Fesky’s response came swiftly: “How many times do I have to break this down for you, you idiot? This is how we maximize our force potential—by launching from a moving ship as she passes by the darkgate, because the enemy isn’t likely to expect that.”
“The element of surprise won’t matter if we’re getting blasted all at once by overwhelming numbers of ships. Where’d you learn your tactics, Fesky? A henhouse?”
Husher winced, but Fesky didn’t seem fazed by the comment. “You need to spend some time studying the capabilities of the fighter you pilot,” she said. “My species didn’t even build them, but the first thing I learned was that yes, Condors can provide close air support, but that’s not where their strengths lie. These ships were designed with unrivaled agility in mind, so we can go where other ships can’t, to suppress or destroy enemy air defenses. Not hug a carrier and pray we don’t get shot down.”
“Listen to me, you filthy—”
Husher thumbed his transponder. “That’s enough out of you, Meteor. Show our CAG any more disrespect and I’ll personally write you up. We have our orders, Madcap. Thank you for clarifying them.”
Several seconds of radio silence followed. Then, Fesky: “Acknowledged, First Lieutenant.” She sounded grateful. “All pilots stand by for launch in thirty seconds.”
Every Condor sat on a catapult propelled by four linear motors and equipped with sensors that calculated each fighter’s mass and weight distribution. During launch, the motors created magnetic waves to give each jet a customized shove into the sky.
Fesky started counting down from ten, and when she reached one Husher’s catapult threw his Condor toward the stars that were visible through the end of the flight deck. His stomach rose and fell—a sensation he always enjoyed.
Fifteen other ships leapt into the air too, in formation with his.
Husher led his squadron. The other three strike fighter squadrons lit up on his tactical display, as well as the EW squadrons, who would hang back and try to pick up on enemy transmissions, unless they encountered Talons.
Roostships operated more or less independently from each other, and it was unlikely the Gok ships would put much effort into coordinating with their allies, so Fesky had decided it was pointless to try to disrupt communications between the larger vessels.
Behind them, the Providence sped away into the distance.
“I’m seeing six viable near-range targets,” Fesky said. “Two Gok missile cruisers, three Gok destroyers, and a Roostship. I want a squadron each on the cruisers—they’re the ones taking out Fleet ships as they come through. Spank and Meteor, you each get one of those. Your mission is to neutralize them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Husher said, switching to a squadron-only channel. “All right, Haymakers, you heard the CAG. Let’s take down that cruiser. We can’t go for the jugular right away—their point defense turrets won’t allow it. So our first objective is to cut down on the number of those we have to contend with.”
“We talking guided munitions, Spank?”
The eagerness in Airman Gaston’s voice bubbled through the speakers. By Husher’s reckoning, Gaston was the most talented pilot in his squadron. Which is why he’ll be with me.
“You got it, Voodoo. I want everyone in fluid-two formation, following your preassigned pairs. Maintain maximum range between your Condor and the target, but keep track of your partner pairs, like we drilled, and be ready to form up into finger-four if we encounter enemy fighters.”
As his Haymakers darted forward to envelop the enemy missile cruiser, Husher kept an eye on his display to make sure they followed his command to keep their distance. He smiled when he saw they were following orders flawlessly.
Fleet Command may dump its undesirables on the Providence, but just look at the shape Keyes whips them into.
His heart thrumming in his chest, Husher engaged gyros to nudge his exhaust toward the Gok ship. Then he performed an engine burn that put his Condor on a course parallel to the hull of the cruiser. That done, he spun his fighter along her short axis until his dorsal weapons pointed at the enemy. Behind him, Voodoo followed his lead.
“Let’s light it up,” Husher said, and they both fired guided Sidewinders at separate targets. Seconds later, two point defense turrets disintegrated in explosions quickly quenched by space.
“Nice!”
The next set of turrets swung around to face them. “Accelerate along this vector, now!” Husher yelled.
As they both engaged their engines, the turrets fired, and Husher’s display told him they’d nearly been hit. “Let’s leave celebrating till after the battle, okay? Keep a cool head, Voodoo.”
“Sorry, Spank.”
They took out another pair of turrets without incident, and then another. The other fluid-two pairs were enjoying similar success. Husher moved his thumb to his transponder, about to give the order to form up as a squadron, for an alpha strike on the cruiser. Then Fesky’s voice cut through his thoughts:
“Spank, that cruiser needed to be destroyed two minutes ago. You have Roostships closing in on you, fast.”
He stared at his tactical display in disbelief. “Do we have any reinforcements coming through that darkgate?”
“Not yet.”
Chapter 53
Four to One
“The Providence will be back, soon,” Fesky told him. “Hang in there, Husher. We need to keep them busy long enough for the Fleet to come through. I’m sending you half an EW squadron.”
“Roger that, Madcap.” If the Fleet even realizes it has a chance to come through. They may have given up trying. He squashed the thought.
Taking a breath, he switched back to the squadron-only channel. “All right, Haymakers, we’re about to have lots of company. We’ve got two Roostships approaching from two different vectors.”
A chorus of curses greeted the news.
“No complaining. I want finger-four formations. We’ll soon have jamming capability, too. Fesky’s sending us half a squadron of EW Condors.”
They’d named his own finger-four formation Red Flight, and Husher was Flight Leader. As Element Leader, Voodoo fell back to his position behind and slightly to Husher’s right, and their wingmen fell in to either side.
Not a moment too soon. On his tactical display, the Roostships each belched out two squadrons before moving off in Fesky’s direction. Shit. They’ve got us four to one.
“Let’s take the initiative,” he said. “If they sandwich us between that cruiser, we’re done. So let’s go meet them.”
His squadmates responded without hesitation, with Red Flight going head-to-head with an entire Talon squadron flying in what looked like a modified wall formation.
That brought a quiet chuckle to Husher’s lips. “Okay, Red Flight, let’s make for the bottom edge of that formation at a rate of five Gs.” He transmitted a marker that would show the others where he wanted them to end up. If they arrived before the Wingers could respond, they’d only have to deal with four Talons instead of sixteen. The other twelve would have to shoot through their own fighters to hit Red Flight.
The pressure on his body mounted as the force of his thrust grew. “Be ready to point your Condors back the way we came and do an engine burn on my mark.” he said, trying to keep the exertion out of his voice. “And keep your blood flowing, people. Get your legs and abs into it.”
As they drew closer to the enemy, the top row of Talons peeled away from the formation, outpacing the others and orienting themselves downward to confront Red Flight.
“They’re adjusting, Spank.”
God damn it. They were baiting us.
“Do we abort?” Voodoo asked.
Husher quickly fed his computer some figures. “Do you fighter jocks think you can handle nine Gs?”
“I’m game.”
“Thought you might say that, Voodoo. How about you, Shrubs? EZ?”
“Let’s do it,” Shrubs said, her voice even.
“Uh…”
“I need an answer, EZ, In or out? If you can’t do it, say so now.”
“I’m in.”
“Good. On my mark, form up in battle spread formation and fire at their bottom row. Right after that, we swing around and do a burn with full Ocharium boost, along a vector I’ll feed to your computers. Should bring us in line with their formation again. Then we’ll go to work.”
He waited till the second row of Talons was almost in line with the first. “Form up!” Gaston came in line with Husher’s Condor, with their wingmen lining up on either side. “Fire!” In sync, all four Condors peppered their Talon counterparts with kinetic impactors. “Rotate and burn, now! Now!”
Husher’s Condor swung around its short axis once again, and he told her to divert all available power to the engine, complete with a maxed-out Ocharium assist.
The pressure that resulted was like nothing he’d experienced outside of a centrifuge at the highest setting. Thrusting against his already considerable acceleration made it feel like a giant was trying to squash him against a wall. He worked his legs and stomach muscles like never before, determined to remain conscious for the risky gambit he’d assigned his Flight to carry out.
Just before they completed the maneuver, EZ’s Condor fell out of formation, drifting toward the enemy along a course that would expose his Condor to all sixteen Talons.
“EZ!” Husher yelled. “EZ, come in!”
“I think he passed out, Spank,” Voodoo said. “We have to follow through—that’s his best chance of making it, now.”
“God damn it.” The Condors came to a rest at last, their Ocharium-assisted engine burn canceling out their initial momentum. “Swing around, aim at the Talon opposite you, and fire. I’ll handle the other two facing us.”
Their maneuver succeeded in catching the Wingers off-guard, and Red Flight achieved its original aim of minimizing how many Talons had a viable firing solution on them. But EZ continued to drift, and Husher wasn’t sure they could do damage quickly enough to save him.
He opened fire on his two targets, who were just coming around to face them after completing their own reorienting maneuver. His impactors tore the first Talon apart, but the second managed to get off a few shots.
Luckily, neither Husher nor the Wingers had time to enlist their computers to provide targeting assistance. And Husher turned out to be the better shot. He aimed for the Talon’s gyroscopes, with the aim of throwing them out of alignment, sending them spinning into their enclosures so that they exploded into shards and hopefully punctured fuel tanks.
It worked. The Talon blew up.
Voodoo and Shrubs neutralized their targets, too. Now Red Flight had taken out the first rank of Talons, but EZ was still in trouble. “Let’s spin right ninety degrees and reorient ourselves to fire through the gaps of the Talons we just took out. Move. Move.”
His flightmates responded without delay, but it was too late. The still-active Talons at the back aimed their weapons at EZ’s Condor and fired. It didn’t explode, but Husher’s heads-up readout showed him EZ’s vitals flatlining. One of the Wingers’ impactors had hit him.
They could only continue to fire on the enemy, relying on the row of inactive enemy fighters for protection. The rest of the enemy squadron was responding quickly, though, with the rear two ranks splitting apart to come around and fire on Husher and his two remaining wingmen.
A glance at his tactical display told him worse news. The rest of his Haymakers were faring even worse than Red Flight. Yellow Flight had been obliterated, with the Wingers who’d done the job now converging on Blue Flight to outnumber them eight-to-one.
“Fesky, what happened to those EW fighters?”
But this time, Fesky didn’t answer.
Chapter 54
Rain Hellfire
The Providence returned to find its fleet of Condors crumbling.
Keyes knew his distress showed in his white-knuckle grip on his chair, and in the way he leaned forward as he scrutinized the tactical display. He also knew he should try to put on a better face for his CIC crew. But he couldn’t help it. My people are dying out there. Why did the Fleet stop attempting to enter Larkspur?
“Coms, any success raising Admiral Carrow through the micronet?”
“No, Captain. Excalibur is still refusing our attempts to communicate.”
“Damn it,” Keyes hissed, and a couple of his officers shifted uncomfortably. This is the worst possible luck.
Ensign Werner cleared his throat. “Sir, First Lieutenant Husher’s squadron is hard-pressed, but they did manage to neutralize most of the point defense turrets on that Gok missile cruiser.”
Arsenyev nodded. “He’s right. It’s vulnerable. A couple of Banshees fired at their port side would likely take it out.”
“At least there’s some good news, then,” Keyes said. “Program a pair of Banshees with a course that avoids the cruiser’s starboard side.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Actually, delegate that task to Nav. Chief Warrant Officer Arsenyev, I want you to analyze the battle and determine which squadron needs our help the most. Ensign Werner, split the viewscreen into six sections and show one of the targets Fesky’s indicated on each.”
The tactical readout vanished from the CIC’s main viewscreen, replaced by six enemy ships, four of them beset by Providence fighters. Seconds after they appeared on the screen, Senior Airman Bradley’s squadron formed up for an alpha strike on the other Gok missile cruiser. It exploded.
Cheers erupted inside the CIC, but Keyes held up his hand for quiet. “It’s way too early to celebrate,” he said. “Coms, patch me through to Senior Airman Bradley’s Condor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bradley here.”
“Senior Airman, this is Captain Keyes. I want you and your squadmates to back up First Lieutenant Husher’s squadron.”
“Right away, sir. Bradley out.”
Keyes pried his fingers from the chair’s armrests. “Tactical, how’s that analysis coming?”
“Fesky’s divided two of her strike fighter squadrons into four halves. Three of those are fighting a Gok destroyer each, with varying success. But Fesky and the Condors with her are facing down six squadrons from three different Roostships. She has one of our EW squadrons backing her up, but she’s already lost two pilots.”
“Do we have an opening to fire kinetic impactors at this range?”
Arsenyev frowned. “Doesn’t look like it, sir. The enemy Talons are swarming our Condors, and there’s too great a chance of hitting one of our own. We need to get closer.”
“Then let’s—”
His Tactical officer’s eyes went wide. “Sir, they got Fesky.”
He felt pricks of pain across both his palms. Looking down, he saw that he’d clenched his fists so tightly his neatly-trimmed nails were digging into his skin. His eyes itched, and he drew in a deep breath, then another.
“I need you to be more specific, Chief Warrant Officer. Define ‘got.’ Do we have a read on her vitals?”
Arsenyev squinted at her console’s readout. “Looks like they’re still up, sir. They destroyed her Condor, but she must have seen it coming and ejected right before.”
A sigh of relief escaped Keyes’s lips. “Coms, patch me through to her suit radio.”
“Yes, sir. She’s on.”
“Fesky, how are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better, Captain. They’re eating us alive out here.”
“I noticed that.”
Arsenyev interjected. “Two more Condors from Fesky’s squadron went down, sir.”
“Order that EW squadron out of there. We’re coming toward you, Fesky, guns blazing. Do us a favor and light up your transponder with your coordinates so we don’t hit you.”
“I can do that.”
“Thanks. Ensign Werner, search for any other ejected pilots and tell them to do the same.”
“Aye, sir.”
Fesky saved my life, once. It’s about time
I returned the favor.
“Set a course for that swarm of Talons, Nav. Tactical, rain hellfire on them.”
Chapter 55
The Galaxy Is Watching
Both Senator Sandy Bernard and Corporal Trish Simpson sat in tense silence as they watched the Larkspur-Caprice darkgate on the shuttle’s viewscreen.
Days ago, they’d managed to slip in unnoticed to hide among the mass of Fleet ships mustered at the Vermillion shipyards. And when the majority of those ships started making for the darkgate into the Larkspur system, Simpson had managed to fly their shuttle under the belly of a Fleet destroyer, keeping pace with it the entire way.
And now they were here. Waiting. Parked in heliocentric orbit, trailing after the darkgate.
“I don’t get it,” Bernard said. “Why did they stop going through?”
“They must be running into trouble on the other side. If I were to guess, the enemy is probably arrayed around the darkgate, waiting for our ships to emerge, one-by-one. You couldn’t ask for a better choke point.”
“Which isn’t a situation we ever expected to face, before the dark tech failed.”
Simpson’s silence was answer enough.
Bernard had come to hate it, living aboard the shuttle. Bathing with the limited supply of cold water, sleeping in their seats. Dealing with an increasingly cranky Corporal Simpson. “We only have a week’s worth of fuel left. The food will run out shortly after that.”
“I’m well aware. It’s why I’ve been saying it’s time to let Fleet know we’re here.”
“No. It’s time to take action.”
Simpson twisted in the pilot’s seat, brow furrowed as she studied Bernard’s face. “What do you have in mind?”
“The destroyer we’re under is close enough to the darkgate. We can make for it without being apprehended.”
“That’s insane. If Fleet doesn’t shoot us down, the enemy will.”
“Fleet won’t fire on us if they know a senator is aboard. And I can’t believe the Wingers would destroy an unarmed shuttle.”
Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1 Page 17
