Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [87]
“Isn’t that the same guy who took out our attackers?” Ruiz asked.
Jackson remembered the impressive shooting that had knocked down the four transports, one after the other, and nodded. “I think so. I don’t remember seeing another ship like that one.”
“Ah, shit. It looks like he isn’t going to make it,” the chief growled.
Jackson saw the same thing: A murderous Eluoi cross fire had ripped through the slender black fuselage. The roaring engine hiccupped, and the aircraft started to smoke. Leveling out, wobbling awkwardly, it began to lose altitude.
The attacking jetcars didn’t give the Assarn a chance to escape. Instead, they pressed in from above and on both flanks, continuing to rake it with fire. Abruptly, the black fighter’s engines quit completely. The stubby wings couldn’t provide much lift, but somehow the pilot kept his nose up. The fighter smacked into the ground, bounced once, then skidded through the field, churning up dirt and grass in a long trench before coming to rest some 500 meters away from the grove where the SEALS were concealed.
Jackson saw the canopy pop open and a lone figure emerge, tumbling down the side of the fuselage and landing on his feet. He started to run, but two of the Eluoi jetcars swooped down, engines roaring. They landed to either side of him, ramps spilling open to disgorge armed soldiers. Surrounded by eight men with upraised plasma guns, the pilot stopped running and raised his hands.
“Jesus, look at them pound that poor son of a bitch,” Ruiz muttered as the Eluoi soldiers kicked their prisoner again, then hoisted him roughly to his feet. They had been beating the fellow for several minutes but still hadn’t subdued him. His uniform, a black coverall, was half torn away and his face was a bloody mess, but he still thrashed and struggled in the grip of his captors.
Jackson wondered if they would just shoot the fellow and be done with him, but instead the Eluoi threw the pilot to the ground again and pinned him there. A line was lashed around his outstretched wrists, and his captors roughly pulled him onto his feet again, then started dragging him toward the waiting jetcar.
“Poor bastard. He’s even more unpopular around here than we are,” Ruiz remarked.
“Where some men see a poor bastard, I see only opportunity,” Jackson said. When the master chief raised his eyebrow, the officer simply clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Follow me. I think it’s our turn to ride to the rescue.”
“Righto, LT,” the master chief replied, brightening. “You wanna just rush ’em from here?”
“I don’t think we have any time for subtlety,” the officer agreed. “At least they have their backs to us.” Quickly Jackson issued his orders to the waiting SEALS. “We go in a rush. No shooting until they spot us, then give ’em hell. Falco, LaRue, covering fire as necessary. But we want to keep that pilot alive.”
The Eluoi on the ground were focused on their prisoner as they prodded him toward one of the waiting jetcars. There were eight armed soldiers on the ground and, presumably, a couple of pilots in each of the jetcars. The Teammates could see through the clear canopies that the gun turrets were empty.
The SEALS sprinted from the grove, charging abreast in a line. They had nearly 500 meters to cover, but they moved quickly. For the first half of the distance the Eluoi didn’t notice the danger. It was one of the pilots, looking toward the captors and their captive, who finally saw the attackers. The Eluoi raced down the ramp onto the field, shouting something, and the captors spun around.
Immediately the SEALS opened fire. The range was long for the G15s, but they were all expert shots, and four of the eight Eluoi went down in the first volley. The first to die was the Eluoi with a gun pointed at the back of the Assarn pilot. Then Falco drew a bead and took out the Eluoi pilot who had shouted the warning. To him, the distance