The Gathering Storm (The New Federation Book 4)

by Chris Hechtl

  With his forces positioned at the gas giant, the logical move for White was to pick off what forces he could and entice him out of position to the inner system, then cut off retreat.

  Well, it wasn't going to be that easy he thought.

  He really should run. He really should just abandon the cruisers and system, preserve what he had, and get to Garth. But he couldn't. It wasn't so much as the fear that he couldn't face himself or the emperor for his failure or that he couldn't run from a fight he knew he couldn't win. No, that wasn't it.

  He had a plan. He couldn't give up on not trying at all.

  “The fleet is almost to launch position, sir,” Berney warned.

  “Very well,” he said, checking the clock, the status board, and then the plot. A red line blinked the position where his forces were to begin braking if he was going to have any hope of getting back to the gas giant or the Garth jump point ahead of the enemy. “On the tick, Commander.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  He forced himself to sit back and relax, or at least appear to relax. Perception might count for a lot in the coming time period.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Bleakly considered his craft carefully. To some they looked odd for many of the craft had wings even though they were fighting in space. The Cobra class, which is the mainstay of the Federation fighter corps, had wings since it is an aerospace fighter. The multirole craft used her wings for antenna, sensors, and RCS to hang munitions off of and to store fuel inside.

  Since they were fighting in space alone, he'd ordered the air boss to have the ground crews pull everything related to the aerospace off the craft to lighten the load. So, the wings had been stripped and the software adjusted to compensate for the changes. Ailerons, flaps, leading edge flaps, and all of their associated hardware had been removed. The wiring harnesses had been zip tied away into the spars of the wing.

  With the two fuel tanks each fighter and bomber carried, they could launch from an AU out. That was critical in carrier OPS, to keep the fight as far away from the carrier and your own forces as possible.

  Not that they were going to have to sail in that distance. If they had, they'd have to spend a lot of the time on ballistic. No, the commodore was taking them in deeper, risking the safety of the carriers in order to get them in closer before the enemy could hook up. It was a risk, but it might be worth it if they could tear apart a chunk of the enemy forces before they could hook up.

  He surveyed the hangar space and then nodded once. He checked in with the air boss, but he was in deep conversation with a group of techs so he decided to hit the flag bridge and the mess before he strapped his fighter on.

  The crews of the capital ships might think of themselves as the heavy hitters, but the real heavy hitters were the fighters. In a short time, his people were going to prove that the big guns were just targets and that the small craft might be bees, but they had a hell of a sting he thought with a brief smile as the lift doors closed.

  :::{)(}:::

  “Is that an emergency fighter?” Commander Bleakly demanded, staring at a magnified image of some of the fighters attached to the hulls of the enemy ships they were going after. The commodore turned to the Chimera CAG and then to the screen he was pointing at.

  “They aren't serious,” Trajan said as he turned to stare at the indicated image. “I mean …”

  “Desperate you mean, and yeah, it looks like they are, Commodore,” Junior Valdez said over the link to the bridge. “I've flown one off of Firefly briefly.”

  “I think I remember that. The battle of Pyrax,” Trajan murmured.

  “Exactly. It was the aftermath actually; I was covering the boarding operations. Those things suck but they are a platform. Think of them as a mobile weapons platform with an organic pilot.”

  “They are known as suicide sleds,” Trajan said with a shake of his head, “and for good reason. All they are is a sublight engine, a minimum tubular truss structure, an RCS, some minimum avionics, minimum life support, sensors, and crap. No inertial dampners, no hull, no shields, no power plant …” he shook his head.

  “In other words, they are just targets,” the CAG replied as he adjusted his flight suit.

  “It depends on the design. They are probably limited on what level they can produce, but we don't have any on hand to examine for a meterstick. They've obviously gone for quantity, which makes me wonder why. I don't envy those pilots,” the captain replied. “We need to get a good read on them, see what they are made out of. My money is on shuttle parts.”

  “Agreed,” the commodore replied. He now understood why the fighters lagged behind the others and came in a distinctive wave. Without inertial dampeners or modern fighter tech, the ships were slow and couldn't maneuver well to keep up with the proper fighters.

  “They would have almost been better off building Hunter Killers,” Junior mused. “These things do not have good legs unless they have a big fuel supply. And the more fuel the more mass, which slows it down and makes it sluggish. No on-board reactor means she's reliant on batteries, capacitors, or fuel cells for power. And they lack shields.” His eyes suddenly gleamed. “Can we get some units in there with ion guns?”

  “Ion guns?” the commodore echoed. “For … oh, to knock out the electrical systems?”

  “Yes, sir, or EMP bursts I suppose. If they were slapped together in a hurry, I bet they neglected to shield their electronics properly.”

  “Worth a shot.”

  “I'm betting they loaded those things up and then sent off those poor sods without a prayer,” the CAG murmured.

  “Appropriate given we're going to send most of them straight to hell as soon as we can,” the commodore growled.

  “Amen. I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. It's good that they are sending out those kids in crap that can't fight and letting us kill them now before they strap on something a whole lot more dangerous.”

  The commodore nodded.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Bleakly strode onto the deck and nodded to the senior staff. “Begin the launch as planned,” the CAG said as he checked in with the air boss. The air boss nodded and then hand signed to the staff to begin the launch.

  “You're cutting it close, sir!” the double zero plane captain warned, handing over a helmet to the CAG as the CAG strode up to his fighter. “I've done the walk around ….” The CAG didn't say a word but did a quick walk around as well. “But of course you'll want to do one as well,” the plane boss said in a disinterested tone of voice.

  “Got it,” the Chimera said as he handed the helmet back and then climbed the boarding ladder. He climbed into the cockpit and then began to strap in as the plane boss climbed the ladder at a slightly slower pace with just the one hand to hand the helmet over. He checked the rigging as he handed the helmet back once more. “Good to go, sir,” he said as he closed the canopy and dogged it shut. The CAG gave him a thumbs-up and then began to power up.

  By the time the plane captain was back on the deck, the ladder had been pulled away and the craft had been started. She would have normally flexed her flaps and such but instead her brakes grabbed and released and then a small tow truck latched on to her nose gear and then pulled her over to an arming area.

  It was a tight squeeze with all of the fighters and bombers on the deck. The plane boss looked over his shoulder to see another pair of fighters launching. He looked back to watch his crew pull the tags from each of the weapons. When they were finished, they handed the long strips over to him with the pins attached. He did a count and then nodded.

  The arming tech looked up to the CAG who had both hands on either side of his head. He gave a thumbs-up. The CAG instantly dropped his hands, then returned the thumbs-up with one of his own. Then the plane was towed over to the line of fighters getting ready to launch.

  “Time to kick some pirate ass!” A pilot said excitedly.

  “Can it. All hands, keep your cool and you'll get through this. Remember
to check your six,” a squadron commander said over the link.

  Another pilot saluted the deck boss as her fighter was hooked up to the catapult. They'd need the extra oomph of energy imparted if they were going to have any sort of loiter time in the battle space.

  The deck boss checked with the launch operator and then hand signed and dropped to one knee. His hand pointed in the direction of the launch and the fighter took off, racing up the catapult as her engines spooled up to full power. By the time the fighter was clear of the force field, her engines were at full power. She cleared the ship and then moved off into the darkness, a small dot growing ever fainter with the distance.

  :::{)(}:::

  “They've launched, sir,” Berney stated, catching the admiral off guard as he had started to doze slightly.

  He opened his eyes wide, then stretched slightly. “Okay. What was that again?”

  “Interior eyelid inspection, sir?” Berney asked, smiling slightly in understanding. One had to catch sleep when one could, especially when battles could last days.

  “I hate getting old,” the admiral replied grumpily as his steward appeared with a cup of coffee. “Thank you, Wilfred, you always seem to know, don't you?”

  “In this case it was easy, sir. You haven't eaten anything. Would you care for me to bring a tray up as well?”

  “Give me a ration bar,” the admiral said as he sipped his coffee. “Thank you,” he murmured in appreciation. In order to disguise the native metallic taste, Wilfred had added a liberal dose of hazelnut and cream. He usually preferred less sugar, but he could use the pick-me-up.

  “What were we talking about?” he asked as the steward grumpily fished a pair of ration bars out of a pocket and then handed them over. He took them and snorted mentally. Of course, Wilfred had thought ahead. He even handed over a package of nuts and a baggie of trail mix for him to munch on before he disappeared.

  The admiral masticated a bite before he washed down the bar with a swig of coffee. He then turned to the chief of staff once more. “The enemy forces have launched. We are timing Commodore Rabideau's launch to their halfway point.”

  “And our own launch as well. Very well. Cut the drives and flip the ships. Begin braking maneuver now.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  :::{)(}:::

  “Sir, the enemy force has flipped. They are braking,” a CIC rating said, startling Ch'v'tt, Amadeus, and the staff.

  “They are braking?”

  “Yes, sir. All but their carriers have gone to a full-burn braking maneuver.”

  “Reckless to burn that much fuel. Why bother making the run if they weren't going to try?” Aleck asked. “I don't like it.”

  “They were getting their carriers into position,” Kyle stated. He drew a circle around the three carriers. “My money is on them launching to help cover their forces. All of those fighters our carriers have reported seeing on the hulls of the picket forces? I bet they'll launch on our forces and then the ships will run for the main fleet.”

  “Right. And our people are set up how?” Amadeus asked.

  “Mixed, sir. Commander Bleakly took a cautious approach and went for both, fighter and a shipping strike.”

  “Ah. In this case, I think he had the right of it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  :::{)(}:::

  The Horathian fighters with the cruisers were purely defensive. Since they were so short-ranged, they had to wait to board their craft and then launch. That took time for the pilots to suit up and make their way out onto the hull to their fighters. Fortunately, no one was lost on the hull during the exercise.

  One by one the emergency fighters stored on the hull powered up and reported in. Once the entire group was ready, the fighters disengaged and kicked clear of their mother craft with puffs of RCS vapor.

  While they did that, fighters also launched from the boat bays of each of the ships. Not a lot, after all they were destroyers and cruisers not carriers, but a few. Four fighters launched from each destroyer's boat bay while four to six fighters launched from each of the cruisers.

  Commodore Rabideau watched the exercise and only permitted himself a sigh of relief when all of the fighters were clear and moving away from his ships. “So far so good,” he murmured to himself.

  While they did that, the three carriers with the main body had begun to launch their own broods. One group formed up in the shadows of the capital ships and then moved out. As they did that, the twenty-three bombers and an escort of twenty-four raptors moved out on a course for the Federation carrier force.

  After a moment those numbers quadrupled.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Bleakly was still intent on getting his people sorted out and on task so he missed the initial call on the new fighter force. When it was repeated, he blinked. “Artoo, what did they say?” he demanded.

  The fighter's A.I. wordlessly highlighted icons on the plot. There were two: one group headed in his direction, the other towards the carriers. He frowned as he checked the carrier attack force. A force of ninety-two bombers and ninety-six fighters were a threat—not that he didn't have faith in the interceptors he'd left behind plus the fleet defender destroyers assigned as sheep dogs to the carriers. But it did make him tempted to pull back some of his forces.

  His eyes turned to the other force. Sensing his interest, the A.I. highlighted it and then projected numbers. When he saw them, he swore.

  “No frackin' way. Over a thousand fighters?” he demanded, staring at them.

  “One thousand four hundred and forty-four fighters,” the A.I. replied.

  “Where the hell did they get them all?”

  “Unknown,” the A.I. replied.

  “Order the interceptors to launch on their discretion. But get to those bombers well outside their engagement range. Let air OPS know they'll need tankers, and we'll need to adjust the plan,” he said as he began to issue orders. “Give the squadron commanders a heads-up. We'll need to cycle missiles … no, scratch that, we'll have to fight conservatively,” he said, cutting himself off as he realized they were up against a lot more targets than he bargained for.

  “How the hell did they fit them all in three carriers?” he demanded.

  He frowned as he looked at the number of fighters coming up from the cruisers and destroyers. He frowned and then realized they must have had fighters on the outer hull of the carriers.

  Besides, it didn't matter. It looked like he and his pilots were going to have their hands full shortly.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commodore Vargess swore as he heard someone yelp. He looked up and then back to the plot. “That's a bit more than we bargained for. Are you sure we can handle them? I don't want to bite off more than we can chew. It only takes one bomber to chew us right back and ruin our day,” he said dryly.

  “Agreed, sir. Do you wish to recall the fighters?”

  “I'm not going to jog the CAGs elbow at this point. He sees the data the same as we do. Besides, in order to get back here in time, he'd have to alter course and do a full burn. That would cost him fuel and time. He'd also leave the bombers vulnerable,” the commodore replied.

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Besides, they are emergency fighters. They are little more than targets.”

  “Targets that bite back,” the captain reminded him carefully.

  “Agreed. Point Defense Baker is in effect. Pass it on.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the captain replied as the staff began to pass the order on to the other ships. As they watched, the destroyers moved up into optimal firing positions to defend the fleet.

  :::{)(}:::

  “They didn't take the bait, sir,” Berney said apologetically.

  “Not completely no,” Admiral De Gaulte said. “But the pressure is certainly on,” he said, examining the plot. What he was trying to do was simple. But, even the simplest things done in combat were tough and especially under the watchful gaze of an enemy. Either the Wild Weasel units weren't up to t
he task and the enemy had seen through them or they refused to be diverted.

  Or even more scarier, they thought they could still handle them.

  “Balsy of them, I'll give them that.”

  “Yes, sir. They know we've got emergency fighters I bet. We couldn't hide them on the hulls of the cruisers,” Sedrick grumbled.

  “Agreed. So, we make do.”

  “No change, sir?” Berney asked hopefully.

  “No. No change,” the admiral replied. He turned to Myron. “You may fire on the tick.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the tactical officer replied with a nod.

  The admiral watched his staff as they anxiously watched the clock. When it hit zero, Myron hit his microphone button. “Operation W fire for effect!”

  “Two can play that game,” the admiral rumbled as rail gun rounds thundered silently out of their turrets and into the night and depth of space.

  :::{)(}:::

  “Fire! I say again, Fire as planned!” Lieutenant Jako Revel barked as he oriented his fighter and fired.

  One hundred and twenty of the emergency fighters with the cruiser force had rail guns strapped to their undercarriage. Each rail gun was set up to fire a blunderbust round. Within the space of a few seconds, a wall of metal was sprayed in the direction of the incoming enemy fighters.

  If there was one thing the star system had in plenty, it was rock. The natives had managed to make millions of iron-encased rail gun rounds for their warships and the emergency fighters. Several production lines had been set up just to make them in whatever caliber desired. They were made in quantity too, something the Feds were about to find out. The lieutenant and his people gleefully put them to use.

  Once the lieutenant fired himself dry he turned and oriented on the carrier beacons. He kicked his engine and soon he and his fellows were on their way out of the battle space.

  :::{)(}:::