Crush Depth by Joe Buff Page B

seam in the taxiway.
    “How can you see? I thought the Axis was distorting the global positioning system signals.”
    “I have infrared and low-light-level TV pictures, with cues on my head-up display. The cameras are in the nose.”
    Barrows put on the brakes. “We’re waiting for takeoff clearance.”
    Ilse glanced around and was surprised to find she had a small rearview mirror mounted inside the canopy. She saw another, identical jet waiting behind her and Barrows.
    “What type of airplane is this?”
    “Two-seat version of the F-22 Raptor. Best air-dominance and strike fighter in the world, in my not-so-humble opinion.”
    “How come my instruments are all blacked out?”
    “So you don’t see aircraft performance. Maximum speed, altitude ceiling, stuff like that’s top secret.”
    Ilse, held firmly by her ejection seat harness, squirmed to try to relax in the seat—the bottom and back were firm and hard.
    “These chairs aren’t very comfortable.”
    “When you’re in a dogfight with the kaiser’s Luftwaffe, the last thing you want is comfortable.”
    Ilse hesitated, chilled. It sank in, all at once, that these jets were personal killing machines, and sometimes the pilots who flew them died. “If it isn’t too secret, where did you score your five victories?”
    “Over Denmark and the North Sea. All in one night too, right before Christmas. There was a huge air battle, you might have heard about it.”
    Ilse had heard about it. She’d been right under it, in Challenger, the whole time. This woman helped save my life.
    “Who is that behind us?”
    “My wingman.” Ilse, her vision dark-adapted now, looked again in the rearview mirror. The other pilot was a woman.
    “Who’s in the other passenger seat?”
    “Someone who looks like you…And that’s the weapon systems officer’s seat, officially.”
    “You don’t need one tonight?”
    “Not where we’re going. We’ll be vectored to the rendezvous by an AWACS plane.”
    “So what’s this all about? Can’t you tell me anything?”
    “We need to get you somewhere special really quick, far away. A fighter jet’s the fastest method. We also need to keep the Axis from knowing where you’re going, on the assumption they’re trying to monitor you. The air force has a few tricks up our sleeve tonight.”
    Red lights came on, in two long rows along the ground, marking the edges of a concrete runway that stretched in front of the jet for more than two miles.
    “We are clear for takeoff.” Barrows kept the brakes on while she pushed the throttles to full power. The engine noise built from a whine to a roar. The whole plane shook and bucked like it was alive. Barrows released the brakes and hit the afterburners. The noise redoubled. Ilse was kicked back hard against her seat. The F-22 rolled down the runway faster and faster. The red runway lights streaked past in a blur.
    The aircraft leaped into the sky. Barrows made a tight left turn, and kept climbing fast.
    Ilse glanced around to spot the wingman. She noticed tiny, dim lights trailing her, not far away. Barrows waggled her wings. The dim lights waggled back. Both planes rushed into the overcast, a foggy murk that made the dark seem darker.
    In seconds the murk was pierced and fell behind: the F-22s broke through the cloud cover. The view above and all around took Ilse’s breath away. The sky was perfectly clear and vast and black. A sliver of moon rose in the east. The stars were sharper and more brilliant than Ilse had ever seen. Mars glowed a solid red, and Jupiter pale yellow. The Milky Way stretched over her head across the entire sky. Using the moon and stars, Ilse could tell the Raptors were flying west.
    It’s hard to believe the last time I looked at the Milky Way was on top of the Empire State Building, barely twenty-four hours ago. It feels like so much longer…. I wonder what Jeffrey Fuller is doing now. Maybe I’ll try to find him, after the war.
     
    Ilse heard a man’s voice