by John Filcher
The People’s Fighter Squadron 254
Alexander Kasparov was pretty frustrated at his squadron’s lack of responsiveness, and at his fighter’s systems, and at the world in general. Their preflight briefing had said today was the day they went to war in the skies over Earth and to expect the Confederacy to respond in kind. They’d been assured that everything was in place, and all their systems were manned and responsive. Two hours later, the only part of that briefing to come true was the going to war part. He craned his neck from side to side to visually check where his fighters were. Looks like ten, with maybe another partial squadron bringing up the rear where he couldn’t see.
Great. A suicide run at a modern Confed corvette that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, with about a dozen or so fighters. Not how I pictured my day when I woke up this morning, Kasparov thought. About that time, he realized they were going to miss the corvette because he had misjudged their relative speeds. Pulling hard, he made a sharp course correction and hoped the others could follow along.
Kitty Hawk
“Incoming fighters making a course correction. They’re still shallowing,” said LeCroy as he stared hard at his Tacnet readout. Ronin nodded suddenly. That was perfect. “Helm, execute new course. Time to leave these guys in the dust.”
The helm responded to Ronin’s commands immediately. “Coming on to new heading now, Captain. We’re coming in hard on the main body,” Thatcher said. Kitty Hawk suddenly sprinted ahead, using her powerful drives to rapidly accelerate.
Benton squinted at her Tacnet readout. “Captain, still no reaction from the enemy formations. It’s like they still don’t see us or something!”
The People’s Fighter Squadron 254
Kasparov helplessly watched the enemy corvette change course. It was a nimble spacecraft for a large ship, and he couldn’t help but admire its sleek lines as the main engines fired. She’s a sprinter, that one. I would love to helm one of those. Just to see what she handles like! he thought wistfully. As they watched the enemy ship accelerate away, Kasparov and Wu couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of frustration and relief because they were now out of position to take part in the engagement, which was not going well from their perspective because the Collective’s defense systems had glitched so badly.
Kitty Hawk
“Rotate the ship, and launch several broadside missile salvos,” ordered Nagun. He was getting annoyed at the lack of responsiveness by the enemy fighters.
“Hard to play the rabbit when we can’t get the attention of the hounds,” commented Fisher as he stepped to stand next to Nagun in the command chair.
“No kidding. Who would’ve thought we had to get so close we could kick down the doors just to get their attention!” replied Nagun.
Fisher smiled a crooked smile. “Maybe you should’ve dabbed perfume behind our ears and dressed the ship up real cute as we sashay past them?” he quipped. Neither of them had an explanation for what was going on here.
“Captain, Tacnet plots show the fighter formations are slowly breaking up, but only because they appear to be drifting!” Benton announced with more than a touch of surprise in her voice. “Salvo one, away,” she added.
“Keep firing until they react,” ordered Nagun.
Minutes passed. Finally, Benton noted, “Our birds are tracking and have locked on to individual targets. Tacnet is keeping them from double targeting enemy fighters for maximum dispersal. Still no reaction from the main body.”
Cerberus
“Kitty Hawk has changed course. Tacnet plot has them angling closer to the main body. The first group of breakaway fighters has been left in the dust by them,” LeCroy reported.
“Still no organized reaction from the main body.” Ronin took a deep breath and continued, “Keep Ceres on standby. Those fighters need to be drawn off and out of position before they jump behind the destroyers so they can’t protect those ships.”
As they watched Tacnet, the enemy failed to react until the missiles started destroying dozens of the fighters. “Fighters slowly dispersing. There’s still nothing coordinated about their movements. There have been at least fifteen collisions between their birds so far. And Kitty Hawk is still firing missile salvos.” LeCroy reported.
The People’s Fighter Squadron 254
Wu sat in his fighter. He had partial control over his flight systems, which meant by experimenting he retained spotty forward thrust and inconsistent maneuvering thrusters for yaw, pitch and longitudinal control. His fighter had already received slight damage in a collision with a nearby fighter from one of the Russian squadrons, based on the markings. He couldn’t tell which, because his tactical information was nil and he only saw the markings briefly enough to identify the squadron origin.
He was also frustrated that his squadron leaders went after a ship somewhere. He couldn’t see it, and didn’t know where it was. Nor had they said what they were doing, or so it seemed, because his commlink systems were down.
While Pilot Wu hadn’t vented his frustrations, he craned his neck and looked around using his Mark I optics (his eyeballs). Space is vast, and even an engagement in Earth orbit takes up a huge amount of area. Accordingly, Mark I optics weren’t going to tell him much. As he looked for other fighters, he was shocked to see small, distant explosions suddenly start appearing all around. There were dozens and dozens of them.
“We’re under attack!” he called into the commlink system from his helmet mic. There was no response of any kind, and he could see dozens of other pilots dying in short, fiery deaths. Wu clicked his commlink transmit button again. Then several more times, before he figured out the thing was totally dead.
Oh no! I thought it was quiet from radio silence procedures! he thought to himself worriedly. Breaking against all the Collective’s training that quashed individual initiative, which is something the Collective drilled into its subjects from birth as a means of control and to prevent them from getting big ideas about rebellion, Wu panicked and he hit the forward thrusters to build up speed and start maneuvering.
“Wha? Huh? Umph…” he managed to sputter when the fighter failed to respond. It was the last thing he ever uttered as a missile from Kitty Hawk’s next salvo slammed into his fighter and ended his part in the war.
Cerberus
Ronin was watching the Tacnet plot closely, waiting for the proper moment to unleash Ceres on the destroyers, when his collar node commlink chimed with an incoming message from Nagun.
“Cerberus Actual, go ahead.” Ronin said after opening the link.
“Cerberus Actual, Kitty Hawk Actual.” Nagun said, all business now. “We’re changing our attack vector to drive right at the main body. They seem to be shut down for some reason and I want to take as much advantage as we can.”
Ronin responded, “Acknowledged. We thought you were doing exactly that. Keep exercising initiative as you see fit and be advised, we’ll begin Stage 2 on this end. Cerberus Actual, out.”
As he closed the commlink, Ronin looked over at LeCroy and Mueller, who were waiting at the tactical station. “Tell Ceres it’s go time,” he said.
LeCroy and Mueller nodded, and LeCroy issued the order.
Ceres
“Captain Rogers, Cerberus Actual has issued us a go order,” reported the ship’s tactical officer, Terry Ignatius.
From the Captain’s seat, Rodgers smiled broadly at that report. Finally! she thought. She pursed her lips for a moment and nodded slightly. “Helm, initiate jump on my command. Tactical, launch Grasshoppers as soon as you’re able after the jump.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” came the simultaneous replies. “Helm, keep our FTL drive spun up for an emergency jump in case our LZ gets too hot. Initiate the jump, helmsman,” said Rogers.
Ceres disappeared in a jump flash that was all but invisible to the naked eye because of the distance to the destroyers. The arrival flash wa
s a different matter entirely.
“Jump 2, complete,” reported the helmsman as soon as they arrived.
Navigation took their bearings, while the Tactical Officer, Terry Ignatius, busily updated the Tacnet plot. “We’re only 100 miles behind the destroyers. No response yet. Launching Grasshoppers now,” he reported. “Missile launch!” he suddenly yelled. “Multiple contacts, inbound! Time on target, thirty seconds.”
The jump bombs went FTL with a flurry of jump flares, and announced their arrival with devastating effect.
“Helm, emergency jump. Take us above this whole mess, and we’ll launch a few more from there,” ordered Rodgers. She was a few seconds too late, and Ceres shook with multiple hits that had overwhelmed the ship’s point defense batteries.
“Captain, jump drive has been hit, we can’t jump!” reported Ignatius with a worried look. “Damage control teams are on the way.” he added.
Rodgers issued a swift series of orders. “Helm, evasive maneuvers! Tactical, open fire with whatever is still working. Alert the medical bay to expect incoming. Launch our fighters, now!”
Cerberus
“Commander, we’ve received a message from Force Omega. One KIA, some minor injuries. They’re reporting success with their objective,” said the communications officer, Lt. Maria Delgado.
“Acknowledged. Tell them to hole up in a safe spot for the time being and someone will be along to retrieve them when things cool off up here,” Mueller ordered. She was interrupted by a message from the ship’s AI.
“Ballistic missile launch detected. Reading multiple heat blooms from thirty-seven different locations around the Collective. Missiles rapidly accelerating. Trajectory analysis has been uploaded to Tacnet.” said the AI.
“There’s too many birds!” cried LeCroy after he surveyed the missile plots.
“AI, can we shoot down all the missiles?” Mueller quickly asked.
“If all Taskforce 3 ships respond to the command within the next thirty seconds, but Tacnet was just updated to indicate Ceres’ jump drive is damaged and they’ve no choice but to further engage the destroyers at close range. Best case scenario leaves between six and eight missile strikes against Confederate civilian targets.”
Ronin had to make a terrible decision, and he had to make it swiftly. What he and others thought about the decision to abandon Ceres and try to protect civilian cities would just have to wait until later. “All available Taskforce ships to engage the missiles immediately,” he ordered.
Within seconds of each other, Cerberus, Cygnus and Kitty Hawk jumped into lower orbit and they began shooting immediately. “Captain, Kitty Hawk is launching the fighters we transferred. The remaining Tomcats on Cerberus are still waiting in the tubes. AI needs them launched.” LeCroy reported.
“Launch immediately!” Ronin responded.
The ship’s rail guns continued to launch salvo after salvo of anti-ship ordinance, while the anti-ship missiles did likewise. The fighters were chasing down any strays so the ships could concentrate on the main body of missiles. At least any misses would splash into the Pacific or the Atlantic, and the ordinance was the much smaller anti-ship shot.
The next fifteen minutes would forever be a blur to Ronin and the bridge crews of Taskforce 3. Dozens of coordinated micro-jumps around the planet by each of the ships, each of which was prodigiously burning their fuel reserves. Jump and fire, then repeat. It had never occurred to Confederation scientists to even test out the effects of repeated micro-jumps on the human body, because no one had imagined a scenario where that might become necessary.
“Jumps complete. Remaining missile impacts beginning in twenty seconds,” announced the AI.
Ronin looked around the bridge crew woozily. They all appeared to be drunk out of their minds, as they moved slowly and unsteadily. “Report,” he said, which caused his sudden headache to pound even harder.
“Ship is secure, ordinance is low, fuel is low, no damage. Medical bay is reporting a huge rush of disoriented crew calling for assistance,” replied Mueller as she gripped the rail by the tactical station while LeCroy was updating the tactical situation on Tacnet.
“Ceres still locked in combat with the destroyers. One is no longer maneuvering but still firing, one is destroyed, and one is attacking hard,” LeCroy reported.
“Tell Cygnus to jump in to maximum Grasshopper range and give Ceres a hand with her remaining jump bombs,” Ronin ordered, as his eyes fell on the main view screen. There he could see the wildly separated cities that were highlighted. The AI had placed red highlights on the screen over six cities around the globe.
“Missiles have released their biological payloads over the following cities,” announced the AI. “Old St. Louis, North America. Formosa, Argentina. Kyoto, Honshu Island, Japan. Albany, Western Australia. Juarez, Mexico. Cambridge, British Isles. Konin, Poland. And Satura, India,” added the AI.
Ronin’s console node commlink chimed for attention. In his current state of shock and disorientation, he was pretty inclined to ignore the evil device until he noticed the origin of the call. The Citadel. More than the very capital of the Confederacy itself, The Citadel was the residence of the President of the Confederacy.
“Cerberus Actual, go ahead,” Ronin said after he opened the commlink.
“Captain Ronin, this is President Wellington Harrison,” said the voice on the other end of the line. Harrison carried a strong northern Midwest accent from Wisconsin. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, but you have to act immediately if we are to save the planet.”
In his current state, the overly dramatic phrasing of “save the planet” still wasn’t enough to faze Ronin. He had already reached the same conclusion President Harrison and his defense counsel had when they all had gamed out different missile scenarios before the battle.
“Yes, Mr. President. I presume you are authorizing the first orbital strikes by the West since The Fall?” Ronin replied.
Harrison responded after a few seconds, his voice strained and sounding a bit choked. “Yes. You are authorized to release rail gun orbital strikes and nuclear weapons as necessary to destroy the virus.”
Ronin said nothing for a few seconds, the weight of the moment overwhelming him for a moment or two. “Sir, let me clarify. You are authorizing orbital and nuclear strikes…against our own cities?” he asked, the horror in his voice unmistakable. Everyone on the bridge stared at him during this exchange. No one moved or spoke; they were frozen in shock.
“Yes, you are so authorized. We have to sacrifice millions now, to save billions. If you don’t, the contagion will overwhelm our ability to constrain it and become a worldwide pandemic. It is elegantly designed, nearly always lethal, and extraordinarily contagious with a long, asymptomatic incubation period. That, in combination with the current dispersal, will prevent any chance for us to stop its spread.”
Ronin nodded slowly, appreciating that Harrison articulated what Ronin already knew for the benefit of the bridge crew and for posterity. “May God have mercy on their souls,” he said, acknowledging the decision to act had been made.
After a few seconds of silence, Harrison responded, “Agreed. Harrison out.”
Ronin looked over at LeCroy and Mueller. “Lieutenant, advise Kitty Hawk to destroy the missile launch sites with her rail guns,” he ordered.
LeCroy nodded, and send the instruction to Kitty Hawk. Nagun quickly acknowledged and jumped his ship away to make it happen.
Ronin let a few more seconds of shocked silence pass before he could bring himself to continue. “Lieutenant, transfer control of the nukes to my station.”
A second later, his screen lit up showing he had control. The bridge crew still couldn’t figure out if they were more shocked by the order to bomb their own cities with nukes, or the fact the ship had been secretly armed with nukes.
“AI, this is the Captain.
Launching a nuclear strike is authorized against the following cities. Old St. Louis, North America. Formosa, Argentina. Kyoto, Japan. Albany, Australia. Juarez, Mexico. Cambridge, Britain. Konin, Poland. Satura, India. Command code Ronin, alpha, 1A.”
Ronin looked over to Mueller, and the remaining color drained from her face. “Commander, it’s millions now, or billions over the next few months. We are out of time here, and I don’t believe rail guns will adequately purge the contamination,” Ronin said. She nodded slowly with a slight flinch, her eyes reflecting her near disbelief about the situation they found themselves in. She doesn’t balk at doing what must be done, not anymore, Dan thought as he saw the emotions and resignation in Mueller’s face.
“AI, this is the Commander. Authorization code Mueller, bravo, 2B.”
The AI wasted little time on the import of the moment or how heavily it would forever weigh on the officers present. “Voice authentication and codes accepted. Identified cities targeted. Missile launch imminent. Initial launch in thirty seconds.”
No one spoke. The bridge crew stared off in different directions. Some were looking at their screens without seeing a thing. Others blankly looked at the forward view screen. A few looked at each other in disbelief of the moment. The past few hours had been filed with repeated shocks. Biological weapons. Disabled enemy fleets. Orbital bombardment. Nuclear weapons, and the surprise that they were already onboard. And now, nuking their own cities.
“Missile one, away. Coming about on new course,” announced the AI in response to Perez’s helm commands. “Reaching next launch window in two minutes.”
The AI repeated its launch, course change, and launch window procedure several more times until they were approaching the final launch window for Old St. Louis in Missouri.
“Captain, is there anyone who even lives in Old St. Louis? It’s already a bad-luck ghost town because it’s been destroyed several times,” asked LeCroy.
