"Clayton Emery - Descent FreeSpace - A Thousand Years" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

eye level.

Atsuko had her own bag of tricks. In a squadron full of aces, her talents as a flyer were
suspect, which is why she rated a slow bomber. SheтАЩd earned the nickname "Rammer" in
flight school by bashing into targets before firing. The shields and hull of a Hercules could
take it, sheтАЩd argued a thousand times over beers, and if you bowled the enemy backwards
they couldnтАЩt shoot while you could. Her strategy earned high scores, and no skipper ever
ordered her to switch tactics, so she carried on ramming. Only the mechanics grumbled
about her warped shields and scuffed hulls.
Now "Rammer" didnтАЩt try to evade the rising machete, but hooked her nose to meet it. Too
late, the enemy pilot climbed to avoid a collision. AtsukoтАЩs heavier Hercules slammed the
machete at an angle and knocked it sprawling. From twenty meters Atsuko triggered her
lasers. This close, the ML-16s vaporized the Shivan shields and destabilized the hull into
red-gold slag. In her tiny cockpit Atsuko shouted, "Put THAT in a training video!"

Ahead loomed the big boxy ship with one escort on the far side. No help in sight. Atsuko
shimmied right as yellow lights winked deep inside those flaremouth cannon barrels. Still
crawfishing, she thumbed her joystick while shouting "Missiles away!" for computer backup.

Green gunsights winked as CHERRY BLOSSOM bucked. Two Tsunami missiles rocketed
out of her pipes. Carrying their own on-board computers, the missiles corkscrewed in
evasive paths, marking the Wild Black with vapor curls. The remaining machete-like escort
banked and dipped to intercept a Tsunami, danced a brief dogfight, stalled for a better firing
angle -- and caught the missile right in the cockpit. The eye-blistering white fire of
matter-antimatter implosion momentarily bleached AtsukoтАЩs cockpit. Her light-compensating
faceplate phased black lest she be blinded.

The second Tsunami missile slammed like a sentient cannonball down a flaring mouth on
the Shivan box-ship. Atsuko temporarily let go the joystick to let the computer belly-out. From
behind came another nova pulse of antimatter fury. The pilot chirped as her wingtips glowed
white-hot in the aftermath of the explosion.
"Ooh! Computer, status."
"Stable. Paint blistered from undercarriage. Bomb-bay doors warped but operable."

"Whoa!" Atsuko whistled. Fusing the bombs into the hold would hurt! But she felt/heard the
double WHINNNNE-THUMP! as new missiles dropped into the pipes. Scanning the sky for
bogies while she regrouped, the pilot flicked a glance at the console. And glanced again.
That canтАЩt be right!

"ThatтАЩs impossible! Computer, weтАЩre hauling *Harbingers*?"
"Correct," chimed the machine. "GTM-N1 Harbinger missiles. A solid-core fusion bomb
salted by three fission bombs. Propulsion is provided by a one-half size regulation GTA
Class-II fighter-thruster --"

"I know all that!" Atsuko stabbed the display and gasped. Two more Harbingers hung ready
to load behind the first two. "Damn! My armorer mustтАЩve been half-asleep to rack those
monsters! Or else I was too crispy to double-check her! Sheesh, now what?"
"Proceed with caution," advised the mechanical voice. "The 5000 megaton shockwave can
fracture armor plate of Fenris- and Orion-Class cruisers --"