering bright white buildings and tall, gracefully curved palm trees.

“Cat Five, stay with the heavies. I’ll take my division and cover the Firestorms working over the city,” Wagner commanded, then added, “Maybe we can draw some fire.”

“Copy,” was the XO’s crisp reply.

Great
, Tommy thought,
draw some fire
…

With the Rapiers still descending, transports below and slightly left, Tommy glanced over at Gary’s ship, making eye contact as the formation flashed over the embattled landing zone.

“What a nightmare,” Rahagin said, peering out the small square window of the rear cockpit. Several of the Firestorms pounding Phang were already in trouble—many in flames.

Wagner, his Rapier raked hard right, looked up past his wing panel at Tommy. “Okay, Thorn, close it up and stay with me.”

Tommy did not respond, nor was he aware of the large, angry burst of energy filling the sky in front of them.
Stay with Wags
, he thought and kept his eyes glued on his leader’s fighter.

“Bandits, level at two seven zero,” Rahagin announced nonchalantly. “All blasters charged, fins are armed and chattering—shield at max. Then he added, “And it looks like you should have been careful about what you wished for…”

Tommy took a second, looked away from Wagner, and glanced down into an eight-inch monitor installed in his aging instrument panel. There, clearly displayed, was the face of his tacnav—his eyes, just visible behind his faceplate, were smiling.

“Looks like you get to tangle with some Venoms after all,” Rahagin continued.

Tommy only nodded, used the thumb on his left hand to select blasters, and refocused his attention on Wagner, already jinking wildly to avoid the ground fire and heading directly into the oncoming enemy fighters.

The Venoms were everywhere, bolts of green energy slamming into the forward shields. Wagner calmly waited for the merge before veering violently left, then rolling back hard right and pulling into a steep climb, lining up on a formation of the fleeing camouflaged fighters as they went vertical.

Tommy stayed with his lead, not even aware that they were passing 43,000 feet, or that they were now pointing straight up. His focus was totally on staying with his lead and the enemy fighters growing larger as the four Rapiers closed on their position—but he needed to get a clear shot!

“In range,” Tommy’s computer announced. The yellow diamond symbol on his helmet visor pulsed bright red as he held the targeting pipper over a Venom and squeezed the trigger.

Bright orange streaks of light reached out and slammed into the right wing root of one of the nimble Venom, whose shields held for a moment but then, under the relentless barrage of focused energy, broke apart and exploded. One of the two spinning chunks of flaming debris crashed into its wingman, who vaporized.
Must have hit the fuel tank
, Tommy thought

“We’ve got a pair of bandits closing fast, Tommy,” Rahagin reported, his hands a blur of movement in the backseat.

Instinctively, Tommy yanked the stick to the right and pulled. His Rapier rolled ninety degrees, the nose snapping back toward his pursuers, just as several balls of green energy flashed over his left wing panel. He craned his neck, working to get the targeting information now moving across his visor to steady up on his prey as it flashed past the top of his canopy. The other Venom, which had abruptly broken off, twisted down and out of sight. “Keep pulling,” he said out loud, working the fighter’s controls to keep his eyes on the spiraling Venom!

“Target acquired,” the computer confirmed. The designation diamond jumped to the Venom, but would not give a locked indication. “
COME ON
,” Tommy yelled, rolling his bird into a steeper angle, now chasing the Vargus jet in an ever tightening circle.
If I can just…pull the nose…a little bit…