The Forgotten Prince Page 14

  All three of them exchanged looks as static and more gunfire came through the speakers.

  “Michael!” Wendy shouted, looking at the speaker in the corner as if she could see what happened through it.

  “Shit, I gotta get my gun!” Bella cursed, then sprinted toward the destroyed convoy.

  Wendy turned and seemed like she was about to protest when Michael’s voice came through the speaker again. His words interrupted by heavy breathing. “Don’t know how they found—”

  More gunfire.

  “What? Damn it, Michael, are you all—”

  The roar of engines cut her off as a pair of attack skiffs tore through the sky above them. They looked up in time to see four autocannons open fire.

  “Get down!” John shouted as the ground in front of their skiff erupted in tall plumes of dust. John dove for cover, landing hard and rolling underneath the skiff’s belly. He watched as a long trail of eruptions snaked toward the remnants of the Regency convoy.

  Heavy rounds chewed into the first transport, and a second later, it erupted into a massive fireball. The heat from the explosion wash over John as he got to his knees. Twisted metal and debris rained around them, blanketing the plaza in tiny pieces of burning wreckage.

  A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, turning everything else into a dull echo. Two shadows darted across the ground in front of him at full speed. They disappeared over the top of the old courthouse building, and John knew they didn’t have much time.

  He climbed to his feet and desperately tried to find his companions. Tom and Carter scrambled to their feet near the lead escort vehicle, apparently after being knocked to the ground by the explosion. Heat waves from the fires distorted his vision, but they were okay, alive at least.

  Bella darted through the wreckage, moving fast. She disappeared briefly behind the last transport, then appeared again, holding the tribarrel up ready to fire. She shouted something at Tom and Carter, but John had no way of knowing what it was and the two men didn’t seem to hear either.

  John caught movement out the corner of his eye and turned to see Wendy shouting, but he couldn’t hear her.

  Pointing to his ears, John said, “Can’t hear!”

  Wendy leaned forward, inches from his ear and shouted, “Get the skiff airborne!”

  “Right!” John shouted, his own voice a dull echo.

  More cannon fire blared behind them as John pulled himself up and climbed into the cockpit. He dropped into the right-hand seat and began punching commands with one hand while simultaneously securing the straps of his harness with the other.

  Fortunately, the engines had been left in standby mode, and took a second to sync and calibrate. He reached to push the throttle forward but stopped when he saw Bella dart from the front transport, running at full speed parallel to the large ornate building. After twenty feet, she slid to a stop, spun and brought the tribarrel up. A second later, the first attack skiff shot from over the courthouse. Bella fired.

  Blinding bands of brilliant blue and orange energy shot through the air and streaked past the skiff, barely missing her target. The skiff pitched and raced away while the second came in for another attack.

  “Goddamn it!” Wendy cursed. “Get us airborne, now!”

  John glanced his shoulder to find Wendy trying to strap herself into one of the seats on the rear bulkhead. “What about—”

  Another explosion rocked the skiff hard enough John grunted as his body jerked against the restraints. Wendy screamed behind him, followed by a smacking against the deck. He craned his neck as Wendy pushed herself up, blood running from her nose.

  “Hold on,” John said, unclipping the harness, “I got you.”

  Wendy coughed and spit blood. “No, stop. I’m okay.”

  John ignored her, but just as he pulled himself out of his seat to help her, another figure jumped into the cabin beside her.

  “Come on, get up,” Tim said, grabbing Wendy’s arm and pulling her to her feet. He glanced at John as Wendy stumbled into a seat. “Where are the others?”

  Before John could answer, several loud twangs reverberated through the cabin as bullets punched through the skiff. The window panels on the right side exploded inward, blowing glass shards everywhere. Tim lunged forward, wrapping his body protectively around Wendy.

  “Damn it, John, get us out of here!” Wendy screamed, poking her head around Tim’s torso.

  “Shit!” John twisted around, dropped into the seat, and pulled the harness around him again. “I’m really fucking done with the adventure now.”

  He threw the throttle forward, pulled back on the controls, and the skiff lifted off the ground with a roar, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

  John scanned for the skiffs, but from his position could not find them. Where the hell does she expect me to go?

  Tim pulled himself into the cockpit then slid into the seat next to him. He slapped the weapons control as he sat, and pulled the straps around him as the computer came to life. “Come on, find me a target.”

  At that moment, everything around John McNeal slowed, and he knew what he needed to do. He was home. Chaos turned to orchestrated grace as his hands worked the controls, and everything seemed to fall into place. All the uncertainty of being in this alien world left him. He let himself become a part of the aircraft, focusing every muscle fiber into what he had to do.

  This was his business, and business was good.

  He twisted the throttle then the skiff shot forward, climbing away from the square. The targeting computer Tim activated flashed, and two targets blinked into existence. Small red triangles on a black display in front of him blinked and targeting solutions scrolled beside them. Automatically, he assigned both a numerical value; the one to the right became Bogey One and the other, approaching the left, became Bogey Two.

  “Okay,” John said, turning hard to the right. “Don’t miss.”

  The Regency skiff came into view, flying straight for them. John saw flashes from the skiff’s cannons then jerked the controls. Their skiff rolled sideways, g-forces pushing hard against them. The concussions from the autocannon fire below their feet vibrated through the hull as Tim returned fire.

  “For future reference,” Tim groaned as John leveled out again. “Could you give a little warning before you do something like that?”

  “Sorry,” John replied. “Hang on!”

  The skiff rolled back the other way, dodging another barrage from the attacking skiff. As they began their second roll, the targeting computer beeped and flashed red, indicating a lock.

  “Shoot!” John shouted through gritted teeth.

  The cannons roared again, and ahead of them, one of the attacking skiff’s engines exploded in a blinding fireball. The force of the explosion sent the skiff rolling sideways, flipping end of end through the air.

  “Shit yeah!” Tim shouted, punching his fist into the air.

  “Nice work,” John said, working the controls, already looking for the remaining target.

  They turned toward the courthouse and the smoking Regency convoy. The middle transport exploded, belching flame and debris into the air. Movement near the end of the line caught John’s attention, and he watched as Tom and Carter moved out from the base of the stairs along the white walls of the building. Tom pointed at something ahead of them and Tim gasped.

  “Oh, no, no, shit, no!” Tim cried, putting his hand against the inside of the windscreen.

  John’s gaze followed and his blood ran cold. Bella lay face down, motionless on the ground, arms stretched out to either side. Her tribarrel lay just out of reach. He cursed to himself and adjusted their flight path so they could get a better view. From their altitude it was impossible to make out if she was breathing or not, but John was sure the dark spot underneath her was blood.

  Wendy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Guys, loo—”

  Cannon fire pelted their skiff. Metal twangs reverberated around them and countless rounds whizzed by just outside
the cockpit’s windscreen. The controls bucked against him as the skiff reacted to the impacts.

  “Hang on,” John said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep the skiff from rolling out of control.

  Hang together, baby. Please, hang together.

  Tim pressed his face to the side windscreen, searching behind them. “He’s right on our tail! High over our left side.”

  The controls fought him, and John cursed them for it. “Come on, damn it!”

  “He’s angling back on us!” Tim shouted. “Incoming!”

  John shouted and used all his strength to force the skiff into a turn, the controls bucking wildly in his iron grip. They finally gave, and the skiff turned over in a roll, away from the incoming barrage. They rolled twice before leveling out, then he slammed the throttle forward and dove for the ground. At twenty feet John pulled up and leveled off, then concentrated on the blur of buildings around him.

  The red light that was Bogey Two flashed and moved around the display off to his left, making a turn to pursue. They came to an intersection, and John jerked the stick. The skiff rolled sideways and made a tight right hand turn to follow another street.

  Tim shouted, but the words meant nothing to John. At that moment, John’s world consisted of the avenue ahead of him and the enemy behind. He needed to break off. Bogey Two closed the gap between them. Holding the same flight line would be fatal.

  Buildings ahead of them erupted as autocannon fire chewed through the composite and metal structures around them. John yanked the controls, flipping the skiff on end then pulled the throttle back as they entered a wide intersection. He forced the stick over and groaned against the g-forces as the skiff made a tight turn onto the intersecting avenue.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Tim asked, as they straightened out of the sharp turn.

  “No idea, anywhere but here,” John answered, scanning the surrounding cityscape for anything that would give him the edge. The pilot behind them was good, but John knew he was better.

  Tim twisted around again, checking their tail. “We can’t keep this up forever.”

  John shook his head. “Damn it.”

  He banked around a tall tree in the center of the road, caught sight of the landscape ahead and immediately had a plan.

  “There.”

  Ahead, the massive elevated highway appeared, stretching across a wide river. The street below crossed beneath the split-road structure and continued into the distance.

  “Watch it, he’s on us again!” Wendy shouted from the back.

  Engines screamed and the controls vibrated in John’s hands as he pushed the craft to its limits. He banked hard, right out over the water and followed the river. The pillars of the highway rushed by in a blur, John’s vision tunneled as he counted.

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Tim asked, “They’re still back there.”

  John ignored him, focusing on the pillars to their left. If his plan was going to work, it would take perfect timing.

  This might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, John.

  He nudged the skiff away from the pillars, every muscle in his body fighting to keep his grip firm and easy. Everything around him faded into oblivion as all his senses focused on the only thing that mattered; counting. Somewhere in the distance voices yelled, but couldn’t make out the words.

  Proximity alarms blared, adding to the cacophony. Half a mile ahead, the river took a sharp turn and a tall metal-framed high rise stood in their path. John knew they were running out of time, but desperately prayed for more. The cadence in his mind hadn’t changed, the rhythmic counting like a musical masterpiece in his head.

  Another alarm sounded and a lock-on warning flashed on his display. Any second, auto-cannon from the skiff behind them would tear them apart. He couldn’t wait any longer. He hoped his count wasn’t off.

  One . . . two . . . three . . . four!

  “Hold on!” John said through gritted teeth, then slammed the throttle back and twisted both controls left.

  The skiff’s engines flipped over, reversing their forward thrust in a matter of seconds, while simultaneously throwing it into a barrel roll. They rolled, end over end, underneath the roadways above and through the gap between two sets of support pillars.

  John grunted as inertia threw his body against the harness, the image of an elephant sitting on his chest flashed into his mind. The straps of his harness dug deep into his shoulders, and through sheer force of will, managed to remain conscious and aware of their position. At the last moment, he corrected the skiffs roll and brought them back upright in the thirty-foot separation between to the pillars.

  As they rose between the two roadways, Tim let out a painful groan and said, “You’re some kind of crazy shit, aren’t you?”

  John glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Sorry, I—”

  “You’re fucking crazy!” Wendy shouted from the cabin behind them.

  “Hold on,” He said, still looking over his shoulder. He banked right over the roadway and took them across the water.

  “What are you looking at?” Tim asked.

  “Hold on, I’ll show you,” John answered, forcing his voice to be steadier than he felt. His hands shook as the adrenaline drained from his system, and he took several calming breaths as he brought the skiff around.

  Tim said, “No way.”

  John slowed them to a crawl and finally allowed his body to relax. In front of them, smoke rose from burning chunks of what remained of the skiff, embedded in one of the outer support pillars. Several long cracks extended from the impact crater along the surface of the pillar, and as they watched several small pieces of composite dislodged from face and fell to the water below.

  Tim let out a low whistle.

  “I’ve never seen anyone fly like that,” he said. “How did you know you could do that?”

  John hesitated to answer, trying to decide the best way to respond. It had been a huge risk. A gamble he’d taken without really knowing the hardware enough to know if the aircraft could handle the maneuver.

  Finally, John said, “I didn’t.”

  Tim stuttered, but before he could complete his thought, another alarm sounded and five more red dots, arranged in a diamond formation, appeared on the contact display.

  “Oh shit,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.

  They approached fast, and despite the insane aerial maneuvers he’d just pulled off, John knew they wouldn’t have a chance against their superior numbers. “There’s no way we can take on that many.”

  Wendy stepped into the hatch between them and pointed at the monitor. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

  “What about the others?” Tim asked. “Bella, Tom, and Carter are still down there.”

  Wendy shook her head. “We can’t fight the entire Regency in one skiff, and there isn’t enough time to pick them up. They’ll be okay. They know what to do.”

  John wasn’t convinced. The old adage, ‘Leave no man behind’ rang in his mind.

  “We can’t just leave them down there. When the soldiers get here, they’ll be captured or killed. They won’t stand a chance in hell,” John said.

  “I don’t want to leave them down there any more than you two, but you said it yourself,” she nodded at John, “there’s no way we can take on that many. Hell, we barely survived two and I’m sure there was a fair amount of luck involved in that.”

  “I’m not going to just leave them stranded.” John said, holding his ground.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Wendy said, the frustration in her voice building.

  “Those soldiers will be here in a matter of minutes, whether we’re in the air or sitting on the ground, and when they get here, they will not hesitate to kill us. We have rules for this type of situation. Everyone knows that. Now,” she turned to Tim, “Get us the hell out of here.”

  Tim starred back at Wendy for a long moment, his face a mask of cold, hard resentment.

 
; “I got it,” John said, taking over.

  Tim turned away from Wendy and gazed out his window without saying a word.

  John maneuvered the skiff away from the smoldering wreckage and muttered, “Rules? Whose bright idea was it to just abandon your teammates? What asshole would make a rule like that?”

  Wendy pulled one of the headsets free from its clasp beside her and pulled it down over her head. “I did.”

  She punched a code into the computer, waited a beat, then said, “White Bird to Lost Boys, White Bird to Lost Boys: initiate Castaway. Repeat: initiate Castaway.”

  She pulled off the headset without waiting for a response and replaced it in the clasp.

  “We’ll come back for them,” she said, putting a hand on John’s shoulder.

  There were several things he wanted to say, but decided against them all. Reluctantly, he pushed the throttle forward and forced his attention to flying and not ripping Wendy’s head off. He had never left a man behind, not during training, and especially not in the face of the enemy. In his world, leaving a man behind was not even an option; the act itself unimaginable.

  “I promise, we will come back for them,” Wendy said, seeming to pick up on his frustration. “They can handle themselves, trust me. Right now, we need to focus on losing them.” She pointed at the approaching red dots.

  “If they have any idea who we are, they will stop at nothing to finish us off, and if we managed to get captured . . . ” she trailed off.

  “She’s right, John,” Tim said, obviously frustrated. “If Hook ever got his hands—hand, I mean—on her,” he motioned to Wendy, “it would mean the end of everything. I love my brother and my sister very much. More than that, we can’t lose this war, and we need her to win it. We have to get her out of here.”

  John worked his jaw back and forth, trying to relive the soreness built up from clenching his teeth together. Regardless of what either of them said, he didn’t agree and made a silent promise that after this was over, he would have a long conversation with Wendy and her damned rules and loyalty to your brothers and sisters in arms.

  The skiff lifted up over the highway and John said, “Where to?”