Aboard Quicksilver
1845
“We lost engine three,” Chris told her.
Breanna didn’t acknowledge. The Indian MiGs had sent a volley of missiles at long range at the Sukhois; there was so much metal in the sky now, it was impossible to avoid getting hit.
“It’s sunk, it’s sunk,” said Fentress. “Both buoys are down!”
“Fighter on our tail,” said Chris. “Out of air mines.
She could feel the bullets slicing into her, ripping across her neck. Breanna pushed the stick and stomped the pedals, trying to flip the big jet away from the fighter. But the Sukhois was more maneuverable than the Megafortress, and the Chinese pilot was smart enough not to get too close or overreact. He wasn’t that good a shot—maybe one out of four of is slugs found its target, a half dozen at a time—but he was content with that.
“Four’s gone,” said Chris.
“Restart.”
“Trying.”
Her warning panel was a solid bank of red. Part of the rear stabilizers had been shot away; they were leaking fuel from one of the main tanks. The leading-edge flap on the left wing wouldn’t extend properly, complicating her attempts to compensate for the dead engines.
They were going in.
Breanna fought off the flicker of despair. She pushed herself toward the windscreen, as if she might somehow add her weight to the plane’s forward momentum. The Sukhois that had been dogging them pass off to the right; he’d undoubtedly run out of bullets, or fuel, or both.
About time they got a break.
Ahead, a jagged bolt of lightening flashed down from the clouds. It seemed to splatter into a million pieces as it hit the ocean, its electricity running off in every direction.
Zen, why aren’t you here with me? I need you.
Jeffrey!
the altimeter ladder began to move—somehow the big Megafortress was managing to climb.
“Come on, baby,” she told it. “Hang with me.”
“I can’t get four,” said Chris, who’d been trying to restart the engine. “Fuel’s bad. Fire in the bay. Fire—”
“Auto extinguish.”
“I’ve tried twice,” he said.
“Dump the AMRAAMS,” she told him.
“No targets?”
“Let’s not take sides at this point. Kevin—put Piranha into auto-return and sink the probe we just launched.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As Chris fired one of the missiles, there was a slight shudder in the rear.
“Fire won’t go out,” the copilot told her. “I think the extinguisher system has been compromised.”
“Okay,” she said.
They absolutely had to go out, and they had to go out now.
“Dreamland Command, this is Quicksilver. Gat, you hear me?” she said over the Dreamland line.
There was no answer. It was possible the fire had already damaged the radio or antennas, but she trued again, then broadcast their position and that they were ditching.
“Bree, we’re running out of fuel,” said Chris. “And the temp is climbing. The fumes will explode.”
“Prepare to eject,” she told him. “Crew—prepare to eject.”
The leading edge of the storm front punched at the persiplex glass in front of her. Windswept hail whipped in her face.
“I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” said Chris.
The panic hit her then, panic and fear and adrenaline. Someone grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her up from her seat, dangling her in midair, twirling her around.
Jeff, honey, where the hell are you when I need you?
“Crew, listen to me,” Breanna said calmly. “We’re all going out together. Cinch your restraints. Put your legs and arms inside your body. Check in, everybody—Chris?”
“Ferris.”
“Dolk.”
“Collins.”
“Fentress.”
There was no answer from Stoner.
“Stoner?” she said.
Nothing.
“Stoner?”
Engine two—” Chris started to tell her the engine had just died, but it was unnecessary—the thump jerked her so hard she nearly let go of the stick.
“Manage our fuel,” she told him. “Fentress—where’s Stoner?”
“He’s here, he’s here—his radio’s out. He’s ready.”
“Crew, we’re going out on three. I have the master eject, authorization Breanna Rap Bastian Stockard One One Rap One,” she told the computer in her level voice.
The computer didn’t answer, as if it were hesitating , as if it didn’t want to lose its crew. Then it came back and repeated the authorization. All the seats would now be ejected when she pulled her handle; the Dreamland system would greatly increase the probability they could find each other after the chutes deployed.