Yukikaze

“The generally accepted conclusion,” the major said, assuming an air of mock pomposity, “is that you single- handedly assaulted and neutralized an enemy intelligence center. You might get a medal for it. You should be glad.”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“Figured you’d say that.”

“It wasn’t me that did it, anyway. It was Yukikaze.”

Rei thought that the JAM may have been trying to thoroughly examine an Earth combat machine in an attempt to find out how humans thought and maybe even how to remake them. The moment they know that’s impossible, he thought, their tactics will change.

“The JAM haven’t attacked Earth directly yet.”

Booker looked at him like he was crazy. “What, they’re not attacking directly enough for you now?”

“It’s still an indirect invasion. There’s an intense battle that’s moving into an arena we humans can’t perceive. When they lose there, the target of their attacks will change. They’ll definitely go after humans then. That’s what I think, anyway.”

The annihilation of mankind. Would national patriotism or human solidarity help them survive? “Hell no,” Rei muttered. In the end, it would be the machines that would survive. Machines equipped with intelligence and fighting ability.

“I see,” said Booker, with the barest hint of a smile. “Then I suppose we should eat while we still have the chance.”

The major’s tray was an impressive sight today. No doubt he’d won at cards again and had someone else paying for the grand repast, which was in marked contrast to Rei’s modest meal of soup and cornbread.

“Say, Jack, what’s that book?”

Aside from the magazine with Lander’s article in it, Booker had with him a thick hardcover book.

“Oh, this. Mrs. Mead’s Home Cooking Encyclopedia. I’ve gotten into cooking as a hobby lately. What do you think?”

“Knock yourself out,” said Rei, taking a bite of his cornbread. “By the way, where do you think this corn was grown?”

“Haven’t a clue,” answered the major. “Lander would know more about that. You should have asked him.”

The cornbread caught in Rei’s throat, choking him slightly.

IV INDIAN SUMMER

To him, tears were simply a bodily necessity, the fluid that protected his eyes and allowed him to see. Nothing more. Emotions knew no place in combat. Therefore, he knew no sadness.

THE FAF’S AEROSPACE Defense Corps and the JAM were joined in battle.

Captain Munch nudged his beloved Sylphid’s side stick. Responding immediately to the slight increase in horizontal pressure, the side force controller engaged, and the Sylph slid right, keeping its nose facing forward. Dogfight mode. Enemy in sight. The targeting reticule’s distance gauge shrank. He pulled the gun trigger. The airframe shook. A flash, then black smoke.

“Got him! Good kill!” yelled his EWO, Second Lieutenant Chu, from the rear seat. “That bandit’s toast. Let’s head home.”

“Roger that,” the captain replied. The combat airspace was too large for him to be in visual contact with the other planes in his squadron, but here and there across the sky he could see clouds of black smoke marking their defeat of the JAM aircraft.

After a while, his comrades’ planes began to gather from all points. They retook a tight combat formation — maintaining a scant hundred meters from wingtip to wingtip — as they headed for Banshee-IV, their flying aircraft carrier.

“The enemy today didn’t seem too tough.”

“That’s ’cause they’re no match for the Sylphs.”

“Check it out,” said Chu, gesturing upwards with his thumb. “The tourist’s going home.”

A Super Sylph passed high over Echo Squadron, moving at supersonic speed.

“It’s one of the SAF pukes from the Tactical Air Force. Boomerang Squadron.”

“Huh. He’s fast. I doubt we could catch him.”

“No joke. He’s strapped onto twin Phoenix Mk-X engines. Those things’re built for supercruising.”

“But they’re meant more for speed than for mobility, right? We probably couldn’t take him at distance, but I bet we could if we lured him into a dogfight.”

“He’d just bug out of there immediately. I could hit my V-max switch and he’d still be able to outrun us at normal power without breaking a sweat. Pisses me off, though. Him just bailing on us without a single word.”

Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta wings of Echo Squadron rejoined. The SAF Super Sylph was now beyond their radar range. No sign of it remained.

“Home, sweet home, dead ahead.”

“Back in dear Banshee’s belly,” sang Captain Munch, in high spirits. “We drink, we laugh, and we party. She swallows us whole, and — ” He laughed. “Man, all I need is my guitar and it’d be perfect.”

“Screw the guitar. It’d be a helluva lot more perfect if there were some hot girls.”

Lieutenant Chu checked the radar display. They were sixty klicks out from the flying carrier, a giant, nuclear- powered air base that stayed aloft in perpetual orbit around the FAF’s air defense zone.

The carrier sent out an IFF query signal, and Chu confirmed that their response equipment was functioning. The entire procedure was completed automatically. Or it should have been.

“That’s funny. Banshee’s being really insistent.”

“It didn’t make a mistake with the IFF code, did it?”

“I doubt they’d forget to check if the code was changed. What’s going on over there? Banshee, this is Echo 1, come in.”

“Banshee, honey, your husband’s home. How about you — ”

“Cut the chatter!” Lieutenant Chu yelled. “Multiple mediumrange missiles, closing!”

“No welcome-home kiss, huh? Oh man, tell me this is not happening.”

“Shit, why’re they shooting at their own people?!” The combat support lines were now cut.

“What the hell’s going on with Banshee’s crew?”

Missiles exploded in front of them.

“They got Alpha 4!”

The RWR warning tone was blaring. Captain Munch snapped his plane over into a power dive, dumping chaff as he went. They plummeted toward the forests of Faery until at the last moment Munch lit the afterburners. As they kicked in the Sylph rocketed into a turn and climbed. Flying through the glittering chaff, the missile lost track of the plane for a moment. It quickly reacquired the target and began maneuvering to resume its pursuit, but it ran out of time and plunged into the forest.

The Sylph shuddered in the shock wave of the explosion.

“That was some high-power missile. Way better than what the JAM use.”

“This is no joke! Everyone’s gonna get shot down at this rate.”

“Lieutenant, plot a return course.”

“What are you planning?”

“I’m gonna reacquaint the lady with her husband’s face.”

Munch shoved the throttle forward. The induction temperature rose and low-altitude air turbulence shook the