Aggressor (Strike Commander Book 3)

by Richard Tongue

   “Red Two to Red Leader. Next time we won't save you a seat at the party.”

   “We pull this off, we'll hold the biggest party you ever saw. See you in the black. Tally Ho!”

  Chapter 18

   Susan looked down at the flight console as the shuttle dropped through the elevator airlock, shaking her head, trying to recall half-forgotten lectures, simulator time that she'd frittered away, skills that she now desperately needed in order to survive. She looked back at the Clarke, lying on the deck, wishing that she could trade places with him. He'd been one of the best, right up at the top of the class, and she'd been on the verge of washing out altogether. And if she hadn't dragged him along, he'd be back on Mars right now, probably looking forward to spending time with his family.

   Blake stepped forward, sliding into the co-pilot's seat, and said, “I can help you up here more than I can help him right now.” Glancing back at him, she said, “He'll live or he'll die, and that's out of my hands.”

   “Right,” she said, looking at the panel. “Primary engine start-up sequence must be around here somewhere. This one, I think.” She tentatively tapped a control, and as the shuttle dropped away from the station, a dull roar began to sound from the rear.

   “Somewhere. You think?” Blake said. “Damn it, I thought John was bad when he took me for a ride. Shouldn't you be programming a course?”

   Turning to the navigational computer, she looked at the trajectory plot, curving away to one of the freighters in the distance. It took her a second to realize that they were already heading to Churchill, that her father had managed to compute her course for her before he'd left for his fighter. For a second, she cursed him for leaving her behind, stranding her here, but as his ship raced away, soaring to join the rest of his squadron on his way to the battle, she stopped.

   “Executing course change,” she said, tapping a control, and the engine roared to maximum. “No electronic warfare systems, so the only hope we've got is that the missiles will be looking for ships coming in, not ones escaping.”

   “Good God!” Blake said, looking at the scanner. “You weren't kidding about the station being destroyed. There's an asteroid on a collision course. Must be fifty thousand tons at least.” Shaking her head, she said, “It'll rip the whole place to pieces. No wonder the crew were in such a hurry to get away.”

   “I'm reading a dozen shuttles, maybe thirty escape pods,” Susan said. “It's a mess.”

   “You're a master of understatement,” Blake replied. “Try not to hit anything.”

   “Approaching outer defense perimeter,” Susan said.

   “Shouldn't you call Churchill?”

   “Not until we're clear. We need them to think we're just one of the crowd, not going anywhere special, and they could pick up any transmissions at this range.”

   With a thin smile, Blake said, “I guess you aren't quite as stupid as you look, after all.”

   “You two really came out here to rescue me?” Susan asked.

   “He did,” she replied. “I had business of my own with a man named Harrison. Security Officer.”

   “The interrogator,” Susan muttered.

   “Maybe. Anyway, you don't have to worry about him. He's dead now.”

   “You killed him?”

   With a curt nod, Blake replied, “He killed my father. Call it justice, or as close as I'll ever get to it.” Looking back at Clarke, she continued, “I'd never have made it without him. If he dies, it's your fault.”

   Turning to the medic, Susan said, “Don't you think I know that?”

   “Keep your eyes on your console. Just so you know why I'll come after you, that's all.” With a sigh, she continued, “That stupid bastard managed to get under my skin.”

   A series of lights flashed on the viewscreen, and Susan looked across at the sensor controls, and said, “Through the missile satellites now. We'll know in a few minutes whether they've decided to kill us or not.”

   “And if they launch?”

   “Then we'll have enough time to come up with some really good last words.”

   “I guess they teach sarcasm at the Academy as well.”

   Silently, the two of them looked up at the screen, watching as their shuttle curved clear of the defense perimeter, Susan's eyes constantly darting across to the small dot that represented her father, flying over to the side as he linked up with the rest of the squadron. Fourteen years since she'd last seen him, most of a lifetime, and he had to fly off into battle once again.

   “He's doing what he has to do,” Blake said, as though reading her mind. “And you know it. I guess there's some sort of history there.”

   “You could say that.”

   “I watched my father die, with a bullet in his back, while people walked away because they didn't want to get involved. I tried to save him, but by the time I reached him, he was already dead. Leaving me stranded seven light-years from home with nothing but a few medical supplies in a back-street clinic.” Blake's eyes locked onto her, and she continued, “So whatever your story is, Cadet, mine is a hell of a lot worse. I didn't even get to tell my father goodbye. Never got to tell him I loved him one last time. Your parents are both alive, right?”

   “My mother's commanding that ship out there.”

   “Family tradition, then. You've got your whole damned family with you, and you get to have the happy ending. Me, I'm alone, and likely to stay that way for the rest of my life, assuming I live through this nightmare. So don't you dare feel sorry for yourself.” Pointing at Clarke, he said, “He's got minutes to live unless we're lucky. And you'd better hope we are.”

   Susan recoiled in her seat, looking at the medic, then turned silently back to the console, holding her fingers over the thruster controls, ready for the desperate dance that would follow a missile launch, one heading in their direction. One hit on their rear, and they were all dead. No chance of survival, and no one in a position to rescue them in any case. Churchill couldn't risk launching a SAR shuttle into a combat area. Not when there were other pilots that might need the help.

   “Damn,” Blake said, pointing at the screen. “Tell me that isn't...”

   “Missile launch,” Susan said. She looked across at the navigational computer, frantically entering course data, trying to get a trajectory plot.

   “Evasive,” the medic urged.

   “Not yet,” she replied.

   “What the hell are you waiting for?”

   “If we play our hand too soon, we'll have a dozen missiles heading our way, not just one.”

   “One's enough.”

   “Not if they're shooting at someone else.”

   Blake paused, nodded, and watched as Susan struggled with the controls, trying to remember her classes, the lectures she'd found so tedious a few months ago the difference between life and death now. She'd never seriously intended to graduate, had known she'd never have to do this for real. Except somehow all of her plans had gone wrong.

   “Damn it, what the hell am I doing here!” she yelled, smashing her fists on the controls. A winking light flashed on, and a dotted line ranged forward from the missile track, showing it heading well clear of the shuttle, out towards one of the escape pods. Some last-minute piece of vengeance, or even a simple mistake, but as she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the shuttle flew out of the danger area.

   “Looks like you got that much right,” Blake said. Behind them, Clarke started to groan, and the medic was out of her couch in an instant, returning to his side. “Hurry up, Cadet. We don't have long.”

   “Shuttle to Churchill,” Susan said, working the communications board. “Shuttle to Churchill. Come in, please.”

   “Susan, is that you?” Mallory replied. “We've got your shuttle on positive track.”

   “Mom?” she replied, a smile crossing her face. “Thank God. Dad's out on one of the fighters...”
/>
   “We've in contact, honey. Throw your master control switch to Input Nine, and we'll bring your shuttle in.”

   “Make it fast.” she replied, switching the shuttle over to remote guidance. “John's in a bad way. He's going to need to get right to Sickbay when we land.” The veneer of adulthood that she had been hanging to dropped away as she heard her mother's voice, and once more she was the scared child she'd once been, hoping for a reassuring word.

   “Doctor Strickland's already standing by. Can you transmit medical telemetry?”

   “Yes!” Blake yelled. “Channel Ninety-Four. Tell your people that he's got a single wound on the side, massive blood loss, and his condition is critical. He's going to need to go right to surgery.”

   “I'll pass that on,” Mallory replied. “You're clear for landing in three minutes.”

   “Mom, I...”

   “I'll see you in a minute, Susan. I'll be right there when you land.” She paused, then added, “After all, we aren't going into battle for fifteen minutes. I can spare you a few of them. Churchill out.”

   Susan nodded, looked over the controls, watching as the shuttle slowly altered course, moving onto a steady track towards their destination, and threw off the couch restraints. She, walked back into the cabin and looked at Clarke, Blake once again working on his side as blood ran from his room, droplets splattering on the deck.

   “I hope this Strickland knows what he's doing,” Blake said.

   “Mom's worked with him for years,” she replied. “He's supposed to be good.”

   “He'd better be a damn miracle worker. That's what it might take.” Looking up, the medic said, “John said you were looking for excitement, adventure. This what you had in mind?”

   Susan had no words to answer her, choosing instead to look at the airlock, waiting for the shuttle to link up with the waiting transport ahead. Battle in fifteen minutes. Which meant that the fun hadn't finished yet. There was still a fight in their future, with a battlecruiser, no less. She looked down at the uniform she was wearing, and shook her head.

   “You should have this,” she said. “I don't deserve this, and you do.”

   “Who says I want it?” Blake replied. “My father was killed by someone wearing that uniform, and I've just spent the last week fighting people wearing it.” Gesturing at Clarke, she added, “If he's got any sense, he'll get rid of it as well. Before it kills him.”

   “My parents have spent their whole lives wearing that uniform, protecting people like you and me,” Susan spat. “Just because I'm a worthless screw-up and a few bastards turn traitor, don't you dare speak against what this represents.”

   With a loud clang, the shuttle slid into position underneath Churchill, and with an angry, somehow comforting whine, the elevator airlock jerked into life, pulling them to the hangar deck above. Looking out through the viewport, Susan saw figures running about, a mix of uniforms and battered jackets, and she stepped over to the airlock, opening the double hatch with the tap of a control.

   “In here,” she yelled, and a white-haired figure stepped forward, nodded, and looked down at Clarke on the deck, shaking his head. Blake looked up at the doctor, and the two of them lifted the stretcher, gently guiding it to a waiting gurney, a group hustling them over to an elevator in the corner.

   For a long moment, Susan watched the procession go, then turned to see her mother walking towards her. Without another thought, she ran to her, hurling herself into her arms, tears running down her cheeks as she looked up into her mother's eyes.

   “I thought I'd lost you,” she said. “Jack found a way to get you home.”

   “He saved me,” Susan replied. “Got me out of detention, out of the mess I put myself in. And John. It's my fault. All of this is my fault. He's going to die...”

   “Not if Doctor Strickland has anything to say about it, and I think that woman with him is going to try and stop that as well.”

   “I've been such a fool,” Susan said.

   “You're young,” her mother replied. “And maybe I should share some of the blame as well, trying to push you into something you aren't.” Holding her tighter, she said, “We're going to fix this, honey. We're going to fix all of this, bring all of this to an end, and then you, me and your father are going to see if we can be a family again.”

   “You and dad?”

   “I hate the bastard, but we've got one thing in common. You. Maybe we can work something out based on that, at least for a while. I think we're owed that much.”

   “But he's out there, on that fighter...”

   “Let me tell you something about Jack Conway,” she said. “He might be a lot of things, but he's still the best pilot in the galaxy. I've never seen anyone better than him, not during the War, not now. If anyone can come up with a way to pull off a miracle, he will. Assuming I don't think of a way to do it first.”

   “Attention all hands,” a voice said, barking over the ceiling speakers. “Combat range in eleven minutes. Captain to the bridge.”

   “That's my song,” she said. “You head for Sickbay, and see if you can help out. That's the best place for you right now.” With a smile, she added, “I've got work to do, and Cadet Clarke might need him.”

   “He came after me,” Susan said. “He came after me.”

   “I know. I'll make it up to him, somehow, when all this is over.” She smiled, and said, “We all owe that kid a hell of a lot.” Releasing her from the hug, she said, “I've got to go. Be strong, Susan. For just a little bit longer. Then I might just cry right along with you.”

  Chapter 19

   Mallory stepped out onto the bridge, Finch sliding out of the command chair as she entered, returning to his station. She stepped forward to the viewscreen, standing behind Clayton, and looked at the tactical display, shaking her head. Behind them, a swarm of shuttles was hastily evacuating the doomed base, racing to the transports waiting at a safe distance. They wouldn't be a factor in the battle. Neither could leave the system, and neither had any combat capability. Should Churchill defeat Theseus, they'd surrender.

   Somehow, Clayton had conjured two combat passes. Fifty seconds in around nine minutes, followed by a longer, two minute spell in the firing line seven minutes after that. Red Flight, the only surviving fighters in the system, were moving in a wide arc to provide support for Churchill in the first pass, setting themselves up for a final, desperate strike on Theseus just before the hendecaspace point.

   Simply damaging Theseus wasn't going to be enough. Admiral Knight was sure enough of her information, and the tactical situation here, that she was willing to head directly to her objective, but she still had the option of turning and attacking. They had to destroy the battlecruiser, and quickly. In any war of attrition, they wouldn't have a chance.

   She glanced across at the status panel, a frown crossing her face. Churchill hadn't received any game-breaking damage in the first phase of the battle, but her hull had been strained far beyond reasonable limits. Damage control teams were racing throughout the ship trying to patch the micro-fractures, but the best estimates for repair were a worthless thirty hours. They'd be in combat in just under eight minutes.

   “Working on firing solutions, Captain,” Finch said, looking up from his station.

   “Go full offensive fire, Lieutenant,” she replied, moving to her command chair.

   Turning from his station, McGuire said, “They've still got that damned quantum computer running. I can't run interference from here while they're got that up their sleeve.”

   “I'm aware of that,” she said, settling down in the seat. “I'm also aware that without any counter-missiles, Churchill is going to take a hell of a pounding, but there's no other option on the table.” She looked around the bridge, and continued, “This is it, people. The last battle. Either we win it all today, right here, or we lose. We can't let Theseus get to that system, not with a four-day head-start, and
even if we follow them, the tactical situation will be unchanged.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “No matter what it takes, we must bring Theseus down, even if it means the loss of this ship with all hands.”

   “I'd better get the damage control teams alerted,” Morgan said, shaking her head. “They're going to be working overtime today.”

   “Prioritize combat-critical systems only,” Mallory ordered. “That's about all we can do now. Everything else will have to wait until after the battle.”

   “Switching to full offensive fire,” Finch said. “I'm working on a firing solution right now. Seven minutes, five seconds to firing range. We should get two salvos up in the time.” Turning to her, he added, “So will they, Captain. Twelve missiles to our six.”

   “They have no more reinforcements than we do, Lieutenant,” Mallory said. “Both of us have thrown everything onto the table. Clayton, you'll have to do everything you can to make sure they hit non-critical areas.”

   “With the damage we've sustained, I'm not sure there are any,” Morgan said.

   “Random walk program already laid in, Captain,” Clayton said, turning from the helm. “I'm ready to go.” She smiled, then added, “Is it too late for me to request shore leave?”

   “I don't think you'll find the recreational facilities on Omega Base to your liking,” Mallory replied, tapping a control. “Churchill Actual to Red Leader. Come in.”

   “Red Leader here,” Jack replied. “How's Susan?”

   “Down and safe. She's in Sickbay. That's about the best place I can find her. Clarke's in surgery now, in critical condition. I'll let you know if that changes. What's your status?”

   “We're closing into formation now. We'll be there for your first pass, but I can't find a way for us to join you for the second.” He paused, then added, “I've got four missiles on this bird. That's ten total in the flight. I figure four on the first pass, save six for the second, unless something changes.”

   “I concur. Watch for enemy fighters, but concentrate all firepower on Theseus. We've got to bring that ship down.”