Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [14]
In just a moment the coach would be in range of the blunt force of the A/I’s guns, and be driven down with its precious payload.
Stiles aimed the nose of his Frog downward, directly at the A/I’s tail fins. A slave to lift… to the air it rode upon. Not a space vessel… why hadn’t he thought of that himself?.
Like a mosquito buzzing a raven, he shot downward from the high peaks until all around him became a spiky blur. The A/I’s big black body grew before him with stunning speed until it filled his forward canopy and he could see nothing but the interceptor and the nearing form of the coach beyond it. All he could see of the coach was the gleaming underbelly-what an angle Spock was piloting! The stresses-could the coach take that?
“Didn’t know it could do that” he gasped, but there was hardly any sound. “Ambassador, this is Stiles. If I disable that interceptor, the five fighters can drive it out of your way. Do you copy?”
“Understood. Three fighters would probably be sufficient, Ensign. The other two can effect rescue-“
“No,” Stiles said. “Not again. Keep them in formation, all five of them.” “Explain your plan.” “I’m gonna clip that thing.”
He was surprised when Spock didn’t argue. Stiles found himself both gratified and humiliated by his hero’s silence.
Then, abruptly, a giant hand reached out and slapped him blind. A crash like thunder deafened him. Collision !
Chapter Three
THE FROG RAKED its port wing hard across the A/I’s tail pectoral, shearing the fin off halfway down. With a sickening pitch, the tiny defender skidded over the metal top of the interceptor, then scraped off to one side like water sheeting off, now hopelessly damaged, and for a silly moment hung side by side in the sky with its enemy. As Stiles watched, the big interceptor almost casually yawed and lost altitude, falling away beneath the coach and rolling almost on its side, which prevented it from firing its forward guns at anything but the nearest mountain. The A/I took a couple of shots, but missed the coach entirely.
As if in a dream, Stiles listened to the reactions of his fighter pilots.
“The interceptor’s falling off! All wings, attack formation! Get under the coach and drive the A/I down!” “Affirmative. Formation Attack-Alpha.” Brazil’s voice-giving the strike order.
Falling apart around Stiles, the Frog shook violently and rattled enough to make a man insane. Nothing responded as Stiles fought for trim-hopeless. The big interceptor was veering out of control, but unfortunately so was he.
“I’m going down!” he shouted, more to himself than anyone listening. He was glad when Spock didn’t try to give him lastminute instructions. The Frog was croaking and there was nothing to be done about it.
“The A/1 is veering off. They’ve got no control. Beautiful… Stiles, you did it. Eric?” “I can’t see him anymore! Bernt, have you got visual?” “That’s negative. He’s off my screens. No visual.” “No visual, Travis.” “Oak One, do you copy? Do you copy!” “Pecan, Chestnut-stay information! We’re not out yet!” Then, Spock’s voice, like an oasis amid the youthful cries of the others. “Coming to flank speed. All wings maintain formation.”
Without control he skimmed through the mountains, past knives of rock and white slopes of snow, scratching and plowing through whatever scooped up into his path, buffeted fiercely by winds and the force of his own fall. Around him the Frog cracked, broke, screamed, until finally an insurmountable crag caught the starboard wing and whipped him into a snow drift. “Formation Emerald, all wings.”
“I saw where he went. Right into the snow crest on the sunside of mountain on the starboard beam.