Starship Guardian (The Galactic Wars Book 4)

by Ellis,Tripp

  STARSHIP GUARDIAN

  THE GALACTIC WARS BOOK FOUR

  Tripp Ellis

  Tripp Ellis

  Contents

  1. Rourke

  2. New Earth

  3. Slade

  4. New Earth

  5. New Earth

  6. Saarkturia

  7. New Earth

  8. Slade

  9. New Earth

  10. Slade

  11. New Earth

  12. Slade

  13. New Earth

  14. Slade

  15. New Earth

  16. Slade

  17. New Earth

  18. Slade

  19. New Earth

  20. Slade

  21. New Earth

  22. Revenant

  23. New Earth

  24. Revenant

  25. New Earth

  26. Revenant

  27. New Earth

  28. Revenant

  29. New Earth

  30. Revenant

  31. New Earth

  32. Revenant

  33. New Earth

  34. Revenant

  35. New Earth

  36. The Decluvians

  37. New Earth

  38. New Earth

  39. Revenant

  40. Revenant

  41. New Earth

  42. Revenant

  43. Revenant

  Thank You!

  Connect With Me

  Copyright © 2016 by Tripp Ellis

  All rights reserved. Worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental, and not intended to refer to any living person or to disparage any company’s products or services.

  No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, uploaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter devised, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  Rourke

  Rourke had been waiting his entire life for this moment—to command a starship and lead his crew to victory in an epic battle to save humanity. He stood in the CIC of the USS Scorpion and swelled with visions of grandeur. He’d save New Earth and be regarded as a hero, he thought. But it wasn’t going to be easy. The Decluvian fleet had emerged out of slide-space near New Earth. The outer colonies had all been conquered. Countless throngs of innocent civilians had been taken captive to be used as slaves in the mines, or for scientific experiments, or even as delicacies for the elite.

  New Earth was next.

  Several inbound nukes streaked across the star field, heading for the Scorpion. The LRADDS display (Long Range Direction Distance & Speed) lit up with flashing red triangles.

  Rourke had been living under the shadow of Captain Slade his entire career. How could anyone compare to her? Her accomplishments were legendary. Her victories in the first Verge War were swift and decisive. She had been adored throughout the Planetary Federation. There had been rumors of a political career, and if things had gone differently, she might have had a shot at the Presidency. Though, it’s hard to imagine Slade ever trading in a starship for an office. But none of that was ever going to come to pass. Rourke had seen to it.

  With Slade out of the way, it was time for Rourke to step into his own. The former XO was now captain of the illustrious Scorpion. It was an aging relic of the first Verge War. But the Avenger class destroyer had something that modern warships lacked—time-tested experience in the field, unparalleled construction quality, durable materials, and the belief by the crew that no matter what, the Scorpion was going to survive. Sometimes faith is the most powerful of weapons.

  They just don’t make them like the Scorpion anymore.

  There were a handful of ships left in the fleet. The terrorist attacks had done away with some of the most deadly and advanced super-carriers in the Navy. The Joint Planetary Operations Command was headquartered aboard the USS Devastator. It was also home to the temporary office of President Amado. It was thought to be a more secure location with the impending attacks.

  Remaining in orbit around New Earth were the battle cruisers Independence, Black Widow, Cobra, and the George Washington. There were 3 frigates—the Freedom, the Yellow Jacket, and the Iwo Jima. Two corvettes, the Carney and the Mobley, and several small patrol ships.

  Rourke’s heart thumped in his chest, and his collar began to feel a little tight. His eyes went wide. What started out as several Decluvian warships grew to dozens as they materialized out of slide-space.

  Rourke’s gruff voice barked commands. “Helm, take evasive action. Starboard full!”

  “Starboard full, aye!”

  “Fire Control, target the nukes with the Mark 25s.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The turrets of the Mark 25s swiveled into position. The targeting system locked on and tracked the inbound threats. The 16 inch cannons lit up the star field. The staccato report rumbled throughout the ship. The M79 HVAP-DU (Heavy Armor Penetrating, Depleted Uranium) super-sabot rounds eviscerated the warheads.

  A swarm of enemy fighters filled the star field. They were like angry bees buzzing toward the fleet.

  “Launch the alert fighters,” Rourke commanded.

  “Aye, sir.”

  A stream of plasma projectiles streaked toward the Scorpion from the turrets of the alien armada. They looked like shooting stars across the vacuum of space.

  The USS Mobley, one of the corvettes, had made an attack run at one of the larger carriers. It took the full brunt of the incoming cannon fire. The nimble attack vessel erupted in a brilliant flame—torn to shreds by the incendiary rounds. Twisted metal and debris spiraled out into space. Sections of bulkheads tumbled end over end. There were 789 crew members aboard that ship. None of them survived.

  The Scorpion shuddered as the incoming rounds impacted the hull. Klaxon’s blared and alarms sounded. The plasma rounds ripped through the heavy hull, like paper. Dozens of port-side compartments were venting atmosphere into space.

  “Sir, we’ve got a hull breach in sections 34 through 45, 52 through 67, and 122 through 149,” the tactical officer said.

  “Seal off those compartments immediately.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Unleash the Widow-Makers!” Rourke yelled. “Target their command ship.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Dozens of pilots raced across the flight deck and hopped into their Stingrays. Some of their callsigns were Bullet, Killer, Taco, Chubs, Spider, Chimbo, Bugs, Cosmo, Gator, Pap Smear, Starhawk, and the CAG was Pancake. He had taken Zoey Bryant’s place, and that alone was enough to get him off to a bad start. It didn’t help that he was kind of a dick to begin with. He had a penchant for pancakes, and some of the junior officers took it upon themselves to piss in the batter one morning. To this day, he is unaware of the true meaning of his callsign.

  Within seconds, the pilots were vaulted into space. Zero to 260 kilometers per hour in less than a second. It was enough force to pin you to your seat and give you a facelift.

  The squadron formed a combat spread and prepared to engage the oncoming Decluvian fighters. They faced a wall of projectiles. The squadron broke formation and clashed with the Decluvian fighters. It was pure chaos. A spiraling, twisting, looping dogfight.

  Bugs was the first casualty. Her Stingray was ripped apart by a flurry of wea
pons fire. A ball of amber flames incinerated the craft. Glowing hunks of avionics and debris littered space. It was a suicide mission, and every pilot knew it. That still didn’t make it any easier to stomach the loss of a comrade.

  The Widow-Maker nukes blazed across the star field—50 megaton nukes that were the ultimate weapon of the UPDF (United Planetary Defense Force.) Their propellant charge left a grey plume behind them. But they were disabled by enemy fire before they even got close.

  Another round of incoming fire pierced the Scorpion’s hull and took out the port-side lower engine and one of the reactors. The explosion rattled the ship. Radiation was leaking into the neighboring compartments. Every engineer in the compartment was dead. It was a shame, that engine had just been replaced. The reactors had been upgraded to Q-cores at a cost of 1.6 trillion credits each. The Scorpion had been a week out of drydock and she was already crippled again. So far, Rourke’s new command wasn’t going so well. And it was about to get worse.

  2

  New Earth

  “Happy Birthday!”

  Presley smiled at her mother. But it was a smile tinged with sadness.

  “I’m making your favorite. French toast and cinnamon rolls.” Her mother, Lauren, was hoping it would lift Presley’s spirits. Indeed, there was a slight glimmer in her eyes. But it didn’t take long for Presley to slump back into her funk.

  “Thank you.”

  She was a beautiful young girl. Big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair. She hadn’t always been this sullen. But the last few months had been hard on the whole family. And Presley seemed to be taking it the worst.

  She took a seat at the kitchen table while her mother was at the stove, making breakfast the old fashioned way.

  “There are some cards on the table for you. One from me and your brother, and one from…” Lauren couldn’t bring herself to say who it was from. Her voice trailed off and she focused her gaze back down at the french toast, sizzling in the pan. It had been a while since she cooked an actual meal. The food fabricator was so convenient. But today was special, and she was cooking a real breakfast. Or, at least, she was trying.

  Presley sifted through the cards. She recognized her father’s handwriting instantly. Her eyes brimmed. She looked confused. “How…?”

  “He picked that up for you a few months ago.”

  She tore into the envelope and pulled out the card. It projected a 3D image when she opened it—a comical little alien with big eyes bounced around singing obnoxiously, “Happy, happy birthday, Happy, happy birthday.”

  Presley smiled and wanted to laugh, but it didn’t take long for her to burst into tears. The rivulets streamed down her cheeks.

  Her mom dashed from the stove and the two embraced, holding onto each other for dear life. Lauren’s eyes were slick and tears were slipping out.

  “I miss him so much,” Presley sobbed.

  “So do I. We all do.” Lauren dried her eyes with her sleeve. They hugged each other for a long moment. Until the smell of burning toast filled the air.

  “Oh, shit.” Lauren dashed to the stove and flipped the toast. “It might be a little crispier than usual.”

  Presley laughed. “That’s okay. I’ll forgive you.”

  She picked up her mom’s card. It projected a floral pattern and and elegant script font. The card read: You are one of the best presents I’ve ever received. You fill my heart with joy. I smile when you smile, and cry when you cry. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become, and I am excited for the future that awaits you. Happy Birthday! —Love Mom.

  Presley’s eyes filled again. “I love you, mom.”

  “Even if I burned the toast?”

  “You can always cook more,” Presley smiled.

  “It doesn’t look that bad.” Lauren was trying to be optimistic.

  Presley arched an eyebrow at her.

  Lauren succumbed to the realization that the toast was indeed burned beyond all hope. She tossed it out and started over.

  “Let me guess, Timmy didn’t get me a card, and you just got him to sign this one.”

  “I’m sure your brother loves you too. He just has an odd way of showing it.”

  Presley’s little brother, Timmy, stomped down the stairs and trudged into the kitchen. “What’s burning?”

  Lauren glared at him.

  “Happy birthday, butt face.”

  “Timmy!” Lauren chided him.

  “What? It’s her birthday, isn’t it?”

  “That’s no way to speak to your sister.”

  “I’m just being honest. She’d have a boyfriend, but her face. Oooh!”

  Presley sneered at him. “I have a boyfriend. Thank you.”

  “Please. Bryce has a vagina.”

  “Timmy!” Lauren chided.

  Presley smirked. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “If he was smart, he’d dump you.”

  “If he was smart, he’d ask me to marry him,” Presley said with a smug grin.

  “Nobody’s getting married just yet,” said Lauren.

  “I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” Presley sang.

  “How does it feel to be an old lady?” Timmy asked.

  “Seventeen is not exactly an old lady,” Lauren said.

  “Well, you’re practically mummified, mom.”

  “Careful, kid.”

  “The museum called, they want their exhibit back,” Timmy snarked.

  “I can, and will, ground you.”

  “I’m just kidding,” Timmy said. “I love you, mom. Even if you are ancient.”

  “You should have stopped at one child, mom,” Presley quipped.

  “She did. You were adopted.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Knock it off,” Lauren snapped. “Can we all enjoy a nice breakfast together?” She looked at Presley. “And you. You’re old enough now to know better than to engage him.”

  Timmy smiled at her and made faces. “She’s just upset she’s failing basic flight.”

  “I am not.”

  “That’s not what I hear. She crashed into the containment wall of the landing pad, and broke the landing gear on the training vehicle.”

  Presley scowled at him.

  “Have you gotten the bill yet, mom?”

  Lauren arched an eyebrow at him, then her eyes flicked to Presley. “What’s this about a bill?”

  “Minor cosmetic damages.”

  Timmy scoffed.

  “I was meaning to tell you,” Presley said, sheepishly.

  “I can’t afford to repair a flight trainer,” Lauren shrieked.

  “I’ll pay for it.”

  “How?”

  Presley shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Why don’t you just give it up. You’re never going to be a Naval Aviator.”

  Presley’s eyes narrowed at him.

  “I thought we scratched Naval Aviator off the list,” Lauren said.

  Presley paused. “It’s back on. I’ve been giving things a lot of thought lately, and I’ve decided to join the Navy.”

  Lauren’s face tensed. Her eyes filled with dread. “No. We talked about this. You’re going to go to college first.”

  “I am. I’ve applied for an NROTC scholarship.”

  “You realize it’s an 8 year commitment once you get your wings.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t want to lose another member of this family.”

  The room was silent a moment. Presley’s father was a Navy Reaper under Commander Walker. He had been killed on a covert op six weeks ago. The details of his demise were classified, and the family was left with many unanswered questions.

  “This is what I want,” Presley said. “Why can’t you support me?”

  “I do. I just don’t think I can take it if you get yourself killed in some godforsaken sector of the galaxy on some classified mission.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “So much for a drama free breakfa
st,” Timmy said. “By the way, I think the toast is burning again.”

  3

  Slade

  Captain Slade wasn’t really a captain anymore. But that didn’t seem to matter to her crew. They were going to follow her anywhere. She had a starship, albeit with some minor quirks—and there weren’t many of those left in the galaxy. The legendary Revenant—an Avenger class destroyer.

  Her crew, if you could call them that, was a ragtag group of misfits. One Decluvian warrior, 2 Saarkturians, 4 Marines, a dropship pilot, a gunner, a smuggler, a merc, a Navy Reaper, her former CAG, an illegal bio-synthetic humanoid, a wounded pilot in quantum suspension, a dog-like creature from Thantos 6, and a cat.

  Slade was a little hesitant about having three of her sworn enemies on board. But if Commander Walker trusted them, that was good enough for her.

  She stood at the command console in the CIC. Garbled subspace transmissions over the mil-net indicated the Decluvian fleet was attacking. They had devastated Delta Vega, and worked their way through the outer colonies. “Plot coordinates for New Earth.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mitch said, manning the tactical station. “It’s going to take quite a few jumps to get there from this far out.”

  “Every second counts.”

  Max was climbing on the controls like he owned the place. He was a rare Antarian Sphynx from Beta 2 Majoris. His skin was royal blue and his eyes were emerald green. And he was attempting to usurp Slade’s command.

  “What are we, an intergalactic animal shelter?”

  Bailey barked.

  “It would appear so,” Walker grinned.

  Slade tried to act tough, but she couldn’t help but find the little guys adorable. Max meowed at Bailey, taunting him. Within seconds, the chase was on. Max jumped down from the console and scampered into the corridor. Bailey sprinted after him in hot pursuit.

  “Ready when you are, sir,” Mitch shouted.

  “Get us out of here.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The bulkheads rippled and distorted, and the Revenant slipped into slide space.