by Jason Kent
“Nothing like a little alien invasion,” Mitchell breathed, “to improve promotion rates.”
Saratoga had been assembled at the same L5 dock where the Cheyenne had been built. Her parts had been manufactured in nannite slurry pools on the surface of the moon and ferried up to the gravitationally neutral spot in the Earth-Moon system. Despite the diminutive size of some of vessel’s construction workers, there was nothing small about the spacecraft.
Should the enemy decide to return through the Jovian Cluster, Mitchell and his crew were here to welcome them. Providing the U.S. and humanity’s first line of defense against aliens who could pop out of any number of wormholes at any moment meant the USS Saratoga had to be powerful, fast, and deadly.
Sailing between planets as easily as the Saratoga’s namesake had sailed Earth’s oceans; the massive carrier had its anti-matter power system to thank for its endurance and fast cruising speed. Where Mitchell’s former ship, the Cheyenne, had a single AM system, Saratoga claimed four.
Mitchell ran his hands along the leather arms of his command seat. Saratoga had enough power to accelerate faster than Explorer and theoretically had the capability to cross the void of interstellar space. But, unlike Explorer, Saratoga was designed specifically to protect Near Space and would likely never leave its home system. Duty bound, it would stand and fight whatever enemies the wormholes might disgorge into humanities corner of the galaxy. Other ships were on the drawing boards with massive wormhole drives which would enable the Corps to project combat power into Far Space. For now though, Saratoga in Jupiter Space and its two sister ships in Earth Space, the Hornet and the Enterprise, comprised the core of the defense fleet fielded by the United States.
For the past three months, Mitchell’s command had been patrolling Jupiter Space in a series of randomly-altered, highly elliptical orbits. The crew and computer systems ensured the spacecraft’s routes were as unpredictable as possible. Mitchell wanted to be sure if the aliens knew about Saratoga, they would be guessing about its actual location right up until they choose to make themselves known. The warship’s erratic patrol course also ensured an enemy ship could not jump out of a wormhole close to his ship. It would not do to have one of the most powerful military assets in Jupiter Space destroyed in a sneak attack before the next battle could be joined.
“Gravitational anomaly.”
The call from the Tactical brought Mitchell out of his wool-gathering.
“Make that multiple grav anomalies,” Tactical Officer Captain Greg “Growler” Greenly corrected.
Without hesitating, Mitchell ordered, “DO, plot orbit change and get us to the nearest intercept point.”
“Red Alert,” Lieutenant Colonel Walt Osprey called out. Osprey, as Duty Officer, had primary ops control of Saratoga’s many capabilities. “Nav, get us a beeline. Weapons, bring everything on-line. I want all Arrows and Reapers on deck and ready to punch.”
Classified as a carrier, the Saratoga was able to field ten highly maneuverable F-36S Arrow Star Fighters. Each of the Star Fighters was armed with a rail gun and an array of missiles. Besides the Arrows, the armored docking bays held other craft including up to three Reapers, two orbital shuttles, which doubled as tankers for the Arrows, and an array of drones.
Mitchell checked his status board. He knew all the Arrows were in place but was not sure about the Reapers. These high endurance spacecraft were often away on long range patrols. This was the case now. Of the three Reapers assigned to Saratoga, two were on the far side of Jupiter checking up on various wormhole exits in the Jovian Cluster. He resisted the urge to call them back himself. Instead, he let his crew do their work. If the Reapers could be recalled to take part in the coming battle, his bridge team would take care of the orders. They had drilled this scenario enough times to perform the steps in their sleep.
“Jupiter Array has confirmed ships have appeared at the anomaly sites,” Tactical relayed. “Hull types match. It’s our old friends.”
Osprey turned to Mitchell. “Confirm Standing Order Twelve.”
“Standing Order Twelve confirmed,” Mitchell responded. The crime of hesitancy, as occurred during the first attack, would not be repeated here. Standing Order Twelve allowed all U.S. combatants to engage alien vessels at first opportunity unless any unidentified spacecraft displayed ‘obvious signs of peaceful intention.’ Mitchell did not think fourteen ships arriving near simultaneously in Jupiter Space qualified as anything peaceful.
“CC and DO confirm SO-12,” Osprey stated for the bridge recorders. “Prep for OCSU transition.”
The overhead illumination switched off and was replaced by red emergency lights. Alarms sounded throughout the ship warning the rest of the crew to prep for combat. In many cases, this simply meant to strap in and hold on while the OCSU did its thing. Mitchell heard clicks from around the bridge as several people realized they were not fully buckled in. He double-checked his own restraint – it would not do to have the spacecraft commander fly out of his seat during combat.
The Offensive Combat System-Upgraded was basically the same system still used in the smaller Century-class orbital patrol craft. The OCSU on Saratoga had been modified to control a lot more power and many more weapons than the original OCS designers ever imagined though.
Switching over to the OCSU display, Mitchell noted with a grim nod the system was set to assume command of the Saratoga’s close-in defenses, offensive laser systems, rail guns, missile targeting, engines and attitude control. The system was also actively scanning for other OCS systems nearby. These would be linked with Saratoga’s core; allowing close coordination of multiple spacecraft during combat. Three Century OCS systems had acknowledged the hails. Two other Century-class spacecraft were boosting to reach intercept points, their OCS systems ready to link up when they were just a little closer.
Mitchell cinched his seat harness another notch. The massive computing power embedded throughout his spacecraft was nothing compared to the power which was about to be unleashed by the attitude control system and main engines. The huge spacecraft’s agility was no small feat considering its size and mass. Saratoga’s armor was designed to shrug off an attack, but the only way to really survive light speed warfare was to move fast to limit the effectiveness of a laser attack while also complicating the targeting of missiles and rail guns.
Mitchell studied the layout of forces available to meet the alien force. The Saratoga, five Century-class ships and a handful of Reapers and Arrows consisted of the entire U.S. fleet in Jupiter space. The British dreadnaught HMS Sterling and its two escort cruisers were boosting from their current location near Ganymede to join the fight.
“It’ll have to be enough,” Mitchell muttered. Louder, he asked, “Time to effective weapons range?”
“OLS in four and rails in five,” Growler responded. “We can launch missiles at any time, but their point defenses would have plenty of time to pick them off.”
“Fighters are ready,” Osprey reported.
Mitchell nodded. “Keep ‘em inside until we’re closer, let our armor take the beatings for them.” The Arrows were great at getting close and personal but their armor could not take the same pounding as Saratoga’s. “What’s the CSOC have to say?”
“They think we’re under attack,” Osprey said dryly.
“No kidding,” Mitchell said. He tapped the icon allowing him to address the crew throughout his ship and suited up in the fighters. He also routed the transmission to all U.S. and allied ships as well as the CSOC.
“This is Colonel Mitchell, Commander, USS Saratoga,” Mitchell began, suddenly aware he was about to make a pronouncement similar to Nelson’s at Trafalgar. No pressure there. “Our fleet is about to engage enemy vessels which have arrived in Near Space through the Jovian Cluster. This is the moment we all prayed would never come. It is also the moment you have trained for and are singularly qualified to handle. Destiny has dealt its hand; the time has come for the U.S. Space Corps and His Majesty’s Royal Navy
to fulfill our duty.”
Mitchell paused and caught Osprey’s eye. “Full weapons release and OCSU transition on my mark.”
Osprey poised his fingers over the OCSU activation bar on his control board and nodded.
“Mark,” Mitchell said firmly. “Saratoga is at war.”
Reagan Space Corps Base
Jupiter Space
Jennifer was staring up at the ceiling, trying not to count the lights, when the man at her feet lost his grip and dropped his end of the stretcher. Her wound, thought healing well, was still extremely tender. She lost her breath and screwed her eyes shut against the twinge of pain in her chest.
Great, Jennifer thought, I get back to my solar system only to be dropped in a hallway on my way to see the real doctor. She took a deep breath, happy the restraints holding her at least kept her from sliding onto the floor. When she started to open her eyes, the other paramedic dropped his end of the stretcher, too.
“Ah!” Jennifer screamed as the sting of pain returned ten-fold. Angry, she forced her eyes open and shouted, “What are you guys thinking?”
Jennifer gasped when she saw what was happening around her.
Both Airman Smith and Airman Jones were locked in a near-silent battle with Master Sergeant Williams. Williams, although cut on the left arm, was fighting the two armed men with his bare hands.
Jennifer squirmed against the restraints and muttered, “Crud, you’d know I’d get the guard who was nuts.”
Despite the danger she knew she must be in, Jennifer found the battle mesmerizing. Smith and Jones were obviously better skilled in hand-to-hand combat than bedside manners. The pair used their lethal-looking combat knives and lightning reflexes to attack the larger and stronger Master Sergeant.
Where Smith and Jones were good, Williams was phenomenal.
Williams blocked everything the two Airmen tried against him. His quick movements were a blur to Jennifer. After a few long seconds, Williams connected a particularly well-placed kick against Jones’ knee.
Jones’ kneecap shattered with an audible crunch. He grunted and staggered back against the corridor wall.
Left with only one opponent for a moment, Williams focused his attention on Smith.
Aware the tables had turned, Smith went on the defensive. He took a few steps away from Williams.
Seeing the fight was inexorable moving in her direction, Jennifer renewed her struggle to free herself from the straps holding her down. Craning her head to see Williams around Smith’s back, she caught sight of Jones pulling out a pistol from his hip pocket.
It took Jennifer only a moment to realize Williams was not the attacker. She kicked herself for suspecting one of Yates’ people.
“Behind you!” Jennifer shouted.
Williams did not hesitate. Before Jennifer had even finished her warning, the Master Sergeant was diving for the floor.
Jones shot sounded deafening in the enclosed space. Jennifer cringed as she heard the bullet ricochet off the metal walls.
Smith leapt backward; afraid Williams might be trying for his feet. To Jennifer’s horror, the airman stumbled and began falling back on top of her.
A second shot rang out in the corridor followed by a third.
Jennifer was screaming as Smith landed on top of her legs. The man slid off onto the floor. He did not get up.
“Crap,” Jennifer said, as she watched Williams kick the gun away from Jones’ limp form. He hurried back to where she was laying on the floor, still helpless.
Williams pushed Smith’s body away and took possession of the man’s knife.
“You okay, Ma’am?”
Jennifer nodded and strained against the straps. She breathed, “Get me out of these.”
Williams moved to get to the straps revealing another man standing at her feet.
“Behind…” Jennifer started to scream again, then stopped when she saw who it was.
Ian was standing in the center of the corridor with a handgun. He was pointing it at Jones and Smith in turn.
“Ian!”
Ian gave Jennifer a small smile and went back to covering the two men on the floor.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Williams grunted, freeing the last of Jennifer’s restraints. “You got ‘em.”
Ian let his gun drop a few inches. “Master Sergeant, you’re probably better with this thing than I am, why don’t you take it and I’ll carry Jennifer.”
Williams easily lifted Jennifer from her stretcher.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Williams said. “You’re plenty good with that weapon and I have my own. Just couldn’t get to it before the first guy jumped me. Must be getting slow in my old age.”
Jennifer looked down at the two men in the corridor. “Who are they?”
“Someone who didn’t like what you found,” Ian said. “Let’s get her out of here.”
“Yes sir,” Williams said. “Follow me.”
Human Near Space
Oort Cloud Translation Point
“It has begun.”
Tra’laan did not acknowledge the underlings statement. It was obvious from the holo-projection; superior Soosuri forces were moving to engage the meager human fleet.
“We will need assistance,” Reyan stated, drumming his long fingers in front of him.
Tra’laan studied the statistical projections floating before him and nodded at his brother commander’s words. “Yes.”
Reyan turned to the sub-captain on his left. “Summon the others.”
Reagan Space Corps Base
Jupiter Space
Williams was placing Jennifer down in Yates’ quarters when the base klaxons sounded in the corridor outside.
Ian looked to Williams. The Master Sergeant was consulting his wrist display.
After a moment, Williams said, “General Alarm, sir. Enemy vessels have arrived in Jupiter Space and are heading this way.”
Ian held his gun at his side and looked from Williams to Jennifer to Dr Crowder and his nurse at the far side of the room. He had not holstered his weapon since the attack in the hallway.
“How do we know they’re okay?” Ian tilted his head to the medical personnel.
Williams moved to Ian’s side and said. “Crowder and his assistant are SOF.”
Ian nodded, realizing he would have to take William’s word for the time being. He moved to Jennifer’s side and took her hand. “You all right?”
“Yeah, those bozos didn’t drop me that far,” Jennifer said with a nod.
Ian let his gaze drift to the ceiling where the battle for Near Space would be taking place.
“Crowder needs to take a look at your wife, sir,” Williams said as he laid an arm on Ian’s shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Jennifer said
“I’m just going up to Ops,” Ian said, squeezing Jennifer’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Go, you’ll be a mess if you stay here,” Jennifer said.
Ian stood and holstered his pistol.
Williams stepped out of Ian’s path. “I’ll keep an eye on things down here, sir.”
With one last look down at Jennifer, Ian strode from Yates’ quarters. As soon as he was outside the door, he picked up the pace, taking the longest low-gee strides he could manage without hitting the ceiling. He did not know what he could do to protect Jennifer, but there was nothing he could do from her bedside.
Once he got away from the senior officer quarters, Ian found the hallways crowded with base personnel rushing to their emergency stations or to the shelters on lower levels. Ian pushed through them feeling like a salmon going in the wrong direction. He finally found himself alone outside the main entrance to the CSOC Ops Floor. He held up his access badge. The scanner confirmed his identity and the reinforced door slid aside.
Ian stepped inside the Ops Center and was suddenly at a loss for what to do. This was where the battle for all of Near Space would be run. The crew on duty would be in charge of handling the crisis and probably would not appreciate hi
m just showing up after more than two weeks of practically being AWOL.
It took Ian a moment to realize everyone was staring at him. He knew a majority of the people manning the consoles and nodded to a few. They returned the gesture and went back to their work, more concerned with the approaching alien ships than the return of a prodigal son.
Looking over the heads of the personnel seated at their control stations, Ian caught sight of General Yates conferring with the Center Commander. Yates gestured for Ian to join him at the airlock leading to the tightly controlled Special Forces Ops Cell, SOC for short.
Ian pressed around the edge of the tight room and wished the new ops center planned for Level 10 was complete – both for the extra hundred meters of ice pack it would have put between him and the alien forces headed toward Europa and because the floor plan would have been more open.
Yates held the SOC lock open for Ian, allowing him access to the General’s inner sanctum.
The SOC was lit only by the display screens and a few small map lights. The focus of the room was the nine display screens taking up every centimeter of the far wall. Yates nodded at the block of four screens in the upper right-hand side displaying a detailed view of force and asset distribution in the solar system. He said, “They’re everywhere this time, not just out here in Jupiter Space. The closest ships will be in firing range in about three minutes.”
The looks he got out on the Ops Floor suddenly made sense. Ian glanced over his shoulder at the door sealing off the SOC from the rest of the Ops Floor.
