Page 35 of Chosen

31

RHIANNON

The ground shook when the first bomb struck the city, and the truck swerved violently until I could wrestle it back under control. I could hear the faint tinkling of dirt splattering down over my head, and had to brush away a clod that blinded me when it fell through the shattered windshield. Through it all, my heart pounded in my chest, and my palms began to sweat so that hanging onto the steering wheel became nearly impossible.

All I could think about was reaching the port and getting this gun into position. The fighters were so close overhead, they would probably see me if I waved at them, but of course, I wasn't going to do any such thing. I meant to destroy them, once and for all, and if that meant staring into their cruel little eyes as they ate my bullets, then so be it.

The closer the better.

The truck's wheels screeched in protest as I turned the last corner and pulled into the port. I went straight for the waiting ship, pulling up under the wing and stomping on the brakes as soon as I was sure I could reach. My legs cried out in anguish as I forced myself to hurry around to the back. I hadn't fully recovered, after all, and from the way my joints burned, I knew that there would be a long road of recovery ahead of me when all of this was over. But right now, survival was the only thing that mattered.

I braced my shoulder against the nose of the second gun and shifted it into position, pulling down the straps that held it in place and quickly tightening them with my free hand. I repeated the process on the back, and hopped down, going to the front of the little ship.

I frowned a little at the way it still sat with one wing dipped below the other, but I didn't have time to make adjustments. I was just going to have to compensate once I was in the air.

I pulled the truck out of the way, parked it, and hurried to get into the old ship. It took some work to drag my exhausted limbs up and into the cabin without a proper ladder, but eventually, I lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and panting for breath. With a groan, I forced myself to sit up and pulled the hatch closed, locking it into place before crawling into the captain's chair. There was nothing especially complicated about this ship's console, and it took me only a moment to find the ignition, bringing the ship to life. I thumbed the throttle, trying to get a feel for it before I opened it all the way up. The ship hesitated, taking a moment to lurch free of the place where it had sat for so long, but soon we were rolling across the tarmac at a good clip.

As unsteady as my legs were, the rest of me had gone completely numb. I gripped the control yoke, and eased the speed up until I was ready to pull the little ship off the ground with whatever power it could muster. At the last second, I felt a surge of panic, wondering if the thing was even strong enough to get those two massive weapons off the ground, but then I felt the strange bump followed by the floating sensation in my stomach that told me I was airborne.

All I had to do was hold the yoke back and keep the ship moving skyward until I could get the enemies in sight. Unfortunately, as soon as I was free of the smooth surface air close to the runway, a crosswind kicked the ship sideways, and I screamed in terror as I tried to pull out of the sudden spin. Just when i thought I was going to strike a patch of tall trees, the wind died down, and I got the ship back under control, pulling her around once more to face the battle.

The engines roared in my ears, so loudly I could hardly think straight. On top of that, the Patrol's fighters zipped past, and I was struggling to follow their movements. Weapons were my jam, but live combat exercises had never been my strong suit. Now, it took all of my concentration to scan the field ahead of me and make sense of what I was seeing.

First, I saw an oddly outdated ship bobbing to and fro in the distance. It was not firing at the Patrol ships, but they pursued it nonetheless. When I looked beyond them, I could see the Patrol's main ship looming large in the distance. Behind it, I could just see the Titaness and Herod's ship tailing it.

I had to make a decision. Something in my gut told me that Nikathy was the one responsible for that unidentified ship. Just looking at the old thing, I could see that it wasn't fit for battle against a squadron of Patrol fighters. If I didn't act quickly, they could take him down any second, and I would have to watch as it happened. The thought made my stomach clench reflexively.

But as much as I wanted to give chase, I had a different problem on my hands. I hadn't outfitted this ship for rapid fire and agility. I'd be lucky if I got even one good shot in against those fighters as fast as they were darting about. I knew what I had to do.

I whispered an apology to Nikathy under my breath and turned my ship awkwardly away. It took a long while for me to pull her around and get her nose up far enough to get the large ship in my sights, but as soon as I had them, I let out a defiant roar and mashed the buttons on my control yoke. There was a deep percussion and my ship rocked first to one side and then the other as each of the guns fired in turn. In the aftermath of the reports, even the ship's overworked engines sounded quiet.

I was forced to watch the projectiles cut through the air, and I found myself holding my breath unwittingly. The first one began to fall, losing momentum and dropping below the ship's hull before ever making contact. I cursed myself for being so stupid. I should've known I was still too far away to score a hit, especially in this atmosphere. But the second round made contact, punching a small hole straight through the base of the Patrol's commanding ship.

I continued watching, expecting something else to happen, but it was as if nobody even noticed that the enemy had been dealt a blow. The little Patrol fighters still buzzed back and forth like annoying insects, struggling to keep Nikathy between them. And still, the large ship came on, drawing nearer with every second. The one strike I'd made went totally ignored.

"Shit. What now?"

I ran my hand through my hair, staring at the controls all around me and hoping that there was some other trick I could pull out of my hat. I hadn't brought extra ammunition aboard. I doubted this ship would've gotten off the ground if I had. But I needed something else to throw at them. I had to think of something before Nikathy was hit, and judging by the way the fighters were closing in on him, it wouldn't be much longer.

I spotted just the thing. At least, I hoped it would work.

I set the ship on a flight path straight toward the enormous ship, and then crawled out of the captain's chair. I made my way to the little storage area in the back that held emergency equipment for the pilots. I yanked all of the neatly packaged equipment out, tossing it aside, and found the two large oxygen canisters tucked in the bottom. Normally, these cans would be used to provide breathable air to the pilot if the cabin was punctured and depressurized, but right now, they were my best shot at taking down the Patrol.

I pulled them free and dragged them to the gunner's hatch in the middle of the ship. I spared only a quick glance out the front windshield to make sure I was still on the right path before ducking down inside the little cavity and hauling the first cylinder with me. At first, I couldn't get the cylinder to fit in the chamber. Grumbling, I pulled the canister over to the other side of the ship and was relieved to find that it was almost a perfect fit for the barrel of the cannon. Or it was close enough, if I was careful. I jammed the thing in and quickly tore off my shirt and tucked it in behind the canister, forming as tight a seal as I could around the edges. Then I slammed the reloading chamber closed and hauled myself back out of the hatch and into the cockpit.

I had closed a lot of distance while I was down there, and I felt my palms going sweaty as the enormous ship filled my entire view, blocking out all else. I had to adjust my path again, finding the previous puncture wound and setting my sights on it. As soon as it was in my crosshairs, I hit the trigger again. There was a painfully long silence, and I thought for a second that the gas canister might erupt right beneath my wing, but then there was a baritone burst of air and I watched the canister, tailed by my shirt, go flying.

Unlike the solid projectile that the cannon had produced the first time, the gas canister hardly had the strength to punch through much of anything on its own. However, when it sailed through the existing hole and into the exposed underside of the ship, I whooped with joy. The canister disappeared through the ragged edge of the hull, and moments later, there was a fiery blast. A moment later, another blast emanated from the ship, a little further down. Then another, and another.

The single explosion caused by the canister had caused a chain reaction, causing fuel lines to burst, one after another within the ship's mechanical compartment. Soon, its engines sputtered to a halt and the lights of the upper decks began to flicker, eventually staying dark.

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