by Daniel Gibbs
“We thought about it,” MacIntosh replied, his brogue becoming thicker. “Not enough reactor power. The next reactor up is larger and won’t fit.” He looked down at his hands.
Justin stared at the fighter’s internals for a bit and moved the projection around while others discussed the shortcomings of their test flights. After a few minutes of playing around with the controls, he realized, There’s three shield generators on this thing.
“Can’t wait three months for another set of engines—”
“Wait,” Justin said. “Captain MacIntosh, why does the Ghost have three redundant shield generators?”
Conversation ground to a halt, and all eyes moved to MacIntosh.
“One fore arc, one aft, and the third is a backup in case of failure or sustained enemy fire. Recon craft have to get home to share intelligence, so they’re overengineered.”
Whatley, Green, Martin, and Justin locked eyes at the same time.
“You guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Green asked with a broad grin.
“Get rid of two of them. Run with a single generator for both arcs,” Justin replied. “By these specifications, that’s six thousand kilograms. More than enough on paper to get us back up to decent Delta-V.”
MacIntosh’s eyes bulged. “You’re willing to fly them with minimal protection?”
“Give me a choice between shield strength and maneuverability, and I’ll take maneuverability any day. So will everyone else here. It doesn’t matter how much protection a small craft has if the enemy can get behind it and stay behind it for a missile or guns solution. Ask the Saurians how their uber-armored bombers worked out for them in the wars.”
“Speak for yourself, mate,” Martin interjected. “I’m happy to fly something that doesn’t handle like a space whale.”
“Very funny, Lieutenant.” Whatley crossed his arms. “How long to make the changes, MacIntosh?”
“Give me twenty-four hours.”
“You’ve got eighteen. Good work, people. Take a break and get some grub, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow for additional testing. Dismissed.”
Filing out with the rest, Justin took a few moments to consider what he’d suggested. Paper-thin shields are a recipe for getting shot up quickly. Still, they had no other alternative than a months-long reengineering process, and for some reason he couldn’t readily explain, that wasn’t an option. Something deep within his soul said they had to execute the attack on Earth, and it had to be right then.
4
Another day, another lunch in the officers’ mess.
Tehrani had spent the morning going through readiness reports from the four stealth raiders assigned to Battlegroup Z, as the Zvika Greengold’s battlegroup was known. In service since the end of the Saurian Wars, older Templar-class boats had up-to-date stealth coatings and the latest anti-ship missiles, including the Starbolt. She was thankful for that, at least. We still have little information on how well our stealth technology matches up to League sensors. In place of solid mission planning, many question marks remained. Against the backdrop of being in a system that didn’t exist officially, with a fleet of ships beyond their visual range, paperwork was a welcome distraction.
“Mind if I join you, skipper?”
Tehrani looked up to see Wright standing in front of her table with a tray full of food. “Of course.” She flashed a grin. “Please, join me.”
“Thanks.” Wright slid into the chair across from her and set his tray down gently. He bent over the food and prayed quietly. “Well, it’s nice to have fresh everything this many days in a row.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Wright grimaced. “Oh, I know. We’ll probably be eating field rations by the end of the mission.”
Tehrani sighed. She’d been picking at her food and still had most of a sandwich to eat. “You know what I miss?”
“What?”
“Bacon.”
“There’s no shortage of bacon on the ship, skipper,” Wright replied, staring at her with one eyebrow raised.
“Perhaps not, but pork is haram.”
“Ha-what?”
“It’s an Arabic word… forbidden.”
“Oh, I see. Like Lieutenant Mitzner keeps kosher?” Wright grinned and took a bite out of his sandwich. “I gotta tell you, times like these, I’m happy to be a Christian. No food rules here.” He winked. “And that’s especially good for me, because I grew up on my grandmother’s barbeque.” Wright made a sucking sound on his fingers. “I can still taste her St. Louis–style ribs. Nothing else like it. Supposedly the recipe’s been passed down since the Exodus from Earth.”
Tehrani chuckled politely. She rarely discussed matters of faith, especially with her crew. It always seemed an off-limits subject. “I decided since I was answering the Adhan as many times a day as I could, I needed to make some changes in my life.” I wonder if I sound silly.
“I get it, skipper.” Wright took another bite of the sandwich and ate it with gusto. “My priorities have been completely reordered. I used to only focus on pinning on lieutenant colonel stripes.” He shrugged. “That’s so far down the list now. I couldn’t tell you the last time I thought about taking the written test.”
“So you don’t think I’ve gone nuts?”
“I’d think you were nuts if you hadn’t changed something in your life. We all have—even if it’s as simple as making sure we don’t go to bed angry with a friend or recording a final message for our families before battle.”
They both chewed their food.
Tehrani took a sip of water. “Have you seen the latest update from the CAG?”
“I have. Not going as well as we’d all hoped. But there’s another round of testing this afternoon, based on the lessons learned.”
“Recon fighters aren’t designed to dogfight. It’s that simple. Yet I can’t escape the need to make this work.”
“War sucks.” Wright took another bite. “What’s really on your mind?”
Tehrani furrowed her brow. She felt the weight of knowing that with imperfect tools for the job, many of her pilots wouldn’t come back. “Do we ever have the right to say no?” Uttering those words was a line she never suspected she’d cross. Shock raced through her heart. “If the cost is too great?”
“Who decides that?” Before she could respond, he continued, “I have the luxury of quietly questioning what you’re planning, ma’am. That’s the job of the XO. Do you want my advice?”
“I would welcome it.”
Wright smiled. “Maybe we get to the Orion arm and find Earth is a fortress where our three squadrons would make no impact. At that point, I’d look for other targets of opportunity and, if none could be found in a reasonable period of time, head for home. Banu, you’re a good commander. I respect you, and I admire how you toe the line between bringing everyone home and doing what’s needed to win. I also don’t envy the position you’re in right now. But set everything else aside. The Terran Coalition needs a big, splashy win. Blowing up some stuff in League space and sending a message that we can hurt them… Yeah, it’s needed.”
His words resonated with Tehrani, deep within her soul. The mission before them needed to be won, yet it did nothing to make the cost easier to bear. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, skipper.” Wright munched on his potato crisps. “I realize I’ve been the voice of caution more than a few times the past six months. Remember, that’s my job. Yours is to take risks. That’s why full birds get the big bucks.”
Tehrani laughed, nearly snorting out her tea. “Please. None of us do this for the credits.”
“No.” Wright chuckled. “I did it because I love the Terran Coalition. When I was a young man, our founders’ words were something of a mystery to me. I couldn’t fathom the idea of not having freedom. Having to flee across thousands of light-years to retain the right to worship and speak our minds. It didn’t compute.”
“And now?”
“I’ve seen enough of the galaxy to realize
we’ve got something special here. That observation furthers my resolve to fight for it, because our way of life is worth fighting for.”
“It’s nice to hear that.” Tehrani felt buoyed by his words. They matched what she believed, but before a few months ago, she would never have considered the possibility that the Terran Coalition could fall. And that’s the only reason I can ask young men and women to die for it.
“Okay, enough of that.” Wright grinned. “On a positive note, I’ve been working the goat locker.” The term “goat locker” was an old expression for the chief’s mess and hangouts. “They’ll be bringing extra food, entertainment materials, and craft supplies aboard. In the hopes we won’t go collectively stir crazy on the way there and back. I asked for additional religious meals too.”
“Good idea. Don’t mix them in with your barbecue.”
“Touché, skipper.” Wright laughed.
Tehrani loved hearing his laugh. It reminded her of Ibrahim’s and brightened an otherwise dreary day.
Her handcomm beeped. She glanced at it. “I need to go. Ten minutes to midday prayers.”
“Say one for me too.”
She stood and picked up her tray. “I’ll say one for all of us.”
“We need it.” Wright kept munching. “See you on the bridge, ma’am.”
It took MacIntosh, the crew chiefs, and engineering teams two days to hammer out the various issues they encountered from removing the two shield generators from the Ghosts. As explained to Justin, since the overlapping coverage arcs were part of the base design, computer systems had to be recalibrated and control software rewritten. Most of it went over his head. In the end, Justin only cared that the fighter performed as it was supposed to. And gets my pilots and me home.
The launch from the Greengold was uneventful, though compared to the previous time, the Ghost handled like a sports car instead of a whale. Feldstein, Mateus, and Adeoye were close behind him while Whatley and MacIntosh monitored their progress from the flight control center. Justin rocked the craft from side to side, testing the inertial damping systems. Better. Much better. “Alpha One to Alpha element. Commence maneuvering test.”
“Wilco,” Feldstein replied.
Adeoye’s fighter zoomed ahead as he jammed the throttle to maximum. It left the rest of them in the dust. The planned test took them through a series of checkpoints with an eye to speed, though deft maneuvering would be required.
Justin accelerated to maximum speed rapidly and cleared several waypoints. “MacIntosh, so far, so good. I think I could dogfight in this.”
“Good to hear it, Captain,” MacIntosh replied. His smile radiated through his words.
Fifteen minutes later, all four Ghosts reached the end of the test range. Adeoye won the race, as it were, with Justin, Mateus, and Feldstein in order after him. Justin double-checked his readouts, specifically for engine performance. With the higher levels of power directed through the thruster system, overheating was a distinct fear. It appeared the engineers who originally designed the craft did an excellent job—everything on it was overengineered.
“Alpha One to Command. We’re green over here. Recommend proceeding to dogfight test, beta program.”
“Approved, Alpha One.” Whatley’s gravelly voice carried over the commlink. “Don’t hold back. Your lives are on the line if these improvements don’t pan out.”
Don’t remind me. The stark reality of the situation was never far from Justin’s thoughts. It would be a miracle if anyone got home, much less most of them. “Understood, sir. You heard the major, ladies and gents. Feldstein, you and Mateus pair off against Adeoye and me.”
“Boys against girls, eh?” Mateus replied. “Come on, Dvora. Let’s wipe the floor with our male pilots.”
Justin chuckled. “Aren’t we kinda past the whole battle-of-the-sexes thing?”
“Oh, some healthy competition never hurt anyone,” Feldstein replied in a goofy voice. “So, are we flying out to twenty paces before turning about?”
The comment went over Justin’s head. “Eh?”
“We’re dueling, right? Old-school duels were marked off twenty paces before the combatants fired on each other,” Feldstein said. “Wait, I know something about history the great Captain Spencer doesn’t?”
“She’s got you there, sir,” Adeoye said between laughs.
“How about twenty kilometers, then? This isn’t about missile volleys. What we need to measure is a close-in knife fight and how these things perform.” Justin set his weapons to simulation mode. Doing so meant the computer network between the four craft and the Zvika Greengold would decide hits and damage then calculate kills.
“Works for me,” Mateus replied. “No matter the range, I will splash you hard.”
“Less talk, more shoot,” Justin said as he kicked up the throttle and angled his craft away from Feldstein’s and Mateus’s fighters. “On my wing, Lieutenant.”
“Roger, sir,” Adeoye replied as his fighter slid into the wingman position directly to the port and behind Justin’s Ghost.
All four quickly traversed space before slowing thrust and lining up more or less on a direct heading toward one another.
Justin did one final sweep of the squadron-readiness report on his HUD, ensuring everyone had simulated weapons mode engaged. “Okay, people, let’s have some fun. May the best man win.”
“Oh, cute,” Feldstein said. “I’m rolling my eyes, in case you can’t hear it in my voice.”
Justin snorted. “It came through loud and clear.”
“Would you two go ahead and get a room?” Mateus said as she laughed. “Bring it. Both of you.”
“All pilots, break and engage.” Justin jammed his throttle to maximum thrust, and the Ghost shot forward like it had been launched from a cannon. Adeoye pawed the vacuum, maintaining position as they closed on Feldstein and Mateus, who’d also powered up their engines and surged forward.
Simulated missiles raced from all four craft, crisscrossed space, and proved largely ineffective, thanks to CDF electronic countermeasures. The fight quickly morphed into a fast-turning tail chase in which both sides were almost equally matched. To an observer, the dogfight would’ve been boring, as all four pilots knew each other well and flew together regularly. They countered one another move for move.
After a few minutes of chasing Feldstein’s six o’clock and only scoring a couple of miniature-neutron-cannon hits, Justin decided to change tactics. He noticed Adeoye falling behind Mateus in a series of scissor maneuvers and thought he could use it to his advantage. He pulled his flight stick back hard. The Ghost rapidly turned one hundred eighty degrees, while the g-forces pressed Justin into the pilot’s chair.
The action caught Feldstein entirely by surprise, and Justin was able to gain enough distance from her to shift his focus to Mateus. She’d taken up position behind Adeoye and was attempting to gain a guns solution on him while a scattering of neutron-cannon bolts hit and weakened his shields.
Justin toggled the Ghost’s missile-launch system to double-fire and selected his active LIDAR-tracking warheads. The lock-on tone sounded, and he squeezed the trigger. “Alpha One, fox three.”
Tunnel vision was a bad thing in any endeavor, and it was deadly for a fighter pilot. So focused on splashing Adeoye’s Ghost, Mateus didn’t realize the simulated Vultures were incoming until it was too late. A last-second jink and dive coupled with a burst of chaff didn’t throw them off her tail. Both impacted on the craft’s shields and battered them down.
Justin was in position to capitalize and filled the void with dozens of neutron-cannon bolts. The tactical computer on Mateus’s fighter decided enough had hit to knock it out, and the craft shut down.
“That’s a kill,” he said. “You’re next, Lieutenant.”
“We’ll see about that,” Feldstein replied.
With a glance at his HUD, Justin confirmed Feldstein’s position—she was headed directly for Adeoye and had two heat-seeking missiles tracking him relentle
ssly. One hit, and she, too, sprayed a barrage of neutron-cannon bolts. A moment later, Adeoye’s Ghost powered down, another simulated kill.
“Just you and me, Captain.”
“I see that.” Justin grinned. “May the best pilot win.”
“You’re going to owe me a drink tonight.” Feldstein looped around in a way that took her away from Justin’s front arc while positioning for an intercept.
She’s too good to head directly at. Especially with all the training we’ve been doing on neutron-cannon aiming. Instead, Justin allowed her to settle behind him. He disengaged the inertial damping system on his Ghost with a nasty grin and executed a spin move, lining his fighter up to fire on her as it raced forward.
Feldstein, however, was ready. Before he got the kill shot off, she rolled away to the port side, presenting a rapidly moving target that was difficult to hit. While Justin was still realigning his systems, she flashed around and toggled her missile system to the heat seekers. “Alpha Two, Fox two.” The simulated Eagles raced toward his fighter along with a brace of neutron-cannon bolts.
Justin had expected his implementation of Major Whatley’s signature combat move to win the day in one fell swoop. To his surprise, he was on the receiving end of a knockout blow. Justin rolled away while triggering the flares dispenser, sending numerous high-temperature decoys into the void in the hopes that they would throw off the heat-seeking missiles. One took the bait and exploded violently, while the other tracked him move for move.
“Ready to give up, sir?”
“Not a chance in hell.” Justin pulled back hard and executed another one-hundred-eighty-degree turn then headed straight for Feldstein. He didn’t bother to wait for the missile tone, instead firing two Vultures before the LIDAR system had fully locked up her fighter. Perhaps thanks to the short range of his attack, both hit before she could react. Her craft slowed considerably, which made lining it up for a neutron-cannon volley far more straightforward than it should’ve been. A dozen bolts later, the flight computer marked Feldstein as destroyed. “Alpha One, splash two.”
