The Ultimate Escape Page 3

  As the German flashed by, Matt pulled back on his stick, pointing the Camel’s nose toward the sun. He was trying to regain some of the altitude he’d lost when the formation scattered, and get above his enemy. Matt knew that if he was flying too low, someone could easily chase him right into the ground.

  Suddenly, Matt heard David Gray squawk. He turned just in time to see his friend’s Camel lose its wings and drop out of the sky like a wounded bird.

  “Bye now! And good luck…” David said as he hit the panic button. David Gray disappeared from the cockpit as the virtual Sopwith Camel plunged toward the earth nose-first.

  Megan O’Malley was right there, coming in from above and behind the German plane that had destroyed David.

  It too fell to the ground in pieces.

  But Megan’s revenge had its price.

  Her plane was the next to fall.

  As the rest of the Jasta attacked, she boldly turned her aircraft to face a lone Albatross fighter head on. The two pilots played “chicken” for a brief moment. But as they swerved to avoid each other, their biplanes locked wings in a violent midair collision that spun them around like a top.

  This time it was the simulator’s fail-safe system that dragged Megan and the German pilot back to reality, as the wreckage of their intertwined veeyar fighters plunged toward earth.

  “That’s one way to take out the enemy!” Matt shouted. But if anyone else heard him, they didn’t respond.

  Everyone still airborne was busy trying to stay there.

  “Matt, I’ve got a problem,” Mark Gridley said, trying to sound calm. Matt scanned the sky to locate his wingman. Finally, he spotted the Squirt, who was twisting his Camel through the sky in a futile attempt to shake off Dieter’s tri-plane.

  No matter what the young Thai-American did, the German pilot remained glued to his tail. Matt Hunter doubted he could reach his hapless wingman in time, but he knew he had to try.

  Twisting his joystick and kicking his rudder control, Matt aimed his Sopwith Camel in the general direction of his friend. Just as he completed his turn, a German Albatross fighter dropped into his line of sight.

  It was just too good a target to pass up.

  Matt primed his single machine gun. Then he aimed and squeezed the trigger. He let go with a three-second burst, hoping that his only gun would not jam, as it had on the second day of the course.

  To Matt’s surprise, the Albatross lost its gull-shaped wing and burst into flames. A virtual bullet had shattered the control panel in front of the German pilot, and penetrated the fuel tank.

  The German youth turned and saluted Matt. Then he quickly punched the “panic button” and vanished. His Albatross spun away in a cloud of smoke, fire, and debris.

  Matt felt a surge of triumph. He had scored his first victory of the week.

  Meanwhile, Mark Gridley had spotted Matt’s Camel rushing to his aid, so he turned his own airplane toward Matt’s. Dieter’s triplane followed him, and when Mark completed his turn, the German was still doggedly snapping at his heels.

  “Just keep out of his way for another second!” Matt said. “I’ll get Dieter off your back.”

  The Squirt did not reply. He didn’t have time to reply. Matt could see Mark was too busy maneuvering his airplane and dodging occasional bursts from Dieter’s blazing machine guns to even think about talking.

  Matt realized that there was a good chance that he was going to overshoot his prey. He quickly snapped the Sopwith Camel to the right to bleed off some speed. But the violent maneuver was too much for the primitive plane to handle, and Matt lost control of his aircraft.

  Matt fought the stick for a split second, barely preventing his aircraft from falling into a flat spin, from which he could never have recovered at this altitude.

  But even as Matt regained control of his aircraft, he didn’t have time to breathe a sigh of relief.

  Mark Gridley’s Sopwith Camel flashed by his left wing, and behind Mark, Dieter’s blue triplane loomed in the crosshairs of Matt Hunter’s gun sight. The German was coming at him head on. He was so close that Matt could see the “smiley face” that Dieter had “painted” on the nose of his virtual Fokker.

  Instinctively, Matt squeezed the trigger.

  His machine gun chattered—but only for a second. Then the machine gun jammed.

  Matt groaned. This is it t he thought regretfully.

  But just as Dieter’s own guns began to spit virtual lead at him, a shadow fell across the unsuspecting German’s fighter.

  Like a predatory bird, a Sopwith Camel striped in a familiar orange-and-black pattern streaked out of the sun, gun blazing. The Fokker triplane veered hard to the left and fell into a steep dive as Dieter tried to dodge the torrent of virtual bullets.

  But the German was too late to save himself.

  As Matt watched, the canvas on the Fokker triplane’s top wing was shredded by bullets and began to peel.

  Both Matt and Mark cheered in triumph as Julio Cortez pounded Dieter’s Fokker until the top wing broke loose and the triplane began to disintegrate.

  Then, as suddenly as it began, the dogfight was over.

  Hearts pumping with adrenaline, Matt and Mark guided their Camels alongside Julio’s striped airplane.

  “Julio, my man… you really pulled my butt from the fire!” Mark Gridley said joyfully.

  “The Ace of Aces has arrived,” Matt said, turning to peer at his friend. “It’s really great to see you, JefeV

  “Mark … Matt?” Julio said dazedly. “Am I here? Have I finally escaped?”

  It was clear to Matt and Mark that something was wrong with their friend. He was acting like he was in shock, or had some kind of memory loss or something.

  “Hey, Julio … what is it?” Matt asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing is wrong!” Julio said. “I’ve made it … I’m here! Matt, my good friend, I am here!”

  “You’re here, all right,” Mark said. “And we’re mighty glad to see you, Jefe. But what’s the big deal?”

  Matt struggled with the controls of his virtual aircraft as he stared at his friend. Julio’s expression was one of confusion, as if he wasn’t certain he should trust what he was seeing.

  Suddenly, as Matt watched, Julio’s eyes narrowed with determination. Julio looked directly at him.

  “Matt!” Julio said urgently. “You must listen to me … my family … in Corteguay . .. you must do something, tell somebody!”

  “Tell somebody what! What is it?” Matt asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “My family …” Julio said. “We are being held prisoners in my homeland … I have escaped for now, but I don’t know how long I can remain free!”

  “Julio!” Matt said. “I don’t understand … are you saying that you are in a political prison … right now!”

  “A virtual prison, my friend,” Julio said. “Please .. . help me … help my father, my mother, and little Juanita!”

  Then, as mysteriously as he’d arrived, Julio Cortez and his orange-and-black Sopwith Camel began to fade.

  “Save my family!” Julio begged as he vanished, his voice hollow. “Help them, help us all, before it is too late….”

  A moment before Julio’s airplane became completely transparent, Matt reached out and punched the buttons that would drop them back to reality and mark this instant in the computer’s memory banks.

  Abruptly, Matt Hunter and Mark Gridley found themselves back in their classroom, plugged into their computer-linked chairs.

  The other three Net Force Explorers had already dropped out of veeyar or had been shot down. Now they were standing over Matt and Mark, staring at them with expressions of concern and confusion on their faces.

  Matt and Mark exchanged puzzled glances too. Each of them wondered what they had just seen, and whether or not they should believe their senses—and what the virtual shadow of Julio Cortez had told them.

  briefing chairs on the opposite side of the room. All of them had bee
n looking forward to this moment, and they were very excited.

  After a week of competition, Net Force was about to meet the pilots of the Berliner Jasta for the first time outside the simulator. Of course, Dieter Rosengarten and his friends were still in Germany, but the holo-projectors in the briefing room would make it look as if the Germans were right there, in the same room, across from Net Force.

  The same thing would happen in Germany, where holograms of the Net Force “Squadron” would appear in the same room with the German team.

  As everyone waited with anticipation, there was a burst of light and color as the holographic projectors sprang to life.

  Suddenly, a short, chubby blond youth with a ruddy complexion, thick glasses, and a prominent overbite appeared. He was standing in front of a group of smiling German youths wearing identical black overalls.

  Megan, who usually hid her feelings pretty well, actually gasped in astonishment when she saw the formidable “Baron von Dieter” for the first time outside of veeyar.

  Dieter Rosengarten was much less impressive on the ground than he was at the controls of a Fokker Dr. 1. His eyes looked tiny behind his thick glasses, and it was obvious that his eyesight was so bad that corrective surgery was out of the question. The portly German youth squinted at them as he scanned their faces.

  On seeing the physically-less-than-formidable Dieter for the first time, Matt was instantly reminded of the truth of his inventor father’s favorite expression.

  The real world and the virtual world are very different places.

  To Mark Gridley, Dieter’s appearance came as much less of a revelation. As the shortest and youngest member of the Net Force Explorers, “the Squirt” had learned early on that in veeyar, you didn’t need to be big, or strong, or fast.

  You just had to be smart.

  “Hello, everyone,” Dieter greeted them jovially in English, his German accent barely discernible.

  “Greetings, Herr Rosengarten,” Dr. Lanier said from behind his podium. ‘ ‘First of all, I want to offer our congratulations to you and your Jasta for your success this week. The Berliner Jasta —and you, Herr Rosengarten—have reason to be proud. You are the highest-scoring team at this point in the first round, and Herr Rosengarten is the highest-scoring Ace of the competition as it has played out so far.”

  Everyone applauded the Germans graciously, acknowledging their superior skills in the simulators, though there was a less-than-gracious expression on Andy Moore’s face as he stared at Dieter Rosengarten.

  If looks could kill … Matt Hunter thought.

  The portly German smiled happily. “Thank you … thank you all,” he said with a curt bow. Then he turned to Professor Lanier.

  “I want to thank you, Dr. Lanier, for a wonderful week. I found the class on the First World War very informative, and look forward to the new phase of the course next week.”

  Then Dieter turned toward the Net Force Explorers.

  “I also want to congratulate the young man or woman who shot me down today.” The German scanned the room through his thick glasses. “Which one of you was it, please?”

  “That’s what we would like to ask you, Herr Rosengarten,” Dr. Lanier said smoothly. “We were hoping that you saw who it was. We’re not quite sure which of the Net Force Explorers deserves the credit.” Professor Lanier paused. “There seems to be some confusion in that regard,” he concluded.

  Dieter Rosengarten looked astonished. Then the youth scrunched up his ruddy face in concentration.

  “I assumed that the young man I was chasing looped over my head as his wingman distracted me. An extremely nice piece of flying.” Dieter whistled softly in admiration. “Very clever, I think,” the German said. “And it was the first time I saw that done in the simulator with a Sopwith Camel.”

  “I knew it was you, Squirt!” Andy Moore said.

  “I wish!” Mark Gridley snorted.

  Dr. Lanier gave Mark and Andy both a hard look, which silenced them.

  “You said that you assumed it was the plane you were chasing,” Professor Lanier said. “But what did you actually see, Herr Rosengarten?”

  “See?” Dieter said, blinking through his glasses. He raised his pudgy hand and scratched his double chin in concentration.

  “Why … I saw my wing break off,” he said after a pause.

  The room exploded with laughter. Even Dr. Lanier smiled, something he did only on special occasions, like when describing the blitzkrieg, or talking about his own experiences in the air war against Iraq at the end of the last century.

  During the laughter, Mark Gridley noticed that Andy Moore was staring at him with a strange new respect.

  Andy still thinks that I shot Dieter down, Mark thought. He’s mad at me because he wanted to be the one to bag the German. But if I really did shoot down Dieter Rosengarten, why would I lie about it?

  When the laughter ceased, Dieter continued. ‘Tm sorry, Herr Doctor, but I never saw the airplane that shot me down. It all happened much too fast.”

  “Well,” Dr. Lanier said. “I thank you for your help, Herr Rosengarten. And I thank you all for coming to this briefing. I want to wish you luck against Michael Clavell and the British team in the ‘Battle of Britain’ scenario next week.”

  “Thank you for the good wishes, Professor,” Dieter said. “We Young Berliners look forward to altering the course of history and conquering England from the air.”

  The Germans waved a friendly good-bye to everyone and vanished.

  “Let’s just go back into the program, Professor Lanier,” Matt Hunter said as the holo-projectors went off and the lights came back on. “I know what Mark and I saw, and I know that Julio is still in there.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea, though I don’t think we need to go quite so far as to rerun the program,” Lanier said. “Computer, bring up the summary grid for the Red Baron simulation.”

  “Working …” The synthesized female voice trailed off and the tally for the full World War I round so far appeared in the air above them.

  “Excellent. Computer, bring up detailed information for participants Hunter, Gridley, and Rosengarten.”

  “Working…” Three small icons detached themselves from the summary tally and grew quickly in size. Dr. Lanier studied them.

  “That’s odd,” he said. “Dieter is listed as shot down at 11:38:26, but neither Mark or Matt are given credit for the kill. That shouldn’t be possible. Computer, scan records for Contestant Rosengarten. Describe the terminal incident.”

  “Working … top wing disintegrated by machine gun fire. Resulting structural damage rendered the Fokker unflyable. Contestant Rosengarten pushed panic button and exited simulator at 11:38:26.”

  “Computer, which contestant,” Lanier said, “inflicted the machine-gun damage?”

  “Working …” The pause was much longer than usual. “That information is not available.”

  “What?” Lanier looked at the class in confusion. It was a look that sat oddly on the man’s face, as though he rarely used his muscles to form that expression. “Computer, triangulate angle of machine-gun fire. Is it coming from a single source?”

  “Working … plotting trajectory. Angle and velocity of machine-gun fire is consistent with a single aircraft-mounted machine gun.”

  “Computer, which contestant’s aircraft was responsible for firing the bullets?” Lanier tried not to let his irritation with the situation creep into his voice, but it was futile. Thankfully, the computer was programmed to respond to his words, not his tone.

  “Working … there is no plane in the triangulated source area of the bullets.”

  Lanier’s face was a study in outrage.

  “Sir,” Matt said, “why don’t we just replay the simulation? Surely we’ll be able to tell what’s going on.”

  At that moment a technician hurried into the room and handed Dr. Lanier a note. The instructor read it and frowned. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible right now,” he said. “
The technicians just ran a systems check on the simulator.”

  “And?” Mark said.

  “And we have a problem.” The professor ran his hands through his short gray hair, and then held the note he’d just received aloft.

  “It seems that our World War I program has developed a Rift,” the Professor said. “We’re restricting access to the World War I program disks, effective immediately. I’m afraid that no students can access them until further notice, not until we’ve brought in an expert to isolate and repair the problem.”

  “I can’t believe they’re going to stop us from replaying the program because of a stupid glitch!” Matt said bitterly to his friends.

  The Net Force Explorers were resting in one of the International Educational Institute’s many lounges.

  “How can reliving what we’ve already been through once hurt us anyway?” Matt wondered aloud as he scanned the faces of his friends.

  David Gray met Matt’s stare and shook his head. “It isn’t like that, and you know it,” he said with a passion that surprised Matt. “There’s no guarantee that the program will stay the way you froze it, not if what I’ve heard about Rifts is true.”

  “David’s right,” said Megan. “Rifts are dangerous. You’re lucky that nothing bad happened to you the first time.”

  Matt was sure she was wrong. He knew very little about Rifts—and had, in fact, thought they were just another one of those legends. A Rift was a software glitch that supposedly broke down the boundaries between the computer and the user’s mind. The user’s thoughts, experiences, and feelings could feed into the program, and vice versa. Tales were told about kids who played games in veeyar, and came out of them with all of the injuries they had incurred while on-line. The whole thing sounded absurd to Matt. But before he could argue with Megan, he heard another voice.

  “Well, I don’t think it was a Rift,” Mark Gridley said. “I’ve heard about Rifts, and there was no sign of a Rift in that program.”

  “You’ve heard of Rifts,” Megan O’Malley said. “But have you ever seen a Rift? Has anyone here seen a Rift?”

  No one spoke for a moment. Megan focused on Matt, which made him squirm. He had no certain answer, because he just didn’t know enough about Rifts.