Legacy Fleet: The Complete Trilogy

by Nick Webb

  “Look around you. Look at your comrades. They will become your best friends. You will suffer with them. Sweat and bleed with them. Many of you will die with them. They will have your back and you will have theirs. I know most of you are new, and most of you have been drafted. You come from all walks of life. Your parents are rich and poor, politicians and professors, construction workers and overachievers, deadbeats and prisoners, CEOs, bankers, and crack whores—we’ve got it all. But your background does not matter. All that matters is that you will fight to survive. You will fight for freedom—”

  He glanced over at Proctor, who was beaming at him. “You will fight for your friends, because at the end of the day … what the hell do any of us have but that? Captains, lock nav computers with Warrior. We leave in one minute. Granger out.”

  The bridge erupted in brief applause before Granger waved an arm. “Knock it off. Proctor?” His XO had come up to his side.

  She grinned a lopsided smile. “A bit longer than your usual taste, sir.”

  “Extraordinary times call for extraordinarily long speeches.” He glanced down at his watch. “What was that, nearly two minutes?”

  “We’ll make a politician out of you yet.”

  He held his chest. “That was uncalled for, Shelby. Commander Rayna Scott, how are my engines?”

  “Purring like kittens, Cap’n,” came Scott’s voice through the comm.

  “Thank you, Commander. Ensign Prince, are the fleet nav computers all linked?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Then take us out.”

  A moment later, he felt the barely perceptible lurch of the q-jump, and a minute after that, the second. Then the third. On and on for hours they jumped, a tenth of a light year at a time, each shift producing a small but noticeable shift in the star pattern on the screen. As they passed near Earth, New Dublin and several other stars merged into the familiar big dipper, but soon skewed apart.

  They moved steadily toward Polaris. Granger imagined he was a sea captain of old, using the old star to guide his old ship, navigating unfamiliar waters by the familiar, friendly light of an old friend.

  But these waters would not be friendly. In fact, Polaris’s own light was now suspect. Did that system harbor the Swarm? Did their mortal enemy originate from the steady, trusted light of the north?

  Nonsense, he knew. The scouts had reported the Polaris System itself barren. But hundreds of other stars systems surrounded it, any number of which could house their enemy. The first they would investigate was Epsilon Garibaldi, an unremarkable red dwarf star that nonetheless had a small planet that the scouts reported bore suspicious signs of activity—both electromagnetic and meta-space signatures.

  “Two more q-jumps, sir,” said Ensign Prince.

  Granger nodded. He turned to Proctor. “So? Epsilon Garibaldi. What do you think we’ll find?”

  Proctor shrugged. “Who knows? This is right on the edge of the sphere of Swarm dominated space I studied for my Ph.D. I doubt it’s their homeworld, and the signals the scouts detected could very well be from an unreported Russian colony. Hell, it could even be a smuggler colony for all we know—there must be dozens of those out here.”

  “True. But we’ve got to start somewhere. May as well start with something that’ll be a good initial test for our green fleet. Don’t shock them all at once with the battle of their lives over the Swarm homeworld.”

  Proctor nodded. “True. There was little evidence that this was any sort of Swarm hub. It will be interesting, though, certainly.”

  “Last q-jump,” noted Ensign Prince.

  Granger pointed at the screen, zeroing in on the weak, red sun at the center—Epsilon Garibaldi. “Go ahead, Mr. Prince.”

  The view shifted. The small red dot was replaced by a large, greenish planet with a blue-tinged atmosphere.

  And about a dozen Swarm carriers waiting for them.

  Scores of green beams lanced out and smashed into the fleet, the Warrior included.

  “Shit,” Granger muttered. “All hands, battle stations!”

  Chapter 27

  Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  The ship lurched as multiple anti-matter beams slammed into the bow.

  “Hull breach, decks fourteen and fifteen, forward section,” yelled an operations officer.

  “The other cruisers in Beta Wing are getting pounded, sir,” said Lieutenant Diaz.

  Granger swore again. “Capacitor bank status?” He knew the Warrior was the slowest ship to recharge the cap banks that powered the q-jump drive. If they could get away now they might avoid a disaster.

  “Thirty seconds until full charge, sir.”

  “Sir, we just lost the ISS Davenport and the Wyoming.” Lieutenant Diaz pointed up at the screen. Granger turned and watched the aftermath of the two explosions—the shells of the two ships boiled with the streaming debris and escaping atmosphere before secondary explosions erupted down their lengths. In the background the waiting Swarm carriers bombarded the other thirty ships of Beta Wing with anti-matter beam fire. Multiple green columns pierced clean through the ship nearest the Warrior.

  “There goes the ISS Alberta,” said Proctor, now standing next to him. “Capacitor banks charged, sir.”

  Three ships already gone. And they’d only been there a minute. Getting caught with your pants down is a bitch.

  Granger grit his teeth and pounded his armrest. “No. We’re holding our ground. Commander Pierce, launch all fighter squads. Beta Wing, Gamma Wing, and Alpha Wing captains, launch all fighters. Directly engage the carriers.”

  A smattering of replies confirmed through the comm, and he glanced at Proctor. “Take Sigma and Omega Wings. Execute maneuver Granger Three.”

  She nodded and retreated to the XO’s station, yelling out instructions to the captains of the two wings of cruisers. Granger returned his attention to the battle. “Beta, Gamma, and Alpha, divide and conquer. My tactical crew will divvy you up, stayed tuned for assignments. Five cruisers per Swarm carrier. Direct all fire toward their main fighter bays and neutralize their fighter capabilities, then focus on weapons.”

  He strode over to the annex he had added to the tactical station, a small crew of tactical officers who would coordinate battle maneuvers with the fleet. “Warrior will lead Alpha wing against these four carriers,” he indicated the enemy ship grouped together on the tactical readout. “Make assignments for the other wings. Move.”

  Granger turned to watch the viewscreen. Thousands of IDF fighters swarmed out of their bays and converged on the enemy carriers, which in turn belched out thousands of fighters of their own. Damn. This was going to be a rough fight. So much for breaking in his green fleet gently.

  The Warrior shot toward its target and began pelting the Swarm carrier with a barrage of mag rail fire. Alpha Wing followed on its tail, likewise peppering the first target with high velocity slugs. When the first gaping hole opened up he signaled to tactical. “Open fire with lasers. Boil ‘em. Signal to Alpha Wing to do the same.”

  The Warrior rumbled. Explosions sounded in the distance as the Swarm vessels pounded them with devastating anti-matter beams, which cut deep gouges in the hull and occasionally blasted off a mag rail or laser turret.

  These ships knew we were coming, dammit. Granger watched in dismay as one Alpha Wing cruiser, then another, caught well-placed green beams on their undersides, piercing their power plants and initiating massive explosions that engulfed the ships. Two more down of his thirty. Another one of their carriers was belching debris and fire, and moments later it, too, exploded.

  “Proctor, status of maneuver Granger Three?”

  The XO glanced up from her station. “Sigma and Gamma Wings have entered high velocity orbits. Sixty ships spread out in a single-file line, accelerating around the planet toward our position.”

  “ETA?”

  “Five minutes.”

  Granger nodded. It was risky, and they might not
even last that long, and if the Swarm moved or changed orbits then the effort was wasted. But if not, they’d never see it coming.

  He sat back down in the captain’s chair. “Good. Let’s dig in and give ‘em hell for a few minutes before they get here.”

  Chapter 28

  Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System

  High Orbit

  “Pull up pull up PULL UP!” Spacechamp’s voice shrieked in his ear. Explosions coursed through the anti-matter turret on the Swarm carrier filling his front viewport, but the damn thing was still firing.

  And a cloud of Swarm fighters was raking him with vicious gunfire. Multiple holes in his fuselage spewed gas—he’d lost atmospheric pressure several minutes ago.

  “Almost….”

  He looped around the turret again, unleashing a storm of gunfire, and finally sending off one last torpedo which caught the lurching cannon in the side and demolished it in a cloud of debris. Finally, the thing’s green beam vanished as its base exploded, and Ballsy peeled away with a millisecond to spare as the wreckage spewed outward toward him.

  “Ballsy!”

  He swerved again, dodging more wreckage flying out from the hole where the turret had been, and more explosions behind him made him grin with satisfaction as he saw the debris collide with half a dozen bogeys on his tail.

  “Holy sh—” Spacechamp murmured in his ear.

  Fodder laughed. “What’s the matter, Spacechamp, ain’t you ever seen someone with a death wish before?”

  She swore again. “Not like Ballsy just there. Think you need a new call sign, bud. How about … uh … Stupidsy?”

  Volz groaned. “Spacechamp, that’s terrible. Just terrible. I expect better out of you.”

  “Ok,” she went on—and he heard the smirk enter her voice—“how about Shit-for-brains?”

  “That’ll do. Watch your left flank!” He pulled hard on his controls to come to her aid, but he needn’t have bothered—Pew Pew swooped in out of nowhere and blasted the tailing bogey in a storm of fire. “Pew Pew to the rescue. Again. Where the hell do you come from, Pew Pew?”

  “I am the wind,” the space jock deadpanned drily.

  Alarm sirens blasted over their comms, and Ballsy swore as he realized what it meant.

  Singularities.

  Lots of them.

  Chapter 29

  North American Airspace, Earth

  Vice President’s Shuttle

  Once again, Isaacson found himself in a shuttle, blasting out over the atmosphere, this time, toward Wyoming. Once again, Conner’s knuckles were white as he gripped his armrests.

  “Find me any coffee?” Isaacson asked, trying to distract the kid.

  With his eyes still closed, Conner nodded.

  “Good. What kind?”

  “Half-Columbian, half-Indonesian. Very sweet. Smooth. And hot.”

  Isaacson chuckled. The kid was either very good at double-entendre banter, or he was going to have a very boring, caffeinated evening.

  He glanced out the window. Far below he could see the plains begin to fall away, replaced by the rugged landscape of the mountain west. A white blanket covered the lower hills and the taller, jagged peaks stuck out dramatically. The engine noise changed subtly. Good—they were landing.

  Hal Levin poked his head up from the seat in front of them. “Sir, just received a message from Ambassador Volodin.”

  “What is it?”

  “A report on the blast that took out the embassy ground car.”

  Isaacson snatched the pad and read.

  The words leapt out at him like a blaring, flashing sign.

  Anti-matter.

  He tapped his comm card, touching a panel that would initiate a call to the ambassador. Moments later, the man’s face appeared on the card.

  “You got my note, Eamon?”

  “Anti-matter? Wasn’t that blast a little small for anti-matter?”

  Volodin shrugged. “You only need a little bit. In this case, a nanogram, judging from the gamma-ray flux the intelligence service detected. But whether it’s a nanogram of anti-matter or a kilogram of C-4, the blast will be the same. Only in anti-matter’s case, it was certainly not looked for. Very difficult to find a properly designed anti-matter bomb.”

  “And how would you know that?” demanded Isaacson.

  “That’s what our intelligence reports tell me, anyway. There is only one manufacturer of anti-matter devices, and it is not in the Russian Confederation. Gotta go. Talk later.” Volodin’s faced blinked out.

  Interesting. Only one manufacturer of anti-matter devices in the entire world. In all the settled worlds.

  “Sir, another message,” said Levin, popping over the seat again. “It’s from the intern office, Eamon.”

  “The intern office?” Isaacson glanced at Conner, who had suddenly opened his eyes.

  Levin handed him the pad, and Isaacson read.

  Shit. Why now?

  He turned to Conner, whose face was still white and green from the flight. “Son, I’m so sorry. Your … your brother just died.”

  Chapter 30

  Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System

  High Orbit

  A singularity flared as an osmium brick flew into it and disappeared. Good. Four down, one to go.

  “Fodder, get in there with your brick! Spacechamp, help me back him up!” Ballsy tailed his squadmate, picking off a few bogeys that had strayed too close.

  Pew Pew had already launched his, but enemy fighters had swarmed him and knocked the brick off-course, nearly destroying Pew Pew’s fighter. As it was, he’d managed to stabilize his craft, but was just drifting motionless among the debris, too battered to move.

  Pierce’s voice blared over his comm set. “All hands, ready for Maneuver Granger Three.”

  “Sir, we’ve still got a singularity out here….” Ballsy glanced at his sensor board, and breathed harder when he saw a new singularity contact. “Make that two.”

  Pierce hesitated. Ballsy knew the calculus that was running through the CAG’s brain—keep the fighters engaged with the singularities and risk getting hit by Maneuver Granger Three, or pull back and risk letting one of the singularities launch toward the Warrior.

  Ballsy shook his head—the decision was an obvious choice to him. The good of the many outweighed the good of the stupid. And he felt particularly stupid that day.

  “We’re going in,” he said.

  Pierce confirmed. “Get in and get out, Ballsy.”

  He checked the status of a rarely-used piece of equipment on the tail of his fighter. Operational. Good—if this didn’t work they were screwed.

  “Fodder, make your run. Spacechamp, you’re going solo on his tail. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “Where the hell are you—” she began, but he’d already peeled away toward the other singularity pulsing nearby. The debris field stretched between him and the miniature black hole, but that only made his job slightly easier.

  He set his sights on a particularly large piece of debris, roughly double the size of his own fighter. As it loomed large in his view port he readied the equipment. He’d never used a tow cable before, at least, not outside of standard pilot’s training, and certainly not in the heat of battle, but there was nothing for it. All the other osmium bricks had either been knocked off course or were too far away. It was up to him and his tow cable.

  His fighter blasted past the chuck of debris—he recognized it as a small section of one of the light cruisers they’d lost a few minutes ago—and pressed the launch button. The cable shot out behind him, and with a swell of relief he saw it attach to the steaming piece of hull.

  He lurched forward against his restraint as the fighter pulled the line taut, but it, and the connection to the debris, held.

  Now for the hard part.

  He pulled with his fighter, and the debris accelerated along with him. And like a piece of string luring in a cat, he seemed to catch the attention of a handful of en
emy bogeys flying nearby. They descended on him.

  “Dammit,” he breathed, and looped around as he dodged the enemy fire. His job just went from stupid to impossible. The debris swung around with him, and, serendipitously, yanked him out of the way with its momentum just as a Swarm fighter flew past with its guns blazing. All the shots missed. “Luck is for the stupid, I guess,” he mumbled, and pushed the accelerator forward.

  Very close now.

  He dodged again to veer away from another bogey, then finessed the fighter into an angle that he prayed would send the piece of debris plunging into the singularity.

  He pressed the button to release the cable.

  It didn’t detach.

  Chapter 31

  Epsilon Garibaldi Four, Epsilon Garibaldi System

  Bridge, ISS Warrior

  “Two minutes until maneuver Granger Three,” announced Proctor.

  Nearly there, thought Granger. Alpha Wing had lost two more cruisers, and the other two wings had lost their share as well, but they’d managed to destroy four of the twelve carriers.

  “Captain Connelly, move the Eddington to starboard—you’re too exposed.” Granger traced the lines on his tactical screen. Damn—the Farragut was getting flanked by two carriers. “Captain Verish, pull down hard toward the atmosphere. Jefferson and Wallace move to support.”

  The battered Farragut started dropping down, even as it began belching fire from its top. Ignoring the cover fire provided by the Jefferson and Wallace, the two Swarm carriers continued piercing the Farragut with anti-matter beams until finally it flared into a blinding explosion.

  Granger frowned and shook his head. One more down. And Verish was a good captain. One of the best. A glance at his watch told him it was time. “All ships. Prepare for maneuver Granger Three. Funnel these bastards into a group—stay on the outskirts. All fighters, pull clear until Sigma and Gamma wings pass.”