by CJ Williams
“Okay,” Luke said hugging his young bride again. “I promise I won’t make a big ruckus with Gimi. There and back.” He gave his bride one last kiss and boarded Lulubelle.
Once on the command bridge he gave an order to George. “Tell Jim Slater to stay sharp until we return.”
For the last two weeks, Luke’s three squadrons had been sharing patrol duty. Patrol in a system like this was not a bad deal. Still, Luke wanted one of his squadrons to stay behind in case another gang of raiders showed up and Slater was his best commander.
“Message relayed, Commander,” George replied, using Luke’s old title. The new king had made it clear to everyone that when on board, nothing had changed. All the Your Majesty this and Your Majesty that got old really quick.
“Okay then, let’s head out to Ebene Three.”
“Course set, Commander.”
Chapter Two – Ebene Three
“Going sub-light, Commander,” George said. “We are one astronomical unit from Ebene Three.”
“Recommendation, Carlos?” Luke asked his tactical officer.
“Battle stations, Commander,” the man replied.
“Correct. I made a mistake at Japurnam Five, focusing only on casting that vote for the Nobility. It was a stupid oversight.”
“Aye, sir.”
Luke had given Carlos several lectures about the carelessness of their last planetary arrival. The criticism wasn’t directed at the young officer, Luke blamed himself for the lapse. Not that the raiders were any threat, but their presence around the planet had surprised him.
Mistakes like that could have big consequences. As a corrective action, Luke updated their standard arrival procedures. From here on, any time they entered a system, friendly or not, Alliance ships would do so ready for battle. How did I overlook such a basic principle all these years, he wondered?
It was not a difficult question. Bad habits. Although he always approached potential Bakkui engagements in combat ready status, he mistakenly assumed Nobility planets were, by default, not hostile. Now he knew different.
“Battle stations, then,” Luke said. “You there, Grant?”
Captain Grant Jefferies commanded the 391st Tactical Space Squadron, composed of ten Phantoms.
“Right here, Commander,” Grant replied. “The Bold Tigers are at battle stations, launching the fighters now.”
“Carlos?” Luke asked his tactical officer.
“All Phantoms de-interlocked, Commander. Blue and Red fighters launching.” A few seconds later Carlos added, “All ships showing combat ready status. The Skull Heads are ready.”
Luke had once served in the 92nd fighter squadron back on Earth and had good memories of it. He adopted their Skull Head patch as his own squadron.
Luke encouraged his squadron commanders to take on the patches and designations from Earth units for their own squadrons. It was free and promoted military professionalism. The younger crews devoured the Earth outfit’s history and took pride in their traditions. And the officers who had actually flown in those units used it as an opportunity to share some back-in-my-day stories.
It also established Luke’s philosophy of air power vs fleet actions. He had mixed feelings about whether ten Phantom warships were a space navy fleet or a space force squadron? In the end, he decided they flew, so they were a squadron.
“Show me the planet,” Luke said.
“On screen,” George replied.
The tactical display screen to the left of the view window zoomed in to show the world of Ebene Three. It was mostly water with two major land masses.
The window suddenly displayed multiple icons. Besides thirty spacecraft in orbit around the planet, dozens of enemy ships were streaming into the system.
“George,” Luke said. “What do we have? Those look familiar.
“You are correct, Commander. Those are Booker-class vessels. I conclude they have become more common than we anticipated. I am also detecting an unknown type of vessel in their second echelon. It is larger than the rest.”
“Probably a support ship. Are the Bookers hostile?”
“Yes, Commander. It appears they are shelling the planet’s defenses at this time. The local population is putting up a feeble resistance.”
Luke said, “Grant, take your Tigers and protect the planet as best you can.”
“Aye Commander.”
Luke glanced at his tactical officer. “Carlos let’s engage those incoming Bookers.”
“No problem sir. Weapons armed.”
Phantoms no longer fired the massive forty-eight-inch shells of their Ambrosia predecessors. Instead they delivered much higher velocity thirty-millimeter projectiles from twin shoulder mounts where the cannons used to reside. The smaller caliber was superior for shield penetration than the blunderbuss approach. In addition to the new guns, each Phantom held a dozen missile launchers.
Luke examined the tactical display and gave orders to the fighters that had deployed wide on either side of the Phantoms. “Blue Flight, hook left; Red Flight, hook right.”
Terse acknowledgements came back as the fighters accelerated away to attack the trailing edge of the approaching enemy warships.
“Skull Heads, go high-low spread formation and engage with missiles,” Luke ordered. “Battle view on the screen, George.”
The God’s eye view on the tactical screen zoomed out and changed to a three-dimensional display of the solar system. Lulubelle’s position was in the center of the screen, indicated by a white oval. Similar icons for the other nine Phantoms fanned out, above and below. Red and blue dots indicated the fighters as they swarmed toward the flanks of the incoming fleet. The enemy Bookers were designated by yellow diamonds.
“George, you have the hammer,” Luke said.
“I have the hammer.”
Sunlight glinted off a dozen missiles rocketing away from launch tubes.
Belle’s voice said. “Shields. Activated.” Brilliant flashes stippled the forward shields.
“That didn’t take long,” Luke said.
Lulubelle shook violently with one of the blasts. The shuddering surprised Luke. Before he could inquire, George spoke up.
“Commander, these are not inexperienced pirates like we met on Japurnam Five. The opposing force are using warheads that include shaped charges similar to our own. Their shield penetration capability may exceed our defenses. I am not confident our shields will hold. I recommend retreat.”
“Not so fast,” Luke responded automatically. “Have everyone strap in and continue the attack. Are our own missiles getting through?” He unconsciously touched the pouch strapped to his belt, the beer-can-sized personal force field that would protect him in space should the Lulubelle suffer a major hull breach. Of course, anything powerful enough to take out his flagship would likely result in his own atoms being strewn across the universe.
George replied, “Our missiles are having an effect, but far less than our previous engagement. Closing now with guns.”
The floor vibrated with the familiar buzz as a stream of projectiles began spewing from the embedded cannons. Luke didn’t need George’s assessment that they were having a greater impact than the missiles.
Somewhere, these raiders had gotten word about Alliance tactics and developed their own strategies to overcome Alliance strengths. But they made the classic mistake of fighting the last war. Riley Stevens’ new weapons had surprised them.
One of the Bookers appeared on their nose, closing rapidly. Luke wondered if the man was trying to ram them. To counter, George took Lulubelle into a wide sweeping barrel roll, all while keeping his aim on the gyrating enemy ship, which in turn was trying to defend against George’s skillful maneuvering.
“Can you communicate with these people?” Luke asked Ensign Hunter, his communications officer.
“Attempting,” Hunter replied. A moment later he announced success. “On screen.”
A man’s face filled the communication display. His expression was contor
ted with fanatical fervor.
“Channel open,” Hunter added.
Luke spoke sharply to the opposing captain. “I am King Lucas of the First Family. Break off your attack.”
“Liar!” the man shouted. “Blasphemer! There is no First Family anymore. The Nobility is extinct and we claim this planet.”
“You are wrong,” Luke said calmly. “Check your logs, we have transmitted our identity.”
“They mean nothing. The law has vanished.” The enemy captain expanded his claim saying, “All Second Family territory is now ours!” It was a bold statement. The territory of the now defunct Second Family once encompassed a huge chunk of the Galaxy, much larger than the other families. That much space was a testament of how close its original king must have been to the First Family. But the opposing captain was a bit premature in his claim.
The captain yanked furiously on the joystick built into the Booker control system. If nothing else, the man was an awesome pilot. Unfortunately, his stick-and-rudder skill would never be a match for a true AI warship.
Luke moved up to the panoramic window and held onto the grab rail that ran across the width of the bridge. Lulubelle performed a wide lag roll to maneuver for a shot that would break through the enemy’s shields. Finally, and inevitably, it came.
The nameless captain seemed to sense the end. just before his ship blew apart into spinning chunks of twisted metal, he shouted, “Long live King Dracci!”
As George maneuvered toward the next target Luke wondered aloud, “Who the hell is King Dracci?”
George had the answer. “King Dracci is one of the sovereign monarchs of the Nobility Families. He rules over—”
Lulubelle shuddered violently. The command bridge swirled with debris and Luke was suddenly alone in the blackness of space, spinning dizzily toward the distant sun.
Thank God I was wearing my PFF, he thought sardonically. Annie would have killed him if he had died for something as careless as not wearing one into combat.
Tiny globules of blood floated near his face and only then did he feel the sting of a laceration across his forehead. He wiped his right hand against the painful cut and it came away covered in blood.
Hope that’s not too serious. As he spun slowly through space, his field of view alternately took in sections of the now-destroyed Lulubelle and other crew members, most of them floating helplessly in all directions.
His mind clicked into gear and he reached into the zippered leg pocket of his flight-suit to dig out a pair of gravity gloves. The thin gloves were similar to the pilot gloves he had worn in the air force, but with an added bonus...they had tiny gravity plates built into the palms. They were an invention of Riley Stevens for use during the early construction of Moonbase One and allowed workers to maneuver in zero gravity. Luke tugged them on and controlled his gyration.
George? Are you still here? Answer me.
Nothing. Luke tried twice more with no response. It was a weird feeling to be out of contact with George. Over the last four years the AI had almost become part of his own consciousness. Luke put the thought out of his mind, there were other priorities.
“Skull Two, do you read me?” he said aloud, trying to communicate via his implant.
Nothing. How many ships did we lose? Luke wondered.
“Any Alliance warship, come in. This is Commander Blackburn.”
A few seconds later a strained voice replied. “I read you, Commander. Standby—forget the Bookers! Fire on that big guy!”
The voice belonged to Dean Stone, captain of Skull Five. It sounded like he had his hands full at the moment. Luke kept quiet to let Stone concentrate on the battle at hand.
Luke examined his surroundings. In the distance, one of his crew members was floating more or less in his direction. Luke used his gravity gloves to set an intercept course.
As he came close, Luke saw the man’s body and it wasn’t pretty, he had not been wearing his PPF. Farther away, a group of crew members had clustered together and were waving their arms. Luke slowly changed his course in their direction.
Flashes of the battle glinted intermittently in the distance. The immensity of space meant you had to be looking directly at an engagement to see anything. The Alliance’s new ammunition did not create blinding flashes from nuclear warheads. Instead, the hardened steel projectiles connected with ship’s hulls at unbelievable velocities, often close to the speed of light.
The compression at impact generated heat in the trillions of degrees. It resulted in a nuclear yield but a very small one. The resulting burst of incandescence was brief, only a fraction of a second. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a twinkling star. But it was still a lot of energy. Two or three hits were normally enough to insure the total destruction of a spacecraft.
So why am I alive? Luke wondered.
An instantaneous glint of metal whizzed by Luke, and then was gone. One of the combatants had flown close by at near lightspeed; whether friend or foe, it was impossible to tell. When Luke looked for his crewmates, there was nothing. They had been in the path of the maneuvering warship. In less than the blink of an eye, they had ceased to exist, their bodies smashed into atoms by the ship’s shields. At least they didn’t feel pain.
Luke scanned nearby space but could not spot any other survivors. After a few more minutes the battle ended.
“Commander, Skull Five here. We see you…on the way.”
*.*.*.*
Captain Stone was apologetic when Luke walked onto the bridge of Skull Five, known to its crew as Rachel.
“Sorry it took us so long, Commander,” Stone said.
Luke waved away the apology. “Status?”
“The raiders left the system. We destroyed thirty-one hostiles. Our situation is secure for the moment.”
“How many did we lose? Please God it was just Lulubelle.”
Stone gave an ashen faced reply. “We lost the entire crew of Skull Eight and most of Nine as well. It looks like we’ll retrieve all but eight of your crew. Rachel will have the names for us shortly.”
Luke gazed out into space as the losses sank into his consciousness. It wasn’t the first time he had lost comrades, but it hurt each time. He put the thoughts aside.
Stone abruptly stood to attention. “Commander, you have command of the Rachel.”
“No.” Luke shook his head, refusing the gesture. “Thanks, Dean. You stay in command of your ship. I’ll maintain overall command of our forces from your bridge.” Luke settled in the observer’s position. “Begin after-action routines, assign two ships to search for survivors.” He looked at the ceiling. “Grant, status report. How are the Tigers?”
When there was no response, Luke realized the issue was with Rachel. She was not used to anticipating Luke’s commands, like George. The Phantom warships were controlled by a much lower level artificial intelligence than George had been. Luke would have to be more specific.
“Rachel, put me in contact with Captain Grant Jefferies.”
“Acknowledged, Commander. You’re on.”
“Grant, what is your status?”
“We lost Jerry Hyde and his entire crew. The 391st is at ninety percent.”
“My condolences, Captain,” Luke said sincerely. “We lost three ships. Please assume system defense for now. You and Dean can work out a rotating schedule but I need to get down to the planet.”
“Acknowledged, Commander,” Grant replied crisply.
Luke turned to Dean. “I’m giving command of the 92nd to you. You have seniority and I need to concentrate on contacting Princess Gimi. For now, I need a ship, but not you. Who do you recommend?”
Dean’s face cycled through several emotions. Luke was fond of the man and knew he wanted to be a squadron commander. It was just a shame that his time had come now because so many friends had been lost. He accepted his promotion gracefully considering the reality of the situation. “Thank you, Commander,” he said. “Rachel and her crew are proud to serve you. I recommend Katrina Dale
on Tabitha for your ground mission.”
“Got it,” Luke said. “Interlock your squadron and transfer Lulubelle’s remaining crew through your other ships where you can fit them in. I need to send a report of this engagement back to Roth on Moonbase One.”
“What hit your ship, Commander?” Dean asked. “What can cut a ship in two like that? Did you see it?”
Luke shook his head. “I have no idea but we sure need intel on that weapon and its capability. I only know of one other incident like this. One of our colony ships was attacked the same way. It was sliced in half.”
“My tactical team will start an analysis,” Stone said. “We’ll analyze the battle and where that attack came from.”
“Keep me informed. For now, I need to get down to Gimi’s location on the surface. I’ll relay the coordinates to Tabitha.”
“Aye, Commander.”
Luke mentally searched for and found Tabitha. Once connected to the new AI, he explained his intention for getting to the planet.
A mental acknowledgement came back with a feminine voice. Understood. We are now interlocked with Rachel and await your arrival.
*.*.*.*
Captain Katrina Dale called the bridge to attention as Luke entered.
“Thanks, Captain,” Luke said. “Please carry on. Tabitha has our destination and I need to do some paperwork.”
Luke took the observer's seat and closed his eyes while he communicated with Tabitha. The days of written reports, or even dictated transcripts were long gone. Instead, he imagined himself talking to his buddy Roth, in his old office in Moonbase One. Luke mentally reported on the battle damage they had taken and suggested Roth complete a further analysis of what it meant. The unexpected advent of new weapons indicated the Bakkui may have come up with a surprise improvement, or that someone else might be working with them.
What had that raider captain said? Long live King…somebody. Luke could not remember the name. In the tumult of having Lulubelle blown away right under his feet, that tidbit of critical data had slipped his mind. One of the other ships should have captured that transmission.
It appeared one of the Nobility families wanted to scoop up the holdings of the Second Family now that it had ended under the Bakkui’s treachery. It was also clear that same king thought he could adopt the Bakkui’s ruthless methods. If that was the case, Luke would ensure that family came to a quick and painful end. If Luke was going to be the First King, even for a little while, he would issue an order that anyone giving aid or sustenance to the Bakkui would have their lands and titles revoked.
