looked up at him.
“Do you believe it?” Lu asked him. “Do you think the American plan is real?”
Lei shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said. “Real, or not real. Maybe they can bring down the shields. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. My job is to fly and fight, and die if it comes to that. I know myself, I know my enemy. I fear nothing.”
“Sun Tzu?” Lu said.
“I may be paraphrasing,” Lei admitted.
Lu nodded. “What have you named this one?” he asked.
“
Meifeng
,” he said. “Beautiful Wind.”
“That’s a good name,” Lu said. “A little odd—”
The radio crackled. It was time.
Lu bowed to him. “Good luck,” he said.
“And to you, my friend,” Lei said.
* * *
As the monstrous ship loomed on the horizon, everything seemed to slow down. They were coming from the east, and the sun was setting beyond the ship, so its shadow rose toward them. There was a bit of chatter, but most of the pilots were silent.
It seemed to take a long time to reach it, like walking toward a distant mountain.
Lei’s anger and grief were so closely tied together that he could not tell them apart, and both had been gnawing his soul away from the inside out. Now he felt almost quiet. He remembered his wife, brushing the lock of hair from her face. He remembered when they met, how young they were, how alive the world had seemed.
He thought of Rain, his daughter, of singing a lullaby to her as he held her by the light of a candle. Some part of him had been disappointed, of course. Under the one-child policy, a daughter meant the end of his father’s line—but she had been so beautiful, so quick and intelligent, that any discontent on his part had vanished, and he thought only of the years ahead, of watching her unfold, reveal herself, become who she was meant to become.
If they failed today—if
he
failed—that would never happen. His wife was already entombed in the ashes of Beijing. He would never know her touch or see her smile again, and maybe he would never see Rain again either.
But Rain was going to live. If he had anything at all to say about it, his daughter would grow to be a woman.
He was carrying missiles, so he had something to say about it.
“Fighters!” someone shouted, and ahead he saw flickers of green light as the alien craft disgorged from their carrier and began attacking the slender Chinese force.
“Come along,
Meifeng
,” Lei said. “Come along, my beautiful wind.” With a clear heart and terrible purpose, Lao Lei accelerated toward the enemy.
* * *
Dikembe awoke to cheering. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, wondering if he was still in some sort of dream.
“What the hell?” Hailey swore. She looked pleasantly disheveled and slightly cross.
But she smiled when she saw him.
“Hey, you,” she said. She looked around. “Not dead yet.”
He remembered Scotch and the sea air, and holding her. Her standing on tiptoe to kiss him…
Someone banged on her cabin door.
“Hailey, get out here,” the someone yelled.
Dikembe put on his shirt and slacks as Hailey drew on a T-shirt and blue shorts. Then they made their way to the deck, where a party was in progress, and fine champagne was flowing freely.
“What’s going on?” Hailey asked a young man with unfortunate sideburns, who was handing her a flute of Dom Perignon.
“What’s going on,” the fellow said, “is we kicked their asses.”
“The aliens,” Dikembe said dubiously.
The fellow pointed to a large-screen TV set up on the deck. It displayed images of the huge spaceships, crashed and burning. A glance around the little port revealed revelers in the streets.
Sideburns offered him some of the bubbly, and in a bit of a daze, he took it.
“Cheers,” he said.
* * *
The euphoria following the defeat of the alien fleet had a half-life of hours. Estimates put the death toll in England alone at more than four million, and more than a million were now homeless. The government was in a shambles, as were most
“Do you believe it?” Lu asked him. “Do you think the American plan is real?”
Lei shrugged. “I don’t care,” he said. “Real, or not real. Maybe they can bring down the shields. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. My job is to fly and fight, and die if it comes to that. I know myself, I know my enemy. I fear nothing.”
“Sun Tzu?” Lu said.
“I may be paraphrasing,” Lei admitted.
Lu nodded. “What have you named this one?” he asked.
“
Meifeng
,” he said. “Beautiful Wind.”
“That’s a good name,” Lu said. “A little odd—”
The radio crackled. It was time.
Lu bowed to him. “Good luck,” he said.
“And to you, my friend,” Lei said.
* * *
As the monstrous ship loomed on the horizon, everything seemed to slow down. They were coming from the east, and the sun was setting beyond the ship, so its shadow rose toward them. There was a bit of chatter, but most of the pilots were silent.
It seemed to take a long time to reach it, like walking toward a distant mountain.
Lei’s anger and grief were so closely tied together that he could not tell them apart, and both had been gnawing his soul away from the inside out. Now he felt almost quiet. He remembered his wife, brushing the lock of hair from her face. He remembered when they met, how young they were, how alive the world had seemed.
He thought of Rain, his daughter, of singing a lullaby to her as he held her by the light of a candle. Some part of him had been disappointed, of course. Under the one-child policy, a daughter meant the end of his father’s line—but she had been so beautiful, so quick and intelligent, that any discontent on his part had vanished, and he thought only of the years ahead, of watching her unfold, reveal herself, become who she was meant to become.
If they failed today—if
he
failed—that would never happen. His wife was already entombed in the ashes of Beijing. He would never know her touch or see her smile again, and maybe he would never see Rain again either.
But Rain was going to live. If he had anything at all to say about it, his daughter would grow to be a woman.
He was carrying missiles, so he had something to say about it.
“Fighters!” someone shouted, and ahead he saw flickers of green light as the alien craft disgorged from their carrier and began attacking the slender Chinese force.
“Come along,
Meifeng
,” Lei said. “Come along, my beautiful wind.” With a clear heart and terrible purpose, Lao Lei accelerated toward the enemy.
* * *
Dikembe awoke to cheering. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, wondering if he was still in some sort of dream.
“What the hell?” Hailey swore. She looked pleasantly disheveled and slightly cross.
But she smiled when she saw him.
“Hey, you,” she said. She looked around. “Not dead yet.”
He remembered Scotch and the sea air, and holding her. Her standing on tiptoe to kiss him…
Someone banged on her cabin door.
“Hailey, get out here,” the someone yelled.
Dikembe put on his shirt and slacks as Hailey drew on a T-shirt and blue shorts. Then they made their way to the deck, where a party was in progress, and fine champagne was flowing freely.
“What’s going on?” Hailey asked a young man with unfortunate sideburns, who was handing her a flute of Dom Perignon.
“What’s going on,” the fellow said, “is we kicked their asses.”
“The aliens,” Dikembe said dubiously.
The fellow pointed to a large-screen TV set up on the deck. It displayed images of the huge spaceships, crashed and burning. A glance around the little port revealed revelers in the streets.
Sideburns offered him some of the bubbly, and in a bit of a daze, he took it.
“Cheers,” he said.
* * *
The euphoria following the defeat of the alien fleet had a half-life of hours. Estimates put the death toll in England alone at more than four million, and more than a million were now homeless. The government was in a shambles, as were most