And he thought about Claudia.
And he thought about Tatiana.
He suddenly felt nauseas and sweaty.
“Tatiana…” He whispered in pure agony.
Machine guns roared behind him; rounds clattered against the Lear’s fuselage and Dillon’s mask of pain fell away to be replaced with something cold and sinister.
Hatred fuelled him now.
Hatred — and a need to kill.
Vince broke into his reverie of thought. “You’ll be pleased to know that we are presently carrying 40 standard air-to-air missiles, 15 Stinger air-to-air missiles and enough rounds for the forward machine guns to flatten a small town…”
Dillon looked round and nodded. His gaze went straight back to the console, he reached forward, flicked switches, heard hatch motors whirring below them; he glanced at the scanners, then looked quickly to his left. One of the tiny black jets had drawn alongside him and Vince confirmed another was on the opposite wing tip. Dillon slammed on the air brakes, dropping the Lear with dipped nose through the skies, then with a surge of power and a steeply banking turn that snapped both their heads back against the leather seats; the jet veered, coming up behind the two small single seaters. Dillon engaged two Stinger and two standard air-to-air missiles — saw the glow from their tails as they detached and watched coldly as they hurtled into the evading black jets. Both aircraft exploded with a roar and fell dead and spinning from the skies to smash into the dark blue sea below.
Machine guns hammered, abruptly bringing Dillon’s hypnotised stare back to fresh dangers. Red lights flashed on the scanners and the Lear fell from the skies, whining like an injured animal in pain, to twist and skim not more than fifty feet above the surface of the sea — so close that spray splattered against the windshield and Dillon could almost smell and taste the salt.
He flicked a switch and the aircraft started to lay thick black smoke from the tail.
Missiles plunged into the ocean behind them.
“You want to play as well?” Growled Dillon. He studied the scanners in front of him, examining the two targets and tracking information displays. He rammed the Lear forward, the jet-turbines screaming at the rear of the aircraft. The Learjet surged forward, and speed powered through Dillon’s brain; waves crashed just below the belly of the fuselage and there, against the white capped waves was an enormous oil tanker!
Dillon remained low, the jet engines whining, followed by the two remaining single-seater jets and their black-clad Assassin pilots. Dillon gained a little altitude and banked the Lear in — low and tight, wing-tips almost skimming the waves. The black jets followed. Machine guns rattled against the huge ship.
The Lear lifted; howling over the ship’s elevated bridge and the black jets followed flying in close formation to each other. The pilots were extremely skilled.
“Time to tune in,” said Dillon softly.
He flicked several switches and engaged a digital readout. He smiled a smile that conveyed only a longing for death and destruction.
“And now it’s time to party.”
He hit the air brakes and pulled the control column back sharply. The power was re-applied almost immediately and the Lear screamed as its nose lifted and then shot straight up, the pilots of the two single seater jets veered, one on either side, in reflex response to his insanely dangerous manoeuvre. Dillon hurled the Lear up into the air, climbing, lifting to ascend like a rocket into a clear blue sky. Dillon gazed up into the vast expanse as the Lear vibrated, its jet engines roared and he prayed to a God he had never really believed in. Tears rolled down over his cheeks and hatred boiled up inside his mind. The scanners blazed at him with altitude and low-oxygen warning read-outs, he twisted the aircraft around in a tight arc and then dropped from the sky like a bullet towards the distant tanker far below — his marker — spiralling and twisting. The black single seater jets were distant targets as Dillon allowed the release of a single Stinger missile… A vapour trail appeared from the rocket as it headed straight for the heat emitting from the jet’s tail-pipe, moments later a fireball exploded as the rocket ploughed into the fuselage of the aircraft, its cockpit and pilot vaporised as the wreckage was sent crashing into the Atlantic Ocean, which swallowed it completely.
“Burn in hell, whatever you are.”
The Lear spun, twisting, howling, and its under-belly skimmed the sea, wing tips careening as Dillon fought to keep control of the aircraft, he pulled back on the control column and the jet climbed once more withthe final black jet following close behind withmachine guns blazing and spitting hatred…
Again they climbed towards the heavens.
Wind howled through the tiny hole in the side-screen of the cockpit.
Both Dillon and Vince were freezing from the rush of cold air blasting in at them.
And there, hundreds of metres above the sea, the Lear levelled out and rolled in a lazy arc. Dillon slowed the speed, until the aircraft was almost stalling, stationary; his head drooped, eyes looking at nothing but his feet. And then his gaze lifted and he stared into the brilliant blue sky ahead of them. His jaw set and he ground his teeth.
The last black jet came level, perhaps three hundred metres away.
Dillon flicked the switch to release the Stinger missile restraints.
His eyes narrowed.
“So you want to have a go, do you?” He whispered.
Hatred and adrenalin was driving him, his brain registering everything in slow motion. His reflexes became cat-like…
The black jet’s engine howled; Dillon couldn’t actually hear it, but rather knew what noise it made. It rolled as it powered forward with machine guns firing and Dillon growled and surged forward while rolling and returning fire with the Lear’s forward machine cannon.
The two aircraft hurtled towards one another. In the blink of an eye they had closed at speed, machine guns blasting. Dillon wrenched the control column over to the right and the Lear responded by rotating ninety degrees, veering and twisting down and to one side, the pilot of the black single seater jet did exactly the same manoeuvre, but in reverse, the two jets only missing by a matter of a few inches as they roared by in opposite directions…
Dillon levelled out, rolled to the left and then back over in a wide arc. The Lear came out of the roll and Dillon was again hurtling towards the other aircraft at speed, bullets smashing the enemy’s cockpit, turning it into dust and decapitating the pilot in the process.
The Lear veered sideways, away from its dark and bloody deed.
The black single-seater jet broke up as it spun, twisted and rolled towards the ocean far below. And was then gone.
Watchers on thedeck of the oil tanker searched the white crested waves.
Dillon breathed. Slowly. Looked round at Vince, and said. “Well, that was nasty.”
Vince had gone the colour of a sheet. “That’s one way of looking at it. You mad fucker.”
“Gratitude!”
Dillon adjusted the rake on the wings, taking them back to their normal flying position again. And at a more sedate pace, the Lear dropped to within a hundred metres of the surface of the ocean, the white tips of the waves clearly visible and shot like a bullet across the empty dark water.
The Lear flew on over the Atlantic.
Dillon glanced, every now and then, across the cramped cockpit at Vince, who he had forgotten was there, sitting next to him all through the turmoil of battle. Until now.