Magnet (Lacuna Short Stories) by David Adams Page B

atmosphere; you could stop, move backwards, fly up or down... so I had more control surfaces to play with than atmospheric fighters had. All that experience I’d gained in atmospheric FA-18’s was little help at this juncture.
    Somehow, the fighter responded to my touch and levelled out. I realized that, in my struggle, the cord leading from my headset to the instrument dashboard had come loose. With bloody hands I reached up and plugged it back in.
    “ -agnet, I say again, eject . You’re leaking atmosphere.”
    “ Sydney , this is Vulture – we’ve lost Magnet, can’t raise him on comms. Initiate SAR, he’s drifted well outside of the combat zone so should be retrievable.”
    I reached out and touched the talk key on my radio. “Calm the fuck down, I’m here,” I grunted into the microphone, levelling my wings level to the Sydney ’ s orientation.
    Shaba’s voice laughed into my headset. Shaba, better known as Lieutenant Rachel Kollek, was the pilot of our Search and Rescue Broadsword Piggyback . Shaba was Hebrew for Ghost and she’d named her Search and Rescue Broadsword herself.
    Piggyback ... because it saved your bacon.
    “ Magnet, this is Piggyback . Request update on SAR mission. How you holding up there, hot stuff?”
    I craned my head, trying to see where I’d been wounded. I could still feel no pain although blood continued to trickle into my cockpit. “Update as follows; I fucking ate a round, there’s blood all over the cockpit... but I feel fine.”
    The mirth faded from Shaba’s voice. “Is your suit breached?”
    “ Are you fucking high ? I said there’s blood, there’s a hole somewhere . I’m guessing it hit me in the chest since I can’t feel it anywhere. Could be in my abdomen, though, or my leg... or the arse.”
    Shot in the arse. If I didn’t die, I’d be a laughing stock for the rest of my flying days. Might even earn myself a new nickname.
    “ You know protocol. Sit tight, we’re coming to get you. Piggyback is away.”
    I swore. The last thing I needed was search and rescue coming to cart my sorry arse away on my very first entanglement in space... I’d probably never live it down.
    I swung my nose back towards the action. Toralii fighters and Wasps darted around each-other in an entirely disorganized fashion, with the much larger Broadswords weighing in with their autocannon turrets; I flicked through the radio channels, listening into their combat chatter. As I watched, three of the Toralii strike fighters – we called them ‘Badgers’ because they were squat and fat but packed a hell of a fight and were as tough as nails – broke off from the main engagement and headed my way.
    A voice crackled in my headset. “Magnet, Piggyback . We spot three bandits coming in at your twelve o’clock high – you see ‘em?”
    I still had six missiles left. I flicked my targeting radar on, but the display glass was cracked and broken. Swearing, I used my HUD to bring up my guns, but the console just kept flashing Eject, Eject, Eject . I risked a glance down to my instruments – it looked as though the Toralii fire had damaged the autoloader.
    “ Damn straight I see the bastards, not that I can do shit about it. My weapons are down.”
    It was time to call for help... but of a different kind. I changed channels. “ Sydney , this is Magnet. Request fire mission, grid six alpha-romeo. Three bandits, dispersion four hundred metres.”
    There was the briefest of pauses then my headset crackled. “Magnet, Sydney ; confirmed. Fire mission, grid six alpha-romeo. We are initiating medium range bombardment of those coordinates, explosive anti-fighter shells, firing for effect.”
    “ Confirm that, Sydney . Bring the rain.”
    I held the nose of my Wasp straight, watching the three dots that represented the Toralii fighters draw close. A quick glance up saw twinkling of the Sydney ’ s autocannons – the ship’s anti-fighter close range punch – open up. Just behind those