A sudden jolt of unseen force pushed the rear of his fighter jet down, helping to level his descent. The force also took out half his thrusters, leaving the task of landing his craft ever more difficult.

"All right, you bastards. You want to play it that way, let's see if you can take a dose of your own medicine," Nathaniel said, fighting with the controls, trying to alter his trajectory.

Firing his front thrusters, slowing his forward momentum, he let the pursuing craft creep closer, until it was within a few hundred feet. As the attacking vessel grew near, Nathaniel toggled a lever above his head, opening his rear missile tube. The launching system was fried, but there was still a missile lodged in the tube, loose enough to slide out under the right circumstances.

Using what maneuvering thrusters he had left, Nathaniel forced the fighter into a vertical position, its nose aimed directly down, its aft directly up at the attacking craft. Cutting his reverse thrusters and going full bore on what forward propulsion he had left, he pushed the fighter straight down, with sufficient force to allow the missile to slide out of the tube.

As the fighter continued to hurtle downward, Nathaniel typed in a numerical sequence and transmitted it to the missile's live warhead, triggering its detonator just as the attacking ship was passing over it. The missile explosion wasn't enough to destroy the attacking vessel, but it got the pursuers off his back.

The shockwave that followed sent Nathaniel's small fighter out of control, flipping end over end toward the planet below, which was growing dangerously close. The controls felt like lead as he struggled to get the crippled craft under control before he became cremated dust in the bottom of a crater.

With great effort, the fighter began to level off, and the ground below was still several thousand feet distant. The sight of the swampy land and forested hills rushed by, as the fighter screeched through the air at twice the speed of sound.

"Time to find out how well they really designed this model," the Lieutenant mused to himself, sweating the thought of landing this new "Darius Tri-3."

Slowing steadily to a crawl, until the fighter was hovering stationary, Nathaniel brought the craft down onto a grass flat nestled between several hills. Even with half of its jets disabled, the fighter was able to set down smoothly and safely.

"Impressive," the young fighter pilot thought to himself. The more primitive craft he had trained on years ago was nowhere near as sophisticated or durable, despite his lingering affinity for the classic model CX-17 which they used at the Lansing Flight Academy. The CX-series of fighters were barely 20 years old, but newer technology and engineering had made for steady advances in military hardware.

Following the landing, Nathaniel climbed out of the cockpit and inspected the damage from the outside. It looked pretty horrid. The exterior was charred and melted, showing the wounds of both hot energy weapons and explosive detonations. Half of the heat-reflective outer hull had been blown off by his stunt with the missile, and several thin cracks appeared to go straight through into the pressurized engine compartment, meaning it was unlikely that the craft could survive a return to space.

This planet was going to be his home for a while, it would seem.

Wasting no time, Nathaniel scavenged everything he could use from the damaged fighter, taking with him the emergency survival kit which held a tent, some knives, medical supplies, gas lighters, and stick matches, among other simple tools. It would make sure he stayed dry and had enough rudimentary tools to survive in the wilds of this alien world. He also had his service pistol, and enough ammunition to keep himself fed if any suitable game presented itself.

Before heading out, Nathaniel did a preliminary sweep of the region for radio beacons, to see if any of his compatriots had survived the battle to find refuge on this strange world. There had been twenty in his squadron from the Starship George Mason. He'd seen at least half of them blown to dust in the firefight with the hostiles whose species and origin were a complete mystery to humanity.

After a thorough scan, only one signal registered on the scanner, but it wasn't from his squadron. The signal he picked up was on a frequency used by the Space Force's Scientific Division.

The signal was valid and current, according to his on-board computer system, so Nathaniel decided it was a good idea to investigate. The signal was well over a hundred miles away, so it would be quite a trek in getting there on foot.