"I've got a definite hit in the high IR from bearing two six eight," Matt told his pilot, his eyes staring at the four bright points of white on his screen. "It's gotta be retro-thrusters on an orbital craft. Nothing else makes that kind of signature."
"I copy two six eight," Brian said, turning the ship in that direction. Behind him his wingman mimicked the motion but no words were exchanged between the two aircraft due to a state of radio silence that had been invoked to keep them from being detected. "Are you tracking?"
"Got a solid lock on it," Matt replied. "The computer is trying to get a range and altitude. Not enough data yet."
"Any active systems from it?"
"Nothing so far," he said. "It looks like the dumb fucks are coming in blind, just assuming that no one is down here waiting for them."
"That does seem to be their forte' doesn't it?"
"What the fuck's a fort-a?" Matt asked.
"Never mind," Brian said with a sigh. He should've known better than to use a big word with Mendez. The kid was intelligent — he had reluctantly concluded that some time ago — but he wasn't very well educated. Though he had graduated high school he was a product of the horrid ghetto school system and the big words just didn't get through to him sometimes.
"Prelim range data coming up," Matt said. "It looks like they're at angels three eight and descending rapidly, forty to sixty kilometers out on bearing two six eight. Their course is zero nine four, speed approximately eleven hundred KPH and slowing. Going to your screen now."
"Got it," Brian said, taking a quick glance down. "Set up an intercept course as quick as you can."
"I'm on it." He began to make notations on his map screen. He worked efficiently even though this particular mission was one that they had not practiced much in training. It had not been thought that the earthlings would be as dumb as they were being and give them such an opportunity as this. Although fighter spacecraft had escorted the shuttle from the moment it had left its mother ship until its contact with the Martian atmosphere, there were no hovers on the surface to escort it the rest of the way in. It was coming down unarmed and alone, the perfect target of opportunity. A little too perfect perhaps.
"Does this bother you at all, boss?" Matt asked as the computer finished grinding up the numbers he had input.
"Does what bother me?"
"Well, that's a medical evac shuttle, ain't it? Its coming down to pick up wounded. Ain't that some kind of war crime, shooting at an evac shuttle?"
"Well, if it were full of wounded being evacuated then yes, it would be a war crime. Right now it's empty so it's a legitimate target of war. And if the earthlings are dumb enough to send it down without an escort then that's too damn bad for them."
"But it can't do any harm to our forces," Matt said. "It doesn't even have guns on it."
Brian took a deep breath. "Look, kid," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't really like it much either, but you gotta look at the big picture here."
"The big picture?"
"We are on the offensive against an armed force that has invaded our planet. We need to do anything we can to attack these people and convince them that Mars isn't a good place for them to be. One of the ways that we do that is to break their morale. A demoralized soldier is a shitty soldier. A good way to demoralize them is to take away their illusion of safety and security. The special forces teams are down there doing that right now. They're gunning those earthlings down right in the middle of their own camp. They're showing them that they won't be safe anywhere on our planet. We're helping with that by cutting off their escape route. They're down there thinking that at least if they get wounded, someone will take them to safety. When we down that shuttle that illusion will be shattered. It will chip away at their morale a little bit more. It will also force their commander to do what we want in this battle."
"And what's that?"
"It will force him to react to what we are doing instead of the other way around. When you have to react to the other guy's moves you aren't able to make any of your own. That's why we're going after that shuttle. Not because it will make a difference in and of itself, but because it will be just another thing that they'll be forced to adapt to."
"I guess that makes sense," Matt said, after thinking it over for a second. "It don't mean I have to like it though."
"No, it don't mean you have to like it or brag about it in the troop club tonight. But we do have to do it and there is a good reason for it, so let's get it done. How's our course looking?"
"Right on the line," he said. "We're gonna pull up in four two seconds and climb to angels one five, which will be the intercept altitude."
"Copy that. Count me off."
"Counting off," Matt said. "Four zero seconds." A five second pause. "Three five seconds."
The clock ticked down to zero. Brian pulled up and pushed the throttle lever to full military power. The semi-rocket engine screamed with horsepower and the Mosquito shot upward at a nearly seventy-degree angle of attack. Beside and behind them their wingman matched their maneuver. Matt, feeling the exhilarating push of acceleration slamming him backwards, forgot his uneasiness about their mission for the moment and felt a grin spreading on his face. Over the past few months he had learned to love the violent maneuvering of the Mosquito in flight, had learned to relish the sensation of flight unfettered by artificial gravity and inertial damping.
"They've got to have us on their screens by now," Brian said. "No sense in maintaining radio silence any longer. Get me our wing on the line."
Matt's fingers flew over the computer screen, quickly paging through two different menus and sub-menus to set the frequency. "You're live on the air, boss," he told him, going back to the attack screen.
Brian pushed the transmit button on his stick. "Alpha two from alpha one," he said. "You out there, Carlton?"
"I'm here," answered Rick Carlton, the pilot of the other Mosquito. "We've got a solid track on target. Tell your newbie good mapping."
"Naw," Brian answered, fully aware that Matt was monitoring the transmission. "Wouldn't want him to start thinking he's worth a shit, would I?"
"I guess not," Carlton said with a chuckle.
"Let's separate a little bit as we move in," Brian said, turning to business. "Remember, have your sis go for the engines and the fuel tanks. That fuckin thing is a lot bigger than an APC."
"We're on it," Carlton said. "I've got your rear."
"Three zero to intercept," Matt announced from behind him. "I'm bringing the lasers on line now." He pushed the charge button and energy began to feed from the APU into the weapons. He felt a little chill inside as he realized that this was lethal energy that he was loading and not the training charge they normally used. They were really going to shoot at an enemy. They were really going to try to kill a shuttle full of earthlings.
"How's the target looking?" Brian asked. "They have to have us on screen by now. We're lit up like a fuckin firework and transmitting radio signals. Any signs of evasive maneuvering?"
"Nothing," Matt answered. "It's holding its course. Not even any radio transmissions. You'd think they'd be screaming their asses off for help by now."
"Well, there's not really anyone that can help them. Maybe they're hoping we're not really hostile."
"Maybe," Matt said with a shrug. "Two zero seconds. Looks like we're drifting right a bit."
"Evening it up," Brian told him, adjusting his course.
A few seconds later they reached fifteen thousand meters of altitude, just a thousand below the maximum operational altitude of the aircraft, and Brian leveled them off. Their speed increased and they went screaming towards their target, heading towards it at about forty-five degrees off of head-on. Its speed had slowed considerably — down to only 800 kilometers per hour — and its rate of descent had slowed as well. It was, in short, a nice juicy target coming neatly into their kill zone.