Cameron took off out of the mess hall and down the corridor, with George struggling to keep up. The long stretch of connected pods stank of stale air and rust. SP had been relegated to the older section of post, in the units left over from some of the first attempts at a lunar colony. Cameron normally enjoyed the walk through ancient history, but there wasn’t time now. They raced past the classrooms and repair hangars until they arrived at the shuttle to the hangars on the opposite end of the base. When the door opened, they boarded the automated craft and waited for it to launch.
“What the hell is this, Cam?”
The taller pilot looked out the window, admiring a series of sparkling dots clustered in the distance. It was impossible to make out shapes at this distance, but the patterns of their movement were mesmerizing.“I don’t know. But I’ll bet this had to do with them.”He pointed and joined with George in staring in awe at the spectacle.“Are those rebels?”
“Mars ships are always red,”George said without looking over.“It’s like they have to color-coordinate with the dirt. Lonz used to say it was a branding thing. You remember Lonz?”He looked down as the shuttle bobbed and weaved past different hangars. They watched as a wing of Sparrows—small fighters with thin, fixed wings—launched from magnetic rails and raced to join the SP battle group growing in the sky.“It’s all hands on deck. They’re even deploying Junos Squadron.”
Cameron followed George’s finger to where six Griffin bombers were lifting up from their pads. The long-necked craft were anything but maneuverable, but could single-handedly turn the tide of a battle, if protected until they could fire off their ordnance. Their wings were in the VTOL position, bent midway so the rockets could fire straight down; they were much too heavy for MagRails. Even in the lower gravity it took a minute for the immense craft to push off the dirt. Clouds of moon dust billowed and swirled around, coating every surface.
“Approaching Hangar W, standby for landing.”The automated voice was followed by a chime, and Cameron and George braced for the usual rough stop. Another relic, the shuttle was older than either of its occupants. It hit the landing surface with a screech, lurching to a sudden halt. The doors hissed as they pressurized to the airlock before opening.
Jogging into the hangar, the pilots saw a frenzy of activity as crews on the ground raced to launch their fighters. Wolfpack was comprised solely of FS 115 Phoenix II superiority fighters, a single winged craft that dominated the sky—at least until the Phoenix III had launched fifteen years back and rendered“the Deuce”obsolete. Now the craft was a hand-me-down from big brother Fleet. The cool gray metal glistened in the harsh lighting, and the fighters on the rails shimmered as they grew near the purple barrier that separated the building from the elements outside. Cameron and George quickly spotted Captain Newman, the SP commander for Yorktown Air. Standing a head taller than anyone around him, Newman barked orders into radios and urged crews to work faster. An aide stood nearby, shouting into a phone. Even with the roaring engines of launching fighters, it was the loudest corner of the room.
“Captain,”the aide said.“Normandy has two squadrons aboard, but Stalingradwent up without an escort. They were shadowing while the new commander got his sea legs. They have plenty of anti-air, but they’re not adding much to the fight.”
“Where does Gilroy want us?”
The aide searched around a nearby table until he managed to find his dusty tablet. He tapped the screen, bringing up a holographic map of lunar space.“Sector is in a scouting position here and here, near the Alpha contacts. I’m still being told to wait for our flight order.”
Newman nodded, taking the information cooly. Fleet problems were now his problems, and his peaceful drill weekend was looking long gone. Newman noticed George and Cameron standing a few paces away and waved them over. He returned their confused salutes and put them at ease. Rubbing at his bloodshot eyes, Newman silently prayed for a cup of coffee. Like everyone else, he’d been asleep an hour before.
“Lieutenant, you two are the last in the hole. Wolfpack is at half strength today, so you’re taking over the Squadron as Wolf One.”
Cameron coughed.“Sir? What happened to Lieutenant Rico?”
“Down with a bad bug. And another six are in the drunk tank with the MPs. I can’t fly them, even with this shit storm. You’ll do.”
“Roger, sir.”
George looked around, taking in the reality of the situation. On the table were screens showing the two unknown formations. The images were close to show the strange designs of the ships in clear detail.“Captain, have they said what we’re up against?”
The field officer shook his head.“It’s not Mars, or at least that’s what they’re saying. Could be that splinter group out of Colorum. Be prepared for a fight. People don’t show up unannounced just to shoot the breeze. Once you’re out there, rendezvous with the rest of SP and stand by.”
Cameron took in the information, his mind flipping through scenarios. Even with the colonists of the red planet pacified, the Federate had no shortage of enemies in the outer sectors.“Those don’t look like converted mining vessels, sir. Have they been converting old derelicts or something?”
Newman sighed, clenching his jaw and counting to ten.“Lieutenant, I know about as much as you right now. What I do know is that these ships are in violation of the Vienna Pact and Sector is part of the mission. So shut up, get in your ship and get up there.”
George interrupted, placing his palm on Cameron’s chest.“What’s the rally point?”
“Savanna,”Newman said.
George immediately took off, running over to his fighter. The hangar crew already had the ladder out for him, and they handed his flight bag up after he sat down in the cockpit. Cameron realized he hadn’t moved yet and followed suit, finding his ship and climbing inside. The newer Phoenix had cushioned interiors and poly-crystallic screens with a refined holographic overlay. Cam’s fighter was pieced together from eight different versions of the Deuce, and looked it. One computer flickered green while another beamed images in sickening orange. It had taken him months to be able to process the kaleidoscope.
In the cockpit, Cameron flipped on the master power and waited two seconds for the computer self-test to complete. He reached back behind his head and pulled out his helmet from the stowage rack. The water line was still connected, and he bit down to test if it was full. A sweet mixture of a water and electrolytes filled his mouth. He squeezed the baggy and shook, hearing the slosh of a half-empty bladder. Won’t be out more than an hour. It’ll be fine. Cameron pulled his helmet on and plugged into the communication box. Immediately he heard traffic from Wolfpack. It was the usual buzz: what people thought of the mission, if anyone knew something new, did so-and-so hit that hottie last night.
Switching to a local line, Cameron spoke.“George, you read me?”
“Lima Charlie, Cam. This shit is crazy.”George leaned back as a flight crew Chief—an attractive woman with bright green eyes—tugged his harness tight and checked for frays in the straps. As she pulled away, George held up a hand.“No kiss for good luck?”The Chief smacked his helmet hard enough make him wince, but as she climbed down he saw her blush. George laughed and pulled his canopy shut, waiting for the magnets to connect and seal. He listened until the locks clicked twice before giving the crew a nod. The Heads Up Display read green, meaning the cockpit was now pressurized and ready for launch.
Cameron felt rather than saw the crane grab his fighter and begin moving it toward the rails. It wasn’t as efficient as launching from the airfield, as only two fighters could take-off at once, but the magnetic launcher allowed crews to immediately enter the battlefield rather than waiting to taxi out into the vacuum. Cameron connected his flight suit to the hoses inside the craft. Zero-G combat was a fairly different animal than planetary dogfighting, but the human body was the same. The flight suit would help keep him conscious during even the most intense fights. Air and water flowed in hoses around his legs and torso, cont
racting and relaxing as the system came online. When needed, this would keep blood in the right places.
“This is Wolf two—shit, Wolf one—show me attached on rail two.”
“Wolf one, this is Yankee one-two.”Captain Newman’s voice came through calm as a schoolteacher over the line.“You are cleared to launch in minus sixty seconds. Good hunting.”
“One-two, this is Wolf six,”George said.“I’m on the rail, show me outbound.”He toggled his power amp, listening to the engines whine.
The Phoenix began to vibrate around Cameron as the magnets picked up their spin. Once the green light came, the hangar crew would switch his arresting magnet forward and propel him to launch speed in under two seconds. He remembered the first time he’d launched off a rail. George had been telling jokes into the radio from the ground, and Cameron had turned to make a face at him. When the rail launched, his head jerked back so hard he thought his head would be torn off. Three weeks in a neck brace had cemented that lesson in pretty deep.
“George, test control jets.”Cameron watched as the twenty vertical and horizontal nozzles on George’s fighter spit out white flames in sequence. Once in the vacuum, those jets provided precise control of the craft. Had the fight been planetside, the Phoenix had standard flaps and ailerons for gravitational warfare.“You’re green, spot me.”He activated the jet self-test and watched the numbers count up. A yellow light came on for number 15.“Damn it, I thought they fixed that last month.”
“Yeah, still sputtering. That’s fifteen, right?”
Cameron banged his helmet against his headrest.“Same shit, different day. Like I reallyneeded to turn right anyhow.”
“Hey, the day everything works right the first time, call in sick. The universe is clearly trying to kill you.”
An alarm chimed in their cockpits.“T-minus ten...nine...eight...”
Cameron pulled his restraints tight. His left hand rested on his engine control and missile guidance stick while his right gripped the yoke. He pressed his head back against the rest and waited for the sudden acceleration. George howled over the intercom, laughing maniacally as he always did before launch. For a moment all was still and quiet, and then the stars rushed forward at incredible speed. Cameron sank into the molded seat, his vision blurring at three hundred kilometers per hour as his stomach somersaulted into his back. Then they were clear, rocketing out of the lunar atmosphere with the dusty ground falling further and further behind.
The engines kicked in automatically as soon as the craft were far enough from the rails. With the twin slush-hydrogen jets spewing out a steady stream of white and blue fire, the Phoenixes cruised out of Luna’s gravity and raced to meet up with the rest of the air wing.
“Sector Patrol Luna, this is Wolf one. Sight me inbound on approach vector four-two.”
“Wolf one, this is Valley Forge. Approach on flight path whiskey seven, on your HUD.”
Cameron looked out over his port wing at George.“Shit, wrong channel.”They shared a look of uncertainty before Cameron went back to the radio.“Valley Forge, Wolfpack is Sierra Papa. Please advice which net to switch to.”
“Wolf, this is Valley Forgeactual.”Cameron straightened up at that. Commander DeHart’s smoke-charred voice was unmistakable. Head officer of the supercruiser Valley Forge, he was second-in-command to Terra Node, which essentially made him second-in-command of the Sol System. That the station had committed its own security detachment meant the threat level had jumped dramatically.“You will rendezvous with elements of Earth’s SP and form on CBG Terra’s flank. Fleet has operational control of this task force. Valley Forgeout.”
George laughed nervously.“Well, now I’m sure this isn’t just a drill.”
“Wolf, this is one.”Cameron let out a breath he’d been holding.“We’re escort for Savanna. Tight cluster, nexus formation.”
“Roger,”came the expected response.
“Cam,”George said.“You’re almost sounding like a leader.”
“Not my first wing.”
“Did I ever apologize for that? Though, to be fair, you’re the one who let me bring the Maneton inside the armory.”
Cameron was about to respond when a shadow blotted out the light around him. He looked up, his mouth dropping open. Engulfing all space above his puny fighter, the enormous girth of the TFC Midway emerged overhead. The mammoth hangar bays on either side of the flat, boxy body spread out almost a half-mile. An escort wing of Phoenix III fighters flew in graceful figure-eights around the hull, quad-rockets leaving parallel streaks behind them. As the carrier passed, driven by sixteen fusion-cell engines, Cameron made out crews inside the hangars prepping the bomber squadrons for launch. The almond-shaped Seed craft sat on rapid-deployment rails along with dozens more strikers. Soon they disappeared from view as the flagship joined its group outside the standoff between the two mysterious formations. Medium-sized frigates and much larger destroyers took position around the supercarrier while a heavily-armed battleship arrived from the rear.
At this distance, Cameron could see that each armada was unique in design. The tiny ships dispersing from the black hive on the left bore red markings on their glossy hulls. Their carrier spun on a central axis and resembled in many ways a bee’s nest. Four acorn-shaped cruisers flanked the flagship, cannons peeking out the front of their pointed hulls. Ten destroyers—long, scooped craft with turrets covering their skin like spines—edged slowly toward the other side of the battlefield. Finally, mixed in with the other vessels, spherical missile frigates drifted like space debris.
Opposite the dark craft, the silver flotilla was comprised of elegantly designed warships. Their supercarrier, a crescent of platinum and gold, glided on glowing engines toward the fray, surrounded by cigar-shaped cruisers and destroyers. The fighters and bombers were all-too familiar in their saucer shape.
“It’s an alien invasion, George.”
“That’s stupid. There’s no such thing.”But George’s voice wavered.
Cameron and George finally arrived at the edge of Fleet’s blockade. Wolfpack, comprised of seven Phoenix II fighters, floated alongside the missile frigate TMF Savanna. Called the“bulldog,”the 130,000-ton vessel carried a payload of six hundred Trebuchet missiles, fourteen hundred Ram dummy rockets, forty Brimstone warheads and ten nuclear munitions—colloquially called the“Ten Plagues”by the crew. Though the silhouette was strangely canine, there was no mistaking the raw power of the warship.
“Savanna, this is Wolf one. I’m on your starboard side.”The green lights on the right dorsal fin of the craft bathed Cameron’s fighter. He looked up and saw a gunner flash his target strobe; a friendly taunt from the under-gunned ship. Crews of missile frigates knew that without an escort they were slag-in-waiting. Cameron lifted his wing and opened the munition doors, showing off his own assortment of toys.
“And now my favorite game,”George said.“Hurry up and wait.”He looked over at Cameron, waving a deck of cards. When his friend nodded, he pulled off a rubber band from the pack and dealt. He pressed Cameron’s hand against the glass and let his own float free in zero gravity.“Your bet.”
* * * * *
Not a single signal sent to the alien armadas had elicited a response. The two strike groups drifted toward each other, each well within range of long guns and missiles, yet no one daring the first shot. In the Terran Fleet, fingers twitched over control and triggers, anxious for anything to happen.
At exactly 0550 Lunar Standard Time, something did.
* * * * *
“Holy shit, what the hell is that?”
From the darker armada, a maelstrom of red energy—plasma bolts and missiles from the various ships—launched at the silvery craft. The dam burst, and the two formations exploded into attack. Silver craft roared at their enemies, firing salvos of green energy that blew holes clear through the ebony armor. The carriers and cruisers deployed countermeasures to disrupt the incoming fire, but the heavier slugs passed right through and shattered hulls.
From the surface of Earth, the light show was visible even in the daytime sky.
“All stations this net, this is Midway. Hold fire, I say again, hold fire.”
Cameron looked down at his hands, surprised to find them shaking. He turned to his wingman but for once George was silent, staring open-mouthed at the spectacle. Cameron couldn’t help but be drawn in by the surreal beauty of the battle. Silver craft exploded in a dazzling rainbow of colors, and black Y-shaped fighters spiraled and erupted, leaving glowing red nebulas in their wake.
“Can you track them? I can’t get an acquisition lock.”The voice came from another pilot in the SP line. Cameron realized he couldn’t get a lock on signal from his passive radar. The system was designed to pick up on space debris, but seemed dumfounded by the new ships.
“What do you think, George?”
The pilot pulled his attention reluctantly from the battle.“Laser lock should work. We could try getting closer, but I’d rather not.”
“Afraid of a little action,”Cameron teased.
“Nah,”George said.“Just feeling particularly lazy at the moment. Let someone else draw the suicide detail.”
Cameron felt around his belt and located his good-luck charm. Regulations prohibited jewelry, but the small silver cross had more than religious value for the pilot and he loathed to be without it. Still, rather than risk strangulation, he had found a better place to stow it than around his neck.
“Wolf one, Valley Forge.”
Cameron took a quick sip from the line before answering.“This is Wolf one, go ahead.”
The operator on the other end of the line spoke softly, almost anxiously.“FRAGO to follow. Standby for Valley Forgeactual.”Cameron’s pulse quickened. Seconds passed while the radio transferred to DeHart. Fragmentation orders were usually passed out by communication officers, not commanders.
“Wolfpack, Valley Forgeactual. You are ordered to close with unknown vessels in quadrant 41-32 and scan using active radar. Once a proper signal is acquired, you are to check for radio, laser and beam traffic in order to identify what net these ships are using for communication. You are to hold fire unless fired upon. Do you understand?”
When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) Page 4
