The Amtrack Wars - Earth Thunder Part 93

'If I can, sir. Why have you got aircraft up this late?"

'New routine we're trying out,' replied Carroll. 'We've heard that Mutes usually keep their heads down after dark. So we're working up for night operations. The idea is to have a high-flier pin-point the settlements during the day, then go in after dark behind a navigation leader who will mark and light up the target with flares for the main force. We'll be able to go in low and fast, lay down the napalm, then strafe them as they come running out with their pants down. And of course the night sky gives us perfect cover. Can't fail."

'No. It sounds good,' said Steve hollowly.

They went up into one of the duck-holes set along the edges of the flight deck and watched several dummy approaches, hook-on landings and catapult launchings from the steam-powered booms. Half of the wing-men on board had been tapped for night-flying exercises, and they were taking it in turn to practise take-offs and landings, using the faster, twin-boom Skyhawk Mark 2.

Pete Vandenberg, Mel Avery and Ayers joined Steve in the duckhole.

Carroll turned to Steve. 'Do you want to try your hand at a couple of circuits? May be your last chance for a while."

Steve tried to sound interested but not overeager.

'Well, yes - if you're sure it's okay."

'Go ahead,' said Carroll. 'I trust you." He stopped as a thought struck him. 'You have flown the Mark Two, haven't you?"

'A few times,' lied Steve.

'Then you should be okay. Most of the systems are duplicated on the SkyRider. Should be no problem. Do a few dummy approaches. If you find yourself running out of deck, go round again and land alongside.

We'll haul you aboard on the boom."

Sonny Ayers chortled at the prospect."Ohh, this I gotta see!" They waited until the next Skyhawk landed on, then climbed out and followed it as the deck crew manhandled it onto the starboard catapult. Carroll stopped the departing wing-man and borrowed his helmet. He handed it to Steve with a smile. 'This takes me back a few years."

'Yeah, me too, sir. There's another question I've been wanting to ask.

Maybe you'll feel unable to answer it, but . . ."

'I think I know what it is, but go ahead anyway."

'The pa.s.sing-out exam. Were the final marks rigged?"

'Yes, they were. You scored 197 - close to the double century you were aiming for."

'So what happened?"

Carroll shrugged. 'An order came through to mark you down. That's all I can tell you - and don't ask me why. But you're still top in my book. Best pupil I ever had. And that silver card shows that other far more important people think very highly of you too."

Steve laughed. 'Yehh, you're right." He shook Carroll's hand. 'Thank you, sir. You don't realise how much this means to me."

Carroll waved his words away. 'Just show us what you can do, Brickman - and don't bend it!" Steve saluted, climbed into the Skyhawk, exchanged his field cap for the visored bone-dome, checked the instruments and control movements then closed the c.o.c.kpit cover. The catapult boom lifted to form an angle of fifteen degrees with the deck.

The crew chief crouched low on the deck, and gave Steve the windup signal. He selected ten degrees of flap and opened the throttle to full revs. When the needle hit the mark, he braced himself in his seat with his head against the backrest and spoke into the helmet mike.

'Flaps set, trim set, speed set, Go!" WhhoooossssshhhHH! Steve gave an exultant yell as he soared into the night sky and climbed steadily upwards towards the beckoning moon.

Some fifteen minutes after Steve had left the flight-deck, the central computer system picked up his exit from the elevator lobby on Level Ten-lO at Monroe/Wichita and Karlstrom was now on the case. It did not take long to discover that he had talked his way on board the Fighting Leathernecks, and had coolly borrowed a Skyhawk that he obviously had no intention of bringing back.

Brickman had demonstrated his resourcefulness yet again. How he had escaped the blast was a mystery Karlstrom did not intend to waste time solving. The runaway had to be stopped, not because he could damage AMEXICO, or the Federation, but because he had become a challenge Karlstrom could not ignore.

This was personal. He could not allow anyone to get the better of him.

A crestfallen Commander Carroll had supplied the necessary information.

The Skyhawk, which was powered by methane gas, had not been fully tanked up. The maximum distance Brickman could travel before he ran dry was one hundred and fifty miles. That would bring him down far short of Wyoming.

Karlstrom checked his watch. If he was flying at the most economical cruising speed, Brickman would be making a dead-stick landing on unfamiliar terrain at around one o'clock in the morning. The reports from Ramp Security at San Antonio had established that the damage to his ankle would severely hamper any journey he attempted to make on foot. Come first light, he would not be too hard to find ....

'Do you feel better now?"

Roz opened her eyes to find Clearwater sitting beside her bed of furs.

She eased herself up into a sitting position and found she could not support herself on her left arm.

Clearwater saw her grimace. 'Steve...?"

'Yes..." Roz touched the crown of her head, her left shoulder, ribs then pointed towards her left foot. 'He is hurt in so many places.

But he has escaped. I can feel it. He is much nearer than before."

She closed her eyes and turned her thoughts inwards. 'Two rivers running together."

Cadillac poked his head through the door flap in time to hear this.

'That is where we fought the battle with the Iron Snake! Is that where he is? Shall I gather a posse and go to meet him?"

Roz laid a hand on her swollen belly. 'No. You are to wait here with me." She stretched out her right hand towards Clearwater. 'Come closer. He wants to speak to you through me."

Clearwater bent over her. Roz laid both hands on her forehead. They both remained motionless for a long moment, then Roz said: 'Help me outside. I want to see the sun."

Cadillac backed out and held the flap open. Clearwater wiped the tears from her face and helped Roz onto her hands and knees. Roz clutched her arm and whispered: 'Get Meri! It's close. I feel it!'

Mexicali-Rose was the M'Kenzi midwife. Clearwater said: 'But you still have another moon!" Roz shook her head violently. 'Get everything ready and remember the lessons I gave you!" Clearwater and Cadillac helped her from the tent into the morning suns.h.i.+ne. She knelt down by the deep metal pan - one of the prizes from their trip to Ne-Issan and splashed water on her face to hide her own tears.

Steve blinked himself awake from a confused dream in which he had surmounted a series of ever increasingly difficult obstacles with a growing feeling of powerlessness, and found himself slumped down low in the c.o.c.kpit of the downed Skyhawk.

The full moon had helped him pick out some reasonably flat terrain when the fuel ran out. Without a map, he had been obliged to guess the right course for Wyoming.

He decided to head north-west, and had spotted the line of the North Platte river when the fuel ran out. Gliding down from his cruising alt.i.tude of four thousand feet he managed to add several more miles to his journey and, by a curious stroke of fate, had come down within a few hundred yards of the confluence of the North and South Platte near to the spot where The Lady from Louisiana and the Clan M'Call had both been destroyed.

The site of his last great betrayal ....

With only one shot at a landing, he had done his best, but had ripped off the nose wheel and portside main wheel on landing - and no doubt had mangled the propeller. Not that it mattered. The semi-controlled crash hadn't improved the condition of his left ankle or his cracked ribs. But he was still a lot closer to home.

All he had to do was get out and start walking.

He hauled himself upright in the seat and took stock of his surroundings. Spread out in a line ahead of him, walking cautiously towards him were twelve, thirteen, no . . fourteen Mute warriors.

Half of them carried loaded cross-bows raised against the shoulder, ready to fire. The others had their knives out.