28. SPITFIRE

[MISSION DAY 3, FEBRUARY 18, 2033]

[0840 hours local time]

[Forward Operations Base, Tin City, Alaska]

The Spitfire pilot was not there when Wilton arrived, and after a few minutes of waiting he started going through the precombat checks, as he had been taught. He had about two hours before the mission briefing, and it was a good chance to refamiliarize himself with the craft.

The HC980-LD, Light Attack Craft, known as the Spitfire, was a two-person hovercraft with short stubby wings. It could not fly, but it could jump and even glide for a few meters if the air currents were favorable. The wings also held the craft’s main armament, six sidewinder missiles, three on each wing. They were of little use against the armored, spinning hulls of the Bzadian battle tanks, but they were effective against rotorcraft and snowmobiles.

As gunner, he was seated in the front seat. The pilot, slightly elevated for visibility, sat behind. The machine gun was gimbal mounted and controlled by a joystick. He could aim it anywhere from thirty degrees left or right, and up or down about five degrees.

The Spitfire, named after the famous British fighter plane of the 1940s, had defensive armament too. Six contact mines were attached beneath the air cushion and could be dropped in the path of a pursuing vehicle.

The Spitfire was only lightly armored, its main defense being its speed and its ability to jump into the air. If it was weighed down by heavy armor, it would be sluggish and earthbound.

Wilton powered up the control system and ran preflight checks on the missiles and the craft’s only other offensive weapon, the forward-mounted machine gun. His hands were shaking slightly, fatigue perhaps, or the after-effects of the explosion. He clenched them together to try to make it stop. He didn’t need that if he was going into a battle zone.

It had been a six-hour flight, and he had slept most of the way, but in that sleep had come dreams, always of the same thing. The face in the photograph. Clordon. He awoke in a sweat, the face still vivid in his mind. It wasn’t a face you would remember. There was nothing distinctive about it. You could walk past this man in a corridor, then walk past him again a few minutes later and swear you had never seen him before. But major traumatic events have a way of throwing memories into supersharp focus, of highlighting tiny unimportant details that you would never remember otherwise.

And now Wilton was sure he had seen that man somewhere else.

It was the man who had entered the bunker and then left, leaving behind an olive-green briefcase. If Clordon was the bomber and Russell had assigned his TDA, then Russell had to be behind this. His pilot, Captain Adrienne Anderson, arrived just as he was thinking it over.

“Wilton,” she said.

It wasn’t a question or an order; in fact, Wilton wasn’t sure what it was.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“You can drop the ma’am straightaway,” she said. “It’s Captain. Or Captain Anderson if you’re feeling extra polite.”

“Yes, Captain,” Wilton said. “I’m looking forward to serving with you.”

“You’re looking forward to serving with me?” She clicked her tongue a few times. It was clearly a habit.

“Yes, Captain,” Wilton said.

“You know what, Wilton?” she said. “I’m a professional soldier. Not like most of the ACOG conscripts. Eight years in the US military before the Pukes arrived, and seven years of constant fighting since then. You know the problem with that? Most of the people I trained with are dead. They keep sending me replacements with three months’ training, and somehow we’re supposed to keep each other alive. You gonna keep me alive, Wilton?”

“I hope so, Captain,” Wilton said.

“How old are you, Wilton?”

“Seventeen, but I’m—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I know who you are, and I know the Angel reputation. You’re supposed to be good with a gun, but the fact is you’re still a kid and you don’t belong here.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Wilton said.

“Me too,” she said. “But I’m stuck with you. You do exactly as I say, and maybe we’ll both walk away from this.”

“Yes, Captain,” Wilton said.

“All right,” she sighed. “Show me what you know. I’ll try to fill in the gaps.”