Free Nerve Center by Jim DeFelice, Dale Brown

and strategy computer had already taken over piloting the “downed” planes, flying them along a preplanned route back to one of Dreamland’s runways to land. Their cockpit view screens sat at the top left-hand corner of his visor, shaded slightly in red.
    As Zen quickly checked on them, he noticed something he hadn’t counted on. Hawk One was still alive—C3 had managed to duck Mack’s radar missile.
    Cavalry.
    “Attaboy!” said Zen out loud, his muscle cramps suddenly disappearing. He turned Hawk Four over to the computer, telling C3 to keep it on the preprogrammed course behind the helicopters as they came in, where it would be impossible for Sharkishki’s radar to locate it. Then he pulled One out of the neutral orbit the computer had set, recording twelve g’s as he rushed toward Knife’s butt.
    Twelve g’s would have wiped out any normal pilot—and probably smashed most aircraft to bits. But the Flighthawk’s stubby wings and thick fuselage were designed to withstand stresses approaching twenty g’s. The plane stuttered in midair as its vectoring nozzle slammed it on course; inside five seconds Hawk One was galloping for Sharkishki’s tail.
    Slowed by the encounter with the other Flighthawks, the MiG was roughly six nautical miles ahead as Zen popped over the ridge—dead meat for a missile shot in a teen jet. But the Flighthawks’ only weapons were cannons; while the guns had good range—roughly three nautical miles even in a maneuvering dogfight—he was still too far away. Zen had the throttle to the max, but couldn’t gain on the MiG, which was now pouring on the kerosene as it closed on the Army target zone.
    Ten miles. Mack would have the Blackhawks before the Flighthawk caught up.
    “Helos hold,” Zen ordered the Army pilots, hoping to keep them out of danger. As they acknowledged, he jumped into Hawk Four, swinging her up and over them, rising to meet Mack.
     
    MACK’S HUD RADAR DISPLAY PAINTED A FLIGHTHAWK ahead, rushing to protect the helicopters.
    Interesting. Zen had broken his usual pattern, letting two of the U/MFs operate alone. He was learning.
    But the curve was steep. The Flighthawk would be dead meat as soon as Brother Archer growled on the wing tip.
    Mack nudged his stick left, intending to take an angle into the target area that would let him swing toward the helicopters after he launched his Archer at the robot. As he did, his rear-looking radar found the small plane trailing him.
    What the hell. Taking advantage of computer glitches was one thing, but bringing a plane back from the dead was total bullshit.
    Should have expected nothing less from the stinking SOB. What a pathetic egotist, determined to win at all costs.
    Knife would expose him to everyone, including his buddy Twig Boy. And his wife, though God knows how she put up with what she did.
    No way he was losing to a cheater. Mack reached for the afterburner. The Mikoyan flashed ahead with a sudden burst of speed, its pilot quickly revamping his attack plan.
     
    ZEN SMILED AS THE MiG SHOT AHEAD.
    “Helos go. Go!” he demanded.
    “Hawk Flight—we have a bogey at two o’clock. Request—”
    “Go! Go! Go!” screamed Zen. There wasn’t time to explain. He jumped into Hawk Four, yanking straight up. Mack didn’t fire, continuing to accelerate as he avoided the rear-quarter attack.
    “Computer, Hawk One on air defense at LZ. Plan Two.”
    “Plan Two, acknowledged,” said C3. It took control of the Flighthawk immediately, nosing it down to attack the two simulated ZSU antiaircraft guns on the ground.
    Zen, meanwhile, concentrated on Sharkishki, banking in a wide turn in front of him. Zen pushed off left, then cut back, aiming to intercept from the side. Knife could have simply powered his way past and taken out the helicopters—but that wasn’t Mack. Jeff knew he’d gun for the Flighthawk, concentrating totally on showing him up.
    What Jeff didn’t expect was Sharkishki’s nose suddenly yanking in his