The Assault - By Brian Falkner Page 0,3

black shapes in a black sky over a black land.

“Missile launch. Missile launch. Deploying flares, breaking high and right.” The pilot sounded impossibly calm in the sky above their heads.

Chisnall did not respond. There was nothing to say.

The enemy radar systems were highly sophisticated, much more advanced than their own. But the small half-pipe dropping away somewhere below him was the ultimate in stealth technology: all flat surfaces and plasma screening and a built-in radar detection system that would activate small fins on the casing and turn the half-pipe away from any radar sources. At night, it was all but invisible. Likewise, his stealth flight suit would automatically orient itself to present the lowest possible radar profile to the enemy.

The battle above their heads was intensifying. The type ones, the enemy craft, were faster and more agile than even the best human aircraft, and Angel Chariot had no way to evade them.

But hiding in the sky was a surprise for the Pukes.

“Multiple signals!” Inzusu screamed. A swarm of dots had suddenly appeared on his screen. He stabbed at the comms button. “Multiple signals, right behind you. Immediate evasive maneuvers!”

The pilots of the interceptors reacted immediately, breaking formation and streaking into different parts of the sky.

“Where in Azoh’s name did they come from?” Czali asked behind him, an accusatory tone in her voice.

“Out of nowhere.”

“They’re not aircraft; they’re missiles, hunter-seekers,” Czali said, examining the screen.

“Hunter-seekers? The scumbugz don’t have hunter-seekers!”

“They do now. Must have got hold of one of ours and reverse-engineered it.”

“Azoh!” Inzusu hit the comms button again. “Get out of there, now! Multiple hunter-seeker missiles right behind you. Repeat, multiple hunter-seekers right on your tails.”

Already, the tiny hunter-seekers were accelerating to attack speed and targeting the closest interceptor. He could imagine the shock on the pilots’ faces as they suddenly realized the danger behind them and broke off the attack on the scumbugz to fight for their own lives. Their planes had sophisticated antimissile systems, but the enemy missiles were hunting in packs.

Czali swore as two of the red dots blinked, then disappeared from the screen.

Two more flashes lit the sky above Chisnall, fading into the distance as he fell.

“Heaven, this is Angel Chariot. I have two confirmed hunter-seeker kills. How copy?”

“Clear copy, Angel Chariot. Confirming two kills, over.” The pilot continued dispassionately. “I have three-way missile lock. I am breaking low and left, heading for home.” Then his voice changed. “Missile launch! Missile launch! I have multiple inbound missiles. Confirming zero six missiles, over.”

Chisnall’s heart sank. The remaining enemy craft had closed within range. There were six air-to-air missiles swarming toward Angel Chariot.

The second wave of hunter-seekers hit their targets with three explosions and three blasts of light. That was the last of them, but it was too late.

The voice of the pilot was back in his ear in quick, unemotional sentences. “Countermeasures deployed. Missiles are closing. Going for the moon, over.”

The pilot had tipped his jet back and was now rocketing skyward, vertically, like a rocket lifting off, hoping to leave the missiles below him. But it was not going to work. It was never going to work.

“Missiles still closing. Missiles—”

There was another boom.

Chisnall cursed under his breath.

Angel Chariot was now fragments of metal and exploding fuel tanks, a fiery meteor falling back to Earth. But it had played its part. It had given the enemy radar something to focus on, a distraction, as the six angels fell toward the desert floor below.

There was silence as the last of the red dots blinked and faded from the screen. Inzusu gritted his teeth. They were not just dots. They were comrades. Bzadians. Killed by the scumbugz that infested this planet.

“We need to wipe this planet clean,” he said.

“Disinfect it,” Czali agreed grimly.

Inzusu turned his attention back to the ghostly echoes fading in and out on his radar screen. Still no sign of parachutes. The echoes were falling like stones. Just to be sure, he kept watching until the faint signals crashed to the sand of the New Bzadian desert.

Chisnall continued flaring his arms and legs. Already the others would be accelerating down away from him. It was standard operating procedure to stagger the landings, for safety reasons. He would be the last of his team to land so if things went wrong, he would have a few more seconds to figure out what to do, although in reality that probably just meant a few seconds longer to live.

He checked his timing, tucked his arms and legs into his