"Negative," Merry reported. "The weapons program won't accept the transfer."
"Range: twenty miles," Krebs told them all.
Abruptly, the M-100 bucked and began to pulse under Taylor's seat. The main gun was firing.
What does my enemy see? Taylor wondered. If the systems were functioning correctly, his opposite number was reading hundreds of blurred, identical targets, a swarm of ghost images in the midst of which the real M-l00s were hiding. Or, depending on the parameters of his system, he might only be receiving static and fuzz.
Taylor slapped the eyeshield down from atop the headset.
"Laser alert," he said over the command net. Beside him, Krebs slid down his own shield.
The protective lenses darkened the sky, and the bucking of the M-100 as it maneuvered forward made it even harder to focus. Nonetheless, Taylor believed he could pick out the tiny black spots that marked the enemy.
He took full manual control of the aircraft and pointed it straight at the enemy.
"Full combat speed," he ordered. "Let's get them."
" 'Garry Owen,' " a voice replied from a sister ship.
"Thirteen miles," Krebs said. "We're not hitting a damned thing."
"Neither are they," Taylor said. Below the insulated cockpit, the main gun continued to pump out precious rounds, its accuracy deteriorating with every shot.
"I've still got good voice on them," Merry called. "They're going crazy. They've lost us. They're firing everything they've got."
"Ten miles."
Taylor looked out at the black dots. He counted ten. But he could not see the slightest trace of hostile action. The sky was full of high-velocity projectiles and lasers, but the M-l00's rounds were far quicker than the human eye, while the enemy's current lasers were not tuned to the spectrum of visible light. Around the lethal balls and beams, the heavens pulsed with electronic violence. Yet all that was visible was the gray sky, and a line of swelling black dots on a collision course with his outnumbered element.
"Seven miles. Jesus Christ."
"Steady," Taylor said, his fear forgotten now.
Dark tubular fuselages, the blur of rotors and propellers.
It was, Taylor thought, like a battle between knights so heavily armored they did not possess the offensive technology to hurt each other. New magic shields deflected the other man's blows.
"Four miles" Krebs said. "Jesus, sir, we got to climb. We're on a collision course."
No, Taylor thought. If they haven't hit us yet at this angle, they won't. But the first man to flinch, to reveal a vulnerable angle, was going to lose.
The M-100 threw another series of rounds toward the closing enemy.
"All stations," Taylor said. "Steady on course."
"Two miles…"
The Toshiba gunships were unmistakable now. Their contours had not changed much over the years. A mongrelized forward aspect, a helicopter with turboprops on the sides. Or a plane with rotors. Take your pick.
"Hold course," Taylor shouted.
The M-l00's cannon pummeled the sky. To no effect.
"One mile and closing…"
Where once horsemen rode at each other with sabers drawn, their descendants rode the sky in a long metal line, jousting with lightning.
Hit, goddamn it, hit, Taylor told the main gun.
He could see every detail on the enemy gunships now. The mock Iranian markings, the mottled camouflage. The low-slung laser pod.
"We're going to collide."
Taylor froze his hand on the joystick. Straight ahead.
In a buffeting wash of air and noise, the M-100 shot past the enemy's line.
"All stations," Taylor said. "Follow my lead. We've got a tighter turning radius than they do."
He felt far more confident now. The M-l00's airframe was of a design over a decade fresher than the Toshiba gunships. The M-100 had all of the maneuvering advantages.
"Everybody with me?" Taylor demanded.
The other four ships reported in quick succession.
"Complete the turn. We're only vulnerable from the back."
He looked at his monitor. The fuzz cloud that marked the enemy had begun to turn too. But they were slower. He could feel it.
"Flapper," Taylor said. "Turn off the auto-systems. They're just canceling each other out. Take manual control of the main gun. And use a little Kentucky windage."
"The accuracy's breaking down," Krebs said. "We're just about shot out."
"You can do it, Flapper. Come on. We didn't have all this fancy shit when you and I started out."
Krebs nodded, doubt on the lower portion of his face left visible by the laser shield.
"All stations," Taylor said. "Open order. Go to manual target acquisition and manual fire control."
The tight steepness of the turn tugged his harness. But they were almost out of it. And the enemy were still in midturn. There wouldn't be much time. But there would be a window of opportunity.
As nearly as he could remember, the Japanese gunships did not have a manual weapons override.
The sin of pride.
"Fire at will," Taylor said.
He guided the ship around as though he were reining a spirited horse. Soon he could visually track the black specks of the enemy formation describing a long arc across the sky. They looked clean. Very disciplined fliers.
Every one of his crews would be flying for themselves now. The American formation hardly existed as such. Instead, five M-l00s speckled the sky, each seeking the best possible angle of attack.
Taylor applied full throttle, trying to get into his enemy's flank before the Japanese gunships could bring their weapons to bear.
"I don't know," Krebs said, hanging on the weapons control stick.
"Fuck you don't know," Taylor said. "I know. Take those fuckers out."
Krebs fired.
Nothing.
"Just getting a feel for the deflection," he excused himself. He sounded calmer now that he was committed to action.
Taylor flew straight for the center of the enemy formation. He watched the increasingly clear gunships coming into the last segment of their turns.
"Come on, baby," Krebs said. He fired again.
Instantaneously, a black gunship erupted in flames and left the enemy formation, its component parts hurtling through the sky in multiple directions.
Taylor howled with delight, eternally the wild young captain who had sailed dreamily into Africa.
"Well, fuck me," Krebs said in wonder. He fired again, pulsing out rounds.
Another Japanese gunship broke apart in the sky.
Remember me, Taylor told his enemy. Remember me.
In quick succession, two more Japanese gunships blazed and broke up. The other American ships were hitting.
There was very little time. The enemy systems defined themselves with greater clarity with each passing second. Taylor was afraid they would be able to come around at their own angle and sweep the sky with lasers in a crossfire effect.
Taylor stared hard at the enemy formation, trying to read the pattern.
"Flapper," he yelled suddenly. "Get the number three ship. That's the flight leader."
"Roger." Krebs had put his gruff old soldier voice back on. But, bubbling under the gray tones was the same unmistakable exhilaration that Taylor felt. The indescribable joy of destruction.
The old warrant officer followed the turn of the aircraft with his optics. He let go one round, then another.
The enemy's flight leader disappeared in a hot white flash. When the dazzle faded there were only black chunks of waste dropping into the sea.