The Lotus Eaters

Villarreal's voice was replete with exasperation, but none of it seemed directed at the President. 'Senor Presidente,' he said, 'I have just been made aware of this. These people have attacked the base and airport at Santiago, as well as others. The runway and taxiways are shut down with mines. The radar is out, all of it. We have no effective coverage of the eastern part of the country. I am trying now to get two fighters from here into the air. I have also tried to call the airship the Federated States keeps off our east coast. Maybe they'll tell our planes where to look once they in the air.'

The President sighed. Soldiers could be so stupid sometimes. 'Villareal, who do you think is attacking us? The trixies of the mountains? The UEPF? Balboa, perhaps?'

'Oh . . . I see, Senor. Well, then you must realize that any pilots I send up I am sending to their deaths. We have good boys, but we can't match the planes or the ordnance of the Federated States Air Force.'

'I know, General. But we have to try, for dignity's sake, if nothing else.'

'Yes, senor. I will have two fighters in the air within thirty minutes. They are fueled but they must be armed.'

Santandern Air Force Base, Santa Fe, Santander, Terra Nova

Captain Hartmann and Lieutenant San Martin shook hands and separated, each climbing the short ladders to their cockpits. Hartmann's grandparents had come to Santander from Sachsen after the Great Global War. They had done well in manufactures, being counted among Santander's legitimate rich before the 440s. San Martin's family was older money, landed gentry from the first wave of settlement from Old Earth. The two were, in fact, brothers in law, having married the younger sisters of their squadron commander.

San Martin waved to Hartmann as the former's canopy closed down. Hartmann returned the wave then added power to begin to taxi out towards the runway. By agreement, Hartmann was to sweep north, first to Florencia, then southeast toward Buenaventura. Meanwhile San Martin was to go east to Belalcazar, initially, then further east to the sea. The two pilots were agreed that they would force down one of the intruders or die trying.

Engines whining, San Martin followed Hartmann out onto the runway. With a roar his jets pushed him back into his seat as they pushed his Illusion jet fighter into the sky.

Federated States Airborne Command and Control Ship (ACCS), 271 miles east of Santander, Terra Nova

The defensive laser mounted on the airship cracked once, loudly, causing the weapons and radar officers to cheer. 'That recon skimmer is toast, sir,' Weapons announced.

The lieutenant on the radar frowned, checked, rechecked, and then said, 'Sir, the Santanderns are sending up their air force . . . well . . . some of it.'

When the senior officer aboard walked near to hunch over the radar screen the lieutenant pointed out two blips as they arose and then separated over Santa Fe. 'It isn't much, sir,' the lieutenant said, 'but it could put a crimp in operations.'

Oh, dear. The colonel walked across the deck to communication station. He told the commo officer to set a radio for a broad spectrum transmission, without encryption. 'OK, all you people out there. I know who you are, and you know who I am. What you probably don't know is that there are two bogies up looking for you.' The colonel read off the course, altitude, and speed of the two Santandern craft. 'Just trying to lend a helping hand. Good luck and Godspeed. Out.'

MY Phidippides, Mar Furioso, Terra Nova

Little by little the operation was winding down as the troops of the 22d finished up—rather finished off—the remainder of the opposition, reboarded helicopters and ships, and began to return home. The chief of operations watched the plotter move symbols across the map, marking the progress.

A radio operator reported, 'Sir, two more Finches safely landed at Jaquelina de Coco. Refueling now to return to Cameron. The last four report across the border and twelve minutes out from Jaquelina. The Belalcazar force is boarded and in the air . . . they're a couple of minutes late.'

Still watching the map, Samsonov's chief of ops dismissed the Turbo-Finches from his mind and returned his attention to the map. He concentrated on the twin lines being plotted from Santa Fe marking the progress of the Santandern fighters. Next to the lines times were written in based on the speed reported by the ACCS. The Santandern planes hadn't been spotted as of yet by any of the six Mosaic fighters in the air and under the regiment's control. He expected radar sightings from the Mosaics as the Santanderns crossed the cordillera that ran like a spine parallel to Santander's east coast. Ops was worried. The orders were to avoid engaging regular Santandern forces . . . unless they were effectively engaging an element of the assault force. The Santandern jets could do that.

'Move the Mosaics west to take positions closer to the coast.'

'Sir, Santiago Force is in the air and heading home.' The RTO held the headset tighter to his ear and listened closely. After a moment he announced 'Sir, Santiago Two Bravo reports transmission trouble in its number two bird. They don't think they'll make it home on their own. Santiago Two Alfa has left them behind.'

Again, the regimental operations officer consulted the map. He leafed through an annex to his copy of the operations order, then picked up a microphone. 'Santiago Two Bravo, Santiago Two Bravo, this is Marathon, over.'

Warbling and distorted as were all radio transmissions from helicopters, the response came back 'Marathon, this is Santiago Two Bravo, over.'

'Santiago, Marathon. You have two rafts aboard. I want you to head for Checkpoint Papa'—Ops referred to a spot in the ocean where the water was several thousand feet deep—'then ditch. Repeat, get the troops out and ditch your bird. I'm sending a boat for you. I'll also send two helicopters from the reserve.' The ops officer looked up at a chart of call signs. 'Your rescue birds will answer to Marathon Two Romeo, the boat is Shepherd . . . ah . . . three.' Ops hesitated, then resumed. 'Santiago, if you can't make it to Checkpoint Papa, you have got to get as far