by J N Chaney
“Everyone saddle up,” Warren ordered. “I don’t care what order you come out in. Just make sure you spread out once you’re on the surface—not in a circle around the entrance, or they’ll know where to drop their bombs. Now, check in.”
When each pilot confirmed their ship was operational and armed, Warren gave his next command. “All right, Wraiths, let’s head out. Remember to keep it orderly. The last thing we need is to break one of these things before we get into battle.”
Despite Warren never having experienced what it felt like to fly a Commonwealth CWS-14, his hands flew over the controls. It was like he’d done it thousands of times. It took a few seconds to get used to how sluggish the steering was compared to the other fighters he’d loaded into all of their memories, but it was good enough.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he muttered to himself.
Turning his fighter slowly, Warren checked on the other pilots and saw they were moving into position to follow him. Then, he created a comms channel just for the newly formed squadron and looped all his pilots in.
“See you in the mix, Wraiths,” Warren transmitted to the squadron channel.
A minute later, he reached into his memory, retrieved the password for the airlock door, and sent it to the other cyborgs. Once they acknowledged his transmission, he carefully maneuvered his craft inside the lift and settled it to the deck.
“They’re tough, even if they’re ugly,” Warren said.
The doors to the lift closed and Warren felt the rumble of the powerful electric motors taking them to the surface. He took point and left the lift first. It only took seconds to clear the hidden exit out of the mountain hangar and then he was out.
He increased his ship’s thrust and began skimming along the ground, searching for a place to hide his ship while he waited for the others. There were plenty of craters, but nothing deep enough to disguise the ship if someone were looking for them.
He continued searching the terrain, surprised at how well the ship responded when it was under full power. Warren was flying faster than he’d intended. His speed of 347 knots was impressive and gave him a measure of confidence for the upcoming battle.
Warren spotted a narrow ravine just wide enough for him to park his craft nose-up. He slipped the fighter into the gap and, once he was sure the dirt had stopped falling from both sides and the danger of a cave-in had passed, put his engine in standby mode.
It took another fifteen minutes to get the rest of the fighters to the surface, but they all made it.
“How long are we to wait?” Lukov asked.
“Just long enough to find out who they are and what they intend,” Warren replied. “Just because it’s a warship doesn’t mean they plan on bombarding and then invading us. I’ll initiate contact.”
Warren switched his comms to the universal Republic Navy channel. It was one that all ships were required to monitor. He patched both sides of the conversation into the Wraith Squadron channel so they could hear it.
“Attention Republic vessel, this is the Reotian Defense Force. Please identify yourself and your intention.”
“Reotian Defense Force?” a voice from the Republic ship asked. “What nonsense is this?”
“This is the Reotian defense force,” Warren repeated. “To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Captain Niles Dupre, commander of the GRS Conquest and the 4th Cyborg Corps. I don’t know who you think you are, but I order you, in the name of the Grand Republic of Unified Systems, to stand down.”
“Well, you see, that’s going to be a problem,” Warren said. “We don’t recognize the authority of the Grand Republic of assholes.”
“I don’t care what authority you recognize and what you don’t,” Captain Dupre said, his tone laced with venom. “I see another Republic ship in orbit. It didn’t attack, so I’m guessing it’s not an ally to you. How do you plan on stopping me? Think about it. Your people don’t have to die. Surrender, and I promise your prompt compliance will be taken into consideration.”
“Yeah, right,” Cooper said over a private channel with Warren. “They’d only kill a token number of Reotians rather than all of them.”
“Quiet,” Warren hissed privately to the cyborg before Captain Dupre spoke again.
“If you force us to send the 4th Corps to the surface, the consequences will be dire. Please don’t make this any harder on your people than it needs to be.”
“With all due respect, Captain, I think you have this backwards,” Warren said.
Dupre snorted. “Oh? How so?”
“It would behoove you to remove yourself and your cyborgs from your vessel. Use the escape pods and leave your ship behind. We’ll send over a prize crew to take possession.”
“You’re insane,” Captain Dupre said with a vicious laugh. “Please tell me you’re joking. Do you have a gas leak affecting your domes? Is that why you’re speaking nonsense?”
“No kidding here, Sir,” Warren said, amused by how the dialogue was progressing. “In fact, I have a third option, if you’d like to hear it.”
“Sure,” replied Captain Dupre, also sounding amused. “Please, tell me of this marvelous third option.”
“You could surrender your vessel and crew to us,” Warren said. “Shut down your war computer and join the Reotian Defense Force. You know what the Republic has done to these people. There’s nothing humane about their treatment of the Reotians, which is why we’ve decided to reject Republic authority.”
“This is all very amusing,” Captain Dupre said. “Please tell me you have a fourth option. I’m just dying to hear it.”
“I do, and I’m glad you mentioned it. The fourth option is for you to drop your dress-gray trousers, bend at the waist, and kiss your own ass.”
“I’ve heard just about enough out of you,” Dupre snarled. “Reotis has no defense forces. Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you think you can intimidate the 4th Cyborg Corps or the Republic Navy? If this is a game, I’m no longer amused by it. Stand down, or you will be invaded. I’ve had just about enough of your—“
“No,” Warren interrupted. “The First Cyborg Corps doesn’t take orders from the Grand Republic anymore. Nor do we take orders from the Commonwealth. Reotis hereby declares its independence from both of you. Take your ship, leave, and never return. I’ll give you ten minutes, which should be plenty of time for you to pull your head all the way out of your ass.”
Without giving him time to respond, Warren ended the transmission.
Lukov laughed into a private channel with Warren. “You say these things, but I am thinking they conflict with diplomacy module. Maybe use, ah, what is it called? Kitten glove to help ease the tension.”
“He’s not going to leave,” Warren replied on the private channel. “So, that was just to get the party started. Angry people make mistakes. Republic mistakes are boons for us. Plus, when we whoop his ass, he’ll realize that I did in fact try to warn him and he ignored it at his own peril.”
“Won’t that cause the Republic to send two or three ships next time?”
“Maybe,” Warren said. “But not without cost.”
Wraith Squadron waited for the Conquest’s captain to reply. Warren guessed the man was shouting orders to subordinates and the fight was about to start.
“So,” Cooper said, drawing out the word. “4th Corps. Any chance they’re free and just hiding it from the crew?”
“No, our plan only involved the 2nd,” Warren replied.
“So we’re going to have to kill fellow cyborgs?”
Warren didn’t miss the distaste in the other man’s voice. “Yes, if it comes down to it. Maybe some Republic humans, too. It all depends on how the battle plays out.”
“We need to make sure at least one of them survives,” Baker noted. “Otherwise, there won’t be anyone left to warn the others. We’re about to start building a reputation, boys... and lady.”
“Thanks for that,” Rigby said in an accent that made her sound like a southern be
lle. “I’m so flattered you remembered little ol’ me.”
“Radio discipline,” Lukov warned, and the comms went silent.
“Something’s happening,” Cooper transmitted to the squadron. “There. Confirmed it. The Conquest is changing course. Looks like they’re coming in for a bombing run. If they follow protocol, they’re going to drop their cyborgs at the same time. The bombs will help cover the drop ships.”
Warren checked the tactical display on his HUD—the one on his ship was too primitive to be useful. There was something off about what the Conquest was doing. It looked like they were too far away to make a bombing run. It would give the Reotian particle cannons practically all day to shoot the bombs down before they could hit.
“Something isn’t right,” Warren said. “Look how they’re hanging out up there. They should’ve launched their drop ships and bombs by now. I think they know about our guns. This confirms that there’s at least one Republic spy within the settlement.”
“What are your orders?” Lukov asked.
“Looks like the gunners need us to save the day,” Warren said. “Ready to go kick some Republic ass?”
25
The formation split the squadron into two teams, flights Warren now remembered. Alpha flight was made up of the eleven pilots, including Lukov, Oplin, and himself. Bravo flight consisted of the other eleven pilots, including Thompson, Rigby and Baker. Warren then designated Baker as the Bravo Flight commander, though Warren maintained overall control of the squadron.
“You get to fly with the best,” Baker told his team. “Just follow me and don’t do anything stupid. Maybe you’ll live to remember this day. Hell, maybe you’ll get to write a book about how much ass I kicked.”
“Maybe you’ll even get around to focusing on the mission,” Lukov scolded.
Seeing them maneuver at exactly the same time didn’t surprise Warren. He felt like he could tell the others were ready and waiting for him to make the first move. As soon as his intention became clear, they followed without hesitation. It was their new communications software.
Warren could almost feel the control sticks of each of the other pilots in his own hand. He knew what they were focusing their attention on. He also knew where each of them was in the formation.
“Whoa, this is weird,” Rigby said. “It’s like I can see through all of your eyes, all at once! What’s happening?”
“Damn,” Baker whispered. “They’ve been keeping this shit from us the whole time. Do you know how much ass we could’ve kicked if we’d had access to this years ago?”
“How many battles we could’ve won?” Oplin added, his voice angry.
“Or how many times we didn’t have to die and forget everything we’d learned?” Warren’s comment seemed to sober everyone, and the comms went silent. “It’s simple. They were afraid of what they created.”
The other murmured in shared agreement.
“We’ll be within range of their guns in just over seven minutes,” Warren said, attempting to get everyone’s mind back on the mission. “But it’ll be another two minutes after that before we’re close enough to shoot back. Alpha is going to head to the Conquest’s aft and take out their primary engines. Once those are down, they’ll still have maneuvering thrusters. Bravo Flight will destroy the Conquest’s particle cannons. These fighters are tough, but one shot from their ship-to-ship weapons and there won’t be enough of you left to fill an envelope. Got me?”
“They’ve got 17 cannons on that thing,” Rigby said. “We only have one missile apiece, and these things suck. Not sure what you expect, sir.”
“I expect you to do your best,” Warren replied. “The engines won’t take long to disable. Alpha will assist as soon as we’re free. We take out as many as we can, then we bug out. We don’t need them all gone—just as many as possible. They can sit in orbit until they starve, but I suspect someone will come rescue them or they’ll start running long before that.”
A second later, Warren’s HUD indicated 21 confirmations. His cyborgs had heard, understood, and intended to obey his orders.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this! It’s going to be super easy,” Rigby announced. “I mean, I feel like I already know what everyone’s going to do. We could fly like a school of fish. You know what I mean? When they see a predator coming, they just kind of move around it like they’re all sharing the same brain. That’s us now.”
“What a relief,” Lukov said. “I, too, was feeling like this.”
“Yeah, that’s cute and all,” Warren said, reining them in again. “But how about we maintain at least the appearance of having some military control and keep the lines clear for traffic that really matters. Maybe try to use some radio discipline?”
The comms went silent as the squadron rocketed toward the enemy vessel. The cyborg pilots were still a few minutes away from the weapons range of the reach of Conquest’s particle cannons before someone broke the silence.
“A word about our newfound communication. It’ll keep us from crashing into each other,” Warren said. “But that doesn’t mean you can get lazy. Keep the channel open for the important stuff, and if you’re not sure if the others know something, then say it. At least until we get used to this new system.”
“They’re firing,” Rigby reported.
Glancing down at his sensors, Warren saw the Conquest lit up like a Christmas tree. Every sparkling light was a beam of supercharged particles headed toward Wraith Squadron.
“There’s a pattern to their laser groupings,” Warren warned. “They’re trying to corral us. Keep to your present course. If we let them push us into a tightly packed cluster, they’ll be able to take us all out at once.”
A few seconds later, the cyborgs began to twist, juke, and corkscrew their fighters like a swarm of angry bees. The Conquest’s war computer was doing a decent job calculating where it expected the fighters to be next, but the cyborgs outsmarted them each time. Bravo flight swarmed at the Conquest as flashes of light and puffs of vaporized material began to form on the destroyer’s hull. There was something to be said for having input.
Warren both saw and felt half of the fighters turn starboard off the plane of Reotis. Bravo Flight continued their random course changes to avoid being shot. Their route seemed indecipherable, but it was clear that the ships were still moving closer to their target.
“What are you doing?” Warren asked as he guided Alpha Flight toward the Conquest’s aft. “Stay out of range.”
“Our missiles are only accurate out to so far,” Baker replied. “We’re going to need to get close. Setting up a strafing run.”
Baker was right. Even if a missile only struck a regular part of the hull instead of a weapons blister, it would still do some damage. It was a sad reality that the only reason the Republic was winning the war was because the Commonwealth relied on numbers instead of quality. Their tech was tough, but that was about it.
But were they really winning the war? The thought struck Warren like a sledgehammer to the chest. Shoving the idea aside, he focused on guiding his team closer to the Conquest’s engines. If the Republic ship picked that moment to engage them and head into hyperspace, Alpha Flight was as good as dead. There wouldn’t be enough left of any of his cyborgs or their ships to fill a sandwich baggie.
“Two guns down,” Baker reported, reminding Warren that he needed to focus on the bigger picture. “Their war computer must be going crazy. It has no idea what to do about us. It’s just shooting all over the place.”
“That’s exactly what we want,” Warren replied before addressing his flight. “Two missiles, fire!”
Skimming through the avalanche of data coming into his HUD, Warren began searching for a more holistic view. He needed to focus on the big picture. After finding a quick method to sift through the details, he saw that the rear of the Conquest was virtually unguarded.
Zooming into the minute details, he saw that only the main thrusters were protecting the ships exposed rear. The
y were a powerful deterrent on their own, but his cyborgs were nimble. There was little chance of a human pilot being able to survive more than a minute—two at tops—behind the vessel. Even a short exposure of a few seconds could lead to multiple cancers if he or she wasn’t lucky. And even if it didn’t, it was far more likely no mere human would live long enough to suffer those ill effects.
But they weren’t human. Not exactly, anyway. The shielding around a cyborg’s biological parts prevented such minor inconveniences. Even if their bodies failed, they could make new ones. At least until they ran out of spare parts.
The control panel on Warren’s ship went dead. He pressed the restart button, but the ship wouldn’t come back online. The backup power supply wasn’t responding. He was dead in the water, and it happened before he could fire his missile.
“You okay?” Oplin asked.
“Yeah, but I’ve been hit,” Warren said, stabbing the restart button with his finger again. This time it illuminated a bright red—a good sign. “Must’ve drifted too far from the rear. It’s coming back online now.”
The Commonwealth fighter ran through its automatic startup procedure. It took an agonizing ten seconds, all the while leaving him a sitting duck. During that time, Warren drifted out the other side of the ship’s blind spot to its aft. As he slid in past the enemy sensors’, another defense gun started peppering his ship with laser blasts.
Warren snarled out a string of curses as he slapped the panel.
It worked. The control stick began responding, allowing Warren to rocket away. The rest of Alpha Flight followed his lead, forming up around him in a tight formation. While they retreated from the Conquest, Warren watched his sensors. Their two missiles continued on their course for several more seconds. And then one of them malfunctioned and began heading back toward his team.
“Stay alert,” Warren ordered Alpha Flight.
As he spoke, the other missile struck one of the Conquest’s primary thrusters. He watched as the projectile exploded against the ship’s expansion funnel, cracking it. Zooming in, he saw hot, radioactive gasses shoot out the breached side. A second later, all of the thrusters shut down.
