Starfighter (Strike Commander Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   Nevertheless, one of the incoming enemy missiles spiraled back on itself before disappearing, the safety systems detonating to prevent it being further suborned. Throwing his engine to full again, he pulled around, jamming his hand on the thruster to slew his course, taking himself in between the two missiles, close enough that he could bring his own e-war suite into play.

   Fumbling through half-forgotten programming, he launched his own attack on the enemy missile, the invisible hand of McGuire guiding him, pushing and probing into the guts of the warhead. With less than a dozen miles to spare, the two missiles passed each other, Xylander finally taking out his target as the enemy missile spiraled off into space, all of its fuel burned in its failed quest for destruction, now cursed to float through the universe forever as a permanent memorial to this battle.

   Dixon cursed, unable to prevent her missile from being destroyed, and launched a second one at point-blank range, the distance between the launch and detonation less than five seconds. Looking back, Conway smiled.

   “Nice, clear space for you, Churchill. Let's proceed...”, he paused, his ears catching something in the static, a faint but familiar voice speaking in urgent tones. Reaching across to his communications panel, he played with his controls, running up and down the frequencies in an attempt to boost the signal.

   “Red One calling. Identify yourself.”

   “You have got to be kidding me,” Mallory's voice replied, still faint. “I might have known you'd turn up to make my day perfect. Tell me you're brought friends.”

   “I've got five fighters and half-a-dozen troopers standing by,” he said. Those troopers considered of Morgan, Angel, three reasonable shots from among the engine gang and Doyle wielding his medikit, but he didn't feel the need to go into details. “What's the situation?”

   “Five fighters? That's all? No task force?”

   “I was in a bit of a hurry,” he replied.

   “In about a minute, you're going to pick up two more ships closing on you from the far side of the planet. I presume you've already fought your way through the orbital defense network...”

   “Wait a minute,” he asked. “How come you don't know what I've got, but you know what the enemy have?”

   With a sigh, she replied, “Because my guards have the shoulder flashes from two ships on their shoulders, and because I'm transmitting with the broken remains of three wrecked hand communicators. If you're hearing me, you must have made your way inside the defense perimeter. Do we have time for this?”

   “Prove you're on my side. That this isn't a trap.”

   “If I'd set this trap, Jack, you'd be dead by now. And don't tempt me.”

   He smiled, then said, “That's you, right enough. Where do you want us?”

   “On your way out of the system.” She paused, then added, “They've got a Heavy Scout and a converted freighter, and there are thirty Espatiers down here in defensive position. You can't save the day, not this time. Get your hacker on the line, and I'll start...”

   “No,” he said.

   “Don't be a fool.”

   “I came a very long way to pull your ass out of the fire, Kat, and I'll be damned if I give you the satisfaction of getting your own way over this. You're the best tactical planner I've ever seen, and you are going to work a way out of this mess.” He paused, then said, “Is that clear, Lieutenant?”

   “The War's over, Jack. It ended a long time ago.”

   “You might want to tell that to all the people who've been shooting at me lately.”

   “Jack,” Sullivan said. “Gorgon's coming over the horizon. I've got an attack vector if you want it.”

   “Mo, is that you?” Mallory asked.

   “Where the hell else would I be?” he replied.

   “Hell, Kat,” Xylander said. “Miss me?”

   “Damn it, did you bring the whole squadron with you?” she asked.

   “You interrupted our annual reunion,” he replied. “If we're quite finished with the introductions, can we have some attack orders?”

   She paused, then said, “Get your troopers on the bounce, and I'll see what I can do to make them welcome on the ground. Can you cover the shuttle without making contact with the enemy ships?”

   “That's affirmative.”

   “Then do it, and try for one of the other ships on the second orbit, getting your base ship well out of the way. I'll start raising some hell down here, and you'll have to start raising some up in orbit. Maybe between the two of us we can come up with some sort of a miracle.”

   “Roger that, Lieutenant,” he replied. “Just like old times.”

   “Yeah. Those were god-awful, as well. Next time you decide to take on the Triplanetary Fleet, pick someone else's base to use as the battleground. Mallory out.”

   Conway smiled, then threw another control, changing frequencies, “Red Leader to Strike One. Do you read me?”

   “Why Strike One?” Angel replied. “That implies the existence of a Strike Two, and unless you're going to send the food fabricator technicians down, I'm not sure where it's coming from.”

   “Everyone's a comedian today. Launch at once, Angel, and head down to the deck. Kat will give you landing instructions when you get closer to the base.”

   “We're depending on your ex-wife now?” she replied. “Wonderful. Shuttle launch sequence aye.”

   “Good hunting, Angel,” he said. He looked at the tactical screen again, a second ship, Hermes, now cresting over the horizon in battle formation. Breaking the two of them apart was going to be damn near impossible, but he was going to have a lot of fun trying. Despite everything, a smile crept across his face as he reached for the navigation computer, setting up his attack run. One quick feint to draw them away from Churchill, then the main event to follow.

   He looked at his status board again, nine missiles remaining at their disposal. Enough to make a comprehensive mess of one ship, if they couldn't manage both of them. Taking a deep breath, he locked the new course into the guidance computer, then transmitted it to the rest of the squadron. Behind him, a new target appeared on his screen, the shuttle racing away from Churchill on its way down to the surface. If they didn't succeed down there, then none of this would mean a damn thing anyway. Even if it did all go wrong, though, they'd give those bastards a fight they'd never forget.

   “Leader to Squadron,” he said. “Enemy ships ahead. Form on me in arrow formation, and prepare to engage on the second orbit. Watch your backs, everyone. We're going in.”

  Chapter 13

   Mallory tossed the improvised communicator to her desk, cursing Conway's name in five languages before looking at the door. At a guess, the shuttle would be on its way down to the surface by now, but with only a small attack team, they'd be overwhelmed by Blake's garrison unless she could do something to distract them. First, she had to get out of her cabin.

   Reaching up to the ceiling, she pulled open the lifesystems monitor, then started tugging at the circuitry, throwing scattered components to the floor. She had no idea what effect her sabotage would have, but the deafening klaxon that sounded all around her told her that she'd done something, at least. The door slid open, a trooper bursting through with a surprised look on his face, and before he could react, she lunged at him, swinging her leg high through the air to catch him with her foot, sending him tumbling back.

   Two quick blows to his head not only rendered him unconscious but provided her with a weapon, and she raced down the corridor to the next cell, entering the override code on Corwin's door. Inside, the officer waited, holding a chair in his hands, ready to swing, only to drop it to the floor as she entered.

   “What's going on?”

   “Help's on the way,” she said, “but only if we can provide enough of a distraction.”

   The siren still ringing through the air, he replied, “I think you're off to a good start, ma'am.”

 
 Footsteps raced down the corridor towards her, and a crack sounded as a weapon discharged, On well-honed instinct, she turned and fired, sending the incoming trooper dropping to the ground, blood gushing from a hole in his shoulder as he writhed in agony on the floor. She looked at him, frozen for a moment.

   “What have I done?” she asked.

   “Come on, Kat,” Corwin replied. As far as she was aware, that was the first time he'd ever called her that. “It was him or us.”

   Nodding, she said, “Go get his gun.” Stepping over to a wall communicator, she tapped the access code, only to receive a null response from the unit. They'd already changed her command codes, locked her out of the primary systems. She looked left and right down the corridor, waiting for someone else to arrive, then pulled open an emergency access hatch on the wall, stepping inside, Corwin a heartbeat behind her.

   “Where are we going?” he asked.

   “We've got to rally the troops,” she said. “Most of them won't have any idea what's happening. If we can get our people alerted...”

   “Ma'am, most of them are unarmed. If they try and go up against the garrison...”

   “Then at least they'll go down fighting,” she replied, turning to look at him. “If Blake was the one who massacred the crew of Karnak Station, do you really think he'll do any different here? A couple of missile warheads at the right place would wipe this base from the map.”

   He nodded, stepped inside, and closed the hatch. Shaking his head, he asked, “How did we get here? How did we get this desperate?”

   “Ask my damned ex-husband when he lands,” she said.

   His eyes widening, he replied, “He's with the rescue party?”

   “It's a long story, and I've only read the first few pages.” Gesturing down the passageway, she said, “Come on.”

   The two of them walked along the cramped, narrow passage, stepping over cables and ducking under junction relays. She scowled as she saw a discarded food wrapper left on the floor, greasy palm-prints on one of the system monitors. A faint whine came from the far end of the passage, and she could see small shapes moving.

   “Rats,” she said, shaking her head.

   “Good,” Corwin said, earning him a look. “This is Hanson's department, so she must know about them. If she hears anything in the communications suite, she won't think it's us.”

   Nodding, she turned back to the corridor, watching where she stepped. The sirens abruptly ceased, someone belatedly realizing that the noise provided them with excellent cover, and she could hear voices through the thin interior walls, guards hurriedly searching for her. She glanced up at the internal sensor relays, and smiled as she saw the dangling wires where the components were meant to be. Under any other circumstances, the technician responsible would be facing an abrupt end to his career. Now, she'd be thanking him at his court-martial. Assuming he survived to face one.

   She stopped short of the communications suite, two compartments away, and cracked open the seal just enough to peer inside. An empty room awaited her, only a few crates stacked along the wall, the remnants of the relics they had wrested from the harsh, icy soil beyond. Taking a tentative step inside, she crept to the door, Corwin following, and raised her hand over the control.

   Pausing for a second, she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, remembering her small-arms instructor from the Academy. Back then, she'd won awards for marksmanship, though that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. She glanced at Corwin, raising three fingers, and lowering them one at a time before slamming her hand on the door release.

   A pair of shots rang out down the corridor as the door slammed open, some of Blake's men deciding to shoot first and ask questions later. In a strange way, she was grateful. Shooting them in cold blood would have caused her ethical qualms that a firefight dispelled. Crouching on the floor, she carefully lined up a shot, catching one of the guards in the arm, sending him collapsing to the side as his comrade dragged him away.

   Corwin stepped forward, taking the lead, but a loud crack sounded in the room, and he looked down at his hand, blood dripping from a fresh wound onto the floor, as he started to gasp for breath. Ripping the medikit from the wall, Mallory injected him with the strongest painkiller she could find, tearing a bandage free from the sterile seal and wrapping it around the wound. Glancing around the side, she saw three more troopers moving into position, all of them with riot shields raised, heavy armor between her and their vulnerable spots.

   She glanced down the corridor, knowing that reinforcements would be on their way, then down at the grimacing Corwin, reaching for his pistol despite his wound, ready to fight on to the end. Bracing herself for a final, desperate charge, she heard shouting from the corridor, one of the guards turning for the half-second she needed to get her shot home, her bullet as accurate as anything she had ever managed on the range. The downed trooper staggered into his comrade on the left, and another bullet caught him, sending him toppling, the remaining soldier racing away down the corridor, trying to find his friends, too fast for anyone to catch him.

   Mallory stepped out of the room, and a startled Sub-Lieutenant Finch was waiting for her, a gaggle of technicians behind him, all of them armed with improvised weapons. Finch alone held a pistol, and looked at the wounded troopers on the floor, shaking his head.

   “What the hell is going on, ma'am?” he asked. “Hansen told us that you and Corwin were under arrest for treason, then that bastard Blake started rounding everyone up. He took Grainier and Kordyza in for questioning half an hour ago.” Shaking his head, he added, “Then he threatened to kill Strickland when he tried to treat them.”

   “What happened?” she asked.

   His face dour, he replied, “Kordyza's dead. Grainier's probably going to follow him. He's in Sickbay now.” Glancing around, he added, “I've got a few men guarding them, and I was on my way to, well, rescue you.”

   Clapping the young officer on the shoulder, she replied, “Thanks, Sub-Lieutenant.”

   “Don't mention it, ma'am.” Looking at Corwin, he added, “You'd better get down to Medical yourself, sir.”

   “I can manage,” he grunted, glancing at Mallory. “You need every gun you can get, ma'am.”

   “Go to Sickbay and assume command of the defenders,” she said. “And have someone take a look at your arm while you're there.” Moving down the corridor, she added, “Come on, Finch. We've got to take the communications suite. There are reinforcements on the way.”

   “Ours or theirs?” he asked.

   “Ours if we can guide them in. Move.”

   As Corwin looked on, the group followed her down the corridor. The wounded officer looked down towards Sickbay, shook his head with a smile on his face, then walked after them, ignoring her silent order to withdraw. All around, she could hear shouts of orders echoing through the passages, the sound of gunfire spreading, making her sick to her stomach. These were her people, dying all around her.

   Only a single guard lingered at the entrance to the communications suite, raising his rifle to cover the group, looking nervously from one to another. Mallory locked eyes with him, stepping forward with her pistol in her hand.

   “You can't kill us all,” she said. “So go ahead and get it over with. One of my people will finish you.”

   He shook his head, glancing across at the nearest wall monitor, then retreated back up the corridor, not taking his eyes from them before disappearing around a corner. Mallory frowned, looking after him, then glanced back at Finch.

   “What the hell?” he asked. “He had us cold, ma'am.”

   “Set guards,” she ordered. “The rest of you, with me.” Tapping a control, she stepped into the room, Hansen sitting at the console with a pair of Blake's technicians flanking her, no other guards present. Without waiting for orders, Finch raced in, covering the room with his pistol, while one of his team took Hansen's revolver.

   “How d
id you get in here?” she asked.

   “I guess whoever Blake left didn't want to die for you,” she replied. “Clear the console.”

   Looking at the group, she said, “Mallory and Corwin are traitors, selling out the Confederation to alien powers that will destroy us all. Return them to their quarters, and all of this will be forgotten.”

   Finch's eyes widened, and he raised his gun to point between her eyes, replying, “How many of us are going to die here, Lieutenant? How much was your ticket out of here worth?”

   Rising to her feet, she said, “You aren't going to shoot me, Finch, so why don't you drop that pistol and give yourself up now.”

   For a moment, Finch paused, all eyes looking at him, but from the corridor, a trio of shots rang out, and Hansen dropped to the ground, shock spreading across her face, as Corwin fell forward, blood rushing from his chest. Outside, footsteps raced, and stepping over her dying friend, Mallory jumped out to meet the new foe, shooting one of the approaching troopers in the side, the others stumbling back as Finch joined her, adding his firepower to hers.

   Corwin looked up at her, gasping for breath, and she knelt by his side, tears forming in her eyes. A smile started to spread across his face as he clutched his chest, one of the technicians pulling down a medical kit in a futile attempt to save him.

   “Guess I won't be needing that transfer,” he said, blood tricking down the side of his mouth. “It's fine, Kat. I knew what I was doing. This isn't your fault.”

   “Damn it, Frank, I...”

   “Just tell Naromi I love her. Tell her.” He clutched at her sleeve, repeating, “Tell her.”

   “I will.”

   “Good,” he said, choking his last breath, before settling back on the ground, finally still. She reached over, sliding his eyes shut with her palm, then stepped over to the wounded Hansen, cowering in a corner, her pistol in hand.