Starfighter (Strike Commander Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   “None taken. I was surprised to be assigned in the first place.”

   As the wall screens flashed stars behind her, Bennett continued, “I can see what the original plan was. Two low-key expeditions to gather data and artifacts, then bring them home to Sol where Knight could work out the details and prepare for the next step. Something's forced her hand, made her move more quickly than she'd planned.” Looking around the room, she continued, “Why wipe out the stations if it wasn't necessary?”

   “Hubbard was selling the artifacts,” Conway said, looking down at the floor. “Maybe she found out about it.”

   “Possible, but unlikely,” Bennett replied. “He could have been transferred with no fuss, no questions. There's something else going on here, something we don't know about.” A loud tone rang around the room, and a holographic projection snapped into position over the table. “Looks like the computer's finished.”

   A halo of stars surrounded a hole in space, a patch of empty darkness. Conway frowned as he looked at it, before glancing down at the readouts on the desk, shaking his head.

   “No star we know,” he said.

   “Does that matter?” Angel asked. “Now that we know where it is...”

   With a deep sigh, Morgan said, “We're not close enough. The computer projection says that it is somewhere within two light-years of that position. There are no known stars in that area.”

   “But we can search it, surely,” Sullivan said.

   “There have been dozens of searches for stars that close to Sol,” Bennett replied, a frown on her face. “That would put our target twenty-four light-years away.”

   “That doesn't mean there's nothing there,” Morgan replied. “A dim brown dwarf, or even another rogue planet.”

   “I agree, but if the Titanian Extremely-Large Array hasn't picked it up, we're not going to find it with the sensor package on a thirty-year old freighter.” Bennett frowned, then added, “They'll have looked, as well. Maybe not that closely, but you can bet that the first thing Knight did was order a sweep of the area.” She smiled, then added, “In fact, I think she must have.”

   “Two years ago. When they found that brown dwarf,” Conway said, nodding. “You think she was behind it?”

   “One way or another, which means this has been building for some time.” Looking at the display, she said, “Nicky, can we focus down more closely? If we could get the location down closer, we might have more luck.”

   “Not without more data,” she replied. “We need more pieces of the puzzle. Best guess is that we've only got a third of the starfield.”

   “But you can reproduce it,” Angel said. “In your quarters...”

   “Not with sufficient precision,” she replied. “When I started the analysis, I used that projection as the basis. It just wasn't enough, not yet.” Looking at Conway, she added, “If we can complete the puzzle, then I can get the location down to a few billion miles.”

   “With a little work on the sensors, that might be enough,” Sullivan said. “Except that Blake will have the same information we do. He'll have done all of this on Hermes, maybe even with greater precision. He'll have ten times the computational power that we do.”

   “None of this answers the biggest question of all,” Bennett said. “What are we looking for? A weapon, some relic of the war? A long-lost homeworld?”

   “I've gone over all the research notes we have,” Morgan said, “and I've come up with nothing conclusive. Our best guess is that we were excavating a small outpost on the fringes of their territory, but that's all we know.” She paused, and said, “I'll keep looking, of course.”

   “Does it matter?” Conway asked. “As far as I'm concerned, this is all very interesting, but it doesn't change the immediate situation. Abydos Base is still facing imminent attack, and all this confirms is what we already knew. That Blake and his merry men will stop at nothing to get what they want, and that they think it important enough that they'll kill everyone to keep their secret.” Looking around the table, he said, “Anyone here disagree with me?”

   “I guess not,” Sullivan said. “The mission remains the same.”

   “No,” Morgan said. “There's more to it now. Whatever else happens, we've got to make sure that Hermes doesn't get out of the system. No matter what it takes, we've got to stop them before we can find out the location of that hidden world, even if...”

   Nodding, Conway said, “Even if it costs the lives of everyone on this ship, maybe even everyone on the base.” He looked around the room, then said, “Our job is to make sure it doesn't come to that. We've got a lot of work to do in the next twenty-four hours, and I suggest we get on with it.”

   “Aye,” Morgan replied, looking at the empty space on the map, still rotating over the desk. At least now she knew the answer to Angel's question. There was something out there, some ancient secret, and she was going to find it. Somehow.

  Chapter 12

   Conway had never been more nervous about emerging into a new system in his life. He looked around the bridge, his friends at their posts with an air of electric anticipation unlike any he had experienced since the War, and wondered how many of them would be alive to return to Belzoni. The countdown clock ran down the final seconds to emergence, and he felt himself holding his breath, waiting for the stars to return.

   He held his hands over the helm, an evasive course already prepared. For once, they had options. If the situation looked impossible, he could run for a distant egress point, five long days to retreat to safety. Dirk had spent hours tailoring it to perfection, providing the optimum escape track, but both of them knew the work was wasted. He'd never run, not if there was the slightest chance to win. And he didn't know why.

   “Fifteen seconds,” he heard himself say.

   “All hands are at action stations,” Sullivan said, shaking his head. “Now there's something I never thought I'd say again.” Glancing across at a monitor panel, he added, “Chief Cruz reports all fighters ready for launch on your command. All we're missing is the pilots.”

   The side door opened, and McGuire stepped out, looking around guiltily as he slumped into his post, saying, “All set here, boss.”

   “Five seconds,” he replied. “Here we go. Immediate sensor readings upon emergence.”

   “Do you need to ask?” Dixon asked, shaking her head. “We're ready.”

   “Emergence,” he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. With a blinding flash, the stars winked into position, the cold, icy world ahead. Tapping a control, he started a low-thrust burn towards orbit, hoping and praying that they'd got here in time. Layers of complexity flooded onto the tactical display as he watched, satellite constellations plotted on the screen, the base flashing into position on the surface. As far as he could tell, there were no other ships in orbit, but that didn't mean a thing. There were plenty of places to hide, at least for the present. Anything could be hiding behind the planet.

   “Uh-oh,” Dixon said. “The defense network just came on. We've got four satellites looking onto us, standard missile load-out as far as I can see.”

   “It's a bluff,” Conway replied. “They won't have anything like the range to take us down. All they're doing is warning us to keep off the grass.” Picking up his headset, he said, “This is the Free Trader Churchill, on speculative trade run, calling Senior Lieutenant Mallory. Come in, please.”

   “This is Lieutenant Hanson,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “The commander isn't available at the moment. Who did you say you were?”

   “Free Trader Churchill, on unscheduled visit. I've got a hold full of luxury goods, and a friend of mine told me that I might find a market here.”

   “This is a military installation, Churchill, not a resort.” There was a pause, and she added, “Nevertheless, I'd be willing to take a look. Proceed to parking orbit, and I'll come up to see what you have, once I've cleared it with the commande
r.”

   “Missile satellites deactivating,” Dixon said, shaking his head. “Maybe we were in time, after all.”

   “Proceeding as instructed, Abydos. Churchill out.” Pulling off his headset, Conway said. “She's lying.”

   “Almost certainly,” Sullivan replied. “The only question is whether she's stalling for time or luring us into a trap.” He glanced at his screen, and said, “If we do as we're told, we'll be in a perfect killing zone from three of those satellites.”

   Turning to McGuire, Conway said, “What do you think, Max?”

   A toothy grin on his face, the old hacker replied, “Whatever man can create, I can screw up. Give me a minute.” He started to type, then said, “Do you care whether they see me doing it?”

   “No, I don't. Make the biggest mess you can.”

   Tapping a control, Conway guided the transport towards the indicated position, eyes fixed on the satellite network they were drawing near. All that stood between twelve missile tubes and his ship were McGuire's nimble fingers, and nimbler mind. He glanced at the hacker, the old man's face transfixed on his screen, a beatific smile spreading across his face as he interfaced with the enemy systems. He was doing what he loved, and was enjoying every moment of it.

   “Time for us to go, I think,” Conway said, leaving the helm on automatic. “Max, I'll leave you in command until someone comes up to take over. Everything's set to run by itself, and the relief crew will be up in a minute.”

   “Uh-huh,” he muttered, engrossed in his work.

   Reaching down for a button, Conway said, “Now hear this. Now hear this. All hands to battle stations. I say again, all hands to battle stations.” He shook his head as the old, familiar words trickled out. “Sound Squadron Scramble.”

   Without a word, Conway walked into the elevator, followed by Dixon and Sullivan, their stations empty, readouts transmitting information into thin air. Morgan paused for a second, then followed them as the doors closed, taking one last glance at the lone McGuire.

   “Should you be leaving him on his own?” Morgan asked.

   “Why not?” Conway replied. “The ship can get into parking orbit by itself, and aside from what he's doing at the e-war station, there's damn all anyone can do anyway. The fighters fight the battle. If the carrier comes under attack, well, it probably doesn't matter.”

   “What if he has to go to the bathroom again?” she asked.

   “Huh?”

   “Just before a battle, he always...”

   Conway laughed, and interrupted, “That, Nicky, is the emergency airlock, not the bathroom.”

   “Then what the hell is he doing in there?”

   “No idea, and I don't care. Nor am I going to tell him not to take whatever it is he's taking.” He paused, then said, “That man was one of the greatest experts in e-system tactics the Service ever produced. After the war, he tried to rob the First Bank of Syrtis, and if he'd picked the right friends, he might have pulled it off. Instead, he got ten years.” Shaking his head, he said, “When I found him, he was flipping burgers in a flop joint on Carter Station. He deserves better than that. They all do.”

   “Tabby was right,” she said. “You do pick up strays.”

   “You're here, aren't you?”

   The doors opened before she could reply, and the group emerged onto the hangar deck, a hive of activity as Cruz and her team prepared the fighters for launch, making a host of last-minute checks and alterations. Bennett and Xylander were already waiting, and as he stepped in, he saw a familiar table against the far wall, five shots of vodka lined up next to an empty jug.

   His mouth opened, and he said, “My God.”

   “Traditions are important,” Cruz said, moving over to the table. “Now get it over with, so I can go up and relieve that old fool on the bridge.”

   He turned to the table, taking one of the glasses in his hand, squinting at the contents. All around him, the other members of the squadron took their drinks, standing behind him, Sullivan looking at him with a warm smile. Turning to the nearest fighter, Conway raised his glass.

   “Good hunting!” he said, before pouring the contents back into the jug, the rest of the pilots following him, one after another. He walked towards his fighter, climbing into the cockpit as the others made for their own ships. He looked around the controls, a smile on his face, throwing switches to complete the final steps of pre-flight, preparing himself for combat.

   “Red Leader, clear for launch,” he said.

   “Red Two, all ready,” Bennett replied.

   “Red Three,” Sullivan said, “All systems go.”

   “Red Four,” a confident Xylander added. “Good to go.”

   “Red Five,” Dixon said, a trace of laughter in her voice. “Can we get started? I've got plans for tonight.”

   “Bridge, 25th Squadron is clear for launch,” Conway said, a flicker of emotion in his voice.

   “Clearance on request,” McGuire said. “Now stop distracting me, damn it!”

   The elevator airlocks engaged, all five of them together, Morgan and her improvised strike team watching from the rear. Cruz snapped them a salute as they dropped through the decks, the upper hatches slamming shut above them while the lower hatches opened, releasing them out into space. Any moment now, the sensor systems on Abydos would pick up their launch, and the order would go out to rearm the missiles and prepare to attack. At all costs, they had to stop that from happening.

   They'd spent most of the flight out rehearsing this moment, practicing this attack run with varying degrees of success, but now that he was here, out over the planet, everything felt as though it was coming together. He could do this, and for the first time in years, he was doing what he was born for once again. Leading a squadron into battle. Somehow, he knew that his old wing-mates were watching, and approved.

   “Abydos to Bandits,” Hansen said. “What are you doing?”

   “This is…,” he paused, then said, “Damn it, this is Major Jack Conway, commanding 25th Attack Squadron. I order you to place Senior Lieutenant Mallory on the channel at once, or I will be forced to launch a preemptive defensive strike on your defense network.”

   A new voice broke into the channel, replying, “This is Senior Lieutenant Blake, acting commander of Abydos Base. Your co-conspirator has been arrested...”

   “Co-conspirator? We couldn't even agree on a marriage councilor!”

   “Stand down, 'Major', or I'll have to take actions we're both going to regret.”

   Shaking his head, he replied, “I'd offer you a chance to surrender, Blake, but after what you've done already, I think that would just be a waste of time. Watch your back, Hansen. That bastard will put a knife in it. And as for you, Blake, you'd better get some last words ready. You're going to need them.” Tapping a control, he said, “Five satellites, one on one. Let's go get them. Tally Ho!”

   His engines roared, pressing him back into his acceleration couch as he raced towards his target, the rest of his squadron matching his speed. Fancy evasive maneuvers wouldn't be necessary, not now. They had to press home their strike on the satellites, knock them out of the sky before they had a chance to launch their deadly payload against Churchill. He glanced back at the transport, seemingly hanging free behind them, a fragile vessel holding dozens of his friends.

   “Cruz to Conway,” his communicator barked. “I'm on the bridge, and given the sweat on McGuire's forehead, I'd say the bad guys have got their sysop on the case. Move quickly.”

   “Roger that,” he replied, slamming his acceleration as high as he dared, his vision beginning to gray at the edges, every breath an effort. His heads-up display lit up, the targeting computer coming back to life for the first time in fifteen years, plotting a missile launch trajectory. He reached down at the familiar controls, most of them still worn from thousands of flight-hours, and tried to relax

   “Thirty seconds to
target,” he said.

   “Just like old times, skipper,” Sullivan said. “Dirk, you keeping up back there?”

   “Don't wait for me, you old bastard,” Xylander said, a half-second behind. “I'm saving the best till last.”

   “Be nice,” Sullivan replied, “or I won't leave anything for you.”

   “Uh-oh,” Bennett added. “I'm getting some evasion from the satellites. Looks like the little devils are waking up.”

   “They can dance all they want, as long as they don't start throwing things at us,” Conway replied. “Fifteen seconds to target. Use only one missile, hold the rest back for defensive fire. Make the first shot count. You may fire at your discretion.”

   “Roger that, Leader,” Bennett replied, speaking for the rest of them. He glanced at the sensor again, then across at the status board, seven of the lights dark. For a second, a shadow seemed to pass over his soul, as his last flight in this ship rushed back to him once more, but he pushed it to one side, reaching up and flicking a switch to activate the combat computer. He held his hand over the firing controls, ready to launch the missiles manually, but after all these years, the firing sequencers were still good, and his first missile raced away from the fighter, ranging towards his target. A half-second later, the rest of the squadron matched him, five warheads racing into the distance, fanning out in a long sweep to clear a hole in the defensive formation.

   “Damn, damn, DAMN!” McGuire yelled. “They're live, boss!”

   On instinct, Conway prepared his second missile for firing, changing his trajectory to take him as close to the enemy satellite as he could. He glanced across as the first missile hit home, wiping out its target before it could ready itself, and shook his head. Bennett had managed the first kill, but he was only just behind her, a second later.

   Three more traces flashed onto the screen, a counter-strike launching out from the satellites, attempting to intercept the incoming missiles. By now, McGuire would be working on holding them back, infiltrating their control systems, but he'd be resisted by the team on the ground, a war of electronic will with his man held back by the antiquated systems at his disposal.