Alien Alliance Box Set

on the horizon, followed by a dull, growing roar. Regers tensed as he looked up. Through the glass, Marise sat hunched back in shock in the passenger area, her eyes wide with terror. The first fighter jet came screaming over the hovercraft. An old V-winged B96 fleet bomber. Was this all the Pandorian forces could muster? Regers shook his weary head. Heavy shells blasted the hull, peppering the sides, deflating the port air cushion.
A spray of glass and metal showered the deck.
Regers stumbled into the passenger area, brushing glass off his back. He shielded Marise from shards and metal by jerking her away in time. Two of the nearby passengers lay face up, gored with fallout. Civilians were obviously expendable here. Panic swept through the hostages. The gunmen tried to keep control of the situation.
They failed.
Biggs hissed out a withering curse and lay low in the bar along with Choko and the others. Choko squared the RPG cannon on his shoulder. His chunky fingers set the heat lock on the jet and on Bigg’s signal, he fired the first heat-seeking missile. The jet roared overhead on another pass to blow out the left-rear hovercraft’s propeller engine. The RPG missile whistled through an opening in the shattered glass and beelined straight up at the advancing fighter.
Metal connected with metal. A sudden ball of fire erupted in the sky as the assault bomber exploded into pieces.
“Hot damn!” Biggs rasped. Fiery fragments plummeted to the ocean.
The hostages moaned in despair.
“Boo hoo. You fucking pussies.” Choko staggered around, smacking the few brave slumped passengers who’d bewailed his shot and stayed cowering in their seats. The others had fled. They needed rounding up. Some had jumped overboard.
“More jets’ll be coming!” Flip cried.
“Maybe not. They got a limited number of war machines with a war on. This is some backward colony, remember? Small fry, one hijacked ship.”
“Serves ’em right for trying to take our ride down,” snorted Choko. “Just lost themselves a 10 million yol plane.”
The hovercraft lurched as the diesel engines that powered the air cushion sputtered and backfired. The ship was still chugging through the waves at eight knots, even though one of the propeller engines was smoking and the framework a complete ruin of crumpled, molten metal. Another prop looked on the verge of collapse, after shards of metal and glass had been sucked through the vents from the air strike.
Regers teetered on his heels as the ship listed to port.
“Damn!” Biggs cursed. “Rudder fins are warped too. With the air cushion buggered, the ship wobbles.”
“We’ll have to make do,” said Regers.
“Tell the captain to keep full steam ahead,” said Biggs, “to Byarus, not Mantos. We aren’t going to Balden Boys’ country. We’ll get shot to hell. Head for the rebel state at war with Balden.”
Biggs turned to Regers with a feral look. “Go get Gila. We need him down here to get these chickenshits back in their seats.”
Regers’ lips feigned concern. “Who’s going to watch the navigator?”
“Fuck the navigator. Tell skipper boy if he screws around, he’s getting his head blown off! Fetch Gila.”
“Right.” Regers shambled off in a dog trot.
“Round up the freyas!” Biggs barked. “All of you—get back to your seats or you’re dead!”
He fired off lethal shots. Regers heard screams. He saw a man scrambling at the end of the starboard deck get shot in the leg, trip and moan, and recognized Choko’s guffaw echoing in the midst of the chaos.
Flip, Biggs and Choko worked at rounding up the fugitives and Regers slipped back to the passenger area. Futile to play hide and seek with Marise. Her getting found out and blown away was about as senseless as slitting his own throat. Amid the yells, gunfire, and desperate pleading, he found her huddled in a corner of the games room, now a shambles. He sidled over and held her tight and tried to console her.
“Stay in the passenger area,” he hissed, “keep your head down. Say nothing. No matter what happens, Marise, know it, I’ll get these guys.”
“But—”
“Sh! No words! You’re not going to like what you see here. You’re not going to like me. This is going to end badly for all of us. I won’t pretty it up.”
She nodded, bright patches of fear and impending doom reflected in her moistening eyes.

Chapter 10
 
After they’d gathered up the hostages, Biggs and company roved the passenger area in foul moods. Harsh words were traded, some that came to blows. Three more hostages lay dead. Food for sharks. Down to forty seven now. Regers nursed his nerves and worked to maintain his cool. He studied his foes with a practiced professional’s eye. They were unorganized, seriously undermanned, not expecting such a monkey wrench in their plans. Yet all were heavily armed, with the varied weapons they’d stashed in their backpacks. Combat knives, submachine guns, compact rifles.
Choko, round-cheeked, foul-mouthed, psychopathic, with straight black hair brushing broad shoulders. Numerous scars on nose and chin, hairy, muscled arms tattooed with snakes and crabs. A stalker, bully, and hunter. An evil creature personified.
Flip was more pliable, tall, gangly, some goofy scarecrow with piglet eyes. Not to be underestimated.
Gila, quiet, sullen, narrow-nosed, a thin, gaunt body with a short stature and compact frame. The yes-man of the group, yet odd-man-out. Would carry out orders without a moment’s hesitation.
Biggs, the most dangerous of all, had a quicksilver mind—hard to read—a man who could see through most ruses and bullshit. Regers was surprised he had pulled off this charade as long as he had. The bottom could fall out at any moment. He was under no illusion that dear old Biggs would waste him on a moment’s notice, despite his glib promises.
The boat was still running. Regers recalled his smattering of hovercraft physics. A cushion of high pressure air pumped