Nerve Center

It has to be Whiplash, thought Zen. He saw Chris lash out at one of the guards, then felt himself pitched to the ground. He swung his arms, but realized he was being dragged by his useless legs toward the plane.

“Up,” Madrone told him. Automatic weapons barked around them. Madrone pointed a small, blocky pistol in his face. “I’ll kill you, Zen.”

“I can’t get up.”

As Kevin ducked down to him, something flew onto his back. It tumbled over his shoulder, a heavy weight that smashed against Zen’s upper torso, pi

Brea

Madrone, somehow not surprised by her, nor fazed by the chips of cement and bullets dancing around them, grabbed her by her bound hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Help Jeff into the plane. Now, or you die here!”

“No!” she shouted.

“He dies first.”

She reached for Jeff, starting to pull, going slow. Jeff tried to hold back, but Madrone pushed them both over onto the middle of the ramp. He swung his left arm wildly. Either he hit the lever to close the gangway, or someone in the cockpit issued the command; in any event, the ramp sprang upward moving quickly despite their weight.

As long as he was alive, Zen thought, there was a chance he could stop Madrone. He had to stay calm and work out a plan.

Then Madrone smashed Brea

Had he co

DANNY HAD HIS M-16 IN HIS HANDS AS HE HIT THE ground, but the drop-off between the runway and the ramp kept him from getting a good view of the hangar area or the rest of his team.

It also made him lose his balance. He rolled forward, struggling to his feet. Snapping clear of his gear, he ran up the slope toward the ramp and hangar area, still without a target. He heard the distinct whap of a flash-bang grenade, thrown by one of his team members to paralyze the resistance.

The large planes near the hangars were definitely theirs. The EB-52 sat on the right. Someone fired from the ground near it; the shots were immediately answered with a spray of gunfire from the left.

Da

Someone sat in the cockpit. He put the body in the cross-hairs and fired. The bullet hit the target square, but the figure remained unharmed behind the EB-52’s thick glass. The 5.56mm bullets in the M-16 were no match for the reinforced windshield and hull of the Megafortress.

The Flighthawks should be more fragile. Da

MADRONE KICKED JEFF’S HEAD WITH HIS BOOT TO make sure he was truly unconscious, then leapt into the right control seat, quickly pulling the ANTARES head gear on. Brea

He felt his scalp tingle as soon as the liner band slid over the spider co

Already? The panel wire hadn’t even been co

He stood in the forest, rain storming all around. Balls of hail pelted him.

Hawk One, start procedure.

Two, Three.

Systems green.

Go.

A NARROW FLARE ERUPTED AT THE EXTREME LEFT OF Da

His armor saved his life, but the heavy gun had cracked the suit and possibly his shoulder blade. Worse, as far as Da

Aboard Galatica

Lower Deck

8 March, 0453

BREANNA WRITHED ON THE FLOOR, HER HEAD STILL spi

Struggling to rise, Rap pushed back against the side panel, and saw Jeff sprawled on the deck behind the seats near the hatchway. The sight of his helpless body gave her strength; she managed to push up against the panel, wedging her foot down, but then snagging her bound hands on part of the rail beneath the seat. She rebounded to the floor, then pushed back upright, still hooked on.

The main monitor at the station jumped through views. Brea

The technician’s panel could access C3. She tried rising, but remained snagged. She pushed down, felt metal scraping against her wrist. The pneumatic hoses that allowed the chair to be adjusted had been sawed or clipped apart; the entire base of the ejection seat looked as if it had been gnawed by a metal-eating squirrel.

The keyhole-shaped clasp at the left front of the rail covering one of co

She looked up. The screen had stopped shifting. The dark runway ramp rushed by. The Flighthawk was taking off.

Red and yellow speckles appeared around the side of the runway—gunfire. A large store of fuel exploded beyond the hangar area, and the flames burst so bright that Madrone or C3 swapped out the IR for an optical view.

Zen groaned.

Rap looked over at him, then back as Madrone yelled something. A dark shadow loomed in the main display panel. A large bird descended, claws snatching at the air. Then everything turned red.

THE FIRST FLIGHTHAWK JUST CLEARED THE C-17. THE next one, however, crashed dead into the looming hull, which had thrust itself in front of him without any warning. Madrone fell backward in his seat, stu

The storm raged. He was in Theta, but couldn’t feel C3 or the robot planes anywhere.

ANTARES was an immense jungle, the vegetation cluttering, choking his mind. Minerva stood before him, naked. She reached for him, turned to fire.

He hated her. She was the enemy. She’d been sent by them to destroy him.

No.

He was in the cockpit of Hawk Three. He had the bomb strapped to the center hard-point. Takeoff had been aborted; he was dead on the runway.

Hawk One was in the air. Hawk Two had been destroyed. Galatica sat at the edge of the ramp, engines revving but motionless.

He’d die here, without revenge, without anything.

Good—Kevin wanted to die, wanted to end it. He’d be with Christina.