quick glance confirmed that the radio intercept was right on the nose, its strength growing fast. 'Stand by,' he said to Ferreira, 'any second… there!'
'Got it,' Ferreira said; she let go with Widowmaker's 30mm cannons, streams of shells tearing into the road before smashing through the Hammer column making its way toward the camp, the mix of trucks and light armor no match for Widowmaker's hypervelocity salvo. They were past, and Mother reefed the lander around hard to port. 'One more pass and we're out of here,' Michael said. Mother slammed the lander back to starboard so hard that Adrissa grunted out loud. Feeding power into the main engines, the AI tightened the turn, ramming the lander back level the moment the road reappeared. The Hammer column was visible ahead. The rain still sheeting down was painted a lurid red-gold by the flaming wreckage, a searing flare whiting out the holocams when a microfusion plant lost containment.
A pair of white lines streaked out of the darkness toward Widowmaker. Michael had no time to work out what he was seeing before the lander's defensive lasers slashed the two Goombah short-range, man-portable surface- to-air missiles out of the air only meters before impact, fragments clattering into the armor like steel rain.
'Someone's got his shit together,' he muttered, reminding himself never, ever to take the Hammers for granted, not even their second-tier planetary ground defense forces. Widowmaker's unexpected appearance, a massive shape erupting out of the darkness spewing death, would have unsettled even the best.
'Widowmaker, Alley Kat. Airborne. Coming onto track for Point Lima.'
'Roger. Mother, disengage,' Michael said. 'Take station on Alley Kat.'
'Command, sensors. We're getting too much attention from McNair air-defense radars. I think they know we're here.'
'Damn,' Michael muttered. Not that he was surprised after the havoc they had unleashed. 'Any sign of flier activity?'
'None, sir, but it can't be long.'
'Agreed. Tac. Decoys ready for the breakaway?'
'Ready.'
'Command, sensors. I have multiple airborne search radars. Stand by… Kingfisher air-superiority fighters bearing Green 170 inbound from Ojan PGDF base. They're within Alaric launch range. Stand by, more emitters, bearing…'
Michael's gut twisted; the long-range air-to-air Alaric missiles carried by the Kingfishers were hard to shake off once they had locked on. Given enough of them, they would chop Widowmaker to pieces; even the much tougher and better-armed Alley Kat and Hell Bent might struggle to survive. He cut Carmellini off. 'Update the threat plot. There are too many of them to report.'
Michael sat back, his heart pounding and his mouth dry. This was it, the big gamble, the one they had to win for any of them to survive; more than any operation he had been involved in, Gladiator's success depended on the weapon of the weak: deception. The Hammers could be allowed to see only what he wanted them to see: three decoys configured to look like landers fleeing for their lives, their active stealth systems programmed to return enough of the radio frequency energy thrown at them by the Hammer radars to convince the air-defense commanders that they were the real thing.
'Command, tac. All landers ready for breakaway, decoys nominal.'
'Roger. All stations, command. Stand by breakaway. Hold on; this will be a bit rough.'
When the time came, it was. As one, the three landers turned and lifted their noses sharply. Throttling back the main engines, Mother shifted power to the belly thrusters. Michael held his breath as he watched what was an incredible balancing act. Kept airborne by the thrust from its main engines, slowed by its belly thrusters, air-braked by wings and flaps extended to their fullest, Widowmaker decelerated with savage force until it was moving at little more than walking speed.
For a moment, the three landers hung in the air, noses pointed skyward, but only for as long as it took to retract their wings. Then they pitched back level to drop vertically into a narrow ravine barely wide enough to take them. The thrusters cut off, and the landers thumped into the rocky ground with a sickening crash that racked Widowmaker's frame, her brooding black shape enveloped in boiling clouds of steam rising into the rain-sodden air around her before being ripped away into the night by the storm.
'Holy shit,' Michael whispered when silence returned.
'Holy shit is right,' Ferreira said, her voice crackling with tension and excitement. 'That is what I call a white- knuckle ride.'
Recovering his composure, Michael turned to Adrissa. 'Captain, sir. There'll be a full briefing for the senior officers on the flight deck of Alley Kat. I'll see you there once I've confirmed the landing zone is secure.'
'Ah, yes,' Adrissa said faintly, wide-eyed and white-faced. 'Fine.'
Michael climbed out of his seat. 'Right. Let's make sure Chief Bienefelt's doing what we pay her for. Jayla, for chrissakes, make sure everyone's neuronics are off. I want absolute radio silence. Laser tightbeams only.'
'Already on it, sir.'
Michael slid down the flight deck ladder, his boots thumping into the cargo bay deck. Making his way through Widowmaker's complement of rescued spacers-a more stunned and confused bunch of people he had never seen-he reached for Anna's hand.
'I've a bit to do. You coming?'
Anna nodded, and they walked out into the night.
The instant the landers broke away, the decoys turned hard to starboard and went to emergency power, transmitting a tantalizing cocktail of radio frequency energy intended to attract the Hammers' attention. Dropping to within meters of the ground, a formless black blur below them, they fled west through the rain-soaked night, the wind buffeting and bumping them as they headed for the coast and the waiting ocean.
Behind them, a large salvo of Alaric long-range hypersonic air-to-air missiles turned to follow. Closing fast now, the missiles ignored the decoys' increasingly frantic efforts to jam their sensors, though curiously, the jamming did manage to choke the Alarics' data uplinks, making sure that whatever their optical sensors saw in the final seconds before impact was lost in a torrent of noise.
Well offshore, the decoys' time ran out; the Alarics closed in, and one after another, the decoys died. Blown out of the air, they fell in tumbling arcs down to a storm-savaged sea, smashing into its leaden surface in spectacular eruptions of spray urged into the night sky by incandescent balls of plasma as their fusion microplants lost containment.
Soon a pair of Hammer search and rescue heavy lifters arrived. Spiraling out from the impact datum, they started the search, but there was nothing for them to see. The on-scene commander grunted his frustration; any debris there might have been was lost in a shambles of huge gray-black walls marching remorselessly out of the night, their crests collapsing, toppling forward in raging maelstroms of white water that smeared thick blankets of foam across the sea's surface. He made one last low-speed pass over the search area; if anything, conditions were getting worse, not better, with the lifter sagging and wallowing through the turbulent air and visibility at times close to nil in the driving rain and spray.
The man knew a lost cause when he saw one. 'SAR-65, this is 22. Anything?'
'22, 65,' the second lifter replied. 'Nothing, and I don't think there will be.'
'22, roger. I'll call it in. SAR control, this is SAR-22,' he radioed. 'Search complete. No trace of enemy landers, no emergency beacons, no survivors. They must have gone in hard. 22 and 65 returning to base. Over.'
'SAR control, 22 and 65 returning to base. Understood. Out.'
'65, 22. You copy?'
'65, copy,' the command pilot of the second heavy lifter replied.
'22, roger. Let's go.'
Michael and Anna sat with their backs against the rock wall, rushing water from the rain-swollen creek that cut across the floor of the ravine the only sound. The hours since landing had been busy, and Michael was exhausted, the extent of what he and the rest of the Redwoods had done, the appalling risks they had taken, weighing heavily on his mind. He hated to think how much three perfectly serviceable dreadnoughts were worth to an asset-strapped Fleet even if the dumb fucks had no idea how to use them effectively. Still, he consoled himself, here they were, safe. Apart from some air activity-all passing overhead and showing not the slightest interest in one unremarkable ravine out of the thousands incised into the Branxton Ranges-there had been no sign of the Hammers. The pickets Kallewi had thrown out in a protective ring around the lay-up point were troubled only by the driving rain.
