by Daniel Gibbs
“Detach maneuvering thruster control and fly manually,” Whatley said.
The master alarm blared, making Justin’s ears ring. He pulled up the HUD interface and attempted to follow the wing commander’s instructions, to no avail. Red lights spread across every system in his craft. I’ve got to eject before the reactor goes critical. As the thought raced through his mind, point-defense fire filled the void around him. “Negative, Major. My master alarm is lit, and reactor temp is rising. Initiating ejection sequence.”
Justin double-checked his suit pressure, confirmed it was one hundred percent, and pulled the bright-yellow Eject lever under the seat. It triggered a series of explosive bolts that blew the canopy off, and a rocket motor ignited, sending him flying out of the doomed Sabre. His emergency beacon kicked in automatically, and he hoped against hope that the onboard fuel wouldn’t give out before he was out of the blast radius of his former ride.
The tension on the bridge of the Zvika Greengold was so thick that Tehrani could’ve cut it with a knife. Around her, watchstanders performed their duties, and the battle played out. The old Holden-Nagata Mk II freighter had stayed in the thick of the fighting, assisting the Marcus Luttrell and the Zvika Greengold as they fought Master Five, the League Cobra-class destroyer, which was the only enemy left in the battlespace. Except, of course, for the thousand-kilogram elephant, the heavy cruiser that can wipe the floor with every vessel here.
“Another Sabre is down,” Wright said quietly.
Tehrani was the only one who could hear him above the din of soldiers calling information to one another. She turned her head. “Who?”
“Alpha One. Lieutenant Spencer.”
“That’s three.”
Wright nodded. “Felder, Jenkins, and Spencer. Two Sabres and a Boar.”
“Recovery beacons?”
“Only on Spencer. The other two were total loss of craft with no ejection triggered.” Wright furrowed his brow. “I already looked at search and rescue. It’s far too hot out there to send the SAR bird out.”
“I know.” Tehrani shook her head. “We can’t just leave him out there.”
“We might have to leave all of them.”
While Tehrani knew Wright was doing his job as the XO, something about it all bothered her to her core. The concept of the CDF not having enough ships to handle the required missions and sorties was something she’d never considered until the last few weeks. I remember seeing the massive fleet formations at Valient Shield. A part of her wanted to hate the politicians that let it get so bad, but they couldn’t have envisioned a surprise attack from an enemy as powerful as the League.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Five. Contact is reversing course and coming back around. Sierra contacts in her path have extensive shield damage.”
Without their protective screens, the freighters in the convoy had almost no armor. They would be shredded in moments by military firepower.
Tehrani set her jaw. “Navigation, intercept course, Master Five. Put us between them and Sierra Fifteen, Sixteen, and Nineteen.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.
“TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Five.”
“Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan said. “Coordinating our attack pattern with Sierra One.”
Pleased she didn’t have to tell her tactical action officer to make sure they struck simultaneously with the Marcus Luttrell, Tehrani smiled. “Wait for point-blank range. I want this bastard.”
Bryan turned and grinned at her. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The League destroyer raced onward. It filled the blackness of the void with an array of red beams, plasma balls, and point-defense fire, much of which struck home against the civilian freighters. An ore carrier suffered a complete loss of its two aft holds, sending a dense cloud of metal-alloy fragments into space.
On the screen above Tehrani’s head, Master Five finally entered optimal weapons range. She double-checked to ensure the Marcus Luttrell was in arc. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams in conjunction with an alpha strike from Sierra One.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Magnetic-cannon shells raced away from the Marcus Luttrell along with a barrage of missiles and the vessel’s neutron-beam compliment. Added to the fray were the Greengold’s twin neutron beams, which struck home in the same shield quadrant. The Cobra’s shields glowed bright red under repeated hits then failed, allowing missile strikes and neutron beams to slam into its brittle armor and hull. One of the blue beams bored through the entirety of the ship and out the other side. Explosions blossomed from the molten hole and spread across the vessel until it blew apart from within.
“Conn, TAO. Master Five destroyed, ma’am.”
“Nice job, skipper,” Wright said under his breath. “Got any more rabbits to pull out of your cover?”
Tehrani stared at him. “Eh?”
“American idiom. Magicians used to pull animals, usually rabbits, out of hats for tricks.” Wright smiled. “I grew up watching those old shows. Loved ’em.”
“Interesting,” she replied. “I’m not sure. We’re about to find out how good our bombers and those Boar assault crafts are.” Tehrani touched the Rand’s icon. “TAO, designate Master Four as the priority target for the fleet. Send everything.”
“Should I have the air boss warm up more bombers?”
“Good idea, XO,” Tehrani said. She narrowed her eyes as she stared at the screen. “Heavy cruiser is entering firing range… now.”
As if right on cue, the Rand opened up with everything it had. Dozens of the ubiquitous red plasma balls issued from its turrets along with anti-ship missiles and red energy beams. Thanks to the extreme range, it took a few moments for its target to become apparent—the ore carrier that had already sustained severe damage.
“Order Sierra Fifteen to abandon ship immediately,” Tehrani said, alarmed.
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied.
The assault on the massive ore carrier continued. Because of the vessel’s modular design, most of the League shots, while causing extensive hull damage, hit the cargo bays and not the ship’s critical parts, such as its reactor and the engine housings.
As plasma balls blasted into the superstructure of the freighter, the Glasgow came up alongside it. The Argyle-class frigate extended her shields around the civilian vessel, temporarily stopping the barrage.
“Way to go,” Wright said with a grin. “Sierra Fifteen reports thirty seconds to last escape pod launch.”
Tehrani nodded tightly, her eyes transfixed on the tactical plot. “Communications, order the Glasgow to break off the moment Sierra Fifteen is evacuated.”
Her concern was well-founded. While the ore carrier could absorb a lot of punishment, the same couldn’t be said for the small frigate. The Rand lashed at its shields with a wave of plasma balls, successfully hammering them down. It followed up much like the Terran ships would, with a volley of anti-ship missiles and red neutron beams. One speared the vessel from end to end and must’ve hit a fuel bunkerage or the reactor. The Glasgow blew apart in ten seconds, leaving nothing but fine dust particles in its wake.
Whatever feeling of victory or relief had been present on the bridge of the Zvika Greengold evaporated like water poured out on a molten planet. Wright stared at the tactical plot with his mouth open. It seemed as if he was trying to get sound out, but none would come.
“At least they accomplished saving the civilian crew,” Tehrani said finally. “They did their duty, and so will we. Navigation, intercept course, Master Four.” Her heart ached for the loss of life. Likely none of the more than two hundred soldiers who’d called the Glasgow home had escaped.
“You sure about this, skipper?” Wright asked quietly.
“If you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time.”
Silence was the only reply.
10
The void of space was unlike anything Justin had ever experienced
. In some ways, it was stunning. In others, it was downright terrifying. He’d read accounts of men and women being stuck in the void for extended periods, losing their minds and being unable to set foot on a spacecraft again. That only happened after multiple hours of exposure, though.
The short-range communication system in his flight suit linked itself to the search-and-rescue network carried by all CDF vessels and provided his HUD a near-real-time display of the battle, which wasn’t going well. Another bomber had been lost while attempting to destroy the heavy cruiser, and two more freighters were heavily damaged. One was a total write-off, whose crew had abandoned it, but the other one still limped along.
There’s no way they can put a SAR bird out here to rescue me. That realization went through Justin like a knife, quickly followed by the fear of either dying or, worse, being captured by the League. No one knew what they did to prisoners of war, but if it was anything like how the World Society back on Earth had treated allied POWs during the Third World War, it would be a hellacious experience.
Paralyzed by fear, Justin floated through space. Blue neutron beams glowed against the faceplate of his helmet, matched by blobs of red plasma. His hands shook as he tried to rotate in the zero-G environment. The sensation was almost like swimming deep underwater. He thought of Michelle and Maggie and how much he would like to hold them both one last time.
Justin hadn’t mentally prepared for floating in space. Like every other CDF pilot, he’d taken basic escape, evasion, and survival training. But tumbling through the void with little hope of rescue in a doomed battle wasn’t part of it. He tried to stay positive. A voice in the back of his head suggested prayer. To what? The imaginary man in the sky?
Staring death in the face was one way to force questions about one’s beliefs. What do you have to lose? If there’s no one up there, it doesn’t matter. If there is, maybe He’ll help you.
Now I’m debating myself. Great. I suppose void sickness is setting in sooner than expected.
Justin stared at the beauty of the stars and far-off nebula. Its vivid colors provided a striking backdrop to the battle. What do I have to lose? Nothing, I suppose. He tried to remember his childhood, when his mother would make him pray on his knees before bedtime. “Um, God, if you’re up there,” he began, “I’m in a terrible fix here. I just want to get back to my wife and daughter. So if you can help, I’d, uh, appreciate it. Please. Uh, amen.”
Justin felt somewhat silly, pondering his prayer. Because if God is up there, why would He give me the time of day when I’ve ignored Him most of my life?
Then Justin noticed he was headed straight toward the League heavy cruiser. His first thought was that maybe it had seen him and was coming to capture an enemy pilot before the CDF could rescue him. No, that’s preposterous. But it got the wheels of his mind moving. If I time it just right, I could use my suit's integrated thrusters to latch on to that vessel’s hull. Or even better, maybe I could get inside its hangar bay.
Closer and closer, the Rand-class heavy cruiser came. It seemed massive—larger than anything he’d seen in his life. He used short bursts from the survival suit’s integrated thrusters to nudge his course up relative to the beast of a ship. The hull was nearly entirely painted black. The only deviations were glowing red strips and light emanating from what Justin assumed were windows. Squinting, he tried to make out the launch bay. A force field covering a portion of the middle hull seemed like the best bet.
I only get one shot at this. For a moment, Justin almost backtracked and veered off, because if he failed, death was the probable outcome. Or imprisonment for life. Or I die, if the CDF blows the ship up. In the end, he had no good options, and the only one that had any possibility of him seeing his family again was the harebrained idea to steal an enemy fighter and fly back to the Zvika Greengold.
The force field and the launch bay behind it rushed toward Justin. Pure fear infected every cell in his body, and he almost peed in his suit. The collision alarm blared in his helmet, and the suit automatically applied maximum thrust out of its limited maneuvering jets. His speed slowed, but still, he expected to splatter against the force field as he made contact with it. Please let this thing work like a Terran Coalition ship.
“Justin, can you hear me?”
Elation filled him at the sound of Feldstein’s voice. It was like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. “I read you loud and clear.” Justin cracked a grin, especially at the use of his first name.
“We’ve been monitoring your signal. You’re way too close to that League cruiser. What are you doing?” She sounded worried.
“I’ve got an idea.”
“What?”
“Look, if you see one of those fighters of theirs behaving erratically or maybe being shot at, don’t let them shoot me down, okay?”
A pregnant pause came over the commlink. “Justin Spencer, are you seriously telling me you plan to steal a League fighter? Have you gone insane?”
“It’s the best play I’ve got. I’ve no interest in being a POW for the rest of my life.”
Feldstein choked out, “Be careful. Please.”
The intensity of emotion from her surprised Justin. They were friends, but he hadn’t realized he was that important to her. “I will. Maybe say a prayer for me.”
“You got it. Godspeed, Justin.”
Before Justin could reply, his commlink screeched with static. Maybe it’s a side effect of being so close to a Leaguer ship. The massive force field loomed ahead of him, and suddenly, he was through it. He’d tried to gauge the distance to be as close to the flight deck as possible and was only about a meter off it. Artificial gravity kicked in, and Justin collapsed onto the alloy plating with a thud. Alarm klaxons pealed, and loud shouts in a language he couldn’t understand echoed throughout the bay while crewmembers rushed about. Shocked to still be alive and that no one had seen him so far, he dragged himself behind a crate and tried to get his bearings. Okay, so far, so good.
Tehrani held on to the armrests of the CO’s chair as the bridge of the Zvika Greengold rocked. The League heavy cruiser had seemingly forgotten every other possible target within ten thousand kilometers and focused solely on the carrier. She wiped a bead of sweat from her face. This doesn’t look good. “TAO, ETA to energy-capacitor recharge?”
“Ninety seconds, ma’am,” Bryan replied.
Wright leaned in. “I ran some additional numbers. If we jump now, two-thirds of our freighters will realistically make it.”
“Not yet,” Tehrani replied.
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields buckling, ma’am,” Bryan said as the ship shook violently. “They’re under fifteen percent.”
“Navigation, come to heading zero-eight-zero, flank speed.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied. She turned back toward the CO and XO chairs. “Ma’am, with our reduced structural integrity from recent battles, a full power turn may not—”
“Execute my orders, Lieutenant,” Tehrani barked.
Chastened, the young woman turned around. “Yes, ma’am.”
Another wave of plasma balls slammed into the Greengold’s weakened deflectors, sending the protection values plummeting toward zero. Tehrani despaired. She had few options, and while the Marcus Luttrell was fighting hard, a single destroyer and an escort carrier probably wouldn’t take out a heavy cruiser by themselves. That was to say nothing about the lost pilots. After the loss of two hundred soldiers on the Glasgow, the thought of leaving behind her people was something she could barely stomach, even if bugging out was the best choice.
“Skipper, I’ve got an idea,” Wright whispered. “We might be able to coax another fifteen to twenty percent directed-energy power out of the neutron beams.”
“How?” Tehrani asked. It might be enough to get through their shields, especially if the bombers can land a good missile run.
“Thanes are overengineered. I did a tour as an engineering assistant on one when I was going through my midshipman years. There�
�s enough throughput in the energy conduits for it, but we’ll have to ignore the safety alerts.” Wright grinned. “Since we’re at our wits’ end here…”
“Why the heck not?” Tehrani replied with a smile. “Get engineering on it.” She turned toward Bryan. “TAO, coordinate an alpha strike with Sierra One and any freighter in range willing to close and attack Master Four.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Much like the flight deck on the Zvika Greengold, the atmosphere in the hangar bay of the League heavy cruiser was pure pandemonium. From his perch behind a crate of God only knew what, Justin watched as men and women in dark-gray uniforms busied themselves servicing a group of fighters. He recognized them as the front-line League of Sol space-superiority fighters he’d been blowing out of space for the last six weeks. What’d intel start calling them? Shrikes?
Justin had never felt more scared. His heart pounded as he fought to get his fear under control. Okay. Breathe. You can do this. A group of men carrying a hose rushed up the side of one of the craft and attached it to an intake valve. After more shouting, the hose went rigid. I bet they’re fueling it. Perhaps they were defueling the fighter instead. I’m going to have to count on my luck holding.
The first indication otherwise was the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Justin jerked back, reacting without much thought going into it. As he turned, the owner of the hand came into view. An absolute bear of a man stood less than a meter from him. Judging by the grease streaks on his uniform, Justin assumed the man was a crew chief or enlisted rating.
“Mamoy klyanus, ya tebya sokrushit!”
Though Justin couldn’t comprehend what was being said, the raised wrench and guttural roar from the Leaguer told him everything he needed to know: the man planned to kill him or, at the very least, detain him for security. His brain tripped for a moment before his right hand went for the small sidearm built into his flight suit’s leg. Justin’s hand closed around it, and he felt momentary relief.
