by John Bowers
More than a hundred Sirian-built ships, all with Vegan markings, were heading for outer space, strung out in small groups over three thousand miles, some trailing smoke from anti-spacecraft hits over their targets. Johnny's section had a perfect setup as it vectored down to meet them.
The GalaxyFighter trailed a mile of flame as it pierced the atmosphere, its skin glowing red from heat friction. Johnny hardly noticed the sickening ride as his ship bucked and rolled drunkenly. All communications were dead for the three minutes it took to penetrate, and it was the longest three minutes of his life. To his dismay he found that he was just as scared as he'd been in his previous combats; he'd hoped it would be different now that he was trained.
But he wouldn't run this time, even if it killed him.
He broke into normal atmosphere and all his screens came to life again.
"Attent: four enemy spacecraft bearing three two three relative, altitude one zero five zero, range seven zero miles."
Johnny blinked and identified the flight on his Heads Up Holo. His mouth felt suddenly dry.
"You ready back there, lady?" he asked.
"I was born ready," Denise said breathlessly, but he heard the tremor in her voice.
"Flight of four at eleven o'clock."
"I've got 'em."
"Section Two, sound off," he transmitted.
"Blowtorch."
"Polo."
"Vintage Red."
"Okay, people, the targets are real this time. You know the drill, so do it by the book. It's payback time, and we all know about payback, right?"
The other three answered at roughly the same time.
"Payback …"
"… is a …"
"BITCH!"
Johnny grinned in spite of his fear, and as he banked lightly to port and angled downward he kicked his rockets. The four enemy ships were only ten miles distant now, and before he could get a visual on them the 29mm above his head hammered into action. The GalaxyFighter shuddered hard under the recoil, but Johnny held it steady as the dual cannon poured rapid-fire death from all twenty-four cylinders.
None of the enemy ships returned fire; as the GalaxyFighter streaked by them one was already in flames, a second had lost a wing and was starting to spin. Two seconds later Stovall's gunner smashed another, then the last two ships in the section shared a fourth kill between them.
The fighter bucked against the turbulence from the enemy ships, and Johnny released his breath, unaware he'd been holding it. In the back, Denise was ecstatic.
"I got one!" she shrieked. "I nailed the motherfucker!"
"You got two of 'em!" Johnny corrected. "Settle down, now, we're not finished."
"Fuck no, we're not finished! Find me some more of the bastards!"
Ninety-eight thousand feet, screaming through the stratosphere at Mach 6.4 — Johnny called roll again and everyone was there. His HH showed the flight in ragged but acceptable formation. He killed his rockets and the others did likewise.
"Input: locate nearest enemy formation. Execute."
"Nearest enemy formation bearing zero one seven, altitude eight four zero, range two four seven miles. Two ships, rate of climb one zero zero."
"Input: compute intercept point and lock in."
"Intercept point computed and locked."
"Execute."
The AI took control of the fighter and turned; the nose tilted slightly upward and they began a gentle climb. In the back, Denise monitored everything via her own holos, and picked up the bogeys on high magnification.
"We've got a cripple, Johnny!" she reported. "One of them is throwing a lot of smoke."
"Okay, get the healthy one."
Less than a minute later Johnny took back control of the ship as they closed on the two Vegans.
"Input: report ranges continuous. Execute."
"Range fifty-four miles. Range forty-two miles. Range thirty miles. Range eighteen miles…"
"Holy shit! Break left, break left!"
Denise opened fire even as she shouted the warning, and Johnny instinctively rolled left and down. Streaks of fire smoked past his cockpit windows, and he felt his fighter jerk as cannon shells ripped through it. On the SpectraWav, his section all seemed to be talking at once.
"Railsplitter's hit! I'm going in, you two get the other one!"
"Watch it! Watch it! The fucker's reversing course! Breaking right!"
"Jesus Christ! I'm hit!"
"Break right, get the hell away! God damn it, I'm hit, too!"
"I'm on him! I'm on him! You guys, keep bearing right, he's turning inside you! Now, break left. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
"Shit! My gunner's hit! Git that fucker off my back!"
"I'm okay! He missed me! He missed me."
"Use your rockets, head for the deck! He won't follow you!"
Johnny executed a spiraling barrel roll and came up into the fray again, still flying but out of position. Denise had her guns trained but dared not shoot for fear of hitting Stovall, who had jockeyed in behind the Vegan and now matched him turn for turn. As Johnny came around in a gut-grinding high-G turn to get back into the battle, Nancy Palmer, in Stovall's turret, got the lead she needed and pumped eighty rounds of 29mm into the Vegan's cockpit. Stovall's rebel yell could have been heard all across Siberia as the enemy ship suddenly stalled and began to tumble, then settled into a nose-dive that would carry it fourteen miles to the earth below.
Marcos, meanwhile, turned to pursue the cripple. Without waiting for his wingman, he overtook it and his gunner brought it down easily. When the section rejoined everyone took stock and discovered that three of them had taken cannon hits, but none appeared to be critical.
"Attent: large enemy formation climbing for low earth orbit, bearing two seven four relative, range one three nine miles, altitude seven six five, rate of climb one five zero. Sixteen ships."
Johnny felt his skin tighten.
"Okay, guys, form up on me. We're not done yet."
* * *
Two of the sixteen raiders were trailing thick smoke as they climbed toward low earth orbit; the fighters of 213 approached from above and behind, flying through locally heavy cloud. Alerted by radar, three Vegans broke away from the larger formation and turned to intercept.
"Section Two, Railsplitter. I'm gonna decoy these fuckers and try to draw them away. Rest of you, go for the kill. Hit 'em with salvo and try to get 'em all. Ready: three, two, one, break!"
Johnny punched his rockets and the GF surged forward in a shallow climb, burning toward the three interceptors; the others turned away as if to abort the attack. Two of the Vegans homed on the lone GalaxyFighter for an easy kill while the third turned to track Stovall and company. Johnny twisted right and began to dive; the Vegans followed, opening fire at extreme range.
"Input: deploy countermeasures!" Denise panted. "Execute!"
Small pods along the skin of the Lincoln fighter opened and sprayed tiny electronic devices in all directions. The cloud of micro-transmitters instantly blinded enemy radar with dozens of echoes that looked like GalaxyFighters, leaving Johnny time to streak into the clouds and disappear. He emerged from the weather several miles from his pursuers. Still under rocket power, he arrowed straight for the Vegan that was tracking his wingmen.
"I've got him!" Denise said a moment later. "Steady!"
Johnny watched the Vegan on his HH as he closed the range, and at six miles Denise opened fire with the 29mm. Seconds later the Vegan began to disintegrate, lost a wing, and tumbled crazily down the sky.
Johnny killed his rockets.
"You guys are clear!" he called. "Go get 'em!"
The other three GFs were miles ahead, and now kicked rockets to close on the main body of enemy fighters. Johnny followed, watching for any threat to his friends, and flew high cover until they made their run. Each fighter released four missiles, then broke left and retreated while they did their job. Vegan ships began to scatter in panic, but several warheads had already locked onto their tar
gets, and in less than a minute seven of the enemy ships had been obliterated. At least two more were damaged by near-hits. What remained of the enemy was now scattered all over the sky.
Johnny checked his screens — his mates were clear, the enemy was disorganized.
"Your turn, Denise!" he said.
"I thought you'd never ask," she laughed.
He punched rockets again and the GF slammed forward, homing on a ragged group of three. But before he could pick them up on visual, Johnny was suddenly stunned by an explosion of VR graphics on his Heads-Up.
"Shit!"
"What the fuck —" Denise saw it, too.
"Countermeasures," he said. "Bastards did the same thing back to us."
"Gotta get closer!" she said. "Got to have a visual; I can't use the radar."
"Input: magnify and eliminate decoy radar returns. Execute."
"Auto-elim already active," the AI replied. "Warning — further reduction of radar returns may allow error ratio of twelve percent."
"Shit. Input: resume auto-elim at normal params. Execute."
Tense and irritated, Johnny turned off the HH and continued to burn toward the enemy, peering through his canopy for any sight of them. Distracted, he was only dimly aware of conversation among his other pilots.
Until —
"Oh my God! Phiiiiiiiil!" A scream of agony.
Johnny's heart stopped. "What —"
"Jesus Christ! We're going down! Railsplitt —"
"Polo! Look out!"
"Where the fuck did they come from?"
"I can't see a goddamned thing! My holo's all lit up!"
"There he is! He's coming in on your right! Dive out! Dive out!"
Johnny's first instinct was to turn back and help his friends, but at that very moment Denise shouted in his headset.
"Two bogeys at one o'clock! I've got target lock! I'm taking the shot!"
Two missiles dropped out of his wing tubes. Johnny saw them, but his primary attention was still with his friends.
"I got 'im! I got 'im!"
"There's another one! Watch out! Watch out!"
"Where? Where, goddammit?"
"Keep turning! Keep —"
"Bingo!" Denise jerked him back to the moment. "That's one! No, that's two! Get me some more!"
But Johnny killed rockets and came around hard, turning back to help his friends. Stovall had gone silent, his last transmission a cry of despair. Marcos and Burgundy were in deep trouble. Johnny flipped on his HH, but couldn't see them among all the echoes.
"Input: isolate friendly spacecraft and lock on. Execute."
"Two spacecraft isolated, course locked in."
"Execute."
Thirty seconds later Johnny arrived in the general area of the mêlée. Through his canopy he saw in the distance a GalaxyFighter that looked badly hit. A moment later he saw the other one, keeping a loose formation with the cripple.
"Who's hit?" he transmitted.
"Polo," Burgundy replied. "There were two of 'em; my gunner got one, but the other one keeps dodging into the cloud."
Johnny grimaced, his stomach feeling sour. The hunters had become the hunted.
"Watch our ass, Denise!" he said.
"Don't worry, baby, our ass is covered!"
"Polo, Railsplitter. Do you read?"
"That's affirm," Marcos replied. "This thing's about to shut down any minute. My whole cockpit has gone red as a whorehouse."
Johnny reduced power and dropped his drag flaps, pulling into formation alongside the other two. From his vantage point he could see severe damage to the fuselage of Marcos's fighter, including some of the control surfaces.
"No way you're gonna make orbit," he said. "You've gotta put it down."
"Where the fuck'm I gonna put it down?"
Good question. Where, exactly, were they?
"I dunno. Link in one of the comsats, find the nearest base. Burgundy, you go with him."
"Roger. What about you?"
"We'll cover your getaway. Get going."
Marcos wasted no time arguing. He immediately lowered his nose and began shedding altitude. Burgundy followed a moment later, almost reluctantly. Johnny maintained altitude and orbited above them as they descended, senses alert for the enemy fighter that might still be lurking in the area.
Within a few brief minutes the enemy's countermeasures faded from the radar, and when they did, the sky was clear. No Vegan ships were visible anywhere.
"Input: locate enemy formations within striking range. Execute."
A brief pause. "No enemy formations within striking range."
"Locate enemy formations within extreme range."
"Two enemy formations within extreme range. Nearest enemy formation bearing zero eight eight relative, distance nine zero six miles, altitude one one three zero, rate of climb —"
"Cancel."
Johnny looked around in frustration. Brief minutes earlier the sky had been filled with enemy fighters, and now they were all gone? Christ!
He felt suddenly drained, as if all the adrenaline had bled out of him.
"Looks like it's over, huh?" Denise sounded equally disappointed.
"For now," he admitted. "We still might get lucky."
"I think we were pretty damn lucky already."
"Yeah." He allowed his eyes to close for a moment, just to take a deep breath. He was starting to shake. "How'd we do?" he asked.
"I count five kills," she told him. "I'm not sure about the others…"
"Burgundy said his gunner got one, and…"
It hit him suddenly.
"God damn it, Denise — we lost Phil."
"I know," she said quietly. "He was a good friend. Nancy was good people, too."
He just nodded, though she couldn't see him. Suddenly he didn't feel like talking any more, or fighting, either. He checked the ship's damage status on the AI, determined that it was spaceworthy, and began to climb toward orbit.
It was time to go home.
Chapter 15
Wednesday, 18 July, 0221 (PCC) — Asteroid Base 131, Solar System
"ATTENTION! EMERGENCY MEDICAL TEAMS TO THE HANGAR BAY! REPEAT, EMERGENCY MEDICAL TEAMS TO THE HANGAR BAY. STAND BY FOR CASUALTIES!!"
Onja Kvoorik darted out of the Gunnery Pool and raced toward the observation deck overlooking the bay. Major Landon and the other squadron commanders were already there, faces grim. An alarm sounded from somewhere and hospital corpsmen appeared on the level below, coming out of the lift. Onja stared through the Solarglas with a thundering heart — Sylvia had been on the latest patrol.
The hangar bay was huge, a vast airless cavern carved out of one end of the asteroid. It stretched over two hundred yards across and housed not only the fighters, but tugs, rescue ships, and repair facilities. Mechanics and armorers bustled about in pressure suits, their motions appearing clumsy as they slid their feet across the magnetized surface to compensate for low gravity.
Three fighters sat in full view, their skins pitted by cosmic gravel and laser fire. One gun turret was completely smashed; rescue people were helping gunners out of the other two.
"Goddess!" she whispered. "Only three? How many were on patrol?"
Landon glanced grimly at her, as if annoyed to see her there.
"Nine," he replied, then turned away.
"Hope to hell nobody followed them home!" Hinds snarled. He seemed angrier than usual, his face twisted with fury.
"Alert the Triple One," Landon told him quietly. "In the ready room, full flight gear. I'll be along in a few minutes."
Hinds nodded and strode away. Landon dropped down a crew ladder to meet the survivors when they came through the airlock. Onja started to follow, but held back, watching the scene from above. She had no duty here and would only be in the way. But she wanted to do something!
* * *
Landon picked up the story in snatches as the survivors, dazed and wounded, struggled through the airlock. It was the same as before — an ambush. The e
nemy hadn't registered on Ladar, but had appeared suddenly.
"They hit us from behind," Lt. Saulsbury mumbled. "Their EMP took our shields down, and then it was a fucking free-for-all!"
"Anybody still alive out there?" Landon demanded.
"I dunno. We managed to get two of them, I think — they were so close the EMP killed their shields, too. Sylvia hit one with cannon fire."
Sylvia Gates pulled off her helmet and shook out her long red hair. She stared at Landon, her eyes filled with horror.
"You hit one with cannon fire?" he asked incredulously.
She nodded. "They were too close for torpedoes, and my laser went down. It was all I had."
"How'd you get away?" Landon asked Saulsbury.
"We fired rockets on manual. The Sirians had fried their own electronics, so they couldn't follow us. Once we got clear, we managed to get the backup navigational working."
As Landon turned to meet the next crew coming out of the lock, Onja dropped down the crew ladder and stood in front of Sylvia. At sight of the blonde, the redhead burst into tears.
"Onja, it was h-horrible! They — they got Christine! She's still out there!"
* * *
It was Onja's first time in a mission briefing. The ready room was small and crowded, like an overflowing classroom. Pilots and gunners listened intently as Landon explained what had happened to the ambushed patrol; that six fighters, damaged or destroyed, were still out there, and there might be survivors. A holo-map displayed the coordinates of the area, which was only a few thousand miles distant.
"We're going back," Landon said. "We're taking a ResQMed in case of survivors, and your job will be to protect the Med. If we find any enemy survivors, we'll try to rescue them, too. I'd love to get my hands on a few prisoners."
He took questions, then gave his final order.
"Saddle up. Lieutenant Ka-vorik will be my gunner."
* * *
Onja crawled into a real gun turret for the first time since Luna 1. As she powered up her systems and ran diagnostics, she noted the date: 18 July, 0221. She had enlisted almost a year ago, and was only now getting her chance.
Today's ambush had taken six GalaxyFighters out of action. Only twenty-four were left, and Landon led a force of twelve. His was the first one out of the hangar, drifting slowly away from the asteroid under minimal power, adjusting course with steering jets, anti-collision shields up to avoid damage by debris. Onja watched the asteroid fall behind on her screens, her blood surging. On one level she was more excited than ever before in her life, but at another she was deadly calm. This was what she'd trained for, what her whole life was about. Even if she should die and never come back, this would be her defining moment.
