by instinct, spinning between two enemy ships—causing them to collide.
It was uncanny. But somehow, somehow I could hear it in my mind. Somehow I knew . . . the commands that were being sent to the enemy ships.
I could hear them.
Judy stood quietly beside the hologram, and slowly, aides and junior admirals gathered around. By now they’d disengaged all flights from the battle for the shipyard, and had sent them streaking back toward Alta.
They’d be too slow. Even Riptide Flight, which she had ordered back earlier, was too far out. Right now, all that mattered was one speck of red among the swarm of blue. One magnificent red speck that wove between enemy attacks, somehow avoiding destruction time and time again.
Somehow, she faced overwhelming odds and survived.
“Have you ever seen flying like that before?” Rikolfr asked.
Judy nodded.
She had. In one other pilot.
I couldn’t explain it. I somehow sensed the orders that were coming from above, telling the Krell ships what to do. I could hear them . . . hear them processing, thinking.
It wasn’t an overwhelming edge, but it was enough. Just that little bit I needed to fly my rattling Poco in another loop, where I fired again on the bomber.
That’s five hits. I thought as I was forced back once more by the four black guardian ships. The bomber’s shield should be nearly down. Cobb’s training kicked in, warning me to be ready to over-burn away as soon as I dropped the bomber. Once the lifebuster hit the ground, the blast would . . .
“Spin?” It was Jorgen’s voice.
It almost kicked me out of my concentration. I spun my ship, dodging.
“Spin, is that you?” he asked. “My flightleader mentioned you were on the channel. What’s happening?”
“I’m . . .,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m having a blast without you. More. Krell. For. Me.”
“I’m with Riptide Flight,” Jorgen said. “We’re coming to help.”
Clever quips and bravado escaped me. “Thank you,” I whispered, sweat plastering the inside of my helmet as I tried to come around for another pass.
Red blasts descended upon me, slicing at my ship. But I could dodge them. I knew what they—
An explosion cut across my ship, blasting the tip off the nose of the Poco. Something had shot me, something I couldn’t anticipate.
My Poco rattled, nose trailing smoke, my console basically just a huge expanse of red lights. I still had maneuverability, however, and dodged to the side.
That shot. I thought. One of the black ships hit me—and I can’t hear its orders in my mind.
I rounded toward the bomber once again. I hit the triggers, and nothing happened. Scud . . . the destructors were on my nose. They’d been damaged in that hit.
My control sphere was rattling, threatening to go out. Exactly like Dorgo had warned.
“You have one minute until that bomber reaches the death zone, Skyward Ten,” Ironsides said softly.
I didn’t respond, fighting to keep ahead of the swarming enemies.
“If it gets past the zone,” Ironsides said, “you have full authorization to shoot it down anyway. Do you confirm, pilot?”
Lifebusters were rigged to blow if they were shot or if they hit the ground. So if I dropped that bomber once it got too close, the blast would destroy Alta, but protect Igneous.
“Confirmed,” I said, swinging around.
No weapons.
I could hear the rushing air almost as if the canopy were gone. My nose was still on fire.
Under a minute.
I gained altitude, then turned into a dive, Krell ships still swarming behind.
That bomber’s shield has to be almost out.
I pointed my nose right at the bomber down below, then I hit the overburn.
“Cadet?” Ironsides said. “Pilot, what are you doing?”
“My weapons are gone,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “I have to ram it.”
“Understood,” Ironsides whispered. “Saints’ own speed, pilot.”
“What?” Jorgen said over the line. “What? Ram it? Spin!”
I dove toward the enemy bomber.
“Spin,” Jorgen said, voice barely audible over the blaring warnings and the roar of the air around my cockpit. “Spin, you’ll die.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “But I’ll win anyway.”
I streaked right toward the ship amid a column of enemy fire. Then—at long last, pushed too far—my poor, broken ship had had enough.
The acclivity ring cut out.
My ship pulled into an unexpected dive, and I undershot the bomber, missing it. Pummeled by the winds—and no longer held up by the acclivity ring—my ship started spinning out of control.
Everything became a blur of smoke and fire.
51
You weren’t supposed to be able to think during those moments. It was all supposed to happen in a