“Eat buzzard shit, you bloody scumbag, fucking tyrant.”
I watched his arm jerk in a spasm and then his figure double over. With a roar of rage, he straightened then I blinked in puzzlement because my rapid fire didn’t come anywhere near the sod, but I was already stumbling to my feet toward the ship on the heels of Wren and the others, heedless of the gunshots whizzing around us.
I cried out in pain as more stray beams grazed me, but they didn’t kill me—at least not yet. Wren was still shrieking into the com. The others were on the move. I staggered toward them, one hand clutching my ribs, the other my R4. We all raced to safety. In that fateful minute, death and life hung on a thread while the creature from another world made hatchet work of Mong’s men. If not for its deadly savagery we would have been rat bait from the get-go.
We made it through the cargo hatch before it closed and Noss was fast in getting us airborne and the hell out of there. A squadron of Warhawks were on our tail. No doubt Mong was ordering his gunners to exercise maximum force.
We lurched inside and crawled deeper into the dimness, choking on the smoke and clutching the straps along the wall while Noss weaved us on a rocky tour with fareon fire slamming the hull.
I stumbled on duck feet toward the bridge, my ribs on fire, while Grild stayed behind to tend to Zan and Volia. Blest? I don’t know about Blest.
Wren hissed in dismay. “You need regen.”
“Screw the regen,” I rasped hoarsely. “We need to save this ship—and our hides.”
We staggered onto the bridge. Noss beamed at me from behind the pilot’s console. “Welcome back, Captain.”
“Get this bird out in deep space, Noss. Good to see you.”
Reunions were short. We had bogies on our tail, deadly ones. Both Noss and Wren were on it. Wren slapped herself down before the weapons console. I assumed nav. Noss weaved us in impossible circles high over Othwan’s forests and lakes as flash bombs spilled around us like confetti at a wedding. Wren blasted blue hell back at the warbirds behind us. I knew Mong had those superior shields installed, making his vessels nearly tank-armored, so our fire-power would do less than nothing. Dodge and dip was all we could do while we ran the dangerous gauntlet on impulse power. Noss was doing a capable job. This new, suped-up starship was ace, but I could see we were not going to make it through this hell unless we did something very damn tricky. I set the course for Veglos. My hand strayed to the Varwol slider. I pulled my fingers back at the last instant. Gripping my side, I was wracked by a sudden spasm and felt the crippling wooziness of shock threatening to tumble me into an abyss. A monumental bad feeling hit my gut hard—one flick of that lever and it could be the end of us. Planetary gravity and warp drive do not mix, cadet Rusco. Any junior flyboy can tell you that. There had to be another way.
The Vendecki line of battleships ranged the inner edge of the planet’s atmosphere. There was a right, mean space fight in progress. A hundred Warhawks stood arrayed against much the same Vendecki numbers. No other choice but the hard one. The reckless one. And that meant—
“Noss bring us into the eye of the storm.”
“What?”
“There! Straight into the war zone.” I stabbed a thumb at the holo nav.
Noss blinked, he hesitated; at the last moment he caught my drift. Steering Starrunner straight into the Vendecki front, he fought the controls, negotiating an obstacle course where hundreds of ships weaved in and out, firing fareons and launching bombs at Mong’s Warhawks.
Volia came staggering onto the bridge. She’d bypassed Grild’s ministrations and stood before us, her breath a hoarse rasp. “Where are we?”
“A million miles from nowhere soon, sister—or we’re space debris.”
She gazed at me, looking somewhat better than before, though her wide eyes teared at the number of her own Vendecki and Melinarian allies locked in heated battle with Mong’s forces getting battered by Warhawks. She let out a hoarse cry. “Tell them you have me, Rusco! Innocents are dying in the air, on the ground—for me.”
I grimaced. The rebels hadn’t responded to us on secure channels. I swore and patched her through to the general emergency frequency.
A staticky voice rasped over the com, “General Azun here, Lady Volia, Countess of Melinar. Are you alright?”
“Yes! I am, General. I’m aboard Starrunner right now with a fellow named Rusco. Get your people out of there!”
“Roger. We’ve confirmed visual. All rescue teams are on the abort. Set a far course and tell Rusco to fly Starrunner to safe haven!”
“Affirmative. You too, find safe haven. Please abort this crazy mission.”
“Negative. Operation Tiger is underway. We’ve committed and we’ll never get a better chance to destroy Mong’s hideaway, though many of us may die.”
“You will all die!” she wailed.
“With all due respect, beloved Lady, we are all dead with Mong ruling the free planets. Over and out.”
I grimaced and clutched the nav. Volia wrung her hands in despair.
The two Warhawks on our tail battered us to hell. Our shields dropped to near zero; a few more direct hits and we’d disintegrate. Before us loomed a phalanx of rebel ships holding off the attackers. We passed right through their great wall of defense, through fire and flame and roiling ships and the topsy-turvy madness of full out war. Fareons grazed our shields and had us buffeted around like puppets. Noss and Wren went skidding out of their seats.
Before the shields blew, I hung on to the console and engaged the Varwol. Death was at our doorstep. Our fate lay in the
