No Man's Land Page 10

  Her teeth bared, Jay yanked the stick in tight and slammed the throttle into full burner, booting the left rudder, sending the Hawk into a 135-degree slicing turn. The damage to her bird pissed her off. She closed on the pursuing drone, flying in close, then let loose with a starburst when she had the enemy craft square in the cone of vulnerability. A scan of the sky and Panski’s thumbs up were confirmation he had taken care of his two as well. Her grin felt good and vicious, as she returned the gesture, but their triumph was short-lived.

  The cockpit lit up like Christmas as the radar flashed both red and green, alerting her to incoming enemy aircraft closing fast and friendlies just pinging at the edge of the radar. It was a race now, one she was afraid the Dominion pilots were going to win; yet she dare not comm the rescue fighters. Right now they were beyond enemy radar range. If she made any attempt to communicate it could very well be intercepted, robbing her side of the element of surprise.

  She didn’t know what the Dominion was after, but she was here to see they went home disappointed…if at all. Estimating the approach vector and speed of the enemy craft, she took the fight into the vertical. The Gs were crushing as she whipped into a steep climb, bringing the Hawk to 12,000 feet. She held it a moment, then stomped on the rudder to get the nose turned back down.

  The dive took her right through the center of their formation, scattering the squadron of Boru 47-Vs—the Dominion’s delta-wing fighters—sending one careening into his wingmate. Panski came in from below, only a little unsteady, and took out another with a starburst missile. The fireball surely lit up the sky. Jay couldn’t say, though, she was too busy watching the ground rush toward her. With every muscle straining she fought the stick, leveling the bird a bare two hundred feet off the deck. She laughed with the rush as she climbed back up to engage. With backup approaching they no longer needed to conserve their ammunition. She and Panski harried the Dominion fighters, dipping and diving among them like crows tormenting a hawk.

  The old girl took damage, but nothing crippling. In fact, now that the pressure was off, Jay was having way too much fun. One of the Borus veered off, turning tail back to base with one engine trailing a plume of thick, black smoke punctuated by periodic shooting sparks. She’d sent at least one more crashing to the deck with a starburst. There were two left, both of them hard on her tail, and then her luck ran out. A warning klaxon shrieked through her earpiece. At least one of the enemy fighters had lock on her Hawk.

  “Crap!”

  The Hawk’s engine screamed in protest as she rolled hard left and pitched down. As she did, she hit the chaff release on the stick, launching a cloud of debris in her wake to break up the radar lock.

  “You aren’t good enough to take me down, Demon,” she taunted, though there was no way the Dominion pilot could hear her.

  As she powered away, her gaze darted down to the radar. Whoever was coming to their aid was nearly here. She set her heading for intercept, with just enough wobble and limp to give the enemy pilots the impression she was having difficulty. All the while, she lured them closer to the kill zone. No telling who command had sent on the rescue run but they were fresh and presumably fully loaded. Daring a second glance she made a quick count and whistled long and low as she counted ten Allied jets coming in fast. By now they had to be pinging the enemy radar.

  There was no way two lone Dominion pilots would engage such an overwhelming force over Allied territory. Jay anticipated they would cut out and run away.

  She was wrong.

  “On your six!” Panski called out over the short-range. Jay craned her neck for visual confirmation through the cracked canopy. The remaining jets were closing fast working furiously to gain target lock.

  She must have pissed them off.

  Jay dipped and bobbed and spun off for all she was worth to spoil their aim. She took the Hawk low, blending in with the ground reflection, using every trick she knew to pull ahead. Cannon fire and missile impacts chewed up the terrain. The Hawk shook with half a dozen impacts but somehow held together.

  And yet, no matter what trick she pulled she couldn’t shake them.

  “Take it vertical,” Panski called out. Going with her gut, she instantly obeyed, yanking back the stick and giving the Hawk full throttle, she shot up into the lightening sky mere seconds before two of Panski’s heat-seekers flew up the tailpipes of the Boru fighters.

  “Way to go, Flash,” she called over the short-range as she brought her craft back down, banking wide and circled above the NovaStream, noting the fresh battle scars dotting the fuselage, taking in the burning debris from enemy aircraft scattered far and wide below. She considered the other pilot, the way he stepped up to the fight; not hotdogging it, but working as a team. A smile tugged at her lips. She had to admit he didn’t have all that many rough edges left to buff.

  “Hey, let’s get that bird back to base and figure out what’s wrong.”

  As she set her heading to intersect with the approaching friendlies, she reengaged her long-range comm and hailed flight control. “Scarlet Jay to command,” she reported, the words heavy with satisfaction. “The party’s over, and we’re coming home.”

  Come Like a Tailor

  Kimberley Long-Ewing

  Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly,

  Here’s to the King and Donald McGillivray.

  Captain Lakshmi Deol moved silently through the marshy jungle of Bangladesh. The steady rain did little to alleviate the heat. She made eye contact briefly with Lieutenant Nila Amra. Neither of them had located the Chinese patrol but they knew it was there. Someone had killed those villagers.

  She listened, tuning out the rain. There. The faintest of rustles in the leaves to the left. She focused on that area and glimpsed a small infra-red flash about waist height. “Down!”

  Her lieutenant didn’t listen. Instead, Amra rushed the target and tackled him. Bones cracked and the man screamed briefly before his neck was snapped. Deol cursed under her breath as she ran up, shooting the two other enemy soldiers. She glared at Amra.

  “What if that grenade had gone off?”

  Amra stood up, dusting herself off. She coughed and muttered, “Ugh, he had bad breath.” She pointed to the small grenade the dead man held in his right hand. “It didn’t leave his hand. He reflexively tightened his grip on it when I surprised him.”

  Deol shook her head. “He could have dropped it.”

  Amra smirked. “And he’d be just as dead.”

  “I...” she paused in her rebuff as a call came in from headquarters. She listened to it then said, “Acknowledged.” She pulled the dog tags off the three dead Chinese and turned to go. “Come on, Amra. We’re going to Tamil.”

  Amra followed. “That’s a strange place to hunt patrols.”

  They walked back through the smoldering village. A tiger looked up at them as they walked through but it was more interested in the easy meals than in fresh prey. Amra stepped over the remains of a child. “Such a waste.”

  Deol glanced at her, wondering if she meant the child or the destroyed buildings. “We’re getting a break from hunting. There’s been another incident and the UN is getting involved. We’re to investigate it and handle the observer.”

  Amra groaned, “I’d rather hunt patrols.”

  Three days later, Deol surveyed carnage of a different sort. She adjusted her face mask. The heat of the Tamil afternoon wasn’t helping with the smell of decay and blood. She stepped over a body as the United Nations observer caught up with her.

  “Ugh…how many bodies are there?” Major Jeffery Kaspinsky was clearly more accustomed to desk jobs.

  The captain looked around at the American. She found his presence annoying at best. “Forty-three. There’s another twenty-six in the hospital. You could have waited at the station.”

  Kaspinsky shook his head. “I’m an observer. I need to observe, not just hear reports—especially biased reports.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She tried to dec
ide which she found more grating, his clipped Yankee accent or his American self-importance. She let the silence hang between them, curious to see how long the American would tolerate it. She counted to thirteen.

  “Well, let’s head back to the hotel. Wasn’t the lieutenant going to meet us there? What was her name again?”

  “Lt. Nila Amra. Fine. Let’s go.” She deliberately picked a long path through the bodies.

  Kaspinsky followed. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

  She pointedly tapped her visor, causing it to darken. She walked briskly to the modern high-rise hotel. It was constructed using new light-weight materials that were strong enough to resist earthquakes. The materials also allowed for whimsical designs. This one twisted skyward in multi-colored spirals.

  They entered the hotel restaurant where Lt. Amra was waiting for them. “I’ve secured a private booth for us.” She glanced suspiciously at the American then added, “I’ve confirmed the gunman’s identity. It was Corporal Chandra.” She scowled, then coughed into the pressed edges of her military sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

  Captain Deol sighed as she removed her mask and visor. She looked grim. Part of her wondered if Amra was sorry that it was Chandra or because she was coughing. “That’s the fifth member of the Regiment to commit an atrocity.” She regarded Amra. “Have you been to a doctor for that cough yet?”

  Amra shrugged it off. “Just a cold. Too much time in the rain.”

  Kaspinsky activated the sound-dampening field that made the booth private. It was typically rented by clandestine lovers or businessmen negotiating contracts. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table while the two women sat down and tea was served by the waiter.

  The captain turned on her recorder and started her official report.

  Location : Manali, Tamil Nadu.

  Date : 15 Ashadha, 2359

  Kaspinsky interjected, “That’s July 6, 2437 in the West. Uh, this will be going to the UN, right?”

  Deol frowned as she paused her recorder. “And the US as well, yes? Shall I continue my report or do you wish to dictate it?”

  Kaspinsky waved her off. “Please, continue. Just include Western dates so as to avoid confusion.”

  Amra blew her nose louder than necessary. She looked at the other two innocently.

  Deol suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and resumed her recording.

  Sixty-eight civs shot, forty-two civs and shooter are dead. Gunman shot by on-site police. The pattern of bodies suggests the gunman was following a path similar to that of the Mandalay Offensive of 2351 when Corporal Lara Chandra of RoJ Reg cleared a path between drop point and enemy comm center. In this case, the gunman moved between apt complex to local broadcasting building. Each victim shot once, indicative of a master marksman. The motive for the killings is unknown. Given the pattern of shootings, it’s possible it was a post-traumatic stress induced flashback. Her identity has been confirmed as the same Cpl Chandra.

  Kaspinsky said, “Perhaps it’s time you told me exactly what the Rani of Jhansi Regiment is.”

  Amra scowled at him. “We told you; it’s an all-female regiment of the National Army.”

  He ignored Amra and focused on Deol. “And?”

  The captain watched the handful of other people in the lobby, mostly family members of the shooting victims waiting to identify and claim the bodies. She nodded and cut off Amra’s objections. “Stand down, Lieutenant. We’re under orders to cooperate as needed.”

  Amra clenched her jaw and looked away.

  Deol continued, “The Jhansi unit were genetically altered to improve battle skills. They used retro-viruses to turn on certain traits and to introduce new code for others.”

  Kaspinsky grimaced. “The UN specifically forbids...”

  Deol slammed her fist on the table. “It was necessary to stop the Chinese and you know it. Your government helped fund the research. Don’t pretend you have the moral high ground here, Major.”

  He bit his lip, then leaned back, feigning relaxation. “Fair enough. What sorts of modifications?”

  She mirrored his posture. “My reflexes are three times faster than yours, I can see in infra-red, my hearing is far superior to yours. That’s the stuff I can talk about.”

  Kaspinsky nodded. “That explains the vertical pupils. But why do this to women?”

  Amra snorted. “We aren’t pampered creatures like those in America. We can’t afford such luxuries.”

  He glared at her. “Women in America aren’t pampered pets. They are equals...”

  Deol raised a hand. “Save it. Your laws on equality are a few hundred years old but your culture has made them practically irrelevant. To answer your question, most of the volunteers for the project were women. It also helps that it’s easier to track the offspring. It isn’t yet known if our modifications will be inherited. It can be difficult to track where a man has…been.”

  Kaspinsky colored slightly. “Point. So why are these women suddenly turning into killers?”

  Deol shook her head. “We don’t know. We suspect the Chinese have developed a retro-virus of their own to counteract what they perceive as a weapon.”

  Amra held up a microchip. “I have blood and tissue samples from Chandra. Shall I send them to the lab in Mumbai?”

  “Keep a set to take with us. We’re going to visit Dr. Donald McGillivray, one of the developers. Maybe he can help.”

  Kaspinsky asked, “Where are we going?”

  Deol raised an eyebrow. “Lt Amra and I are going to Pandukeshwar in the morning. I suppose you can come along.”

  “Doesn’t Captain Sita Bipen live in Pandukeshwar?” Amra asked.

  Deol hesitated. “I believe she does.” She brought up Capt Bipen’s file on her virtual monitor. “Her mobile platform exploded when it hit a mine during the battle of Chengdu fifteen years ago. It was twenty-three minutes before the medics reached her. She has no memory of anything before waking up in the hospital three weeks later.”

  Kaspinsky speculated, “So she could have been exposed to this counter-virus.”

  She allowed, “Bipen is on the sleeper watch list, yes.”

  He nodded. “Then to Pandukeshwar we go. Maybe we can stop the next slaughter before it occurs.”

  Deol said nothing as she turned off the monitor and the privacy shield.

  The journey north on the hover train took less than three hours. Deol stared out the window at the blurred landscape as they traveled from tropical Manali to the alpine meadows of Pandukeshwar in the foothills of the Himalayas. Mercifully, Kaspinsky was sleeping and Amra was reviewing related cases. She felt her jacket pocket. The emergency tranquilizer was there. The thought of having to actually use it on one of her team—present or former—made her stomach turn.

  She sent a message to Donald. I’m coming up to see you and Sita. We’ll be there in an hour.

  Who’s we?

  My assistant and an UN observer.

  We’re up at the Valley of Flowers. Meet us here.

  She noted he didn’t ask why.

  Pandukeshwar was a small, sleepy hamlet. Though it was the height of summer, it was significantly cooler here than in the far south. There had once been a brisk tourism trade this time of year given the three national parks in the area. It was now just a brief stopping point for most with the easy availability of hover cars in the civilian market.

  Kaspinsky buttoned his uniform jacket closed. “We might need coats in the evening. Which way now?”

  Deol pointed to a hover car rental stand. “We’ll need one of those. Time for some sightseeing.”

  Kaspinsky turned on the tour guide application on his computer. A three-dimensional overlay of the surrounding area came up and the points of interest were highlighted with photos as the guide droned on. Details of the surrounding mountains—height, composition, annual snowfall, and other minutia were mixed in with the mythological significance of each.

  Deol tapped the Valley of Flowers marker, curious about it since Dona
ld chose that as their meeting place. She also switched the voice from the antiseptic female flight attendant option to a rich male voice with a strong North Hindi accent. It was a bonus that the accent annoyed Kaspinsky.

  He muttered, “What is he saying?”

  “The Valley of Flowers was named by the British mountaineer Frank S. Smythe in 1931. Smythe found the valley when he lost his way during his return journey from Mt. Kamet. It was declared a national park in 1982 and a World Heritage Site in 1988. The valley covers 87.5 sq km in the Zanskar range and is 6,719 m above sea level. Annual precipitation is...”

  Deol scrolled forward through the presentation. “...home to over 75 species of flowers, including blue poppies, marigolds, cobra lilies...” She scrolled forward again. “...is known in ancient Hindu texts as the Bhyundar Valley. In the Ramayana, it is the location of the Sanjeevani plant Hanuman retrieved to bring Lakshman back to life when he was mortally wounded by Indrajit during...”

  She turned off the guide as their car came around the river bend. Birch trees stretched up the mountain on one side as the river flowed into a gentle gorge filled with a riot of color. Deol thought there were at least three dozen different varieties of flowers and butterflies scattered as far as the eye could see. She set down the hover car in the small parking lot. Only one other car was parked there at the moment. A man with graying brown hair and two dark-haired children sat at a nearby gazebo. Deol headed toward them, Amra and Kaspinsky in tow. The man stood and walked toward them, telling the children to stay put.

  “Donald. It’s been a long time.” Deol shook hands with him. “This is Lt. Nila Amra and Major Jeffery Kaspinsky.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Lakshmi.” Donald shook hands with the other two. “Join us. We have tea and water if you’re thirsty.”

  “Where’s Sita?”

  Donald waved vaguely up the valley. “Collecting specimens. Her botany studies focus on spontaneous mutations in blossoms in spectrums of light outside human perception.”