by J.J. Mainor
Then again, none of the bridge officers had been forthcoming with procedures upon entering the system. They should have followed the same process used when relocating the settlers, but Hoskins was nervous to the point of panic. No one suggested running sensor sweeps, and it wasn’t until Park called up from the flight deck to ask if he wanted fighters deployed around the moon that it even crossed his mind there could be Vandals nearby.
* * *
“Teams Charlie and Delta, report to your fighters for deployment.”
Park’s voice across the squad bay triggered a flurry of activity as Corbitt and his fellow pilots scrambled into their suits. The flight crews joined them on the deck to hurry the preflight checks along. With Amber and one of Charlie’s pilots gone, both teams were down a member, but no one expected a fight.
This would be a routine operation. In an unsecured star system, a team or two of fighters were normally scrambled for lookout. Though unlikely, there was always the possibility of debris hidden on the opposite side of the moon in an orbit retrograde to that of the Legacy. Far more unlikely, but far more frightening was the prospect of a Vandal ship back there.
Legacy’s sensors couldn’t reach every nook of the star system, so the fighters were deployed to cover the gaps. Corbitt didn’t mind though. Any excuse to get out in his fighter was worth it. As far as he was concerned it was another opportunity to keep his flight skills sharp.
Once the flight deck cleared out and the doors opened, Corbitt lifted off and sped from Legacy in turn. Charlie Team was already off around the moon ahead of the ship, so he and his wing raced off behind. It suited him just fine as Delta Team would be the ones to fly between the moon and its parent.
Initially, he rolled the fighter so the gas giant appeared in his canopy above him. In many ways, it resembled Jupiter: a brownish world with thin bands of clouds circling the world in parallel with the equator. Unlike Jupiter, the bands were broken with far more stormy features, none of them red. Instead, circles and ovals of dark browns and blacks forced the neighboring bands of gas to arc around them.
Corbitt didn’t have a lot of time to reminisce as they reached the far side of the moon and their fellow fighters within minutes.
“This is Charlie-1, if you don’t mind, we’ll take the planet.”
“This is Delta-1. The planet is all yours. We’ll stick with the moon.”
In a way, Corbitt was disappointed watching the other team veer off for an orbit around the massive ball of gas, but he couldn’t always get the assignments he wanted. Instead, he and his team had the boring task of matching their orbital speed with that of the Legacy and holding position on the far side of the moon.
He rolled his fighter once more to put the moon overhead. It wasn’t as fascinating as the planet, but it was less tedious than empty space. The atmosphere was a hazy grayish color, absorbing some of the pale brownness of the surface. Mountain chains circled the small world north to south. A few impact sites marked the landscape, but for the most part, it appeared this rock was spared from most of the debris its parent must have attracted.
Still, with no sign of rivers or lakes, and nothing but the trace cloud in that sky, Corbitt found it less appealing as a home as than white and gray ice ball they left a day before. Yet, this was what it meant to be a fighter pilot. It wasn’t about the dogfights; it was about the chance to see the galaxy they explored. Eighty, maybe ninety percent of the crews aboard these ships never left those metal walls to see the worlds they orbited or the stars they visited. Maybe half the crew was lucky to get a glimpse through the windows and port holes while the other half hardly noticed the views outside the ship.
Even the command staff rarely took the prerogative of leaving the ship when opportunities arose. People like Petron and Sadiq were so worried with their commands that they took these varied worlds for granted. To them, it was assumed these opportunities would come again so they didn’t have to see a moon such as this one.
To Corbitt, this was what he signed up for. This moon wasn’t much to look at, but it was beautiful in its own way. Had events been different, he might have enjoyed this flight. Instead, it served to calm his anger over Earth. It helped him forget the idiocy of his captain. For a moment, this was a reminder of how insignificant Earth and its loss was to the vast plan unfolding throughout the rest of the universe. He even wished he might stay here forever and forget the bullshit back on Legacy.
Then the radio came to life in his ear.
“Anyone see Charlie Team out there?”
He glanced to his chronometer and noticed an hour had passed during his daydreams. It was outside procedure to go that long without checking in. Though it happened that communication could be hindered by the radiation given off by one of these giant balls of gas, Delta Team’s leader feared something worse.
The new Delta-4 (formerly Delta-5) left to report back to Legacy while Corbitt rolled his fighter for another glimpse at the planet. As usual, radiation messed with the fighter’s readings. He was ordered toward the world for a closer look when the radio squawked once more.
“I see them.”
Corbitt squinted trying to sharpen his view. He spied five points of light crossing into the primary star’s light.
“Charlie Team, this is Delta-1. Please respond.”
“This is Delta-2. Anyone else counting five of them?”
“Affirmative.”
“Don’t panic just yet,” the team leader warned. “It might just be a reflection. This is Delta-1 to Charlie Team. Can any of you hear me?”
But the fighters grew into focus showing this was no illusion. The realization that this was not their other team swept through the flight.
“Delta-4, this is Delta-1 can you still read me?”
“Delta-4 is already across the horizon.”
“Then this will be a surprise for those back home. As of now, I am authorizing engagement. Let’s make these bastards pay for what they did.”
Corbitt and his friends hit their accelerators, anxious for a fight. They opened fire indiscriminately, with no regard to their power levels. There was so much fury between those three ships, they only wished the enemy could take the full suffering their lasers had to offer.
When the oncoming fighters realized they had been made, they too accelerated and shifted to an erratic course. Their fire was held back until the opposing ships were closer and less likely to evade their shots. The Vandals didn’t have the raw emotion to blast from their guns. There were no comrades or countrymen to avenge. They hardly had a set of ideals or principles backing their laserlight. The EDF always considered them as nothing more than angry kids when in actuality the youngest was probably no younger than Corbitt and the two pilots on either side of his wings.
The two partners glided by each other without so much as a single strike. Delta Team’s fire let up as they circled back. With the dogfight placing the three fighters all over the field, they had to rely on the accuracy of their transmitters to avoid an accidental strike on each other. It wasn’t as if any of them cared for their own lives any more. Corbitt would gladly accept his end so long as those terrorists paid for their actions.
As the two sides continued their unending dance, a new blip appeared on the canopy. For a moment, Corbitt thought it was the Legacy broaching the horizon on the moon until he realized the signal came from the parent planet. He took a shot at the fighter he tailed before it veered off and broke his pursuit. Instead of following it, Corbitt circled around so he might get a visual on whatever triggered the blip.
“Uh, guys, this is Delta-4…I mean 3,” he stuttered, momentarily forgetting his promotion in the rotation while spying the faint outline of a Vandal cruiser breaking away from the gas ball toward their position. “Is anyone else seeing this?”
“I’m a little busy, Hopeless. What is it?
“I can see their home base.”
“You had to figure it was out he
re somewhere.”
“Yeah, but it’s headed our way. If we can’t warn Legacy, they’ll be ambushed as soon as they orbit around.”
“Petron’s a big boy,” the leader shifted into a derisive sneer. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.”
It wasn’t the Captain drawing worry, but their friends back on the ship. Still, there wasn’t much Corbitt could do about it. Even if he wanted to flee the battlefield, a pair of Vandal fighters found his tail. His immediate concern was shaking their fire and turning the tables.
* * *
Min paced about the bridge of the Fury, shouting at her crew. The window ahead glowed with the light of the dogfight.
“How did they find us?”
She shouldn’t have expected any of these young faces to provide an answer, yet she expected one nonetheless as if one of them had some magical insight into the EDF’s maneuvers.
After fleeing the destruction wrought upon the Earth, the Vandal ruling council expected retaliation. Though they were ready to defend and prepared for the resulting casualties, they were not willing to lose Dr. Hugo and that excitingly effective weapon of his.
Fury was ordered into hiding until they could discern the blowback and ensure its safety. Just as Legacy chose this uninteresting system for its lack of value, so too did Min choose it to set about on repairs and maintenance. The first wing of enemy fighters warned her to danger, and the second wing now facing her own suggested a force larger than her single ship; either a fleet, or (as she discovered when it broke the horizon of the large moon) a full carrier.
Though it outnumbered her in terms of fighters, and carried larger armaments, she much preferred to face a carrier over a pair of smaller cruisers. The carrier was a larger target and it was slower to maneuver in a dogfight. She let her own fighters deal with the odds among the smaller craft while she pushed on and through the dogfight toward that EDF prize.
Her second-in-command noticed the fury these fighters came at them with. The first wing had been caught off guard and was easy to pick off while they stumbled to comprehend the danger they had flown into. But these had too much warning. These pilots were out for blood and Evermore feared they might get it.
“In my opinion,” he advised, “we won’t take that ship without heavy casualties and great cost to ourselves. In light of the ‘cargo’ we must protect, I would advise elimination over capture.”
Min turned angrily to him, forgetting for a moment the advisor she was about to snap at. Her demeanor turned ahead of her words, knowing he wasn’t trying to challenge her command, rather he wished to offer his trusted advice. Evermore was right and she knew it. No matter how much her people could use another battle carrier in their fleet, or the spare parts it might provide, Fury’s safety was far more important.
“You are right, Colonel. Order our gunners to open fire immediately. Blast that thing into dust!”
* * *
“The Vandal ship opened fire,” the lieutenant watching their sensors called out. “Thirty seconds to impact.
Though the laser weapons approached their targets at the speed of light, there remained a delay across the vast distance. The Fury remained far enough from the moon to give Hoskins time to evade the incoming fire, but he and his crew had to act efficiently.
“Evasive maneuvers!” he called out uncertain if that was even a proper order.
His navigator turned with a derisive glance in his eyes. “Where should I go?”
“I don’t know,” the Commander stammered as if he never considered the tiny detail was on his shoulders. “Just get us out of the way!”
But the ship shuddered and reports of damage called out before the navigator could return to his controls. Another shudder unsettled the staff around, then another. The blasts came in quickly, endangering section after section before Legacy could be shifted out of Fury’s wrath.
* * *
Captain Petron shook off the ship’s pain. In the control room overlooking the squad bay, his concern was on the list from Admiral Duffy concerning the inspection items he lost points on. He had covered the items with his staff, but with the down time resulting from the broken environmental systems, he inspected the deficient departments accepting no excuses for the continued deficiencies.
Park was a little more concerned with the action outside the ship, but when he tried to turn to one of his technicians for a report, the Captain looked to him with disbelief.
“I don’t think you understand how serious these issues are,” he told the exasperated Lieutenant Commander.
“But sir, Charlie Team is missing…”
“And I intend to see them all in my office when they get back,” Petron interrupted. “Those flyboys of yours have got to learn to follow procedure when they leave this ship.”
“And what if that was an attack?”
Petron rolled his eyes as if he had been asked about sports scores. “If it is, Commander Hoskins can handle it. What I am concerned about is the condition of your flight deck. I warned you last week it needed a fresh coat of paint. Now I’m looking at Admiral Duffy’s inspection and we almost failed because it is worn down to bare metal around the fighter bays.”
Park was so dumbfounded at the misplaced priorities all he could do was stare slack-jawed at the Captain. Petron reiterated his point about nearly failing the inspection. In truth, the inspection wasn’t close to failure, but Petron was never one to let an inconvenience like facts or honesty get in the way of discipline. Nor was he one to argue with when his lies were transparent. Calling him out only earned a stronger reiteration of the lie, and it grew stronger and stronger until the exasperated officer gave up.
It proved more futile at times like this when he came off a successful inspection. Never was he held in higher esteem with the admiralty than after a passing score. Any complaints filed against him after that were met with more indifference than Petron had given them. All the documented evidence in the known universe never equaled the weight those arbitrary scores held.
It was only when the technician interrupted that Park was saved from Petron’s babblings.
“Sir, bridge reports a Vandal cruiser approaching fast.”
“Scramble the remaining fighters,” he ordered before Petron stopped him.
“Did Commander Hoskins order the fighters?”
“No sir,” the technician stuttered, fearing he would receive the Captain’s wrath.
“Captain,” Park interrupted to take the flak off his poor lackey, “we have a chance to strike back and get some revenge against those bastards. The men have been clamoring for this and I know my pilots are more than willing to go out there and face them.”
“And what happens when your pilots get themselves killed? Did you stop to think how you can replace them? You already lost two to the Futura, and you’re telling me you lost four more. What happens when we face a Vandal carrier with a full complement of manned fighters and you only have a single wing to throw at them?”
He only flustered Park further as the argument made no sense anywhere but within Petron’s own head. With all the fighters in the theater, they would present too many targets for the five Vandals to concentrate on. It would be far too easy to confuse them and overwhelm their already inferior fighting skills. And with a fourteen to five advantage (or sixteen if he listened to his shuttle and transport pilots and reassigned two of them to the unmanned birds) a few of those boys and girls would be free to annoy the Fury.
“What I’m dying to know,” Petron said, insisting on keeping the conversation about his Flight Chief and his failure to paint the flight deck as ordered, “is how you had a week to get it done and that deck remains worn.”
Park stuttered for an answer as his mind wouldn’t allow him to forget about the fighters alone outside the ship.
“I…I put in the request to maintenance, but they haven’t got around to it.”
“I’ve told you before not to wait on maintenance.
All you have to do is requisition the paint from the Quartermaster and do it yourself.”
“But we have our own responsibilities…”
“…One of which is to make sure your flight deck is properly painted and marked according to standards. I don’t want the excuses, Lieutenant.”
His choice not to use Park’s full title or give him the courtesy of referring to him as Commander was no mistake, nor was the slight lost on Park (or any of the other officers when he had done it in the past). The disrespect was meant as a reminder of how low his department head ranked beneath him. Petron always had to remind his leaders that his orders were not suggestions. Their petty little worlds and perceived priorities were insignificant compared to the larger picture, and he sure as hell was not going to end up like the former captain of the Futura because his senior staff felt his priorities were not theirs.
* * *
The Fury split the fighters to either side as it barged through their little skirmish. Delta-4, having rejoined the team, took advantage of the chaos the larger ship created and found a fix on one of the Vandal fighters.
“Die, you fucking bastard!” She squeezed the trigger almost hard enough to break it, but the shot let out regardless, striking the target sure and true. The cowardly fighter broke into a thousand pieces, giving the Legacy pilot a challenging roadblock to dodge and allowing only the most harmless of the debris to strike her own ship.
She let out a scream of victory prematurely. Revealed when the Fury moved past, two of their fighters had boxed in Delta-1. The team leader was an expert at evasion, but the opponents had been lucky. Their shots properly anticipated his movement and the laser met the cockpit when he meant to veer away from the line of fire.
“Delta-1’s been hit!”
“Keep your head, Nightstalker. You’re team leader now.”
Delta-2 fought against the growing anger trying to explode from every corner of his body. One more death wasn’t so inconsequential after losing everyone back home since it was the death of a friend and close colleague. But mourning time had to wait for later. All his emotion had to bury itself for the sake of the last four Vandal fighters.
