Striking the Balance

“That is indeed the operative assumption,” Aaatos agreed. He paused, then went on, “Flight Leader, a question. If I may? You need not answer, but I would be grateful if you did. Our estimates were that these dark-skinned Big Uglies would serve us well and loyally in the role we had assigned to them. These estimates were not casually made. Our experts ran computer simulations of a good many scenarios. Yet they proved inaccurate and your casual concern correct. How do you account for this?”

“My impression is that our alleged experts have never had to learn what good liars the Big Uglies can be,” Teerts answered. “They have also never been in a situation where, from weakness, they have to tell their interrogators exactly what those males most desire to hear. I have.” Again, memories of his days in Nipponese captivity surged to the surface; his hand quivered on the killercraft’s control column. “Knowing the Tosevites’ capacity for guile, and also knowing the interrogators were apt to be getting bad data on which to base their fancy simulations, I drew my own conclusions.”

“Perhaps you would consider transferring to Intelligence,” Aaatos said. “Such trenchant analyses would be of benefit to us.”

“Flying a killercraft is also of benefit to the Race,” Teerts answered, “especially at a time such as this.”

Aaatos made no reply. Teerts wondered whether the male from Intelligence was chastened or merely insulted. He didn’t much care. The analysts had made foolish assumptions, reasoned from them with undoubtedly flawless logic, and ended up worse off than if they’d done nothing at all. His mouth dropped open in a bitter laugh. Somehow, that left him unsurprised.

Smoke from burning forests and fields showed him he was nearing the site of the treason-aided American breakthrough. He saw several blazing landcruisers of the Race’s manufacture, and more of the slower, clumsier ones the Big Uglies used. With those were advancing Tosevites, their upright gait and stiff motions making them unmistakable even as he roared past at high speed.

He loosed the second pod of rockets at the biggest concentration of Big Uglies he could find, then gained altitude to come round for another pass at them. The ground seemed to blaze with the little yellow flames of small-arms fire as survivors tried to bring him down. No one had ever denied that the Tosevites showed courage. Sometimes, though, courage was not enough.

Teerts dove for another firing run. Pillars of greasy black smoke marked the pyres of hydrocarbon-fueled vehicles; his first barrage had done some good. His fingerclaw stabbed the firing button at the top of the control column. He hosed down the area with cannon fire till warning lights told him he was down to his last thirty rounds. Doctrine demanded that he leave off at that point, in case he had to engage Tosevite aircraft on his way back to base. “The itch take doctrine,” he muttered, and kept firing until the cannon had no more ammunition to expend.

He checked his fuel gauge. He was running low on hydrogen, too. Adding everything together, he wasn’t much use on the battlefield any more. He headed back to the air base to replenish fuel and munitions both. If the Tosevite breakthrough wasn’t checked by the time he got that done, they’d probably send him straight out again.

A male of the Race drove the fuel truck up to his killercraft, but two Big Uglies unreeled the hose and connected it to the couplings in the nose of his machine. More Big Uglies loaded cannon shells into his killercraft and affixed fresh rocket pods to two of the hard-points below the wings.

The Tosevites sang as they worked, music alien to his hearing diaphragms but deep and rhythmic and somehow very powerful. They wore only leg coverings and shoes; their dark-skinned torsos glistened with cooling moisture under a sun that even Teerts found comfortable. He watched the Big Uglies warily. Males just like them had shown they were traitors. How was he supposed to be sure these fellows hadn’t, say, arranged a rocket so it would blow up in the pod rather than after it was launched?

He couldn’t know, not for certain, not till he used those rockets. There weren’t enough males of the Race to do everything that needed doing. If they didn’t have help from the Tosevites, the war effort would likely fail. If the Big Uglies ever fully realized that, the war effort would also likely fail.

He did his best to push such thoughts out of his mind. All the electronics said the killercraft was ready in every way. “Flight Leader Teerts reporting,” he said. “I am prepared to return to combat.”

Instead of the clearance and fresh orders he’d expected, the air traffic control male said, “Hold on, Flight Leader. We are generating something new for you. Stay on this frequency.”