Crucible Read Online Free PDF Page B

danger yet, however. Something - Rafe caught a brief glimpse of a tattered, burning ragdoll thing still strapped into its pilot's chair - struck the cockpit canopy with enough force to leave a spider's web of deep cracks in the thick layer of armoured glassteel. Shocked, Rafe lost control of her craft for a split-second. By the time she had regained control and piloted the Seraphim safely through the last of the wreckage cloud, the last remaining Grendel had successfully acquired its target.
    It swept in from beneath the slower-moving shuttle craft, raking its underbelly with a devastating close-range volley of fire from its twin banks of wing-mounted quad-cannons. One of the shuttle's engines stalled and exploded. Rafe could clearly see the bright streaks of armour-piercing tracer shells passing through the shuttle's underside and then exiting out through its topside, causing untold damage to the ship's vulnerable internal systems and even more vulnerable human components.
    The shuttle dipped abruptly, then fell away. Only one of its landing thrusters was left functioning amidst the fiery scrap yard wreck of its destroyed underbelly. Rafe could see it firing wildly and could well imagine the panic in the shuttle pilot's mind as he fought to bring his crippled craft down on a controlled descent into the midst of whatever further dangers awaited it at ground level.
    The victorious Grendel peeled up and away, going into a textbook banking turn that would bring it back on course for a return pass over the shuttle. Whatever ideas the Nort pilot had about returning to finish the shuttle's destruction ended in a blazing fireball as Rafe locked onto the Nort plane and despatched a seeker missile after it.
    She followed the shuttle down, listening in to the pain-wracked voice of the pilot or copilot in its bullet-riddled cockpit.
    "Mayday, mayday, this is Buzzard Three-One... We are going down. Repeat... Going down. We are going down..."
    The mayday, weak and barely audible, ended in an abrupt electronic squeal as the shuttle's cannon-damaged comms array blew out. Souther military protocol and natural human compassion to a comrade pilot told Rafe to follow it down and get a confirmed fix on landing zone, even if that so-called landing zone ultimately turned out to be nothing more than a wreckage-strewn crash site. The colourful spectrum of system alert warnings on the display panel in front of her said otherwise, however. Rafe was at the controls of one seriously sick machine. Four confirmed kills officially made this a very successful patrol mission, but she hadn't exactly got away unscathed.
    The display on her helmet visor was showing their number two engine on the starboard wing as an official goner, their hull was perforated in more than a dozen places - and bleeding either air or power from most of them - and the Seraphim's scanner senses were blinking on and off with an independent life of their own.
    "Time to turn for home and park this crate on the ground, Gabe. But, first, I need you to-"
    "Already there, hon. I've tracked that shuttle as far down as I could and now I'm projecting its most likely landing area, based on its last known course and trajectory. Wait, coming through now."
    There was an uncharacteristic pause from the navigator unit. When it spoke again, Rafe understood the reason for its momentary hesitation.
    "It's Nordstadt, Rafe. Those poor suckers are going to come down right in the middle of hell. There's something else too, hon..."
    "Spit it out, Gabe."
    "The command codes in the shuttle's distress signal. Like I said, they were kinda old, but they still checked out as valid. I've dug further in to the files and those codes are coming up as flagged. Restricted, under S-Three authorisation. We're supposed to report in any contact with any craft identifying itself by those code protocols."
    Rafe swore. If going down over Nordstadt wasn't bad enough, then now whoever was in that shuttle also had the S-Three