Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [13]
He dropped into the pilot’s seat, which accepted his backside like a big hand, and didn’t bother buckling himself in. No-better buckle in, just in case he had to spiral or yaw hard. Wouldn’t help to fall out of the seat onto his head, would it?
The belts were hard and stiff over his shoulders and around his chest. His feet fell upon the lower trim controls. His gloved hands gripped the yoke. The Frog’s comm system would automatically tie in with his combadge… he could still communicate with his team, with the ambassador… they’d be able to both see and hear him making a further fool of himself.
Though it seemed minutes were going by, in fact it was only seconds before he had yanked the release and the Frog had drifted away from the coach, instantly going to its own power once it felt itself let go.
Stiles rammed the throttle, and was suddenly rushing out from under the belly of the big gray-white transport as if bursting out of a cloud. “Mr. Stiles, Spock here.” The voice in his ear startled him. “Stiles, sir,” he responded automatically.
“You are at full throttle. You realize that the Frog will burn itself out quickly at that speed. In less than three minutes, you’ll have nothing left.”
“I know that, sir. I figure there won’t be much point in doing any less.” “Your choice, Ensign.”
“I’m coming into range, sir. I’m opening fire. I’ll try to distract them enough that you can get by.” “Understood.”
Oh, that was charity. What were the chances his little pop-gun phasers could do any damage to the enormous assault craft rushing toward him between the snowy crags of the mountain belt? He opened fire anyway. Shoot/Shoot/Again/Direct hit/
Bolts of red energy cut through the mist and skittered across the big gunladen maw of the A/I. He was way ahead of the coach now, in range of those guns, but they weren’t firing at him. Why not? He was firing on them, so why weren’t they returning fire?
No point. They knew the Frog wasn’t worth the trouble, couldn’t pose a threat to them, couldn’t possibly stop them from taking down the coach.
And judging by the way his phaser energy sparked and fizzled on that ship’s shielded skin, they were right. In seconds he wouldn’t have any power left, at this speed, this effort. The Frog rocketed over the top of the A/I, treating Stiles to a vision of bristling guns just waiting to skin the coach to death. All he had to do was distract them for eleven seconds, but they weren’t playing. His last chance to be a hero was fizzling just like his phaser shots. They were ignoring him.
“They’re ignoring me,” he muttered. “Sir, how close are you to escape velocity?” “Twenty-five seconds, Ensign.”
“Sir… they’re not paying any attention to me. How can I get them to chase me instead of you?” “It’s unlikely that you can,” Spock bluntly told him.
Oh, why not? He’d come this far into the valley of the stupid. One more step couldn’t do any worse.
“Sir;’ Stiles began, “I need a suggestion. I’ll do anything for that eleven seconds.”
“Very good, Ensign. Consider this-that interceptor is not a space vessel. It depends upon lift.” “Thank you, sir!” “You’ll be in extreme danger, Ensign.”
“Doesn’t matter, sir. In a couple of minutes, the Frog won’t have anything left anyway. Here I go …. “
Spock didn’t respond to that. Stiles waited for the zing of heroism to strike him, but nothing happened. He was too laden with the silliness of his mistakes to take much credit for what he was about to do. Pulling back on the Frog’s steering mechanism, he vectored full about and once again streaked toward the interceptor when he heard the decisive Dutch accent of Fighter Wing Leader Beret Folmer.
“Oak One, Brazil. Stiles, what’re you doing? You can’t fight that thing off with a Frog!”
“Maintain position, wing leader,” Stiles told him. “Never mind me.” “Eric, you’re making the wrong decision.” “No, it isn’t. Cut the chatter”
Before him he saw the A/I piercing the clouds on