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Operation Chimera

Page 17

by Tony Healey


  “Good for them,” Driscoll said. “Any word from Munitions, Commander?”

  Robin Teague stepped away from the communications station, where Ensign Blair had just checked in with both Munitions and Engineering. “Everything is set, sir.”

  “Draxx are opening fire,” Brooke said.

  “Everybody, brace for impact,” Driscoll said. The Draxx projectiles punched, hammered and beat the top of the Manhattan.

  Bet those reptiles think I’m crazy, too, giving them such an easy target.

  The Manhattan rocked under the barrage, smoke rising from a science station next to the helm. Ensign Cochrane was the first there with a fire extinguisher, dousing it to stop a full-fledged fire from breaking out. The atmospheric filters whined to life, sucking up the acrid smell of burning plastic and fried circuit boards. An emergency klaxon wailed around them.

  “Ship defenses compromised.” Frank’s sudden blurt made Driscoll jump. “Dorsal hull plating strength reduced to twenty-one percent.”

  “Shut that bloody thing off!” Driscoll yelled.

  “The alarm or the computer?” Teague shouted back.

  Captain Driscoll paused, let the question hang in the air for a second, then said, “Both, I guess.”

  irect hits from bombers,” Teague said. “They’re swinging about for another pass at them.”

  “Enemy vessels targeting bombers,” Brooke reported.

  “Supply them with cover fire,” Driscoll ordered.

  “Aye,” Brooke said.

  The Manhattan came to life once more, Brooke coordinating the action of her weapons to buy the bombers some time for another run.

  “They’re switching to target us again,” Brooke said.

  Driscoll grinned absurdly.

  Excellent.

  Munitions Chief Petty Officer 3 Lucy Armitage oversaw the handballing of warheads to the chutes. It still seemed a barmy thing to ask, to stuff powerful explosives in amongst the rubbish…

  “Last one?” she asked.

  Airman Lesley watched the last one go, carried out by two officers. “Yes, Chief. It’s rather peculiar, in my opinion.”

  “I’ve never seen it tried, that’s for sure,” Armitage said with a smirk.

  At such short notice, they’d not had a chance to load the warheads onto anti-grav platforms. It had become a case of manually transferring them from the munitions section.

  But her people had gotten the job done.

  “Airman, get up there for me and just make sure they’re setting them as I said. The last thing we need is a slip-up now.”

  “Aye,” Lesley said and followed the last warhead on its way to the garbage chutes.

  There was silence on the bridge. No alarms, no klaxons, just the crew waiting patiently for what was to come―their imminent destruction, or an intrepid show of competence on the part of their Captain.

  The Draxx had paused in their bombardment of the Manhattan.

  “At last, we get some quiet,” Driscoll said. “Now, Ensign Blair. Tell Munitions to take out the trash.”

  “Aye,” she said and relayed the message.

  Driscoll faced forward. “S’lestra, let Engineering know we need to go dark. Shut it down. We need to play dead.”

  “Yesss, sssir.”

  He had Lieutenant Hardy change the perspective of the viewscreen to show the top of the Manhattan, looking back toward the engines. Six holes opened along the hull, where the Draxx weapons had left black streaks. Out of the chutes, a steady stream of garbage and waste sprayed into space―in the path of both Draxx ships.

  Everything went dark, light replaced by minimal illumination a moment later as the reserves kicked in to power the bridge and other essential systems. Driscoll may have felt rusty about the exact location of certain things on the Manhattan, but one thing he was certain of was that she functioned like every other Union vessel. He knew what she was capable of, and in the event of a shutdown, the reserves would provide power to certain systems and functions.

  The bridge. Engines. Hull plating…

  Weapons.

  “We are now adrift,” Lieutenant Hardy said. “Fifteen percent spin along our horizontal axis.”

  “Nicely done. A big ol’ dead fish. Hardy, roll us over. Maneuvering jets only. Weapons, I want every available ounce of reserve power shifted to the hull plating on the Manhattan’s belly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brooke said as Hardy induced enough spin to roll the ship. Driscoll imagined a gigantic whale turning beneath the surface of the water, exposing its underbelly to the elements. “Done.”

  “Location of the trash we just dumped in their direction?” Driscoll asked.

  Lieutenant-Commander S’lestra checked. “Tracking. Ssstarting to ssstrike their hull now, sssir.”

  “Change viewscreen to show the enemy,” Driscoll said.

  Hardy did as he was told. Above them, the two Draxx had crossed paths, shifting positions. Driscoll knew why they’d not continued to fire. They thought the Manhattan was dead in the water. He knew the Draxx; knew they would rather board her and take them prisoner. Raid the stores and data banks. Perhaps commandeer the ship itself. Any or all of that. The garbage colliding harmlessly against their hulls right now was a mere annoyance.

  He doubted they had questioned why the ship’s waste had been dumped at that specific moment.

  They’re cold blooded reptiles, after all. They can’t improvise. They follow their instincts, right to the grave.

  “Mister Brooke, please detonate the garbage,” the Captain said calmly. He watched the viewscreen, as if he were observing a passing stellar nursery.

  Everyone held their breath as Brooke tapped a few buttons, hesitated for a split second, and pushed the big one on the side. The viewscreen shimmered with pulses, jade clouds of energy rippled through the trash. The Draxx capital ship to the right was blown sideward by two of the missiles exploding, but remained very much in one piece.

  The ship on the left was hit by four of the missiles. The bridge crew shielded their eyes as it burst apart, hot as a sun. A shockwave of plasma and burning hull debris buffeted the Manhattan, fizzling against the charged hull plating.

  In the glare of its hellish light, Captain Driscoll grinned from ear to ear.

  “Helm, bring us about,” he ordered. “Lieutenant-Commander S’lestra, tell the Chief he can fire her up again. I want repair teams to attend impacted areas.”

  “Aye.”

  The Manhattan veered away from the rapidly expanding globe of energy that had moments before been a Draxx capital ship.

  “Weapons, locate that third ship,” Driscoll ordered, unrelenting.

  ichael squinted at a sudden bright light. An orb of white and yellow spread outward from a distant point, preceded by a horizontal ring of plasma. Against the expanding field, the Manhattan stood out in silhouette. Green Wing stared in momentary awe at the widening nova. The energy sphere collapsed into itself, leaving the ring to stretch outward to its oblivion.

  Emma’s hesitant voice broke the silence. “Was that a star dying?”

  “That, my dear Sylph, is what it really looks like when a capital ship’s reactor goes off,” said Liam. “Not quite the same as the sim graphics, is it?”

  She looked to her right, at the Manta thirty meters off her starboard wing. “But you’re just out of the academy.”

  “You don’t have to be a fighter pilot to witness a ship explode. I was on an evacuation shuttle from Thebes-IV, the Draxx… well, you can imagine. They torpedoed the hospital ship before we got to it. Let’s just say I was close enough to get a real good look.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Michael.

  “Don’t be.” The sound of Liam tapping his finger on the console filled a few seconds of silence. “I didn’t have family there or anything, just co-workers. That’s when I decided to join the Fleet.”

  The energy pulse reached Green Wing, disrupting their screens for a fraction of a second with static.

  “Mayday, Mayda
y, this is Piranha Squadron. Mole’s been hit, his ship’s not responding, there’s Draxx everywhere.”

  Emma’s grip tightened on the flight sticks. “Dragon, that’s my roommate, Caiomhe. I… just met her.”

  “Tell’s already shot up, we’ve been roaming around for hours…”

  Michael gripped the flight stick tighter. “We haven’t been out here any longer than the rest of the pilots, Hunter.”

  The CCS relayed the distress call, a bright yellow circle blinked around the four bombers in Piranha Squadron. Above the second in the formation, a red flashing 67% called attention to significant damage.

  “Operations, this is Green Wing, we have visual on the Manhattan. We are moving to assist Piranha.”

  “Copy that, Green. Make it quick, we’re getting out of here.”

  “Any problem with that, Hunter?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’ll get on the turret,” said Keg with a glum resignation. If his arms had been long enough to reach, they would have dragged along the ground.

  “What the heck is wrong with you now?” asked Liam.

  “All that work to get back to the Manhattan and we’re going to die before we can dock.”

  “Keg? Do me a favor and fly as fast as you can into the wall.”

  The droid shrugged, seeing no harm in following the order.

  Clank.

  He wobbled away from the wall, the LEDs on his ‘face’ scrambled into a wide-eyed berserker’s smile. “Awright, More Draxx to kill. Let’s do this, people!” screamed Keg over the comm.

  Michael throttled up. “Weapons free, weapons free. Fire at will. Break formation at eight thousand meters. Sylph, you’re with me. Zavex, Hunter, pair off. Liam, hang back here and do what you do best.”

  Liam slowed, letting the rest of the formation slide around and over him. The Manta’s advanced targeting system already identified twenty-three separate targets surrounding Piranha Squadron.

  “Keg, let’s throw some spears.”

  “Awesome,” roared the droid, who sang as he slapped at the console.

  One by one, small green diamonds raced across the HUD, each guided by Liam or Keg to an identified Draxx fighter harassing the heavy bombers. When eighteen of them had been locked, Liam smashed his fist on the fire button with a loud cowboy whoop.

  “Incoming!”

  The Manta’s silhouette vanished behind a brilliant starburst of energy contrails as eighteen AFM-24 “Pilum” missiles, its entire loadout, launched simultaneously. The cloud of death expanded as it streaked around the other fighters in Green Wing, and clustered in a tight formation. As the missiles neared their targets, they fanned out in a graceful flowery arc and chased individual ships.

  Most of the Draxx had been so focused on the scent of blood, a crippled bomber, that they failed to notice the extreme long-range launch. Fourteen missiles found their mark, surrounding the jet-black torpedo carriers with a glittering veil of debris.

  “That was expensive,” said Michael.

  Liam wore an idiot grin. “Yeah… but that was cool.”

  “Die, reptilian scumbags!” roared Keg

  Green pulse lasers streaked in all directions from the ACS-42 “Broadsword” bombers. The ships made even the Manta seem small. Long and flat, with a tiny hint of a wing near the back just in front of a single massive engine, their profile (when viewed from above) was a perfect fit for their designation. These ships could not go into atmospheric flight like the fighters of Green Wing; they were intended for space duty only. Each bomber had four turrets, one at the left and right edge near the wing, one in the center of the belly, and one on the top, just behind the bridge at the tip of the nose. Eight grooves along the underbelly indicated where anti-capital-ship torpedoes had been.

  The bombers turned toward the approaching Green Wing, the chaos of Liam’s missile barrage afforded them a moment of peace. Caiomhe’s Broadsword swerved after a passing Monitor, one that the missile strike had damaged but failed to destroy. A stream of obscenities trailed over the comm from the little redhead as she tried to make the enormous bomber turn fast enough to track the Draxx fighter limping across her field of view.

  Two centerline mass-driver cannons fired; the first volley missed; a whorl of blue and white stretched off into space. Caiomhe screamed more obscenities, shooting six more times. The final barrage clipped the rear end of the monitor. A slug half the size of the Mosquito fighter tore off the four engine vent ports and sent the ship into a sideways spin. The G-forces alone from the sudden shift would have been enough to kill the pilot. After a few seconds, the Draxx ship broke up.

  “Hah. Take that you slimy piece of mung.”

  Like wolves after a herd, three more Monitors closed in on the Broadsword that strayed from the group. They approached in a pyramid formation, the lead fighter unleashing blast after blast from its main guns. Caiomhe howled, more with anger than fear, as a particle beam burned a scar across the top of her ship. The thick armor held. Her turrets focused on the attackers, shaving one off the side.

  “Come on, you lizard bastards, is that all you got?”

  “Razor, what the hell are you doing?” The voice belonged to “Mole”, the commander of Piranha Squadron.

  “Killing lizards, commander.”

  “Regroup immediately,” said Mole. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Caiomhe grumbled like a scolded tween sent to her room.

  Neutron beams streaked in from too far away for Piranha wing to see the source, ending with a bloom of energy where a Draxx fighter died.

  Emma flew straight at the lead Monitor, walking pulse lasers up its nose and over its canopy. Untouched by the laser energy, the clear bubble misted red as the Draxx pilot vaporized inside. Only by virtue of being within twenty meters of her target was such a precise shot possible. She pulled up at the last second, rocketing between the two Monitors at the back of their delta formation. The lead ship drifted off into space.

  Michael took advantage of the disorientation Emma’s kamikaze charge caused. The right side Monitor turned after her while the other remained focused on the easier target, the Broadsword. Holding down both triggers, Michael strained his ship’s capacitors as particle beam and wingtip-mounted pulse lasers all went off at once. The Draxx ship vanished in a brilliant flash. Emma pulled back, going vertical to the Broadsword.

  “Aaaah!” Emma screamed as she came head-on with a large chunk of former Draxx capital ship tumbling in her direction. She twisted her throttle control, adding a burst of downthrust that kicked the tail end of her fighter up and let her swerve through a hole in the rotating slab.

  The pursuing Monitor was not small enough to fit, and not nimble enough to avoid it. He tried to follow her through the hole―the impact shaved both wings off. As the Draxx fighter tumbled out of control without its maneuvering thrusters, Caiomhe’s turrets homed in on it. Green pulse laser streaks shredded through its hull, with enough energy left to continue through the wreckage into space.

  “Dammit, why can’t I get those on this thing?” Emma grumbled.

  Neutron beams peeled another Draxx ship off the bombers.

  Aaron grinned. “Because, sweetie, class four pulse lasers take more power to fire than that little toy of yours produces.”

  She scowled. “Were you born a laddish muffin or did you have to work at it?”

  “Many years of exposure to aristocracy, I fear,” said Liam. “He’s almost beyond help.”

  “Perhaps,” said Zavex, over the sound of his particle beams firing, “another near-death experience will soften him.”

  “At least the silver spoon in his mouth might reflect a laser,” Emma said.

  “She should have spent time reading technical manuals rather than doing her hair, you can’t mount G90 Starflares in a Mosquito; the power consumption is―”

  “Doing my hair?” She scoffed, speechless for seconds. “Are you bloody serious?”

  “Enough,” bellowed
Michael, rolling through the aftereffect of his particle beams on another Draxx ship. “Save it for when we aren’t getting shot at.”

  Zavex, chuckling to himself, picked a trio of Kraits off as they dodged turret fire while going after Piranha Squadron’s damaged leader. “We should be thankful these Draxx suffer so badly from target fixation.”

  Neutron beams claimed another Draxx ship. “No doubt,” said Liam. “This is easier than the sim.”

  In the distance, the two remaining Draxx capital ships continued to launch fighters. Piranha Squadron drifted ever closer to the Manhattan as Green Wing came together around them, continuing to pluck errant Draxx off them. The battle floated out of time, expanding the events of only thirty seconds into a laborious virtual hour.

  “There’s a little one on me!” howled Aaron.

  “That explains a lot,” quipped Liam.

  Neutron beams streaked around Aaron’s Glaive, but the Krait chasing him avoided them.

  “Careful, Tell, that almost got me.”

  “I’m locked, can’t get there,” yelled Michael, growling as he rolled left and dove away from a Monitor trying to line him up for a missile.

  The Draxx stayed with him, unable to fire but still on his tail.

  “Dragon, break right in three seconds,” said Zavex, engaging Michael’s pursuer.

  The Mosquito leapt up into Aaron’s rear-view, immediately behind the Krait tailing him. “Oh, bother. I forgot to read the bloody procedure manual… Oh, Aaron, be a dear and tell a helpless girl how to arm these lasers? Which button is it I’m supposed to push?”

  She did not wait for his answer, loading up the Krait’s single engine port with pulse laser fire. It popped like a firework, launching its four winglets in different directions.

  “Just because I’m minted doesn’t mean I’m a princess. That’s twice now this toy picked a lizard off your bum.” Keep taking the Mickey out of me and next time I might be too slow.

  Emma sighed. That was something she would not say. She wanted to, but she would not. No matter how much of an idiot he was to her, he was still a Terran pilot. Unlike any other unit in the Fleet, they were isolated. They only had each other and a comment like that was going too far. They had to be able to count on backup without hesitation. Even if she never intended to make good on the threat, the mere enunciation of it would make people doubt her even more.

 

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