Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [79]
Something caused the aircraft to lurch violently, and this time it wasn’t the pilot’s frantic maneuvering. The lieutenant could see a line of holes appear in the starboard wing, and then the whining turbine banged loudly. Bits of metal spewed from the exhaust vent, and the jetcar slowed abruptly, like a bus when the driver slams on the brakes.
“We’re hit!” Falco shouted. “I can’t hold altitude.”
“Make for that greensward, there.” Consul Char-Kane indicated a gap between two square buildings, still managing to sound calm and reasonable even as flames spit along the base of the starboard wing.
The aircraft was banking heavily, but Falco somehow managed to shoot the gap. The two white walls flashed past like the sides of a canyon, and then they were over one of the natural areas that had been allowed to survive in the midst of Batuu City. Jackson saw ponds, some meadows that were bright with wildflowers, and several groves of lofty trees.
Falco picked out a flat field and struggled to level the jetcar’s flight. They were still descending, the starboard wing lower than the port. He pulled back on the stick, and the sole remaining engine pivoted into VTOL mode, slowing the aircraft even more but emphasizing the list to starboard with a sickening lurch.
The ground was coming up fast, and then it was right there. The impact came as the starboard wing crumpled like tinfoil, and then the fuselage slammed into the ground with a jolt that snapped Jackson’s neck forward.
Harris, in the turret, continued to fire at the pursuing aircraft. There were nearly a dozen of them, buzzing like bees, swarming and circling around the stricken jetcar. Falco pushed a switch, and fresh air flooded the cabin as the emergency hatch on the port side popped open.
Jackson unstrapped himself and stood up, surprised to find that nothing was broken. Shells impacted the wrecked machine, and he saw flame and smoke erupting from the port wing.
“Bail out!” he shouted, reaching up to slap Harris’s foot.
The chief slid down from the turret, joining the lieutenant, Falco, and Char-Kane in tumbling out of the cockpit. Jackson saw that the rear ramp also had dropped, and the four SEALS in the passenger compartment were falling to the ground. Each carried his weapon and as much gear and ammunition as he could manage.
They raced away from the aircraft, making it maybe ten or a dozen steps before the remaining fuel exploded in a fireball and a cloud that blotted out the sky.
Fourteen: Custer Had It Easy
The force of the blast sent Jackson sprawling, slamming him flat on his face with stunning force. His nose was bleeding when he pushed himself off the ground, and his injured shoulder collapsed without warning, planting his face into the ground a second time with even more painful results. For a moment he fought a wave of darkness and nausea, but he refused to yield to the comforting blackness. Instead, he pushed himself to his knees, braced by his good arm, shaking his head while he tried to ignore the pain shooting through his nose and arm.
Consul de Campe Char-Kane lay beside him, and he roughly pulled the moaning woman up as he stood. Together they swayed; a glance backward showed him that the jetcar was engulfed by flames, spewing a cloud of smoke high in the sky. It was that plume, he realized, that was keeping them alive for the moment, since the Eluoi in the swarming aircraft couldn’t get a good look at the ground.
“Head for the trees—move, goddammit!” Jackson shouted, more for his own benefit than for that of his men, who had anticipated his order. The SEALS already were sprinting toward the looming cover as each man regained his feet. The sturdy trunks were only a couple of dozen meters away, their leafy branches rising high, with obscuring shadows darkening the grove beyond the fringe of woods.
Harry Teal, Master Chief Ruiz, and Rocky Rodale were the first to reach the tree line. Each man threw himself down behind a log or knelt at the side of a thick, sturdy trunk, using the