Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series)

by A J Marshall

  Richard plunged towards the ground, down towards the steep valley escarpment. Suddenly, and with split-second timing, he reversed the direction of retro thrust and, using cross-controls, recovered from the spin with barely 1000 feet to spare. Then he quickly pulled his craft into a series of manoeuvres.

  “Where is he, Thomas?” Richard shouted.

  “Still behind us, Commander.”

  “Dammit!”

  Still losing altitude, Richard increased his rate of descent and dived into the valley. He was within a hair’s breadth of the valley side and rocky outcrops flashed past. He was heading north-east and made a snap right turn towards open ground and then a dummy left turn that he promptly reversed. Feeling exposed, he flicked his ship to the left again, back towards the hard, cold, wall of rock. Flashes of laser light followed his every move. Tucked in so tight that the rock face appeared to burst through the canopy, Richard pulled and pushed and jostled his controls.

  “Can’t shake him!” Richard blurted.

  Suddenly Richard was showered with rock fragments – a laser blast had hit the rock wall just in front of him. At that speed the pieces were like bullets and several perforated his wing. Richard instinctively ducked as a fragment smacked into his windscreen. To his dismay, a tiny crack formed.

  “Hold on!” Richard called in desperation, and he snap-rolled to the right and dived down towards the valley floor – the Humatron followed him.

  Ahead, at the end of the valley, Richard could see a column of thick, milky-white smoke; it was rising from a downed fighter with its rocket fuel flaring. Richard pulled his thrust lever closed in order to reduce speed and all the while he darted up and down and left and right, narrowly avoiding the deadly barrage from behind. He flew headlong towards the smoke. With a thumb controller he positioned the forward retro to the left and the aft retro pointing horizontally to the right and as he was about to zoom through the smoke he jammed open the lever and simultaneously pressed the trigger of his cannon. The effect was instant. Russian roulette – as the incredible stress levels could rip the Swiftsure apart. Both ships flashed through the smoke, but Richard was spinning like a top and with his cannon blazing. An instant was all that was needed, as the Humatron had little idea what had happened before his craft disintegrated in the hail of heavy gunfire.

  Richard was still in trouble, however, as the high rate of spin was disorientating. Despite his immediate cancellation of retro thrust the swirling motion continued and Richard’s vision became blurred. They began to lose altitude.

  “Adjust forward retro to the right, Commander,” ordered Thomas. “Do it now!”

  Richard complied, although he was unaware of the effect on the retro’s position. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to vomit.

  “Stop! Apply retro thrust now . . . Stop! Now, Commander, please pull up!”

  Richard pulled back on the stick and instinctively increased the main thrust; soon they were in a rapid but stable climb. It took Richard a few moments to regain his senses.

  “Commander, when you are able, you may wish to look to your right,” continued Thomas. “There are three S2 Shuttles arriving from the Mare Imbrium sector. According to communications on the secondary control frequency they are equipped with assault pods. I count eight Humatron fighters still in this vicinity; you may wish to provide close support to the S2s as they will be vulnerable when they make their approach to land.”

  “Thank you, Thomas, that’s helpful . . . Wait!”

  Richard refocused and caught sight of two Humatron fighters behind his right shoulder – he immediately manoeuvred but lost sight of them. “Thomas, the sensor screen, where are they?”

  “Quickly turning into your eight o’clock, Commander. But they don’t appear to be manoeuvring to attack; they’re turning north.”

  “They are going for fuel,” said Richard. He scanned the area and saw Borghine’s fighter involved in a one-to-one. “Black Six, from Black One, where are you?” he called over the combat frequency.

  “Ten o’clock high,” was the reply.

  “Copied . . . Black Two and Black Six, two Humatron fighters, north-west by three miles, heading north for refuel. Break off and follow them. Engage when they land and then destroy the refuel station and operating base.”

  “Oui, Capitaine . . .”

  “. . . Vamos alla!”

  The struggle over Rima Hadley was coming to an end. Thomas’s idea of providing support for the three S2s was sensible, but they were already disappearing from sight in a north-easterly direction.

  “Black Three, Four and Five, this is Black One,” he called over the radio. “Follow me onto a heading of zero two zero degrees, increase forty lutens. Red One . . . over to you and good luck.”

  “Copied Black Formation,” said Doug Winton. “I see you going.”

  “Keep an eye on the sensor picture, Thomas,” said Richard over the intercom. “The Humatron fighters are thin on the ground at the moment – I think they are reaching the end of their endurance – but we can expect some more on Andromeda’s eastern flank.”

  “Yes, Commander. Three S2s dead ahead thirty kilometres, open formation. They appear to be decelerating . . . Wait! Contact enhancement indicates firing of the assault pods . . .”

  “Good, troops on the ground, let’s go.”

  Designated ‘lunar independent’ because they are auto-piloted, self-propelled and able to carry a fully kitted Space platoon, the Nexus Aerosystems-designed assault pod is essentially an orbital APC – an Armoured Personnel Carrier – with a sting. Allocated the ISSF inventory code LAAP 12, the pods boast potent weapons, sensor screens, life support, generous self-destruct and a maximum complement of twenty heavily armed Special Forces operatives. Designed originally for rapid deployment anywhere on the lunar surface and with an almost invisible radar signature when launched in Space, the anti-acquisition, spiral re-entry profile afforded the system the affectionate term ‘shock troopers fantasy ride’ by those who deployed in them. This time, Richard could see that they were utilising a ‘low-altitude, minimum flight time strategy’ and no sooner had they dropped from beneath the mother ships than the three S2s rapidly vacated the area.

  “Sensors indicate two further S2 approaching from the Rima Fresnel area, Commander. I understand from communications on the secondary frequency that this is the total ground force available until the S2s return again from Earth.”

  “Copied, Thomas, but that will probably be too late. I’m seeing a lot of movement on my tactical screen east of the drop zone. There’s a Humatron force moving towards Andromeda.”

  Richard’s Formation of four fighters dropped low and skimmed over the undulating terrain as the three assault pods descended vertically a kilometre or so in front of them. As they passed overhead, Richard banked to the left to see tiny retro rockets on the four corners of each pod cushion their landing. Dust and debris quickly rose into swirling clouds as they dropped the final ten metres. And then he looked back over his shoulder to see a stream of men running and dispersing from each of the cube-shaped objects. Within seconds the three platoons were forming a battle line.

  The Humatron fighters were noticeable by their absence as Richard, forever wary, pulled his formation into an easy right turn and onto a reciprocal heading. It was then that mortar shells began to fall. They caused multiple explosions in the vicinity of the storm troopers. Richard looked left to see their origin in the lower foothills at the base of the Apennine front. He immediately turned in that direction.

  “Standby to engage,” Richard called over the radio, as he checked his weapon systems.

  At 50 feet and accelerating towards the enemy emplacement, Richard opened the Formation into an attacking line abreast with a sharp order over the combat frequency. In seconds the ground began a slow incline towards the foothills and rocky outcrops formed effective hiding places. Sporadic streams of tracer shells fired from various positions on the ground where lone Humatrons had moved forwards for spotting dut
ies, but the main force lay ahead of them and Richard and his men had it in their sights.

  Ground fire intensified until it appeared as a mass of crisscrossed, multicoloured diagonals – the lines terminating in firework-like microbursts. Richard’s response was to drop lower and he edged the Formation down to 30 feet – territory where ground clutter confused even the most sophisticated fire control radars. Bobbing up and down but with a stable flight path towards the target, Richard pressed on. Now the steeply rising terrain of the mountains reared up and began filling their windscreens. Incendiary shells and tracer streams lit up the black lunar sky. Buffeted and bouncing, the fighters rocketed towards their goal. Outside, the desolate, sterile, Moon was a blur. Richard heard and felt the dull thud of penetrating hits and he saw the damaged area to Chris Quarrie’s right-hand winglet reignite. Smoke billowed and flames licked from inside the holed structure – but this time extinguishing it was impossible, because Chris had already used both bottles.

  “Break if you need to,” Richard instructed Chris.

  “Negative! On target!” was the reply.

  Richard looked forward again as the stronghold loomed. The mountains filled his windscreen. Tardier and Mayard held a good line on his right. The flak rained on them. “Take my lead!” said Richard. “Two left, two right, on my command!” he snapped.

  “Stay on line . . . Stay on line . . . ! Steady . . . steady . . . fire!”

  Instantaneously, the flak changed direction. Sonic torpedoes loosed; magma shells streaked towards their targets streaming characteristic sulphur trails as their iron pellets turned molten. Richard dropped four sonic eruptors and a continuous barrage from his heavy cannon spat fire and destruction. It was Revelation Day for the Humatron force.

  “Break!” shouted Richard, and none too soon; the bleak, unforgiving face of the mountain was about to burst through into his cockpit. Hard right and left turns with heavy g loading followed and then they were away. Nobody looked back.

  Moments later they overflew the storm trooper line and Richard rocked his wings in a brief show of solidarity as the soldiers below joyously waved their weapons. But the fight wasn’t over yet – far from it.

  Richard heard Andromeda Control requesting part of Red Wing move against the Nanobots that were streaming in from the west and north-west. If they were quick, the tiny marauders – mechanical replicas of African soldier ants, with powerful electro-hydraulic mandibles – could be contained in the biodome complex. Richard knew that some of Red Wing’s Delta Class fighters were carrying ionising plasma shells and that they were much more effective than the standard static variety – each generating one million volts of searing electrical potential. Any programmable functions within a kilometre radius of one of those devices would instantly be erased. He heard Doug Winton take up the challenge.

  “Andromeda Control, this is Black One, requesting priorities,” said Richard over the radio.

  “Black One, this is Andromeda. Humatrons are closing in on our northern boundary, less than a K. We are taking heavy casualties. Our soldiers need support. I repeat, immediate air support required north by north-east!”

  “Copied. On our way!” replied Richard, and glanced around to gather his force. Tardier and Mayard were already tight in an echelon starboard formation, but on his left side Quarrie’s ship was streaming smoke and falling behind.

  “You can’t do any more, Chris. We’re in a friendly area – get out while you can!”

  “Negative . . . I can hold her, Commander!”

  “She’s going to blow – get out! That’s an order!”

  Richard heard nothing more from Chris. A moment later there was a blinding flash from inside his cockpit. The spaceship shuddered. Staring wide-eyed, Richard’s heart sank. Black and grey smoke billowed; it engulfed Chris from below, obscuring him in an instant. But suddenly his canopy shifted and a ring of white flashes blasted it clear. Simultaneously, a dark shape emerged from obscurity, streaming red and white flames, and in the blink of an eye it lifted Chris clear and he was gone.

  “Black Three, Black Five, detach. Head north. Engage as required. I’ll catch you up,” ordered Richard. He pulled his ship into a tight left-hand turn and followed Chris’s white trail across the sky. The burning ship nose-dived towards the ground; on impact it exploded as a ball of effervescing sparks.

  “Do you see him, Thomas?”

  “Yes, Commander, seven o’clock position, one kilometre, predetermined flight path.”

  Richard scanned the horizon for other fighters and then turned and decelerated. He caught sight of the ejection seat as a brief but vivid flash of rocket propellant cushioned its landing. There was a small puff of dust on the surface and Richard flew towards it. When he arrived he saw Chris Quarrie on his feet and waving. Relieved, he flew a tight circle around him and called over the radio: “Aircrewman down, mark coordinates.” He set course to the north at low level.

  Richard arrived in the midst of heavy fighting. The area north and north-east of Andromeda’s main complex had become the decisive battle front. Richard was familiar with the surrounding terrain and being flat and featureless it afforded little cover. Primary ground forces from both sides were engaging in close proximity and a handful of Humatron space fighters had returned from their refuelling station near the Moon’s north pole. Richard hoped that Borghine and Canales had put paid to the place by now, but there was no sign of them. The radio waves were awash with instructions and warnings and cries for help – it was calamitous.

  Overhead, sporadic but energetic exchanges took place between opposing fighters. Numbers were severely depleted on both sides and clearly heavy losses had been sustained. As Richard saw another airburst above the battlefield and subsequently part of a Humatron ship sent spinning out of control, he thought the war in the sky was siding with them, but on the ground it looked to be a different picture. The Humatrons had a large force. Richard could see two main groups, each with perhaps thirty individuals, and there were smaller units on the flanks. Storm troopers from the assault pods dropped further to the north had joined with soldiers from the 1 Regiment, but their line was under extreme duress. Richard could see a good deal of friendly movement between Andromeda’s northern-most buildings and the front. Soldiers there seemed to scurry back and forth within unseen lines and Richard surmised that land mines were being deployed to funnel the Humatrons into a killing zone.

  The main battlefield was peppered with explosions, flashes of laser light and blurring sonic disturbances. An insane struggle raged: humankind against its own technology. Shapes of men and machines that lay motionless dotted the drab, light grey landscape. The dust of fighting rose as an eerie mist. Richard kept low and out of sight and circled the area whilst he formulated a strategy, but suddenly he caught sight of a Delta Class flashing across the horizon. It was trailing white smoke and had clearly taken a hit. To Richard’s alarm, close on its tail stalked an enemy ship. Richard primed his cannon with a short burst and moved in support.

  Trailing white smoke gave constant notice of its position, as the Delta Class manoeuvred in desperation. Hampered by mechanical damage, the pilot’s efforts became futile and the Humatron’s coup de grace became a matter of course. But Richard knew that target fixation was a symptom avoided only by experience and could not be programmed – not yet anyway – and he waited for the Humatron to flash past overhead and then pulled up steeply in its wake. Evidently preoccupied, at first the robot seemed unaware of Richard’s presence, and it was only then that Richard realised that the damaged Delta was one of his own – Black Five! John Mayard!

  “I’m listening to the Humatron frequency, Commander; ground units are trying to warn the pilot ahead. You should act quickly.”

  Richard was concentrating on the target. It chased Mayard down in the most astonishing fashion; he needed all his skill to stay with it. “I’m trying!” he barked at Thomas.

  And then, in a split-second of stable flight and at the instant the Humatron fired a
t Mayard, Richard loosed a volley of high-velocity cannon shells at the machinemelt. The results were comparable. John Mayard’s right wing immediately exploded and detached, sending his craft spinning uncontrollably to the left and out of the frame, while heavy armour-piercing shells tore into the Humatron’s ship like a stream of ball bearings at a balsawood model – it simply disintegrated into a thousand fragments. Richard snapped-rolled to the left and pulled a tight turn that avoided most of the debris, although he felt several minor impacts through his controls. He sighted Mayard’s Delta and saw him eject, but he was at an awkward angle and low and this gave the mechanics of the seat little chance to right itself completely before the rocket motor fired to cushion his landing. Consequently the seat bounced and tumbled across the ground before coming to rest in a cloud of dust and debris. Richard was worried for him, but he continued his turn and took advantage of a fortuitous strafing opportunity on a platoon of robots before pulling up and clearing the area.

  The battle raged. Aggravated dirt and a thick, black, column of smoke billowed skywards from the frontline; it flashed white streaks from inside like frenetic lightning bolts in a towering and ominous cumulonimbus cloud.

  Richard turned into the conflict again; he assumed the hunter’s guise. “Situation report, Thomas!” he called.

  “Multiple perforations . . . two minor hydraulic leaks . . . main thrust compromised by eleven per cent. Ammunition is very low, Commander.”

  “How low?” Richard scanned for a target.

  “Less than ten per cent remaining.”

  “Copied!” replied Richard, maintaining a tight circle at 200 feet and a little remote from the fray. And then he saw Tardier’s Delta running an attack from right to left. He was so low that the Humatrons on the ground were ducking to avoid him. In the ship’s wake lay a trail of catastrophic destruction that only magma shells bursting in a crowd could produce – it was carnage on their eastern front.

  Richard saw Tardier complete his run and immediately turn for another; it was a flamboyant manoeuvre full of confidence and aggression. Richard gasped. “Not the same line, not again,” he warned under his breath. Seconds later Tardier was closing for a second run but in the opposite direction; Richard could see a problem and accelerated towards the front. He saw a group of Humatrons taking aim with a long-barrelled weapon. “Pull up, Black Three! Pull up!” he called over the radio.