Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series)

by A J Marshall

  “Continue the turn from one seven zero degrees to one two zero degrees, Commander,” said Thomas.

  Richard responded. Then, from total darkness, Richard’s surroundings suddenly became dazzlingly bright and glaring. A distant fiery ball appeared to rise from nowhere and flooded his cockpit with brilliant sunshine. He immediately dropped his visor again in response, but his eyes could not help smarting at the Sun’s unexpected intensity and he cursed his forgetfulness. Streaking across the Moon’s surface like missiles, the Formation quickly left the shadowy area between the dark side and the light side and, within minutes, Richard began to see a vast undulating plain that was the Mare Imbrium – the Sea of Imbrium. Altitude is 40,000 feet, speed 105 lutens, he noted.

  “Okay, Thomas,” responded Richard after another two thoughtful minutes. “I’m beginning to make out the Lambert crater, and the Apennine mountain range is rising on the horizon. We are getting close. Send a message to Red Formation over the data link . . . ‘We are positioning for the initial attack run; all fighters should minimise radio transmission on primary combat frequency.’ When you are done, select our dedicated formation frequency.”

  “Yes, Commander, and Channel Six is open.”

  “Channel Six open, copied.” Thomas is very competent, Richard thought. He was beginning to appreciate the biomachine’s abilities.

  As their altitude passed 18,000 feet Richard’s passage over the Moon’s surface appeared to accelerate, despite maintaining a velocity of precisely 100 lutens. It was an optical illusion that Richard was familiar with, but it made him consider the implications of flying the attack run too fast, because it would limit their targeting opportunities. There was a narrow dividing line between speed for survival and effective target allocation and weapon delivery. After a few moments of deliberation he decided to position at 70 lutens and attack at 50 lutens – equivalent to an ‘in gravity’ speed of 1700 kilometres per hour or 1050 miles per hour. It would leave them exposed but would, at the same time, give a better kill rate. He drew a deep breath before passing on this information to his formation.

  “Black Formation, this is Black One on Channel Six,” he called over the radio. “We will commence the initial attack run at 70 lutens and decelerate to 50 lutens in the valley. Watch my speed closely; as the rille twists and turns we may need to reduce further. Nine minutes to target. Arm your weapons! I repeat! Black Formation, arm your weapons!” Richard could feel his heart rate increasing. He took another deep breath and thought of home. Rachel’s face flashed through his mind.

  Seconds later, Richard led the Formation over the Lambert impact crater. He looked down at its almost circular outer rampart and the terraced inner walls. The fifteen kilometres to its centre took mere seconds to traverse and all the while Richard decelerated. He knew the crater to be approximately two point four kilometres deep and the outer rim to be about 1500 feet high. He passed over its far edge at 6000 feet with the jagged ridgeline of the Apennine Mountains looming up ahead of him.

  Almost six hundred and fifty kilometres long and roughly orientated north-south, the Apennine range appeared majestic as it towered upwards and shone in the sunlight. Volcanic in origin and with more than three thousand peaks – Mount Hadley in the north reaching 15,000 feet – the tallest outcrops cast long dark shadows in their lee. From Richard’s altitude and direction, the mountain range appeared similar to the European Alps when flying towards them from Austria, but more serrated, and much more hostile.

  The next landmark was the Timocharis crater and, as they sped towards it, Richard could see its twenty kilometre rampart begin to rise towards the high rim, the silhouette of which appeared grey, bleak, fractured and crumbling. This almighty indentation, Richard recalled, was punched in the Moon’s surface by a wayward meteorite a billion years earlier.

  The Swiftsure slowly decelerated through 80 lutens, then 75, and back to 70 – making Richard speed-stable and able to prepare his own armament systems. In response, two green lights illuminated on his weapons panel. There was also a schematic representation of his spacecraft on that small, square panel, and part of it, the thin pods beneath the stub wings, also turned green, indicating that the sonic initiators were primed and ready. The short cobalt steel barrel mounted in the nose of the Swiftsure fired ballistic projectiles. Richard was able to select lighter, high-velocity rounds or longer, heavier, armour-piercing shells, as there were two separate magazines. It was an antiquated system in terms of modern aerial combat but for this scenario it might prove very effective – even an asset, he considered. Richard pressed a button and in response a small circular panel slid open just below the nosecone of his craft and the barrel motored forward ominously, to protrude by approximately thirty centimetres.

  At 2000 feet above the surface of the plain and still descending, Richard steered around the great Timocharis crater, which, now in close proximity, rushed towards him like an ugly carbuncle on an otherwise undulating and monotonous complexion.

  Despite his request, pilots of Red Formation were beginning to use the general combat frequency for mutual warnings. “I’m seeing explosions on the surface,” said one American pilot.

  “Yeah, copied, and enemy fighter contacts, bearing zero three zero degrees,” said another. Then he heard the stern voice of Doug Winton over the radio.

  “Keep the chat down. I say again, minimise RT and prepare for attack run,” Doug called.

  Richard, who sensed one of the formations in question to be above and behind his, refocused his thoughts. He checked the chronometer on the instrument panel: it read 08:29:35. The seconds ticked by . . . 36, 37, 38. The rendezvous was planned for 08:35. His navigation computer continuously updated the arrival time; its indication changed periodically, because Richard was following Thomas’s directions. If he was late it would only be by seconds and not enough to make a difference – better to be stabilised for the attack run, Richard determined. Six abreast and within the confines of the narrow Hadley valley, I can’t afford to have my team fighting for their positions – that would divert their attention from the hunt.

  Continuing his descent to 400 feet above the insipid, lifeless surface, Richard steered the Formation through a lazy right-hand turn and then similarly to the left, avoiding another, but much smaller, crater – this one Richard knew was the Huxley crater. Now the foot hills of the Apennine Mountains began to rise from the Mare Imbrium plain; their high, jagged peaks occasionally masked the sun. The wall of grey rock thrust upwards with Mons Ampere and Mons Huygens clearly visible ahead of them.

  So close now to the surface that the barren, dusty, landscape streaked by, Richard was aware of only occasional, noteworthy landmarks – and they passed by in the blink of an eye. There was no time for nerves or apprehension. At that speed and height all the pilots were totally focused: instruments, outside, instruments, outside, instruments, outside . . . Richard’s scan raced.

  As they entered the black shadow created by the abrupt peak of Mount Huygens, Thomas coolly said: “Turn left now. Head due north. One minute to Rima Bradley.”

  As with most lunar rilles, Rima Bradley was believed to be formed by a tube of molten rock and superheated gas that flowed close to the surface during the Moon’s volcanic period. Subsequently, the thin and often brittle roof collapsed to reveal a ‘U’-shaped channel. Additionally, surface erosion and meteorite impacts over millions of years had further modified the appearance of these valley-like geographical features. Rime Bradley is linear when compared to the notorious Rima Hadley. It is also shallower and wider, but it would provide Richard and Black Formation good cover over its entire one hundred and thirty-four kilometre length.

  The dash towards Palus Putredinis took less than three minutes, and when Richard sighted the broad plain, he issued another order over Channel 6: “Black Formation, one and a half minutes to run, reducing to fifty lutens . . . Come up line abreast . . . Line abreast, go!” he said.

  “Now picking up multiple traces on the sensor scan,”
interjected Thomas.

  The statement snatched Richard from his thoughts as he scanned the horizon. “How many precisely?”

  “There’s got to be twenty in the Hadley Crater area.”

  “Damn it! Top-cover for the Humatron ground force . . . It won’t be quite the surprise I was hoping for.” Richard breathed a heavy sigh as Borghine and Tardier edged forward on either side.

  At that moment Richard heard the cool voice of Doug Winton. He was leading A Section and running in from the south-west. “Red Formation, this is Red One,” he said. “Assume altitude. Assume altitude . . . Critical gate in two minutes. Remember! . . . Gate critical for the initial pass.”

  By referring to the ‘gate’, Doug Winton meant a layer of airspace within which each formation must remain. For Richard and Black Formation it was from the surface up to 300 feet. For Doug Winton and A Section it was from 400 to 700 feet, and for B Section, flying in from the east, it was over 700 feet. When the three sections crossed simultaneously over the robot army, that discipline would avoid mid-air collisions and enable clear target allocations for the first pass – a pilot would not target an enemy craft outside their gate. After that it would be a free-for-all.

  Richard had reduced altitude to 100 feet after emerging from the Rima Bradley. Now, Black Formation was speeding over the Putredinis Plain in a headlong sprint towards the foothills of Mons Hadley. Richard could see that spearhead-shaped peak reaching for the sky high above him. Surface features streaked past in a blur.

  At ultra-low level and in such close proximity to the mountains, the highly rarefied lunar atmosphere seemed to glow with an uncanny radiance and the concentrations of cosmic rays at these latitudes made the radio crackle intermittently with heavy static. Regarding human voices, however, the frequency remained silent except for an occasional call from the Red Section leaders.

  With the Montes Appeninus – mountains named after the Apennine range in Italy – bearing down on them at senseless speed and its escarpment rising as an abrupt and almost vertical wall of greyish rock, Thomas calmly issued his navigation command: “Turn left now, Commander, onto a heading of zero three five degrees. Continue for thirty seconds. Be aware that the ground is steadily rising. Then look to your left again; in the ten o’clock position you will see the head of the Hadley Rille.”

  Richard nodded. It was good navigation. And with the six fighters flying line abreast and their wingtips almost touching, he eased the Formation into the turn using only fifteen degrees of bank – he was mindful of his wingman, Major Canales on this occasion, dropping very close to the Moon’s surface. Anticipating the desired course, he rolled his wings level and the Formation responded as if it was one machine. He looked to his left and then to his right; Borghine and Tardier were so close that he felt he could reach out and touch them. Then he checked the chronometer on the instrument panel; it read: 08:34:02. And then, dead ahead, and a few seconds distant, Richard saw surface features drop away – it was the start of the rille.

  “Enter it, on an initial heading of north, Commander,” said Thomas, having appreciated that Richard’s adjustments to the ship’s flight path meant that Richard had seen the entry point.

  Richard flashed his navigation lights, which was the signal for the Formation to make final preparations, and moments later the valley – a long, sinuous canyon – abruptly appeared. At 50 lutens, the ground disappeared beneath them in an instant. Suddenly they were 1400 feet above the valley floor. Instinctively, Richard pushed the nose of his craft down into a steep dive.

  Like water over the Niagara Falls they plunged into the valley below. Passing 500 feet, Richard pulled the nose of his craft steadily backwards and he levelled the Formation at 100 feet, and then, appreciating his surroundings, he dropped further to 50 feet above the surface. This was the height he would hold for the attack run.

  The sense of speed was incredible. Outcrops of rock and occasional boulders passed in a blink. Even though the valley floor was level and flat and a kilometre wide in the main, the near-vertical cliffs that towered on either side gave a claustrophobic feeling. Richard flashed his navigation lights again and said over the radio: “Assume attack formation.” With that the six spacecraft eased outwards and distributed themselves evenly in a line across the valley.

  Richard looked ahead to see the first bend in the winding rille – a right-hand turn through one hundred and twenty degrees. It approached at breakneck speed. He negotiated it by rolling to the right through ninety degrees and pulling. And then, by necessity, he pulled harder in order to prevent the ship from skidding outwards in the turn, and he quickly realised that 50 lutens was too fast for this place. Difficult . . . impractical! he thought. The application of bank, the roll rate and the g-force, even with the Moon’s reduced gravity, would be too difficult to handle and would subsequently reduce their targeting effectiveness.

  “Reducing thirty lutens,” Richard said simply over the coded combat frequency and simultaneously closed his thrust lever.

  Even so, 30 lutens would give an equivalent ‘in gravity’ speed of 1000 kilometres per hour or 620 miles per hour. Borghine, Tardier, Quarrie, Mayard and Canales were all aware of the implications of a further speed reduction; but now, within the confines of the rille, they could appreciate Richard’s reasoning.

  Periodic transmissions from Richard’s transponder that was coded six six four, enabled Doug Winton to see Richard’s trace on his radar display despite Black Formation being hidden from his view. He also knew that Richard was running approximately one minute late and consequently adjusted his own timing to account for this. Winton was studying his display when he saw Richard’s code change from six six four to six six five, meaning that Black Formation was about to attack. Moments later, Winton commenced his run, leading ‘A Section’ in an inverted ‘V’ formation. He checked his altitude at 450 feet and cross-checked the position and altitude of ‘B Section’ – all is set for the showdown, he thought.

  In the valley, Richard was anything but settled. His heart was racing, adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he wiped away several beads of sweat that were running down his cheek with the back of his glove, before flipping closed his helmet’s inner airtight visor panel. He checked over each shoulder continuously, confirming the Formation’s perfect line across the valley, and he maintained an offset to the right of the valley’s centreline in order to accommodate three ships to his left and two to his right. He could see a great swirling cloud of grey and black dust and fine debris rising behind the outermost fighters and he knew that it extended across the rift behind them, like a thundery squall line. Richard’s thumb hovered over the cannon’s trigger. It was the centre button on the pistol-shaped grip in his left hand. Speed is 30 lutens, he noted, as the ground sped past and the radio altimeter indicated 44 feet at that instant.

  Thomas, plugged into the ship’s avionics by way of his finger, appeared at one with the spacecraft. He called the sensor picture, giving Richard a continuous verbal update of what lay ahead. Richard, for his part, felt surprisingly reassured by the running commentary. The proximity of the enemy fighters that circled above the valley grew closer and closer with each passing second. Richard led the Formation through the twists and turns of the valley and in doing so he scanned the surrounding topography. The valley was predominantly ‘U’-shaped, but the ridge lines that towered some 1300 feet above him on either side were anything but even. Seismic activity over aeons had caused cracks and fissures in the abrupt walls of pumice-like rock and areas where landslides had occurred caused hillocks of debris on the valley floor. I will need to be aware of those hazards and any other rocky outcrops when the battle commenced, he thought.

  The Hadley Rille is one hundred and twenty-five kilometres long and Richard became increasingly anxious as the Formation passed the 90 kilometre position. The robot force is moving faster than I anticipated, he thought. We must engage them in the valley!

  Thomas turned his head sharply to the left because he s
aw for the briefest moment a silhouette moving in the distance – it was high on the ridgeline. It came into view again and appeared to be travelling in their direction, but was quickly left behind. “A spotter! On the top . . . to the left! It will alert the ground force and bring the enemy fighters down on us,” he said to Richard.

  “Commence firing chaff!” Richard barked over the radio.

  Suddenly the area on each side of the Formation was filled with tiny reflective specks, like an unexpected and heavy downpour from a thunder cloud on a bright day. But this metallic rain glinted and glistened in the sunlight as it fell, like millions of minute, flashing lights. The metallic specks were directed forwards as well as sideways and at times the two wing ships skimmed through the shimmering mist of oxide pellets.

  After negotiating a blind, ninety-degree bend to the left, Thomas suddenly shouted: “Commander! Multiple targets dead ahead . . . range six thousand metres.” The words cut into Richard’s psyche. Instantaneously something caught his eye; he glanced up to see a number of small, shiny, occasionally oval shapes manoeuvring against the blackness. They turned in tight circles, perhaps five Ks ahead, and slightly above him. But he pulled his eyes down to the ground and the job in hand and had a brief notion of Doug Winton and A Section coming in from behind him.

  “Five thousand metres!” shouted Thomas over the intercom, unable to suppress his emotions.

  Richard’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he peered into the distance. The ground streaked past at unimaginable speed and he strained to see what lay ahead. Intermittently, he glanced down at his instruments, in order to avoid target fixation. Then, in that instant, he saw a faint dust cloud; it stirred close to the ground in the middle distance. “Targets on the nose – range four thousand metres!” Richard exclaimed over the common frequency. He checked left and right. There was slight movement down the line, anxious twitches up and down as the fighters sped towards their target. Richard sensed his team’s restraint; their fervour to engage the robot force was palpable. He pressed the radio transmit button. “Steady . . . steady Black Formation,” he said. There was no emotion in his voice. “Hold your fire . . . hold . . .”