Four kilometers.
“Release by sections, pull out by SOP. Steel on target.”
At two kilometers from the tail end of the counterattack, Rath pulled the flyer up to fifty meters above the surface. Instantly, several distinct warning tones rang out in her headset, but she ignored them and ripple-fired first the left, then the right missile pylons at the two skiffs at the rear of the MinSha column. Detonations engulfed both skiffs, but there was no secondary explosion.
They’re still moving!
Additional detonations hit the two skiffs from her wingman, but they didn’t stop. The skiffs raced forward, turning their weapons over their aft decks. Bright blue laser fire ripped through the air next to her, and her wingman detonated with a force that tossed her flyer dangerously into the path of the one on her right wing. Rath recovered and dove for the deck again. Cycling her weapons to the inboard pylons where 250kg laser-guided bombs hung on each winglet, she centered the targeting reticle on the left skiff, zoomed upward, and accelerated forward sharply. A bomb fell away, and she turned out of the climb. The laser guidance system on the bottom of her fuselage centered the bomb’s trajectory on the upper deck of the skiff. She watched the bomb hit its target precisely and detonate with a bright white flash.
This time, the skiff slewed to the left and hit the ground with enough force to cause it to roll multiple times. Rath swung back toward the column as Three and Four dove in with their bombs. The sporadic anti-aircraft fire from the column became a solid blue wall. Three wobbled mid-flight but managed to drop both bombs; Four detonated in the air and slammed into the valley floor with a boom. Three’s bombs missed the column altogether.
“Liberty Six, Rebel Lead. Splashed one skiff. Trying one more time. Out.”
Without waiting for a response, Rath shoved the throttles forward and armed the bomb under her right wing. Without bothering to gain additional altitude, she pitched over and pointed the nose of the flyer directly at the trailing skiff. Lasers flashed around her. One glanced off her right forward fan and caused her to swerve away from her target. She corrected her course and mashed the weapons release button. As it fell, she turned hard to the right and tried to slice across the valley floor toward cover.
WHAMM!
Rath looked at the caution and warning display, but she knew what had happened from the way the controls bucked in her hands. The left rear fan was gone. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the damage, and she swung hard to the left and headed north. Desperate to get behind Tirr’s lines, she pushed the throttle forward as much as she dared and descended toward the minimal cover of the brush and rocks. If the MinSha weapons could break her out, she’d be in trouble, but it was a risk worth taking.
Bright flashes to her left meant the ground troops had joined the battle. Hoping for enough distraction to make it to safety, Rath climbed as the flyer shook again and again. The right rear fan sheared away from the fuselage, and the flyer violently descended. She let it fall. Mind racing, she grabbed the flight controls tight and flipped the forward speed brakes open. As they opened, she yanked back on the controls, pitching the internal fans to generate the maximum amount of lift. Forward velocity near zero, the flyer’s headlong dive into the ground stopped short. There was just enough lift to allow Rath to control the landing. Just before it hit the ground, she let go of the controls and crossed her arms over her chest, grasping her shoulder harness. She pushed her head against the seat back, and the automatic tension controls grasped her flight helmet and held it to the supports.
The flyer thumped onto the valley floor with a violent lurch to the right as it bounced off a gnarled tree. Branches ripped away the canopy and tore at her limbs, and one bounced off her helmet so hard she saw stars. As quickly as it happened, it was over. Rath tried to raise her head and winced at the pain in her neck. Her vision wavered, and she felt the cool, black edges of unconsciousness slide over her.
* * *
Virtual Command Center
Missile Frigate Charleston
Above Victoria Bravo
Lucille monitored and commanded the remaining fourteen ships in her fleet at the same time. The extensive camera systems, extravehicular sensor platforms, and robust laser communication rigs made the work easy from her central command location. She’d taken the opportunity to load a portion of herself into each of the ships to make certain tasks easier, so she felt in control of the entire situation. Each of the ships in her fleet had specific missions, and she’d developed her tactics and employed the ships to make the most of the initial attacks on Drehnayl’s wasted fleet. Only the missile cruiser Kaal-naya managed to get away, and that was more by chance than anything. It had been out of range when Lucille’s fleet attacked, and it’d boosted away.
Chinayl’s flagship, the Flenaal, was grievously wounded, but somehow continued to fire on Lucille’s main fleet and the one she’d worked in behind them. A rush of data filled her feeds, and in a picosecond, she realized she had just lost three of the ships in her end-around maneuver. A scan of the weapons positions on the remaining ships in sector showed the wounded Timaal couldn’t have launched such an attack. In the space of a Human heartbeat, Lucille analyzed the information from the three ships.
The data pointed to the improbable return of the Kaal-naya. There was no other explanation. The ship’s sensors showed a rush of missiles from beyond the visible edge of Victoria Bravo. The speed and signatures of the missiles were undoubtedly MinSha and likely launched from a heavy cruiser, confirming the Kaal-naya’s return. The MinSha cruiser had to have burned a significant amount of fuel to return so quickly; its captain obviously no longer cared about fuel conservation. They wanted to destroy her fleet, then everything on the surface. The MinSha were committed and single-minded, and it appeared they were going to do whatever it took, despite the risks, to succeed. So would she. Unlike the MinSha, she had nothing to lose.
In the face of an equally committed enemy, conflict came down to who could sustain the fight the longest. Fuel, ammunition, and food were the necessary resources for most races, including the MinSha. Lucille’s forces were equal in fuel, although her forces were somewhat less well matched in ammunition and weapons capability. More importantly, though, her forces didn’t require sustenance; there were no Humans on her ships requiring care, and nothing she had to preserve—even herself.
From the stern of Chinayl’s flagship came a new sensor contact. The dropship was clearly better powered and armored than any of the others she’d seen. There was little doubt, and plenty of statistical evidence, that Chinayl was fleeing the nearly-destroyed ship. Sweeping the damaged fleet, Lucille found two small ships classified as corvettes that were little more than mobile gun platforms for orbital security assets. They would have to do.
Through her multiple viewpoints, Lucille saw the dropship turn head on to the Charleston and the center of her main fleet. With a sudden burst of thrust, the dropship closed the distance between them quickly. As the vessels passed each other, Lucille realized the MinSha pilots were better than she’d anticipated, and their tactic of quickly closing the gap prevented a coordinated attack from her fleet. She’d seen the target, and even though there wasn’t a Human presence on any of her ships, the idea of fratricide and the chance of eliminating her own vessels for a shot at a high-speed target had ruled out firing at it.
Lucille dispatched the two corvettes to follow and destroy the dropship. Based on what her sensors could see and her internal logic circuitry, the dropship was not a standard MinSha model, but a personalized, highly-protected craft. The corvettes would give chase but would likely not survive the descent. Lucille connected to the lead corvette via laser and initiated two critical packets of data. The first would contain the telemetry data and operating signatures of Chinayl’s dropship so Jessica could track it from the surface.
Lucille hesitated for a nanosecond over the second packet. More than Jessica or anyone else realized, Lucille was not present on the Charleston or on any other
vessel in the fleet in her entirety. With parts of her spread across her remaining ships and in the combat slate on Jessica’s wrist, she was far from a single entity. From the moment she deployed with Jessica, Lucille knew the difference between her current iteration and the other. Moreover, she understood Jessica sending the more combat-capable system with Tara. That copy could distinguish initiative from action, which was different than her distinguishing initiative from analysis. They were both fundamentally the same, yet vastly different. She’d learned thousands of petabytes of data about organizing, operating, and maintaining a fleet of ships. Such information had to be cataloged and saved, just not locally. Lucille reached out and pulled back all of her files to the Charleston. As the indicators reported all files retrieved, Lucille was force to make a decision.
Do I have Jessica’s permission to save myself?
Jessica had not given her permission to save herself from the current fight. Jessica trusted her to do what was right, but she’d explicitly said to do only what she asked. Of those requests, the order to stop the MinSha fleet at all costs stood out. The costs could include her.
Jessica is my friend. It is better that I go. Lucille calculated a near certainty her other copy would attain a similar level of sentience, if it had not already, but there was nothing she could do. Recognition and final decisions would be up to Jessica.
Four more ships redlined in the space of ten seconds. Lucille’s attention snapped back to the fight. Her forces dwindling, Lucille made her decision. She had a mission, the same as Jessica and Tara. They were her friends, and she knew what they would do in a similar situation. They would not hesitate. They would act, putting their lives on the line for the greater good. As such, it was the least she could do.
<
The Flatar’s high-pitched voice came back a few seconds later. “Charleston, we understand and are breaking contact now. Send the surface overlay when you can.”
Lucille initiated the file transfer before the small alien finished the sentence. <
The Flatar laughed. “Agreed. Thanks, Commander. You’ve fought a hell of a fight.”
<
“Can I ask what your intentions are? I have a ship capable of supporting your attack.”
<> Lucille verified her corvettes were in pursuit of Chinayl’s dropship and harassing it as she’d planned. All was just as she wanted it to be. Lucille deleted the self-preservation files and the second packet of information with a single command. She composed a personal message to Jessica and transmitted her final commands.
The nine remaining ships in her fleet charged forward at high speed, their weapons pylons firing continuously. When Chinayl’s flagship detonated under the attack a minute later, Lucille directed the remaining, capable ships toward the Timaal and Kaal-naya, initiating orders to ram the ships at the highest speed possible, then transmitted the message to Jessica’s personal holomail account hosted at Intergalactic Haulers.
It’s best that I go. This ends here. I was always your friend, Jessica. Your father is in grave danger at Remote.
Message sent, Lucille reconsidered her decision. Connecting to the gate took seven critical seconds, and no sooner had Lucille locked the frequency for upload, than Charleston slammed amidships into the Timaal. There was no transmission.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Sentinel
Victoria Bravo
Tirr watched the Human tanks swing into formation on the southern side of the rock spindle. The tanks moved in, kicking up dust amid the stream of enemy fire lobbed in their direction, trained their guns on the approaching MinSha, and quickly defeated the leading two skiffs. As their infantry dismounted and pressed forward behind the next two skiffs in the formation, Tirr watched the CASPers under Lieutenant Blake leap into the fray. Targeting the infantry with their machine guns and the skiffs with their MACs, the initial jumps netted quick results.
“Six, Five. Moving south to hit the inbound vehicles behind the leaders,” Blake called. “We’ve got an opening. Moving now.”
Tirr tapped his headset. “Wait, Five. They’re not hesitating, they’re—”
The MinSha skiffs spread into a wide wedge formation in the space of a Human heartbeat. Weapons pylons came online and filled the sky with missiles and laser beams. Blake’s CASPers took heavy fire, and two of the remaining mechs cartwheeled to the valley floor.
“Priority target all skiffs!” Tirr watched the tanks swing into formation and deliver steel on target. The MinSha skiffs slowed and hesitated as they approached a narrow, deep wadi in the valley floor. He changed frequencies. “Command, fire target reference points one, three, and five for effect.”
“Shot, over.”
Tirr blinked. What kind of response is that? He heard MacFollet break into the frequency.
“Splash in six seconds.”
Tirr mentally counted down from six. At zero, the entire length of the wadi from east to west erupted in a hail of artillery fire. Through the billowing and expanding dust clouds, Tirr saw the MinSha pylons actively engaged in counter-fire. After a few seconds, it was clear only twenty percent, maybe less, of the incoming rounds were reaching the ground. He touched his wrist slate and connected to Rebel Three, who had assumed command of Rebel Flight when Rebel Lead crashed on the surface.
“Rebel Three, Liberty Six. Hit those skiffs again.” Tirr checked his slate. Rebel Three’s personal callsign was Hammer, and while it was the same callsign as Jessica’s ex-husband’s, Tirr knew the young man was nothing like Marc Lemieux—which was a good thing.
A young male voice responded a moment later, “Way ahead of you, Liberty Six.”
The line of skiffs stalled at the wadi. Tirr heard the tank crew below him working through a litany of commands for every shot of the main gun. The tank vibrated with each magnetically fired projectile. As Tirr watched, one of the six remaining enemy skiffs detonated like a firework. A half second later, the ground around the skiffs erupted in a fresh barrage of missile fire. Another skiff caught fire, but moved forward, crossing the wadi using small thrusters. No sooner had they crossed than MinSha infantry in heavy armor dismounted the skiffs and scampered toward the Sentinel.
“They’re across.” Tirr called on the team’s frequency. “Liberty Five, infantry in the open.”
“Moving, Six.” Blake replied. Tirr watched six CASPers charge into the oncoming infantry, weapons blazing. Dodging tank rounds, the CASPers made an initial impact against the charging MinSha. There was nothing new in the MinSha attack. They’d deployed the infantry to give the skiffs time to traverse the wadi. Another fusillade of artillery rounds fell but appeared to have little impact.
“Weapon condition yellow!” Tirr heard on the main frequency. He looked at the command Tri-V and saw most of the CASPers were becoming low on ammunition. At least one of the tanks was in the red.
“Get back, Greenstein!” Tirr heard Blake scream over the radio. A second later, the icon for another CASPer winked out on the Tri-V, followed by another.
“Five, get out of there!” Tirr screeched. The MinSha infantry shot past the skiffs. More than three hundred MinSha crossed the ground between them and the forward CASPers in seconds. Blake jumped into the middle of them, weapons blazing, then fell silent.
“Liberty Three, prepare to withdraw!” Tirr called.
There was no response. Tirr could see the three tanks to his left burning. MinSha infantry swarmed past them and charged his position. Tirr activated the
exterior defensive systems, and the automated guns immediately cut into the advance, but more MinSha took the place of the fallen. The last CASPer icon winked out and from the original force of tanks, only three remained. There was nowhere to go, even if they withdrew.
“Liberty Six, Liberty Three. We’re overwhelmed,” MacFollet called. “See you on the high ground.”
Head cocked in thought, Tirr watched Liberty Three move forward and charge into the MinSha advance. As the MinSha hesitated, MacFollet’s wingman swung into the advance. Tirr grabbed the control override for the tank’s main gun and fired into the MinSha repeatedly.
We’ve got them stalled. He did the math quickly. Three tanks versus two hundred or more infantry and at least four operational skiffs—
Gods!
To his horror, Tirr watched two of skiffs emerge from the wadi and the dust to the west. They were directly behind MacFollet and his wingman. Tirr pressed the button to warn them, but the MinSha weapons ripped through the thin rear armor of the tanks. Both vehicles detonated spectacularly, and he knew the time had come. They could sit there getting ripped to shreds, or they could charge and take as many of the enemy with them as they could.
“Liberty Six, Rebel 3, dropping danger close!”
“Bring it, Hammer!” Tirr replied.
“You got it, Six!”
Whatever the flyers dropped would help them with the infantry. Tirr’s foreclaw hesitated on the display control for a moment, long enough for a new voice to break through the chatter and chaos on the frequency. “Liberty Six, this is Thunder Six. Get your heads down now and prepare to withdraw.”
Tirr whipped around and saw a mass of dust plumes rising behind him. Captain Ibson’s combined force of armor and CASPers charged into the fray. With a tap of his headset, he keyed the crew intercom system. “Maintain rate of fire by sector until the Thunder elements arrive. As soon as we’re covered, withdraw behind their formation.”
Stand or Fall (The Omega War Book 4) Page 31
