The War in 2020

Taylor's ops indicator showed the remaining four ships of his raiding force following his lead. But the formation was too neat, too predictable.

'One-one, One-two, this is Foxtrot one-zero. Go high. Work a sandwich on them. One-three, One-four, stay with me. Out.'

Meredith's voice came over the intercom. 'Good fix.

I've even got voice on them.' Then he hesitated for a moment.

'What is it?' Taylor demanded.

'Japanese gunships. The latest Toshiba variant.'

'Roger. Execute countermeasures program.' The opposing formations were closing rapidly. Forty miles. Thirty-nine. 'What else, Merry?'

Again, there was a slight hesitation.

'The voices,' Meredith said, 'sound like South Africans.'

Taylor gripped the controls. Time playing tricks. Above the Caspian Sea.

So be it, he thought.

'Confirm activation of full countermeasures suite,' Taylor said. He was determined not to let it shake him. There was nothing special about the South Africans. But he could not entirely resist the flashing images. A cocky young captain winging over the African scrub. Transformed into a terrified young captain. A pistol lifted to the head of a broken-necked boy. Ants at a man's eyes and a river journey through the heart of a dying continent.

Yes. Taylor remembered the South Africans. Suddenly, his battle monitor fuzzed.

'The sonsofbitches,' Krebs said. 'They've got some new kind of shit on board.'

'Merry,' Taylor half-shouted, struggling to maintain control. 'Hank. Hit them with full power. Jam the fuck out of them.'

'Twenty-eight miles,' Krebs said. 'And closing.'

The target-acquisition monitor distorted, multiplying and misreading images.

'Going full automatic on the weapons suite,' Krebs said. 'Let's hope this works.'

Taylor felt sweat prickling all over his body. Frantically, he punched override buttons, trying to clear the monitors. 'Twenty-five…'

Taylor strained to see through the windscreen. The battle overlays were little help now. He struggled to pick out the enemy aircraft with his eyes.

'I've got them,' Merry called forward. 'Clear image.'

'Transfer data to the weapons suite,' Taylor ordered.

Other ships called in their sudden difficulties with their own electronics.

Remember, Taylor told himself, you're doing the same thing to the other guy. He's as frightened as you are. Stay cool, stay cool.

'Negative,' Merry reported. 'The weapons program won't accept the transfer.'

'Range: twenty miles,' Krebs told them all.

Abruptly, the M-100 bucked and began to pulse under Taylor's seat. The main gun was firing.

What does my enemy see? Taylor wondered. If the systems were functioning correctly, his opposite number was reading hundreds of blurred, identical targets, a swarm of ghost images in the midst of which the real M-l00s were hiding. Or, depending on the parameters of his system, he might only be receiving static and fuzz.

Taylor slapped the eyeshield down from atop the headset.

'Laser alert,' he said over the command net. Beside him, Krebs slid down his own shield.

The protective lenses darkened the sky, and the bucking of the M-100 as it maneuvered forward made it even harder to focus. Nonetheless, Taylor believed he could pick out the tiny black spots that marked the enemy.

He took full manual control of the aircraft and pointed it straight at the enemy.

'Full combat speed,' he ordered. 'Let's get them.'

' 'Garry Owen,' ' a voice replied from a sister ship.

'Thirteen miles,' Krebs said. 'We're not hitting a damned thing.'

'Neither are they,' Taylor said. Below the insulated cockpit, the main gun continued to pump out precious rounds, its accuracy deteriorating with every shot.

'I've still got good voice on them,' Merry called. 'They're going crazy. They've lost us. They're firing everything they've got.'

'Ten miles.'

Taylor looked out at the black dots. He counted ten. But he could not see the slightest trace of hostile action. The sky was full of high-velocity projectiles and lasers, but the M-l00's rounds were far quicker than the human eye, while the enemy's current lasers were not tuned to the spectrum of visible light. Around the lethal balls and beams, the heavens pulsed with electronic violence. Yet all that was visible was the gray sky, and a line of swelling black dots on a collision course with his outnumbered element.

'Seven miles. Jesus Christ.'

'Steady,' Taylor said, his fear forgotten now.

Dark tubular fuselages, the blur of rotors and propellers.

It was, Taylor thought, like a battle between knights so heavily armored they did not possess the offensive technology to hurt each other. New magic shields deflected the other man's blows.

'Four miles' Krebs said. 'Jesus, sir, we got to climb. We're on a collision course.'

No, Taylor thought. If they haven't hit us yet at this angle, they won't. But the first man to flinch, to reveal a vulnerable angle, was going to lose.

The M-100 threw another series of rounds toward the closing enemy.

'All stations,' Taylor said. 'Steady on course.'

'Two miles…'

The Toshiba gunships were unmistakable now. Their contours had not changed much over the years. A mongrelized forward aspect, a helicopter with turboprops on the sides. Or a plane with rotors. Take your pick.

'Hold course,' Taylor shouted.

The M-l00's cannon pummeled the sky. To no effect.

'One mile and closing…'

Where once horsemen rode at each other with sabers drawn, their descendants rode the sky in a long metal line, jousting with lightning.

Hit, goddamn it, hit, Taylor told the main gun.

He could see every detail on the enemy gunships now. The mock Iranian markings, the mottled camouflage. The low-slung laser pod.

'We're going to collide.'

Taylor froze his hand on the joystick. Straight ahead.

In a buffeting wash of air and noise, the M-100 shot past the enemy's line.

'All stations,' Taylor said. 'Follow my lead. We've got a tighter turning radius than they do.'

He felt far more confident now. The M-l00's airframe was of a design over a decade fresher than the Toshiba gunships. The M-100 had all of the maneuvering advantages.

'Everybody with me?' Taylor demanded.

The other four ships reported in quick succession.

'Complete the turn. We're only vulnerable from the back.'

He looked at his monitor. The fuzz cloud that marked the enemy had begun to turn too. But they were slower. He could feel it.

'Flapper,' Taylor said. 'Turn off the auto-systems. They're just canceling each other out. Take manual control of the main gun. And use a little Kentucky windage.'

'The accuracy's breaking down,' Krebs said. 'We're just about shot out.'

'You can do it, Flapper. Come on. We didn't have all this fancy shit when you and I started out.'

Krebs nodded, doubt on the lower portion of his face left visible by the laser shield.

'All stations,' Taylor said. 'Open order. Go to manual target acquisition and