UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

XLV - INDEPENDENT EARTH

The flight of six Daggers entered the stratosphere, shed heat from their specially designed skins, and bumped through the quickly warming air.

Salom checked her heads up display, saw more red deltas than she cared to look at, but was grateful for the fact that they were still below. That was an advantage she was happy to have. The naval officer had targets, plenty of them, which meant they had her as well. Why no response, then? Were they blind?

A voice sounded in her helmet. It was confident, verging on smug. "Victor One to incoming Daggers. Welcome to the party. Over".

Salom marveled at her luck. The i***t assumed she was friendly! Not surprising, given the circle jerk up in orbit... but not very smart either. Her pilots followed as the naval officer rolled to starboard and dived towards the aircraft below. "Blue One to Victor One. Thanks for the hospitality".

Victor One watched the delta-shaped icons roll in behind his formation, heard a tone as the missiles locked onto his plane, and realized his mistake. "Bandits at six o'clock! Break! Break! Break!"

Three pilots escaped, but two assimilated the order too slowly and paid with their lives. Their fighters exploded, tumbled out of the sky, and splashed into the Gulf of Eden

Salom smiled grimly, switched to a secure frequency, and gave her orders." Blue One to Blue flight. The muties have transports on the ground. Hit them hard".

A chorus of "Rogers" echoed in her ears as the aerospace fighters started to make their runs. They came in over the Gulf of Tahoma and went straight for the enemy.

Salom spotted one of the bulky aircraft, "thought" her ship to port, and removed the safeties from her guns.

"Watch your six, Blue Leader", a voice cautioned as Salom focused on the target. She saw the delta and fought the urge to abort the run. "Roger, Two. Keep the bastard off my tail".

The ground came up, blurred under the belly of the fighters, and disordered to the rear. The transport had been warned of the danger and was four feet off the ground when Salom fired.

The 30mm cannon shells ripped through the transport's relatively thin skin and hit the power plant. The ship shuddered, sideslipped, and struck a civilian radio mast. The transport fell like a rock.

Salom heard a tone, fought the weight of the gees, and checked the HUD. the delta was right on her tail. The fighter vanished as Lieutenant Alvin blew it out of the sky.

"Thanks, Two".

"You're welcome, boss".

"Blue Leader to Blue flight, form on me. Over".

Only three pilots answered the call. Her wingman brought her up to speed. "Blue Two to Blue One. Three went into the gulf, and six ejected. I saw her chute. Over".

Salom swore under her breath. She had lost one, possibly two pilots, not to mention their planes. Maybe Pius was right. Maybe she should have stayed in orbit. A new voice broke her train of thought. "Bashu control to Blue One. Over".

The fact that the transmission had been encrypted and transmitted on her command channel implied that the Chameleon was in contact with loyalist ground forces. The response was automatic. "This is Blue One. Go. Over".

"We are real glad to see you, Blue One. That transport is toast. We have three columns of borg reinforced infantry approaching the fort along the road from Boi Vawa. Anything you can do? Over".

The choice didn't belong to a communication technician. Salom felt sure of that. The commanding officer? Maybe. The naval officer glanced at the HUD, saw three deltas straight at her, and snapped a response. "Roger that, Bashu control. Can you smoke the target?"

The reply was instantaneous. "Roger that. Artillery on the way. Willie Pete ten from now".

Salom spoke as she nosed over. "Blue One to Blue Four and Five. The bandits are yours. Over".

"Roger, One", Lieutenant Felix Norris answered grimly.

"Over".

Salom didn't have to look to know that Alvin hung above and behind her starboard wing. The ground rushed to meet her, Willie Pete blossomed below, and she fired her rockets. Explosions winked red, tracers streaked past the canopy, and something hit the fuselage. Alarms sounded, fire blossomed, and the plane started to shake.

* * *

Luton had temporarily invested himself in a Trooper III. His chair lurched from side to side as the cyborg ran toward the fort. Blips appeared on the screen. The cyborg's computer tagged the incoming aircraft as hostile. Two shoulder launched missiles were prepared and launched. They wobbled, achieved lock, and started to track.

Three rounds of Willie Pete dropped near the troops, donated, and marked their position. Rockets exploded all around, cannon fire blew divots out of the ground, and someone started to scream.

That was when Major Daniell Samuel, unarmed except for the pistol in his holster, scrambled up out of the concrete lined drainage ditch and waved his troops forward. He never looked back, never checked to see if his troops followed him, as he charged through the flying steel.

And Delta company did follow, screaming like banshees, firing from the hip. Some fell kicking in the dust, some spun as bullets turned them around, and the rest ran.

Already thinned by forces under the command of Captains Walker and NY, and stunned by the attack from above, the mutineers broke and started to withdraw. They paused in and around a cluster of mud-brick shacks. Laundry flapped in surrender, a machine g*n tore it to shreds, and mutineers fell back.

Alarmed now, and intent on preventing a full scale rout, Luton searched for Lieutenant Colonel Leenda, discovered that she had been killed, and assumed command. The ability to jump from one officer to another was a godsend. Luton have a series of orders, called for air strikes, and monitored the withdrawal. Three landing Zones had been reduced to two, but both were secure, and sufficient for the number of people he had left.

Still, it took time to pull back, load the troops, and lift. Time and casualties, since the loyalist tube crews had coordinates for all of the remaining zones and fired mission after mission.

Luton swore as 155mm howitzer shells swept the second landing Zone, hit a pallet loaded with ammo, and marched out the other side. A transport, loaded with troops, wobbled but managed to lift.

There was one piece of good news, however, and that was the fact the loyalist fighters had run low on fuel and had been forced into space. That left Luton's aircraft in charge of the sky, which was an advantage they used to attack the quads, suppress Marco's artillery fire, and protect the landing Zones.

Finally, after the last transport was safely out over the gulf, Luton pulled himself out.

His clothes were soaked with sweat, his jaw was clenched, and his fingers had a death grip on the chair.