Kris had preflighted this rig. No trained pilot put her butt into an air vehicle without first giving it a thorough checkout. But she had never flown it! She recognized the manufacturer's name emblazoned on the cockpit. They had a reputation for building good boats, but once in a while their quality control hiccupped. Kris's stomach twisted into knots as tight as her grip on the stick. Was this LAC one of their good ones, or was there a hidden flaw buried somewhere in the keel, on the wing support? If Kris pulled too many g's, risked too much heat, would she break its back—send them all tumbling to a fiery death?
Kris forced herself to complete calm, the better to feel every groan, every moan from the craft's tortured structure as she pushed it to its limits. Behind her a marine broke into unfamiliar prayer, thanking his creator for the food he was about to receive. ''Someday we'll all laugh about this,'' Kris muttered on hot mike. If we live, she added only for herself.
The LAC was hot. Despite the shielding, Kris could feel the heat through her suit, rising up to warm, then scorch her rear. The gauge confirmed it; she was well into the manufacturer's red warning zone. Out of the corner of her eyes, Kris measured the extra bend in the overstressed wing and growing flutter along its superheated trailing edges. The LAC's flight had turned into a sluggish waddle through defiant atmosphere, worse than any skiff she'd flown.
Still, Kris demanded more. She was above her approach path. Kris nosed her craft over, picking up speed—and heat—as she dropped like the proverbial lead brick. On path, but now too fast, she muscled her heavy lander into S-curves as tight as she had ever dared on a skiff, bleeding off energy, adding to her heat. Kris fidgeted in her seat as her skin cooked. The temperature readout, confirming the complaints of her own flesh, passed deeper into the red. But not too far, not if there were no surprises hidden in the structure of the craft beneath her.
''Ah, ma'am,'' Corporal Li whispered softly in Kris's earphone, ''my check-back says your suit is awfully hot. You want to switch the blower and chiller to high, ma'am?''
Kris came back to herself just long enough to make the adjustments. Damn it, her suit back home would have done that automatically. But service suits were intentionally dumb, as a Gunny Sergeant at OCS had drawled. ''You don't want them doing nothing without your permission when unfriendly folks are shooting and all hell's broken loose around you.''
''Can you still see Gunny?'' Kris asked Li.
''I think he's still out there ma'am, but it's kind of hard seeing with all these fireworks going on around us.''
''Anybody sees Gunny, give a holler,'' Kris said, concentrating on her controls.
''Yes, ma'am,'' came back in several-part harmony.
It seemed like forever before the temperature gauge started to edge down. Kris tried to get a GPS report on her location, but she was still surrounded by too much ionization. The LAC's inertial guidance system insisted they were about where she wanted to be, and Nelly agreed. With a deep breath, Kris leaned back, tried to unknot every muscle in her body, and discovered it was a real kick flying this thing.
''I see him.'' ''There he is,'' chorused behind her. ''There's Gunny, ma'am,'' the corporal confirmed.
A quick glance showed a falling star off to their right maybe thirty kilometers, if Kris could trust her own judgment. With LAC Two in sight, Kris let out a sigh of relief and put her stick over to bank closer. As she planned, Kris was subsonic and about three minutes out from the target.
She had enough fuel for a few seconds of cruise if she needed it, but with a self-congratulatory grin, she knew she wouldn't. A moment later, Kris spared enough attention from the flight controls to aim her helmet and its line-of-sight antenna at Gunny's craft.
''Gunny, please advise the Typhoon that LAC One has successfully reentered.'' Kris waited a slow five count for a reply, then began to repeat her message.
''Roger, One. I have you on visual. Report your status,'' was Gunny's reply.
''I lost my uplink to the Typhoon. Can you patch me through to Captain Thorpe?''
''I'd better. Ship's been screaming for you.''
Kris gritted her teeth and prepared for another nice talk with her least favorite military person. She hadn't long to wait. ''So glad you could fit us into your busy social schedule,'' Captain Thorpe's voice was the ice of space. ''Report your situation.''
''I lost my uplink, sir. Lowest bidder, I presume.'' That was the skipper's perpetual beef, that and budget cuts. ''Gunny is patching me through to you. We are in position to execute the recovery, sir.''
There was a long pause. Kris could imagine Captain Thorpe reviewing the reports pouring into his bridge, weighing each one carefully to see what would make a certain Ensign Longknife's life the most miserable.
''I see that you are, Ensign.'' There was a shorter pause. ''Ensign Lien, can you acquire control of LAC One?''
''Negative, sir,'' came back quickly. ''Our downlink to LAC One is toast. I cannot fly that vehicle.''
''Then we go with plan B,'' the captain said tersely.
And Kris broke into a grin.
Kris had showed up at the planning session with the captain and Gunny loaded with options to find the skipper grinning from ear to ear. ''I knew those tightwad civilians would holler for the dogs. I pulled in every chit I had, to make sure we were the ship they got. Now we do this job right.''
''No problem, sir, we'll show the fleet and those terrorists that the Typhoon is the best,'' Gunny chortled.
Kris was no respecter of kidnappers. She'd attended part of the trial of her brother's murderers. Add the IQ of all three of them together, and you still needed a negative number.
However: ''Sir, those terrorists have plenty of specialty gear,'' Kris pointed out. ''They've wiped out three rescue attempts.''
''Those were civilians. Now they face marines.'' Gunny's voice was deadly cold.
''A bunch of unshaven terrorists can't stand against what the Typhoon is bringing to this party,'' Captain Thorpe said with confidence and laid out his plan. A stealthy night approach would let the marines do a drop right in the kidnappers' front yard. The trigger pullers could pop their chutes and go straight to work. Kris swallowed hard and pointed out that a similar approach had been used in the last hostage rescue.
She thought she left hanging clear in the air the question, Do we dare try the same on guys with this much tech? She might as well have saved her breath.
''It worked, didn't it?'' Gunny snapped. ''Five bucks says we beat the time, drop to last shot, of the Cardinal's landing party for that hostage incident on Payallup last year.''
''I already bet the Cardinal's skipper a case of scotch we do,'' Thorpe grinned. Faced with that kind of confidence, Kris swallowed her own reservations.
The three did a thorough review of all the recon feed. It showed no problems for a close-in jump; the skipper approved Gunny's close jump. And Kris said, ''Aye aye, sir,'' like a good boot ensign…and went hunting for Tommy.
But if Kris jumped now, her bird would make a very noisy hole in the tundra, sure to wake the sleeping beauties below. Kris had half expected orders to keep flying the LAC and let Gunny lead the platoon. Apparently, the Navy truly was averse to heavily armed marines wandering around without an officer present.