Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) Mariana Morgan (most life changing books .txt) 📖

happen, Rivas turned his Stealthy towards where the last volley of laser beams had come from. The enemy aircraft were unlikely to be on the same course, but by approaching their position he was increasing the likelihood that his Stealthy’s sensors would pick them up. Of course, the foes’ sensors were equally as likely to detect him.

It would help to know what the enemy had, but it was so easy to mount lasers on just about any small-to-medium-sized aircraft that the list of possibilities was virtually endless. They could have had anything ranging from high-end civilian to late–Freedom Wars military tactical assault aircraft. Though they were unlikely to have the cutting-edge military tech that Gonzalez’s team had at their disposal.

But what they do have is a proper crew piloting them, Rivas thought. Atkins is an okay pilot, and the colonel knows his way around the Hippo’s armaments, but neither of them comes even close to Ingram’s natural talent or hard-trained skills.

Rivas winced, surprised by the strength of his thoughts when he wondered who the third person to have made it out of Olympus was. A small part of his soul quivered at the idea that Eloise was some shredded, rapidly cooling heap of flesh, left behind never to be recovered, but realising he might never see Ingram again was equally as bitter, if in a different way.

Damn.You were one hard-assed officer, Major, setting impossible standards, but the example you gave was always first-class motivation.

A ping from his left-hand console brought him back to reality.

‘Sir—’

‘I see it,’ Gonzalez replied.

They had their first clue as to what they were facing. The aircraft were civilian all right, but with the military-grade laser beams that was a small consolation.

‘Look at the specs—’ Atkins began, then cut himself off with a wince. His nervousness was shaking his self-control, and he throttled it hard, awaiting a rebuke.

Gonzalez didn’t have time for such minutia. The armour covering the civilian aircraft, a Destra, was inferior to that protecting the Hippogryph, but the Stealthy had none. One laser beam hitting a vital component would end not only Rivas’ participation in the op but also his life. But he couldn’t risk the Hippogryph in a direct fight.

His fingers flashed on the console, throwing raw data at the computer for analysis. Even 28th-century computers couldn’t match human brains for strategy and tactics, but they were far more reliable at calculating distances, speeds and angles of approach.

***

Rivas smiled with satisfaction as he quickly glanced through the plan Gonzalez had sent him. Gonzalez might not be a natural pilot, but he sure as hell knew how to make the best out of what was available.

Right, Phantom, let’s do this, Rivas thought, letting his brain do its own maths.

The absence of a co-pilot crippled his Stealthy’s potential by about thirty per cent. Even with Phantom’s AI fully tuned to his style, after the long flights of the last weeks and the painfully exhausting simulations, it was no compensation for a second set of hands.

‘I’ve been spotted.’ The calmness of Rivas’ voice was almost eerie. Phantom pinged sharply to announce that the enemy’s sensors had briefly acquired his position. Too briefly to fire or to properly evaluate what they were up against, but it was the first step towards the inevitable end.

And then he fired, his air-to-air missiles supported by Hippogryph’s heavier ones reaching the target at the same time. Bogey Four exploded in a flash, ripped apart by some of the most destructive missiles humans had ever invented under the pressure of sixty bloody years of the Freedom Wars. They weren’t huge compared to some of the big-ass missiles used centuries ago. They just went off in a bigger boom, courtesy of the nano-tech–research weaponisation programme.

The Hippogryph had fired from a relatively safe distance and Atkins had the aircraft on a new course before Bogey Four even exploded. Rivas was too close. He braced himself as his Stealthy entered the same swatch of airspace the enemy aircraft had occupied barely a second ago. Phantom wailed in protest as heat and shrapnel bombarded its unarmoured body. The nano-reinforced construction held, but his console flashed with more red than Rivas had prayed for.

I guess no one is going to be talking about this stunt like they do about Ortega’s Final Strike, he thought wryly. But fuck me, I finally understand what it must have felt like to burst through that explosion.

A quick check of the still functioning systems told him he was still good to stay in the air, but his speed had dropped by about twenty per cent and manoeuvrability felt mulish.

‘Hippogryph, this is Phantom. I’m flying fifty per cent on tech and fifty per cent on hope. Duck into the mountains—I’ll take Bogeys Five and Six on a trip to the coast.’

‘Phantom, are you sure?’ Gonzalez replied after a beat.

‘Affirmative. Even with the damage I’ve sustained they’ll take a while to catch up. I can give you about fifteen minutes.’

Gonzalez looked at the display, considering his options. It felt like minutes passed while he thought, but in reality his brain assessed the situation in a heartbeat. They were about twenty minutes from Roc de Chere, flying in stealth mode, assuming no more than a few wild zigzags around the highest mountain peaks. He briefly considered climbing above four thousand metres, knowing that the civilian aircraft tailing them weren’t capable of staying pressurised at that altitude, but quickly discarded the option. Basic nano-armour could deliver enough oxygen to keep the enemy pilots combat effective with only minor impairment, and it wasn’t worth losing the protection of the mountains.

On the other hand, unless the enemy had another ace up their sleeves, there was no reason why the Hippogryph couldn’t take Bogeys Five and Six out and live to tell the tale, even if Rivas’ Stealthy was too damaged to join in. It would get messy, but they had the fire power.

‘Phantom,’ Gonzalez said, ‘Hippo can take the remaining bogeys.’

‘Sure.’ Rivas laughed weakly. ‘But I won’t make