“At ease,” he ordered and the pilots and cybers relaxed. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Mathew Johanson, commander of Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 112, the Cowboys. For those of you for whom the news blackouts actually worked, the Shang attack destroyed all squadrons in California and near Washington DC. All regular and reserve squadrons have already been called to duty, protecting what we have left. The Cowboys have been reinstated and we are recruiting new pilots. You have not yet been assigned a squadron. I’m sure you understand your reason for being here.”
“Guinea pigs,” someone whispered under his breath.
Johanson scanned the line of recruits like he’d bitten off a particularly sour grapefruit. “I understand that many of you have expressed a preference to piloting Hellcats. The Cowboys are not a Hellcat unit. We have been assigned the first Avengers off the production line, by the supreme intelligence of the United States Congress and the personal politicking of the Senior Senator of the Great Republic of Texas. Oorah.” Johanson waited until he received a ragged series of Oorahs before continuing. “We are looking for volunteers to fly in this revitalized unit. Please note that my superiors have informed me that if we do not get enough volunteers, there will be voluntolds. Congress has spent a crapload of money building the Avengers and they want them in space. Understood?” The ragged chorus of Oorahs was even more ragged this time. “Now that we understand each other, Congress has sent us an expert on the Avenger to brief us on its abilities.”
Jack groaned at the last statement. The rest of the pilots around him groaned as well, realizing with him that they were about to get a speech from a political animal. Johanson waved a man forward and the pilots groaned again. Not a political animal. It was worse. It was an egghead, and it wielded one of the weapons of their trade like a sword. A laser pointer.
“I am Doctor Kevin Parrish, from the Office of Naval Research. Pilots, please refer to your pads for more information. Cybers, you should be getting the datadump now.”
Jack glanced down at the pad on his chair arm and his eyes narrowed. There were lies, damned lies, and statistics, and he trusted them all equally. He did not pick up the pad.
“This is the Grumman F-12 Avenger,” Parrish said with a wicked slash of his laser point across the fighter. He then settled it down by pointing at one of the fighter’s four main engines, on the wings. “These are gigawatt-class fusion torch drives, the most powerful ever built into a fighter. They can generate right angle maneuvering while in combat, making the Avenger very hard to hit.” He aimed the pointer at the main fuselage, behind the cockpit. “The gravity drive here can accelerate from zero to one percent of light speed in five point three seconds without losing gravity wave cohesion.” The laser point slashed down the long nose. “And using the nose as a focus, the drive can also translate into hyperspace on its own. No capital ship required.”
At that, the pilots and cybers alike shifted around in surprise. Jack frowned. Fighters were too small to enter hyperspace. He scanned the exaggerated nose, seeing the power couplings running up and down it, and began to nod. With enough energy, it just might be able to do it. He glanced at Betty and she returned his gaze, mulling something over in her mind, before looking back to the fighter.
The laser pointer moved to the turret under the fighter’s nose. “She carries a turret with four laser emitters, that can fire in all directions in both anti-ship and anti-missile modes, allowing her to slot into a capital ship’s anti-missile system network seamlessly. She also has two gravitic cannons designed to penetrate a deflection grid,” he continued, aiming the pointer at a large port just under the cockpit on the forward edge of the fighter’s port wing. “In squadron strength, when focusing fire, a squadron of Avengers will be able to bring down even a capital ship’s deflection grid. No missiles required,” he noted with emphasis. “For protection, she is covered with laser reflective armor and can generate a deflection grid more powerful than any other Terran fighter.”
The doctor smiled at them and brought the laser pointer down to the floor with a wicked slash. “In short, the Avenger is faster than the Hellcat, more maneuverable than the Hellcat, carries twice the firepower of a Hellcat, is harder to kill than the Hellcat, and is capable of destroying capital ships in squadron strength. This is the ultimate heavy fighter, a new generation of ships that we will use to kick the Shang’s asses across the universe,” the doctor said with what could almost have been a wicked smile, if the man had known how to make one.
Jack glanced at the other pilots to see what they thought. They seemed to think the same as him. The Avenger was too big to be a proper fighter. He couldn’t believe it could actually maneuver the way the doctor said, not with all that mass to move.
Johanson stepped up quickly. “Does anybody have any questions?”
Jack looked around at the others again before sighing. “Look, I’m certain there is a really good presentation in here,” he said with a wave towards the pad. “How many gigawatts the main reactor can dish out and all that stuff. But she’s just too big to be a proper fighter. And I don’t care what he says, a Hellcat’ll turn circles around this thing. It’s designed to kill anything smaller than a destroyer. This thing is…just a big target. How can this turkey fight a Hellcat, let alone a Shang fighter?”
“Perhaps I can answer those questions,” a calm voice said from the fighter.
Betty smiled and Jack narrowed his eyes at her. She nodded towards the fighter. Jack pursed his lips, not wanting to listen. She lowered her chin and put both hands on her hips. She was not going to take no for an answer. He sighed and turned to the fighter. “Yes?”
“Do you come from the Showme State?” the fighter asked.
“Paul Bunyan’s State actually,” Jack returned without missing a beat.
“Ah. Of course. You are familiar with tall tales then.”
Jack chuckled. “I’ve heard a few in my time.”
“Good. I will not need to explain the concept then.”
Jack smiled at the fighter’s amused tone. “I think I get it.”
“Then I assume you think my…press agent’s claims are such?”
“I am not a press agent!” the doctor shouted in indignation.
“Potato, potato,” the fighter said with a sigh. “Your presentation works well on politicians, not so well on pilots.”
Jack frowned at the interplay, still considering the fighter’s question. Something about the fighter made him realize it was waiting for him again. He smiled at it. “Yes I do, but perhaps you can show me I’m wrong,” he said, laying the challenge out for the fighter.
“Challenge excepted,” the fighter said with what sounded like a smile. “Now if you will allow me to demonstrate, I will show you why I am far better than any mere Hellcat,” the fighter finished with a verbal sneer.
“You don’t like the Hellcats?”
The fighter harrumphed. “They are too full of themselves. Stuck up jocks who think they are the best thing since the recycler.”
“Pot?” Jack asked, his eyes shifting to rest on Betty.
Betty smiled back at him. “Kettle?”
“OK. Fine. You got me,” the fighter said in annoyance. “Maybe we’re just built to know we’re the best, but I’ve seen the Hellcats’ stats and I know I’m better than they are.
Jack gave the fighter an appraising eye. “You’re bigger than they are. You won’t maneuver as good in a fight.”
“I’ve got better maneuvering thrusters than they do. And my main generator gives me better control over gravity than Hellcats have. I make up for the bulk.”
“Interesting. So you think you can match them in combat?”
“Mostly. I have better deflection grids than they do, though in pure numbers they have some maneuvering advantages,” the fighter said, reluctance in its tone. “I do make up for the bulk, but they have a lower starting point. They will however never be as good as I am in anti-ship operations. If all you ever want to do is fight other fighters, the Hel
lcats are great for you. If you want to kill big ships, I’m the fighter for you. Also, I can translate through the hyperspace barrier. Fighters are real hard to see in hyper. Do you like sneak attacks?”
Jack gave the fighter an evil smile. “I love ’em.”
“Well then, imagine all the things you can do with a fighter that can fly through hyper and kill a warship when it arrives, without being detected through the barrier.”
“I’m imagining. I like what I’m imagining. How ’bout you?” he asked, turning to Betty.
“Me too,” she said with a smile aimed at the fighter. “You do a good job selling yourself.”
“Somebody has to,” the fighter said with a bit of a growl.
“May I?” Betty asked and stepped forward, her hand held up.
“Of course,” the fighter returned.
Betty walked up to the fighter and put her hand on it. She stood there for several seconds before turning to glance at each of the other cybers. She waved them forward and they followed her example. After a few minutes of low murmurs back and forth, Betty strode back to Jack, confidence in every step.
“The fighter isn’t exaggerating, Jack.”
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I just don’t know.”
“I do,” Betty said without hesitation. “I want to fly that fighter.”
Jack frowned and looked at her for a long time. She returned his stare without blinking. Not that she really needed to blink of course, but it was real unnerving when she just stopped it altogether. “Are you certain?” he finally asked.
“The Hellcat’s a short range fighter, Jack. Only good for killing things.” She waved an arm at the Avenger. “He’s got hyper. He’s got fuel stores that are amazing. We can go places we’ve never been with him, Jack.” She finished, her gaze challenging him to dispute her.
He opened his mouth and shut it, remembering what he’d told her. He looked down at her feet, seeing the white sandals she still wore, a small rebellion against the uniform standards even cybers had to follow when on duty. The sandals she’d first worn right after he told her about going places he’d never been in the Boundary Waters. Right after she’d told him she did not want to be caught in a never-ending cycle of vengeance with him. He sighed and looked back up at her with a smile.
“Using my own words against me I see.”
“I’ll take every advantage I can get,” she answered with a wink.
“That’s my girl,” Jack said and patted her on a feathery shoulder. He turned to the fighter and waved a finger at it. “I’m not saying yes. But my partner…well....”
“She’s a smart cyber,” the fighter supplied.
“Yeah.” Jack turned to take in the other pilot teams and frowned. “Ah, fighter? You wouldn’t happen to have enough ships here for everyone to work with would you?”
The fighter laughed. “Do you really think we would come here without enough for that purpose?”
“We work for the government,” Jack said, deadpan.
“Touché. Yes there are enough of us. In the hangar.”
“But they haven’t been briefed!” the doctor wailed.
“Shut up,” the fighter ordered and the man stepped back to the wall again. “Colonel?” the fighter asked.
“I agree,” Johanson answered, giving the fighter an approving nod. “Proceed as you will.”
“Excellent,” the fighter said, lifted a few centimeters off the floor, hovering on its grav plating, and turned towards the wall. The wall split open, revealing a hangar full of fighters beyond the briefing room.
“Nice. You did come prepared,” Jack mumbled in the direction of the hangar.
Betty followed the fighter, her hand on its wing possessively.
“Betty? A boyfriend already?”
Her cheeks blushed crimson. “No!”
“And here I thought I was everything you wanted,” the fighter said in a hurt voice.
She glared at the fighter for several seconds before turning it on Jack. “Not a boyfriend!”
“OK, OK. I’ll take your word for it,” Jack said, holding his hands up in defense.
She continued to glare at him before finally letting it go away. She replaced it with a sly smile. “Fine. You want to know? He’s big, he’s strong, and he’s got big engines.”
“Engines?”
“Hey, it’s your fault. You made me want to go places! And engines do that!”
Jack looked at the fighter for a moment before returning his gaze to Betty. “Touché,” he said with a nod.
“Indeed,” the fighter said, sounding very smug indeed.
Jack rubbed his temple with the fingers of one hand, considering again that he’d really never considered what life would be like with a cyber before he jumped in feet first. When he looked back up, he stopped in his tracks as the scene finally caught his attention. A dozen Avengers hovered on their grav plating, engine pods flush with the wings for atmospheric operations, their noses facing towards the hot Texas landscape shimmering outside the hangar doors. They looked ready to fly, ready to kill. They looked dangerous.
Jack smiled. He could live with that. If they flew well of course. Jack smiled at the fighter. “I do hope you fly as good as you talk. I am so ready to kick the Shang’s asses across the universe if you can.”
Hello, my name is Jack. The Shang hit us hard. Real hard. We stood back up and the Peloran stood with us. We figured as far away as they were from home, all we had to do was hit ’em hard and we would have a short, victorious war. We were wrong. Of course we Cowboys don’t give up just ’cause the gettin’ gets tough.
Hyperspace Cowboys
Crickets welcomed the morning, a faint sound on the edge of his hearing. The lake spread out before him, waves gently lapping against the sandy beach, tickling his toes. Behind him, the bonfire that filled all of his dreams now guttered in and out, failing as its fuel began to run out. Sunlight burned the mist away, glinting off the waves. The partiers that filled his dreams, friends from before Yosemite, had all gone home as light came. Three beautiful young ladies rose out of the lake, water streaming down their bodies. Jack smiled. Well, not all of them had gone. This was going to be an amazing morning.
Alarms rang, and Jack frowned. That sound didn’t belong on the beach.
“Warning, warning, this is not a drill,” a voice he knew did not belong near this lake announced in a calm voice. “All personnel to Battle Stations. This is not a drill. All personnel to Battle Stations.”
“Ah crap,” Jack said and reluctantly opened his eyes, sending the wonderful dream about the blonde, brunette, and redhead to wherever it went when he woke up. He saw the dull grey bulkheads and shook his head. This really sucked. He sniffed and slid out of his rack, avoiding the other pilots doing the same, and grabbed the bits of his uniform. He pulled it on, stuffed his feet into his boots, and ran out into the corridor ahead of the other pilots, still buttoning the last of his buttons.
“Warning, warning, this is not a drill,” Connie continued to announce over the speakers as Jack ran towards the flight deck, the other pilots behind him.
“Betty! What’s going on?”
“Right here, Jack,” the cyber answered in his right ear, her holographic image appearing on his shoulder in full uniform. “There’s been another attack. The Shang hit Fort Wichita with a hyper missile salvo. They’re trying to sweep up the survivors now.”
“And we’re moving to stop them?” Jack jumped through the hatch. The inner hangar opened up before him and he whistled. After three months, he still loved entering the business end of the U.S.S. Constellation. “Wow,” he whispered. Pilots for the other eleven squadrons, all Navy, spilled out of their sleeping quarters, making for their fighters in the massive open hangar bay that ran the length of the carrier. Looking towards the bow, he saw the multi-colored spectrum of hyperspace through the energy curtain that held the air in.
“Thank you,” Connie said from a nearby speaker. “It’s always nice to be appreciated.
And to answer your question, yes, we are moving to protect Fort Wichita. Please get in your fighter. We are approaching the launch point.”
“Yes, Mom,” Jack answered and ran deeper into Cowboy Country. He came to a stop at his fighter and climbed up the ladder provided for him. He dropped into the cockpit and watched the displays come to life around him.
“Welcome, Jack,” Betty’s voice said from the fighter’s speakers as the canopy began to close. Her avatar jumped off his shoulder and landed on top of the instrument panel with a dancer’s grace.
“Status?” Jack asked as he smiled at her and buckled himself in snuggly.
“All computer and weapons systems are online and operational,” Betty said with a smile. “The reactors are still warming up to full power and should be ready in one minute. You beat me again.”
“Excellent,” Jack said. He scanned the hangar, watching the other pilots scramble into their fighters. The canopy finished closing, locking them off from outside eyes.
Betty stretched and the uniform faded away, the yellow sundress she preferred fading back into existence. “Much better,” she said and sat down on the instrument panel, crossing her legs with a satisfied smile. “Now,” she said, her voice back to business, and pointed towards a display that came to life.
Jack saw the fleet holding in space over America, in combat with the Shang, and pursed his lips. An American destroyer drifted towards Earth, most of its power systems offline. A quarter light second below it, Fort Wichita belched flame and wreckage into space, damage caused by the surprise attack.
“That was two minutes ago,” Betty said and the scene shifted to show a Peloran battleship and her escorts smash into the Shang fleet’s flank. “And that was thirty seconds ago. We’re going to hit them in the other flank as soon as we are ready to launch.”
“Excellent,” Jack said with a dark smile that said just how ready he was to kill some Shang.
Betty’s eyes narrowed at the tone of his voice. “Be careful, Jack.”
Forge of War (Jack of Harts) Page 4
