Battle Collection One (Bandit Jacks Battle Collections Book 1)

by Shane Black

  “Casters one and two charging. Ready to fire in twelve seconds!”

  “Snapshot four!”

  Argent’s rail caster four glowed menacingly. The energy increased until the light from inside its 200-foot magnetically-energized chamber grew to blazing intensity in less than a second. Another colossal beam of disruptive energy sliced into the distance--

  --And slammed into the port-side engine section of the enemy cruiser. The smaller ship’s shields screamed against the power overloads, flickered weakly and then collapsed. The vessel drifted to starboard and began to yaw into her turn.

  “Got ‘em sir! Direct hit aft! Battlecomp reports enemy vessel’s port-side shields have collapsed!”

  Walls crushed an imaginary object in his fist and rose from the center chair. “Hold that range and deflection! Snapshot five!”

  Argent’s fifth shot pulverized the cruiser’s armor amidships. Secondary explosions shook the vessel’s interior and flashes of fire became visible through the seams being blown in her hull. She doggedly returned fire. This time two of her beams skipped high while the other two crashed into Argent’s starboard battle screen. Arcing electrical energy snaked across the mighty ship’s defenses but once again, the screens held.

  There was a glimpse of victory. Then a bone-chilling flash obscured Barker’s Asteroid momentarily. Argent’s bridge crew had only seconds for realization to dawn: the time it took for the hammer of the gods to traverse just over a million kilometers and slam into Argent’s forward screens.

  It was as if the entire ship had been thrown against the ground. One moment, Ensign Walls was preparing for the first mission kill of his career and the next he was yanked off his feet and thrown against the ceiling of Argent’s bridge.

  Someone was shouting into a commlink. “Emergency medical team to the bridge! Watch Officer has been injured!” Suddenly all of the intraship channels had come to life. Voices began overlapping and shouting trying to be heard. The bridge crew hesitated, unsure what to do in the absence of a commanding voice.

  The girl at tactical shouted over the din. “Lieutenant! Ensign Walls is hurt! You have to take command!”

  “Negative! Get on the MC and raise the Captain or the XO!” McInerney fought her controls, trying to keep the gigantic ship on her bearings.

  “Lieutenant--!”

  McInerney whirled, her eyes afire. “As you were, Petty Officer! It’s against regulations for a pilot to assume command, even in an emergency! Now follow my order! Get on the MC and get a command officer up here now!”

  The girl at tactical looked frightened, but she followed the pilot’s order. “Captain or XO to the bridge! Captain or XO to the bridge! Emergency! We--” Her voice trailed off, as if she weren’t quite sure what to say next.

  Two other bridge crew members had unhooked their shock harnesses and went to Ensign Walls’ side. He was still unconscious. His face was bruised and at least one large gash was visible down the side of his face.

  Another impact from the cruiser’s guns shook the bridge, knocking the two unsecured crew members against the backs of their chairs.

  A voice came over the engineering channel. “We’re losing the starboard generators! Something’s got to be done about that ship out there or we’re going to be down and vulnerable on our right edge!”

  Commander Annora Doverly rushed through the Deck One access hatch right behind the emergency medical team. The group of medics went to Walls while Doverly took the center chair.

  “Report.”

  “We have two enemy targets ma’am. Kilo X-Ray Two is on the board and bearing three four one at a range of point five. We’ve also been engaged by a ground emplacement on Barker’s Asteroid. CIC can’t provide us with any targeting information on the big gun.”

  “Got to hand it to Walls,” Annora said. “He would have made a fine pirate if he were given enough cannon. Doverly to Skywatch, patch me through to CSW.”

  “Affirmative, Commander. You’re on.”

  “Hatch?”

  “Standing by, ma’am.”

  “Report status of alert space patrol Gitarin Ten.”

  “Archangel Zero on station and awaiting orders, ma’am.”

  “Synchronize CIC and patch confirm orders from Force Commander. Vector three four one and engage Kilo X-Ray Two. Your signal is Tango. Alpha-Zero is weapons free. Sink the target.”

  Hatch almost snarled his reply. “Yes ma’am.”

  Somewhere between Argent and the enemy cruiser, the 22 Wildcat fighters of Archangel Squadron banked in a perfect triple-gyro diamond formation, energized their drive fields and accelerated to 300 km/s. The calm voice of Flight Leader Lieutenant Zack “Full Keg” Roscoe sounded in their headsets.

  “Avenger Wings, this is Archangel Zero. Close and overload anti-proton energy guns and stand by to engage in flight order.”

  “Affirmative Alpha-Zero.”

  Archangel Squadron expanded its formation into tight groups of four fighters each, with each diamond “set” rotating their positions on the vertical axis as they maneuvered into firing lanes. The two lead fighters flipped on their spotting transmitters.

  “Engage Triple-S and accelerate to attack speed!”

  Twenty-two lethal fighters rocketed forward, approaching speeds of nearly 400 kilometers a second. All pilots engaged their full spectrum combat telemetry systems and activated their sight-sound environments.

  Immediately every fighter’s onboard computers added sound, temperature, air pressure, tactile and olfactory stimuli to the battlespace, or at least that’s what the pilots thought. Their tac-suits were responsible for the sensory inputs and the subtle changes in the air filtration. The pilot’s brains interpreted all the new information as if they were riding Harley-Davidson motorcycles across Omaha Beach during Operation Overlord.

  The sight-sound system gave Wildcat and Yellowjacket pilots dramatically increased capabilities in space combat, as it allowed their minds to gather information on the battlespace on multiple levels simultaneously instead of trying to synthesize only visual information from their instruments and occasional spoken instructions from their flight leader. Explosions were heard and felt. Fires had scent and heat. The approach of enemy vessels and missiles were often heard before they were seen. Space was given an atmosphere and the roar of wind. There was even taste added to some of the scents.

  Pilots utilizing what came to be known as “Triple-S” during initial combat performance tests swept instruments-only squadrons from space with almost comedic consistency. The analysis of their performance was crystal clear. Human beings, provided with the ability to fully utilize their reflexes, intuition and subconscious thought processes performed at a much higher level than those forced to interpret machine readouts. They utilized energy better, had better physiological reactions and put far less stress on their ships’ environmental and emergency life support systems. Ultimately it came down to numbers. Pound for pound, a Triple-S-equipped fighter was as effective in engagements as three equivalent fighters not so equipped.

  No technology in fleet history had been rushed on to the battlefield faster.

  Twelve seconds later, the Archangels came screaming through the enemy cruiser’s defensive perimeter on wildly divergent attack vectors.

  A pitched howl came over the battlenet as Roscoe’s lead Wildcat strafed the cruiser’s communications arrays. The little ship’s AP guns frantically poured anti-proton destruction across the larger ship’s hull. A line of explosions followed by secondaries ripped and thundered, throwing debris and ablative hull plating in all directions as Alpha-Zero peeled away.

  When the rest of the squadron opened fire, the results were not unlike two dozen angry mongooses savaging a disoriented hog.

  Weapons fire from the relatively tiny craft flashed and strobed from every direction. The cruiser’s point defense returned fire as best it could, but Wildcat fighters were notoriously difficult to track at such close ranges. Orange impact bursts, debris and blasts of v
enting atmosphere appeared in locations all over the cruiser’s hull.

  Moments later, Commander Annora Doverly, Executive Officer of the battleship DSS Argent, unleashed the full power of the fleet’s precision synchronized battle data network. With the enemy cruiser now engaged with the growling and swirling furball of angry little fighters, it left their mothership free to resume the iron-heavy body blows.

  “Reconfirm range to target and re-establish waveform lock on previous bearings.”

  “Affirmative, Kilo X-Ray Two bearings match. Waveform lock confirmed,” the petty officer at tactical replied. Her voice sounded far more confident now that there was someone in charge.

  “Snapshot six!”

  Rail caster six glowed to life and then unleashed another immense bolt of destructive power across the dark expanse of space. The datanet made sure fire control was timed to tolerances of a thousandth of a second in order to avoid hitting any of Archangel squadron’s fighters. The shot detonated against the enemy cruiser’s port side hull just aft of her bridge. It was the space combat equivalent of hitting an unprotected opponent’s neck with a wide swing of a headsman’s axe. The explosion shook the damaged vessel like a crash dummy being ejected through a windshield.

  “Skywatch, this is Force Command. Message to Commander, Paladin Strike Force on Flight Three. Launch all spacecraft. I say again. Launch all spacecraft. Vector rally point Gold and stand by for target instructions.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Highlanders are in the air.”

  “Very well. Monitor Archangel Zero and report status at first opportunity. Signals, get me Nemesis Eight on scrambled frequency.”

  The rest of the bridge crew exhaled in awe as they watched the Argent First Officer do her deadly work. She had already launched enough firepower to level a small city in a matter of minutes, and everyone aboard knew there were yet more squadrons buzzing on Argent’s other two flight decks just waiting for the young doctor’s nod. Watching a refined young woman sipping tea between opening the cages of rabid, hunger-crazed wolves to chase fleeing robbers would have been less unusual-looking.

  “I have Nemesis Eight on scrambled channel J-9.”

  “Very well. Nemesis, can you give me an estimate on the cycle time for the Sentinel?” Doverly asked.

  “It all depends on their power systems, ma’am. We’re not reading any reactor signatures from anywhere inside that asteroid field. If they’re running on batteries or planet-side portables that may have been their only shot for a while.”

  “Understood. Any change in readings you raise me directly on my headset, clear?”

  “Acknowledged, Force Commander.”

  “Bridge to engineering. Get me a damage report as soon as possible. Report readiness to Tactical station.” Annora keyed her mic silent. “What is the ensign’s condition?”

  “He’s stablized, ma’am. Request permission to evacuate him to sickbay.”

  “Granted. I’ll be down in a few minutes. I suspect our medical staff has their hands full with a most difficult patient right now. Get Lieutenant Austin from astrometrics up here on the double. I need someone to mind the store for a few minutes.”

  Four

  “I’m walking out that door.”

  “Sir, I have orders to--”

  “I know all about your orders, Commander! My ship is under attack! Now you either get someone in here with my clothes or so help me I will walk on to the bridge and assume command of this ship wearing nothing but a surgical glove!”

  The enlisted medical staff peered out from laboratory storage. To them, a Captain might as well have been an emperor wearing golden armor and riding a dragon through the halls. They were used to reporting to buck petty officers and the occasional ensign. Having him roaring and spitting fire in their trauma unit was most unsettling, especially when he started barking threats to have them all busted down to mudrollers and assigned to the bowling alley.

  Colonel Moody managed to twist himself far enough to one side to see what was going on. It was a painful move, but the voice of reason had to be heard. “Hey Cap? I don’t think the doc was kidding when she said--”

  Hunter threw himself back against his pillows. “Whose brilliant idea was it to give the XO and Chief Medical Officer jobs to the same person?”

  “Yours,” Doctor Doverly said as she strode into sickbay. “Are you still huffing and puffing?”

  “Don’t you start with that ‘huffing and puffing’ thing again. You get me crutches, a bed with wheels or three sturdy crewmen and get me back on the bridge of this ship or by all that is good and right in this world, I’ll--!”

  “Acknowledged, Skipper! I’m sorry, but you’ve been overruled,” Commander Doverly replied, checking the Captain’s charts.

  “By whom and under what authority?” Hunter roared.

  “By the Chief Medical Officer of DSS Argent,” she replied calmly.

  “And that gives her the authority,” Moo said, wincing as the metabolic stimulators on his broken wrist lowered the temperature around his hand in preparation for another treatment.

  Doverly took out a portable medical scanner and re-examined the contusion on the side of the Captain’s head. “You’ve had a concussion, Jason. That and you’ve got a broken ankle and two broken fingers. I can mend the easy stuff, but if that concussion isn’t evaluated properly it could be very dangerous for both you and the ship.”

  “Austin to XO.”

  Doverly keyed her headset mic. “Go ahead, lieutenant.”

  “I have assumed command on the bridge as Acting Officer of the Watch. Target Kilo X-Ray One is burning in space.”

  “Very well, signal Archangel Zero to return to CSP pattern and stand by for further orders. Doverly out.”

  “You and your combat space patrol,” Hunter sighed. Annora smiled. A moment later, the emergency medical team brought Ensign Walls in to the trauma unit and placed him in one of the life sustainer units.

  “Is Walls going to be alright?” Hunter asked. Doverly looked over at the ensign’s LS unit and verified he had been secured properly.

  “I think so. He’s got a lot of injuries from the last attack. I think he got a little overzealous stalking around the bridge during his moment as Admiral Nelson directing his gunnery. I have to say, he scored some points. He just has to remember to fasten his seat belt before he starts flying teeth-first into enemy weapons fire.”

  “What happened to him?” Moo asked. Then he groaned as the stasis units nearly froze both of his feet.

  “Same thing that happened to us,” Doverly replied. “He tried to knock Argent over and the ship won.”

  “Am I going to be like this for long, Annora?” Zony whined. She stood in the doorway to the trauma unit with her arm in a sling and a bandage around her head. “I can’t run transmitters properly pecking around with one finger!”

  “Well don’t you look like a forlorn little orphan!” Doverly exclaimed. Zony stuck her lower lip out. “No reason to be sad, lieutenant. You’ll be good as new in a couple of days. Where is Yili? Wasn’t she with you?”

  “She grabbed an oxygen injector and a stim scanner and said she was going back to engineering. Said she was worried they would mess up damage control on the energy systems after all the re-routing she did.”

  “I’m telling you, trying to keep all of you under control and properly treated is like trying to corral two litters of six-week-old puppies!” Annora exclaimed. “Zony, you need to be off your feet for the next six hours.”

  “I have to get back to the bridge, Doctor! Austin can’t run the whole ship by himself!”

  “Bed Five. Now. That’s an order, lieutenant.” Doverly’s voice had that combination of motherly certainty and command tone that told the Argent Signals Officer she wasn’t kidding. Zony sighed.

  “Fine.” She slouched over to the LS unit and plopped herself down, staring at the ceiling with a pouting look on her face.

  “How are you doing, colonel?”

  “Don’t ask,” he
replied. “These machines you’ve got me hooked up to make me feel like I’m living in a delicatessen refrigerator.”

  “Well, at least you won’t be wandering off.” The doctor met the Captain’s gaze. “Another word out of you and I’ll pump you so full of sedatives you’ll forget your name.”

  Hunter made a face then collapsed on his pillows again.

  “Janice, you can tell the orderlies to stop hiding in the lab now,” Doverly said to one of the nurses still working on Ensign Walls’ LS unit. “I have to go find our engineer before she falls and breaks something else,” She handed her blaster to the nurse. “Set this on stun. If any of these delinquents tries to leave sickbay, shoot them.”

  Five

  “There’s no way this many things can go this wrong this quickly,” Commander Jayce Hunter grumbled.

  She strode quickly through the nearly empty corridors of Survey Station Nineteen, located at the extreme “western” edge of the Gitairn asteroid field. Her battle group was only a few hours out from its rendezvous with her brother’s battleship, but the readings from one of her group’s frigates left her with no option but to stop and confirm the data. With her was her XO, Lieutenant Commander Tom Huggins, and several lower-ranking signals analysis officers representing some of her escort ships.

  “We’ve never seen cloak warnings like this. It’s almost like they’re using some kind of technology we haven’t seen yet. We’re still getting gravitics from the main body reported by our probes, but if the Ajax is right--”

  “Tom, if the Ajax is right, we’re about to jump into the biggest open space battle since the Praetorian Campaign. Amy, did you correlate the readings with signals and astrometrics?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lieutenant Sutherland replied. “I have all the readings in this portable unit. I need about fifteen minutes with the station’s tracking logs to confirm. If we’re right, we can track the last known positions of the unusual readings and be ready when the cloaked formation makes its move.”

  “Outstanding,” Jayce replied as her team rounded the corner. Two marines were guarding the door to the astrometrics records storage. “Open the door, corporal,” she said impatiently.