The asteroid dipped suddenly, exposing Berkson's Starbrute.  Frantically, he released his stick and hit retros to drop.  The edge of his wing brushed ever so-slightly against the icy surface of the stone, and he corrected course to achieve at least a 2-meter gap.  Hiding had been, thus far, an exercise in reflexes, and an exercise that now might prove futile.

The Mossad had screwed up again.  Surprised?  Berkson wasn't.  Pilots knew more about the war than generals.   Pilots like Laura. She'd been right. Something would have to bring the enemy their way.  Berkson reached into the hip pocket of his flight suit.

"Lieutenant General, we cannot stay here.  We've got to act!" Laura protested.

"Negative.  This is not a suicide mission.  That's an order! Repeat.  Hold your position."

Berkson took a brief look at the gold micro-CD before sliding it into his unauthorized disc drive.  He hit PLAY and smiled knowingly.  

The opening guitar barrage of Anthrax's "Deathrider" blared through the link.

The officers back on the Galaxi's bridge were likely looking at each other, puzzled.  They hadn't been there to see Counter's performance of the song.  They'd been too busy making feeble plans.

A light flashed on his link's console.  Someone was trying to communicate with him on another channel.  He dismissed the request, hit full thrusters and pictured himself burning rubber, so to speak, away from his asteroid.

He put the long field of rocks mined with Starbrutes below him, and the 3 motherships scrolled into the middle of the HUD.  Berkson switched link channels so he could hear both the music and skipchatter.  "69th, I'm baitin' 'em past ya."

"I'm coming to help you out," Waxman said.

"Negative, Gold Leader," Laura countered. "Hold your position!  He'll bring 'em past.  Wait 'till we all can go."

Berkson's LIDAR picked up so many contacts that its blipping rolled into a single tone that said get the hell out of the area.  The HUD revealed a black tsunami of planes that was about to come crashing down on him.

he banked hard, riding a wall of space as if he were a bobsledder taking a 75-degree turn.  By flying under the 1st attack wave he was able to roll around behind them.  The HUD told him that the wave was still too far from the asteroid belt, and not just that, they hadn't spotted him.   Only one way to truly draw their attention.

Squeezing every ounce o speed out of the Starbrute, Berkson armed all weapons systems and maxed the volume up on his micro-CD player.  "I'm goin' in!  Claws out!"

Rocketing above the rear squadrons of alien craft, he directed his plane at the level wing.  Target locks floated and...

Berkson strafed the craft, gritting his teeth and narrowing his gaze on the HUD.  The starboard wing of the first fighter disintegrated and it went spiraling out of formation.  Another enemy plane attempted to avoid Berkson's fire and banked to the left---directly into its comrade.  The sharp wings of both ships became entangled, and the two rolled end over end to finally separate.  Berkson got a lock on one and put an abrupt end to that pilot's wild ride.  Then he jinxed hard right and rolled away, scanning the HUD.

The wing leader wheeled around and leveled off in pursuit of Berkson. The rest of its squadron dispersed to follow.

Berkson knew he had to bring them very close for the ambush to happen.  If he could just hold out long enough....

Lieutenant Colonel Ostrovsky had said that the Starbrute was more maneuverable than the enemy's fighters.  Berkson needed for Ostrovsky to be right.  He spotted a particularly large asteroid on the field's fringe and tapped two buttons on his NAV system's console.

WARNING:  DEVIATION COURSE NOT LAID IN.  AUTO-OVERRIDE DISENGAGED.

Another look at the HUD was cause for minor celebration. "Wing leader's they're locked in!" he reported excitedly.  "Approaching position."

"Wait for it," Laura ordered.

PROXIMITY ALERT. FAILURE TO DEVIATE FROM PRESENT COURSE WILL RESULT IN COLLISION.

The NAV system wasn't happy about flying head-on into an asteroid without assisting the pilot.

TRACKING...TRACKING....LIDAR JAM INEFFECTIVE.  ENEMY CRAFT FIRING....

And Berkson wasn't thrilled about the eruption of alien laser fire.

With both hands on the stick, he watched as the asteroid filled his canopy like a great hand of gray stone and opaque ice, ready to close its fingers around him.  He made out tiny fissures in the rock and soft, rolling patterns in the ice as he taught the aliens his version of follow-the-leader.

PROXIMITY ALERT! COLLISION IMMINENT!

But that was what the NAV computer thought, and it wasn't flying the ship.  Berkson had the choice to dive or climb.  A data bar reported the asteroid's dimensions and his course towards it.

Someone was screaming in his link, but, as though in one of his rages, he heard just the racing rhythm of his heart.

Picking the shortest path of evasion, he held his breath, thought of backing off the thrusters, then thought to hell with it.  He steered down, turning his fighter into a roller coaster thundering over tracks engineered by a psychopath.  Above, the surface of an asteroid wiped by.  Ahead, open space waved him home.  A concentrated flash originated from behind him.  That's one!

​​​​​​​But then a look to his HUD indicated that at least 6 more jets still vied for a piece of him.  He pulled up, leveling beneath the asteroid field.  Both sides of his canopy lit up under weapons' fire that came so close it would have fogged his glasses in an atmosphere.  He cut left into a roll....

....but a bolt struck the Starbrute where the canopy's seam met the hull.  Talons of energy pried into the ship and played across his console.  He came out of his roll, hit the forward retroes, then pulled back.

No response from the jet.  The stick was dead.

The NAV system control panel flickered, went dark for a moment, then flickered again.  

"My control's froze,' he screamed into his link.

TRACKING SEVEN CONTACTS. LIDAR JAM INEFFECTIVE.  SUB-CHANNELS JAMMED BY ENEMY.

He beat a fist on the NAV panel, which continued to short out.

TRACKING THIRTEEN CONTACTS, LIDAR JAM INEFFECTIVE, SUB-CHANNELS JAMMED BY ENEMY.

Cocking his head, Berkson gaped at the triangular formations of black condors.  His breath quickened.  Then he lost it.  "I'm dead."277Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhD9Edg7Rxs

"KILL RIGHT THRUSTERS, YOU STUPID TANK!"

The cool, reserved veteran never sounded more emotional.  Obeying Krantz, Berkson was slammed back into his seat as he shot far ahead of his pursuers and discovered that control was once more his.

But what did the right thrusters have to do with the NAV system?  That console was steadily illuminated now, and a data bar stated: SHORT BYPASSED. RIGHT THRUSTER CONTROL DISENGAGED. Berkson realized that he must have been hit in the tail, and it was that bolt which temporarily off-lined his NAV.

"Downtown!" Laura yelled, and Berkson saw her fighter jinx left and out of the asteroid field.

At this moment, with more than a dozen of the enemy still on his rear, Berkson decided to once more test the Daikens' driving skills---and bravery.  He adjusted the micro-CD player to repeat "Deathrider," banked sharply right, then pointed Counter's Revenge at the aliens.  With drums pounding, vocals resounding, and targets locked, he let his rage consume him as he cackled and released his 1st salvo.