by John Bowers
"Down their throats, Tommy! Don't deviate!"
She shifted in her seat, blood racing. This was much better! They'd given up on the transports. She could handle them face-to-face.
But her wingman opened fire, lighting up one of the Sirians with a spectacular display of laser against his shields. Two more Triple One fighters did the same to the other one, and the Sirians turned again, sliding off to her right at an oblique tangent, trying to escape the lasers that would wear down their shield generators if they continued to hit.
Onja sank back in her hydrocushion, panting with relief.
"Let 'em go, Tommy! Stick by the transports!"
Another squadron arrived and joined the fight, picking off some the destroyers had missed, but some thirty Sirian fighters survived the attack, pulled a slingshot maneuver against the Vegan atmosphere, and rebounded toward deep space. Moments later they disappeared into hyperspace.
"Where the hell did they come from?" Tommy asked.
"Looks like the Sirians have brought in a carrier," Onja suggested. "They're lying in wait a few light minutes from here. We can expect more attacks before long, unless someone can take them out."
They stuck by the transports for several minutes, but two more squadrons arrived, fresh off their carriers, and Bush ordered the Triple One home.
"Triple One, Fighter Queen. Good job, people. Return to base."
UFF Bush was several thousand miles behind them. It would take nearly an hour to circle the planet and catch up to her, or they could reverse course and be there in twenty minutes. Onja opted for the latter. Tommy began the slow, difficult process of turning a fighter traveling at several thousand knots, the squadron following. He'd just completed the turn when …
"Attent! Enemy warheads inbound!"
The coordinates followed, and again they came from out in space. ETA was less than a minute; the targets were the transports. Onja's heart sank. There was no way to stop all the torpedoes in the time available. But they had to try.
"Triple One, Fighter Queen! Target inbound torps and give 'em all you've got! Fire at will!"
Targeting individual torpedoes was difficult at best, even for the artificial intelligence; some torpedoes carried steering jets that enabled them to jink erratically, even as they pursued a direct course. But the seventeen fighters of ZF-111 poured a stream of laser and cannon fire into the path of the warheads, and eight or nine detonated. Only a handful remained, closing fast on the transports.
"Can we get in front of them, Tommy?" Onja demanded.
"We can try."
Tommy rotated and fired rockets to angle in the direction of the torpedoes, but before he could intercept, the first three weapons hit the transports with a brilliant nuclear light. Onja jerked in pain as her optics magnified the flash. As she clawed at her eyes, she heard radiation sensors shrilling, and realized at least one of the torpedoes had carried an EMP warhead. They were designed only to destroy the shields, not the ship.
"The transports are naked, Major!" Tommy reported. "Three of them have lost shields." The PulsarFighter, designed to convert EMP energy to shield energy, was still shielded.
"I can't see anything, Tommy! How many torps are still coming?"
"Only one."
"Get in front of it! We have to take it on our shields."
"Major? Are you serious?"
"If it's EMP it won't hurt us. If it's a standard warhead, we can survive it. Get in front of it!"
Onja's vision slowly cleared, though spots still danced across her retina. Her breath came in heavy gasps as Tommy poured on rocket power, and her weight multiplied under the extra G's. She grabbed the overhead bar and held on, praying they could save whichever transport the torpedo had targeted — and praying she hadn't overestimated their chances of survival.
The impact slammed her cruelly against the side of the turret, although her harness spared her its full violence. Her ears rang, and for a moment she was unable to catch a breath. Her headset exploded with voices, SpectraWav transmissions from her squadron, but she was unable to reply.
"Major? Major! You okay back there?" Tommy's voice sounded guttural, as if he were strangling on his own spit.
The Fighter Queen Saga
The Fighter King
The Sword of Sophia
A Vow to Sophia
Star Marine
The Fighter Queen
The Complete Fighter Queen saga
Other Great Science Fiction and Fantasy
Book of Books
Queen Mab Courtesy
That Which is Human
The Complete Alpha Dreamer
BrownBird’s Luck
Commodore Farmer
Joseph Lexxus and the Drug Runners of Altair
Available from
AKW Books
Table of Contents
Prolog
Book One: Homecoming
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Book Two: Occupation
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Book Three: The Sword of Sophia
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilog
Thank You
About the Author
Other books in the exciting Fighter Queen Saga
