Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [88]
The Assarn prisoner reacted immediately. Jerking on the line binding his wrists, he pulled the captor immediately in front of him down onto his back. Next he launched a vicious kick to his right, breaking the leg of another of his captors. After the kick, he dropped flat on the ground.
The two standing Eluoi started shooting, but it was too late. Ruiz and Teal snapped off a couple of short bursts, and both men fell. The engines on the jetcar to the right roared, and the aircraft started upward even before the stern ramp snapped shut. Clawing for altitude, it banked away as the pilot tried to flee the sudden, shocking attack. LaRue’s Baby thundered from across the park, but his round only grazed the aircraft and passed through it without igniting anything vital. Rodale had his launcher on his shoulder, and the tube spit a sizzling rocket. The deadly projectile chased the aircraft up into the sky, striking the tail and exploding immediately. The jetcar spiraled into the ground a kilometer away and quickly began to burn.
By the time the SEALS reached the prisoner, the Assarn pilot had used the rope attached to his wrist to strangle the Eluoi he had pulled over. Drawing a knife from the dead man’s belt, he quickly dispatched the final one of his captors, the soldier who had been writhing with a broken leg.
He watched warily as the SEALS approached. Despite the bloody nose and the cuts on his cheeks and face, he stood tall and proud. Better than six feet in height, he had long blond hair bound into a tail hanging halfway down his back. He held the knife in his hand and offered a sheepish smile as he studied the guns of the SEALS and looked at the carnage they had wrought among his captors. With a shrug, he dropped the knife and planted his hands on his hips.
“I guess I owe you some thanks,” he said. “But who are you?”
His language was different from that of the Eluoi, more guttural, with long “u” and “o” sounds pronounced clearly. But the translator in Jackson’s ear functioned perfectly, and the electronic speaker clearly transformed his words into English.
“It’s a very long story,” Jackson said. “Can you understand me?”
The pilot nodded and pointed to his own ear. “I have a translator implant. Comes in handy in my…business.”
“Then maybe we can help each other out.” The lieutenant gestured to the remaining jetcar, which still was idling on the ground nearby. “But first, can you fly this thing?”
The man smiled broadly, a very reassuring expression.
“In my sleep,” he said cheerfully.
“Then let’s go for a ride,” Jackson suggested. “We can talk and get away at the same time.”
“Let’s move, Team,” Master Chief Ruiz growled. “We’ve got another ship to steal.”
Sixteen: Olin Parvik
The rescued pilot made his way through the small cabin to the flight deck with Falco trailing after him. Jackson moved to follow but was restrained by a hand on his wrist. He looked back in surprise to see Consul Char-Kane holding him. She glanced meaningfully past him, where the stranger had just gone through the forward hatch.
“Are you sure you can trust him?” she asked. “He is of the Assarn!”
“So he’s one of the Assarn,” the officer replied. “The way I see it is we’ve done him one helluva favor. I’d like to think he knows he owes us. And don’t forget, we were burned toast back there in that garden, as good as dead—or captured—until he and his pals showed up to pull our fat out of the fire.”
“I told you, they are savages, uncivilized, untrustworthy!” she insisted, her red eyes wide with alarm.
Jackson’s tone turned cold. “He’s done nothing savage so far,” he retorted. “And he seems like our best chance to get out of here alive and maybe even get our people back. Do you want to come along for the ride or not?”
She pursed her lips, and those eyes seemed to flare with a little more intensity than usual. Saying nothing, she stalked past the lieutenant to take the number three seat in the cockpit. Jackson took the fourth chair, and Chief Harris scrambled up the few steps into the low dorsal turret.
“Strap in, everybody,