One of the Alphas was immediately pounced on by one of the Cobras from the Devil Dogs, and it exploded into a mass of tiny fragments.
Just as quickly, the Charlie unleashed a spread of missiles, followed by a rapid spread of plasma fire. Shawn was instantly made aware that this was much more than a light-missile attacker like the Beta; this was some kind of gunship. He quickly dodged the missiles, performing a loose barrel roll and allowing the projectiles to stream past him harmlessly. He wasn’t as lucky against the plasma bursts. Three rounds had penetrated his auxiliary power generator at the aft end of his fuselage. The damage wouldn’t take him out of the fight, but he no longer had any backup power if his main generator went out.
He quickly ducked his fighter, then brought the nose around, hoping he could lose the bandit in the swarm of fighters teeming around one another just a few hundred yards away. The tactic partially worked when he noticed the Alpha had been distracted by a Seminole from one of the UCS squadrons.
Perfect, now all I have to destroy is the gunship that is hot on my six. Shawn threw the craft into a quick snap roll to starboard, then applied reverse thrust, causing the enemy fighter to slip past his craft and give him just enough room to open fire with his short-range guns. The Charlie sped right into Shawn’s reticle, and with a few quick pulls on the trigger the enemy craft was neatly incinerated.
“Nice shooting, sir,” came the Texas drawl of Jerry Santorum. Nova had somehow slipped beside Shawn’s fighter without him realizing it. Seeing that their position was now outside the main attacking forces, Shawn took the brief respite to catch up with his squadron mate.
“Thanks, Nova. How are you holding up?”
“As well as could be expected,” he said with his signature West-Texan accent. “I’ve bagged a few fighters, but I’ve been mostly preoccupied with keeping my tail clear. These little bastards are quick!”
“You can say that again. The Kafarans are supposed to be sending in reinforcements if things get too heavy out here.”
“With all due respect, Skipper, I don’t think things could get any heavier. It’d be nice to have some help, even if it’s from some two-faced, no-good polecats like the Kafarans.”
Shawn smirked. “I’d rather take out as many of these Meltranians as we can, and leave those Kafarans right inside their carrier where they belong.”
“I’ll second that!”
“Stay on my wing and we’ll swing around for another pass. Keep to your lasers; avoid firing missiles that might impact one of our own in there. It’s gonna be tight, so stay close, okay?”
Jerry nodded curtly. “Roger, Skipper. Ready when you are.”
Shawn pulled his fighter around in a large semicircle with Nova right behind. In seconds they were instantly back in the fight. Shawn and Nova locked onto the same fighter and fired at the same instant, blowing the moderately sized Beta to bits. There were two more gunships coming in toward them now, with Shawn’s computer registering the class as Echoes. That told him something else new was out here as well—something that someone’s computer had already classified as a Delta. That makes for five different types of attackers.
Shawn watched on his sensor display as one of the Echoes, smaller and sleeker than the Alphas, launched a pair of missiles at Jerry’s fighter, which prompted him to bank to starboard and pitch up his nose abruptly to avoid them. The projectiles sailed past his fighter in an instant, continued onward for another few hundred yards, then turned abruptly and returned for their target.
“Homing missiles, Nova!” Shawn yelled. “Take evasive action!”
“Time to see what this ol’ heifer can do,” Jerry replied. He snapped his fighter right, pivoting on the fighter’s axis with lighting speed, then pulled back on the stick hard to bring the nose around one hundred eighty degrees. He tried slaloming around the swarm of fighters, hoping the missile would lock onto something else, but it kept right on his tail. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of one of the Kafaran destroyers coming in slowly to fire on the Meltranian warship. He pitched his fighter toward the bulky, cigar-shaped green monolith and kicked his engines into full thrust.
The force instantly pushed him back into the soft padding of his seat. He had to grip the control stick with all his strength to keep the craft under control. Jerry continued to slip from side to side, trying in vain to shake the missile, but with no success. He pointed his nose at the destroyer, then at the very last minute pulled back on the stick and sailed over the beast by a fraction of an inch. One of the homing missiles struck the barrier shield of the destroyer, doing no damage. The other was still on his tail.
With a quick pull of his stick, Jerry sent his fighter into another tight turn. He pulled around to the stern of the lumbering Kafaran, pointing his fighter as close to the rear of the vessel as he could. With one final nudge to starboard, he shot his fighter right over the center of the destroyer’s immense thruster wash. The heat singed the bottom of his fighter, peeling off a layer of paint and deforming the armor plating beneath it. The homing missile wasn’t so lucky, evaporating in a plume of dust the second it entered the heat of the engines.
Shawn had fared slightly better, destroying one of the Echoes with a burst of laser fire and the other with an ill-advised missile shot. As he swung around to see if he could locate Nova visually, he saw two Devastators from the Rough Riders launch a missile barrage against no less than six enemy fighters, the white smoke trail forming a type of funnel-shaped spider’s web in space. They converged on their targets and blanked the area in a large explosion. Only one of the Meltranian Alphas managed to get through, but it was enough. It fired a pair of its own missiles at nearly point-blank range, destroying itself, one of the Marines, and causing the debris of those two to shred the tail section of the other Devastator.
Shawn pitched his nose down and was suddenly in a clearing. He had time enough to look around for a fraction of a second before the entire area of space was lit by a blinding light, as if a sun had just gone nova. The heavily tinted face shield of his helmet automatically slapped down over his eyes to protect his face from the incoming fireball-like explosion that was about to overtake his position.
Chapter 12
The bow of the Kafaran destroyer buckled under the onslaught of the immensely powerful isotonic cannon of the Meltranian warship. The destroyer’s shielding, far less potent than the Kafaran carriers, could only take the full force of one hit before its protective power was halved. As it was, that single impact gave the Kafarans a severe pummeling, so much so that it knocked the destroyer off course by nearly three hundred yards. The bow of the vessel was now swinging slowly, but inexorably, toward the bulk of the space fighters that were battling one another.
Lieutenant Brian ‘The Brain’ Jefferies didn’t see the incoming mass until it was too late. In a panic, he tried to close the protective shield that would cover his face from any flying debris that might enter the cockpit. Jefferies swung at his helmet wildly, and by the time he had managed to secure it in place, he realized with horror that he had run out of time to maneuver. The destroyer was now filling his entire canopy from top to bottom. The unforgiving, enormous hull of the Kafaran destroyer smacked against the nose of his fighter, pulverizing the fragile vessel and its lone occupant in an instant.
Raven’s voice echoed into Shawn’s ear. “Commander, we just lost Brain!”
Shawn was trying desperately to filter all the incoming communications he was receiving. He’d heard Raven’s transmission, as well as the transmissions of five other squadron leaders making similar statements about their own comrades. He simply didn’t have the time to acknowledge them all at once. He angled his fighter out of the combat zone—or as nearly out as he could get without wasting too much power—and sent out an emergency broadcast to the Rhea.
There were no two ways about it; they were in trouble.
“Sir, incoming communication from Lieutenant Commander Kestrel. He’s requesting immediate assistance,” communic
ations officer Clifton called out.
Krif walked down to the communications station and signaled the dark-skinned officer to raise the Kafaran carrier. With far less fanfare than before, Admiral William Graves’ image appeared on the large screen instantly. Still unsure of seeing a Sector Command Flag officer standing almost proudly on the bridge of a Kafaran warship, Krif hesitantly began relaying reports.
“Admiral, our forces are getting pounded out there. Remember that help you mentioned? Well, we could sure use it.”
“How bad is it, Captain?” Graves asked, his face suddenly long and drawn.
“Find out for yourself, sir.” Krif turned to Lieutenant Clifton and ordered him to patch Commander Kestrel’s communication into their conversation. Shawn was in the middle of a sentence when the channel was finally patched in a moment later.
“…we are sustaining heavy casualties out here. We need support, and I don’t give a damn what flag they fly under at this point.”
Krif was about to respond when Graves held up a hand to stay the captain. William cleared his throat and spoke loud enough for the far-off pilot to hear. “Kestrel, this is Admiral Graves.”
There was a pause, punctuated by a burst of static before Shawn came back online. “It’s good to hear your voice, sir, but I’m a little busy getting my butt kicked out here to chat about the weather. Where’s that backup of yours?”
William looked off to the side of the screen and gave a heavy nod, then turned back to Krif. “We’re launching now. Hold on for just a few more minutes.”
“This little party might be over before that,” Shawn said. He let out a loud enough grunt to be heard over the channel by both Krif and Graves, and then the channel went eerily silent. No static. No response.
Graves leaned in toward the screen, hoping that the mere movement could bridge the huge gap between himself and his old friend. “Shawn! Are you okay? Answer me!”
After an agonizingly long moment of silence, Shawn’s voice came back online. “—and your mother, too!” the commander belted. “Sorry, sir. Got into a little disagreement over who had the right to live out here. Now, how about that assistance?”
“They’re on their way, son.” William cast his gaze to the deck, not really knowing what to say. “I’ll see you soon.”
But Shawn didn’t have the time for pleasantries, not when so many were dead or dying. “Roger. Kestrel out.”
The injured Kafaran destroyer continued to swing lazily out of the combat zone, only to be replaced by its nearly identical twin. Large, dual-barreled plasma cannons on either side of the vessel began firing alternating salvoes, each one scoring hit after hit against the Meltranians’ vessel. Graves had been right—the hull of that thing must have been made of something no one had ever encountered before. Shawn could see that it was taking the blows, but the damage was miniscule compared to the weapons that were being deployed against it. Shawn had once seen these same cannons used to lethal efficiency when they pulverized a Sector Command frigate into oblivion with only a few well-placed shots. Now, round after round were barely scratching the surface of the large Meltranian warship, and Shawn couldn’t help but wonder how they were all going to live through the day.
Just then, on the edge of his radar, Shawn watched as a lone Unified droid fighter singled out two Meltranian Alphas. With a haphazard spray of pulse cannons, the computer-controlled craft incinerated its two foes before flying off and firing at one of the Sector Command fighters, to no avail. In then quickly pivoted and found another Meltranian to target.
Shawn opened a secure channel to the Rhea. “Commander Hayes, one of your droid fighters is doing an admirable job of harassing friend and foe alike out here. Think you could do something about that?”
“Specify which fighter, Commander Kestrel.”
Shawn brought the scanner information into his main display. “DF-309,” he said, watching as the manta-shaped craft eliminated yet another Alpha.
Just then, another voice—one Shawn wasn’t entirely displeased to hear—came over his headset.
“Sorry about that, Skipper.” The new voice belonged to none other than Trent Maddox.
“What the hell are you doing on this frequency, Sergeant Maddox?” Caitlin Hayes asked furiously.
Shawn was wondering the exact same thing.
“Sorry, uh ma’am...Commander Hayes…sir,” Trent stammered, obviously nervous being behind the controls of a fighter for the first time in his life. “See, the thing is, this droid’s computer was acting a little wonky, so I’m trying to compensate by helping out its targeting computer.”
“You’re doing a questionable job,” Shawn said with a smile.
“Oh, hey there, old buddy,” Trent said, sounding relieved. “I’m doing my best, but this thing is a little freaky.”
Shawn shook his head. “Commander Hayes, if it’s all the same to you, let’s forgo any disciplinary action until this is all over and done with. Sergeant Maddox has complete control of his craft.”
“I wouldn’t make that assumption,” Trent murmured.
“What was that?” Caitlin asked, not sounding the least bit assured.
“He said ‘thanks for the support’,” Shawn replied quickly. “And that he promises not to make an ass out of me. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, yes, sir.” Trent’s voice snapped.
Signing off the channel, Shawn watched outside his canopy as the Meltranian vessel pivoted again, but not toward the incoming, undamaged destroyer. Instead it continued to take aim at the stricken Kafaran vessel that was now well beyond the point of interfering with any of the fighters. Across the forward skin of the Meltranian vessel, small turrets emerged from behind pocket hatches, took aim, and fired on the limping vessel as it tried to escape. What little shielding had remained after the Meltranians’ initial blast was quickly whittled away to nothing under a constant barrage of concentrated firepower. Once the shielding was gone, the small turrets began to pick at the hull of ship, causing small chunks of the vessel to flake off and float out into space. Shawn knew that to assist the destroyer would have been suicide. The Meltranians’ laser fire was like a heavy sheet of rain pelting the hull of the Kafaran, and any fighter that ventured too close was sure to get caught up in the exchange.
The space in front of the alien vessel began to warp and twist, giving everyone who witnessed it—including Shawn—the sign that it was about to fire its isotonic cannon once more. Shawn knew the Kafaran destroyer didn’t stand a chance.
At this point, the second, undamaged Kafaran destroyer began firing another barrage of its heavy cannons at the enemy vessel, but it was to no avail. Space was once again filled with a violently bright light.
An enormous bolt of blue-white energy sprang out from the Meltranians’ bow and streaked across space, leaving a trail of blue embers sparkling in its wake. The blast impacted the damaged, unprotected midsection of the first destroyer at full strength, instantly severing the vessel into two nearly equal halves. The nearly three-hundred-yard sections floated free of one another, the portion containing the drive engines now dangerously rocketing directly into the path of Shawn’s small band of fighters.
Quick on his feet, Kestrel yelled out a quick order to all friendly pilots, who instantly broke out of the path of the rampaging destroyer with plenty of time to spare. Raven, Nova, and two junior lieutenants from the Golden Suns came around and formed up on his wing, and Shawn brought his group around to bear on the Meltranian vessel once more. It had begun to change its position, taking aim with its turrets and now firing on the remaining Kafaran destroyer. Shawn had only a minute to watch the conflict before a communications request from Raven came into his computer.
“Kafaran fighters approaching from astern, sir!”
Shawn accessed the short-range sensor readings and watched in awe as dozens of Kafaran deck fighters streamed up behind him. Suddenly his craft was surrounded, almost smothered in the swarm. There were so many Kafarans pa
ssing his cockpit that he momentarily lost sight of the distant stars beyond them. Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, they hurtled past him and swooped down toward the Meltranian vessel. Apparently the Kafarans weren’t as concerned about the turret fire as Shawn was, and it led him to believe that perhaps the Kafarans really did know more about this new enemy than Sector Command did. Besides, it just wouldn’t do to have the Kafarans save the day while he and the rest of the Sector Command forces sat idly by like helpless children.
If they can do it, then so can we.
“What do we do now, Skipper?” Raven asked, truly unsure of what was going through the mind of her commander.
Shawn gripped the stick and placed a firm hand on the thruster control. “We go in.”
“Right behind them?”
Shawn couldn’t help but smile. “Why let them have all the fun?”
Roslyn’s image grinned back joyously. “With pleasure, sir.”
He flipped the thruster control to full power, and the small band of fighters rocketed up to the Kafarans as fast as they could go. The Kafarans had made it to the objective first, but only by mere fractions of a second. There was no order to their attack, and it seemed to be every creature for himself. The sixty-five Kafaran fighters, organized into clusters of three, six, and nine, were taking aim at whatever turret was closest to their group at that time. One turret would come under fire from three Kafaran fighters at a time, but then another would pop up from some unseen alcove and spray the fighters with laser fire. Most of the bolts were too slow to catch up to the nimble Kafarans, but some did manage to hit home. While the losses to the turret fire weren’t nearly as great as those to the Meltranian fighters, the Kafarans were still suffering moderate casualties.
Second Earth Page 22
