Final Battle by Sigmund Brouwer Read Free Book Online

else, our pilot interrupted.
    â€œSir.” Our pilot tapped his own headset. “There’s an incoming call for you to take.”
    â€œExcuse me,” Cannon said. Then he switched to a different channel and began speaking into his headset.
    I thought of Ms. Borris. How did she know what she did? And that led me to thinking about her question about kids as slaves. Of anyone in the world, Ashley and I knew what that meant, for we’d seen it firsthand in the kids in the jelly tubes in Parker, Arizona. Even more than that, Ashley herself had been part of the Arizona pod before Dr. Jordan forced her to go with him to Mars for the deadly Hammerhead torpedo mission.
    Suddenly the roar of the helicopter’s engines seemed to drop. Strange , I thought. We’re still above the water. The D.C. base wasn’t anywhere in sight.
    Then my stomach rose to my throat. The helicopter had just pitched straight sideways!
    Wind hit my face.
    I looked away from the general and saw that the pilot’s door was wide open. With the pilot gone!
    Then the roar of the engines stopped completely.
    With all the power off, the helicopter began to fall toward the ocean!

CHAPTER 8
    There it was. Our helicopter. Tumbling. Tumbling. And at the last minute, just above the water, straightening. And leveling.
    On television, it didn’t look real. But seeing it—even from the safety of my wheelchair in a secure room on the D.C. Combat Force base—brought back to me the horror of thinking we were about to hit the water at well over 100 miles an hour.
    â€œWow,” Ashley said from her chair beside me. “Heaven’s going to be a great place. But let me be selfish here. I’m just glad you’re not there yet.”
    It was good to be alive. And good to be with the only friend my age I had. Ashley was a year younger than me, nearly 14. With her short, straight black hair and almond-shaped eyes that squinted when she grinned, she looked like a tomboy. But when her face was serious, she could have been a model from the cover of a magazine.
    Although Ashley and I had only met a little over nine months ago when she’d arrived on my dad’s shuttle to Mars, we had become close friends quickly. We’d been through a lot together in that short amount of time. I could really trust her, and she trusted me.
    â€œWow is right,” I agreed. Even though it was the next morning, I could still feel the sensation of falling toward death.
    The television announcer’s voice broke in as the clip of the tumbling helicopter ran twice more. “Although General Jeb McNamee, known as Cannon by his military comrades, had not been behind the controls of a helicopter for more than 20 years, he was able to avoid what would have been certain death for himself and Tyce Sanders. It is speculated that the pilot who abandoned the helicopter parachuted to a waiting boat. Neither the pilot nor the boat has been found, but authorities are certain this assassination attempt is linked to the Terratakers, the worldwide terrorist group that reflects much of the world’s opposition to outer space expansion. This was the second attempt in one day to assassinate Tyce Sanders.”
    There was a quick close-up of me looking into the camera, taken at the media conference yesterday, before the bomb blew. I was grateful not to see anything hanging from my nose. But I hated the goofy smile I wore.
    â€œReaction around the world shows mounting sympathy for the World United Federation’s Combat Force, a military organization that, until now, few people seemed to like. But when the Terratakers try to kill a teenager, it should be no surprise that they lose some of their popular support. Now to New York, where our network political analyst has this to say.”
    The screen immediately showed a serious man in a three-piece navy blue suit holding a clipboard. “Yes, Fred. As our viewers probably know by now, the first