The Gathering Storm

by Chris Hechtl

  The cloud was moving at seventy-five thousand kilometers a second and spreading out at ten kilometers a second as the rounds fragmented into dust. Even though the metal particles were small, he was well aware they could wear down his shields and eventually tear his ship apart if he let it.

  He had no intention of doing so however.

  Fighters and bombers climbed, dove, or banked as squadrons to avoid the lethal cloud. But as they turned they ran into another cloud, this one far larger and timed for their maneuver almost perfectly. Frantic orders went out warning the pilots to avoid turning to starboard or climbing. The pilots kicked in their afterburners as their brethren began to be torn apart nearby.

  The CAG looked back over his shoulder and grimaced in pain.

  :::{)(}:::

  “What just happened?” Trajan demanded.

  “They walked into an ambush. It looks like they were anticipated,” his TAO explained. “The enemy fighters fired a rail gun spread at the fighters. The fighters have their sensors in their noses; they were focused at their targets so knew to avoid the incoming spread and maneuvered just in time. But, apparently,” he pointed a stylus to the spread of rounds from the enemy's main fleet. “The enemy timed it just right. The rounds from the main fleet caught them as they tried to turn. Many were boxed with nowhere to go in time.”

  “Damage?”

  “We've lost seventy-two fighters and three bombers, sir.”

  “Frack,” the commodore snarled.

  “Fifteen fighters and four bombers are damaged. They are changing course to head back to the barn, sir,” CIC warned.

  “Understood.”

  “Two more fighters have been lost to follow-up rail gun clouds.”

  “Frack, are they going to do that the entire way in?”

  “They know the course and speed, sir. The CAGs are adjusting their speed now.”

  “Let SAR and the tankers know. Launch a reserve SAR and tanker to meet up with the wounded birds and show them safely back here.”

  “Understood. I mean, aye aye, sir.”

  Incoming fire! We've got more rail gun rounds headed to us on a bearing of 321 degrees by negative 42 degrees!” a tight CIC voice reported.

  “Helm, change course now! Get us clear!” Junior barked urgently.

  “Aye aye, sir!” the helmsman said as she pulled on the yoke and pitched it to starboard in a desperate attempt to get clear of the incoming cloud of death.

  The alert five fighters and AWACs who called the warning in got clear barely in time. The warships did so as well.

  “That was close,” a Veraxin muttered.

  “Too close,” the commodore said. “Air OPS, push the AWACS further out in the direction of the main fleet. I want more of a warning. Time to their bomber arrival?”

  “Twenty-seven minutes, sir. We were about to launch interceptors and then our own strike.”

  “Understood. Get it done.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “What else are they going to throw at us?” Trajan muttered.

  “Probably the kitchen sink,” Junior replied with a shake of his head.

  Trajan groaned. Junior turned to look at his image. “Sir?”

  “Don't give them any ideas,” the commodore replied.

  :::{)(}:::

  Admiral De Gaulte noted the results when CIC reported them and grunted when Berney smiled. “Not bad,” he allowed.

  “Yes, sir. It's a third of their fighters.”

  “Yes, but you notice the number of bombers in the force? They are keeping some back for a strike on us,” the admiral stated.

  “It's the smart move,” Sedrick replied with a nod. “I looked up the numbers. Based on the two classes of ships plus their supports, I estimate the fleet carrier can carry three hundred sixty craft, give or take a few. Since they prefer squadrons of twelve like we do, that fits well.”

  “I see. So, they sent the majority of their fighters to overwhelm our fighters and held back most of their bombers in reserve. It makes sense,” the admiral mused.

  Sedrick nodded but exchanged looks with Myron and Berney.

  The admiral caught the exchange but was intent on his own thoughts. “Myron, order all ships to fire themselves dry on rail gun rounds. We'll replenish from the fleet train. Start with the small ships. Cycle through them.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Target?”

  “Their fighters and carriers, the same as before.”

  “Sir, we'll be firing at our own people,” Berney warned.

  “Do your best. Status on the incoming fighters?”

  “They are halfway to the carriers,” the chief of staff said, realizing the admiral was not willing to listen to arguments against his chosen course of action. He turned to see Myron setting up the shot.

  “Sir, a word?” he asked carefully, looking at Sedrick and then the admiral.

  “If you are going to try to dissuade me, don't bother. I know the risks involved.”

  “Yes, sir, I realize that. I'm not sure you see the risks to personnel when they see you firing on their brothers as well as the enemy.”

  “Whatever it takes to win,” the admiral growled.

  Berney gave him a searching look and then looked away.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Bleakly wasn't happy about being on the receiving end of the shot gun rounds. He rather regretted not putting some flanking ships out to watch for such a maneuver. It was now an obvious counter.

  The expression “once burned, thrice shy” came to mind. His great turkey shoot was turning into something else he noted as the forward elements began to cycle through their missiles as they entered range.

  They also had to contend with the fighters coming from the carriers. He cut his engine to standby to drift as he examined the growing battle space. “Bill, take your fighters and go after the newcomers,” he ordered, putting a targeting icon on the spread of fighters coming in from the carriers.

  Commander Bill Paxton, CAG of Illustrious, double clicked his microphone. “Acknowledged. You've got the over watch?”

  “Yes. I'll sit here and sling commands for a bit,” the commander replied.

  “Understood. We'll be outnumbered four to one or so,” Bill replied.

  “Hit them hard with missiles at range. Their ECM and coordination sucks.”

  “Roger that,” Bill replied as he changed channels to begin issuing orders to his squadron commanders. As Commander Bleakly watched, the force split off before entering the furball and headed for the newcomers.

  “Commander Meia, there are two squadrons trying to get out and around us …,” his Artoo began to beep urgently and paint red on his HUD. He caught himself and then swore as he saw the incoming spread. “All fighters clear the battle space! Incoming cloud!” he snarled, kicking his engines into gear once more. At least they had some warning he thought.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commodore Rabideau snarled as he saw the cloud of rail gun rounds headed into the furball. “This is insane,” he muttered as he watched fighters split up and frantically head to the outer edges of the cloud. The cloud was a cone shape with the point directly at the battlespace but with other clouds behind it designed to push them further and further out. As he watched emergency fighters that couldn't sustain the burn to get clear and had no shields were snuffed out. Not by the ones and twos, but by the dozens.

  “Damn it! He's doing their work for us!” he snarled.

  “Sir, incoming bombers, they were clear of the cloud!” his flag captain said urgently. His eyes cut to the plot. His momentary distraction in watching the furball and the cloud had allowed the bombers to get in closer than he liked.

  “All ships, prepare for torpedo strikes. Anti-air is in effect. Fire as you bear,” he ordered. “Shoot like there is no tomorrow,” he muttered.

  Knowing the way the battle was running, there probably wasn't going to be one.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Paxton saw the incoming fire and managed to get his
people out of the way in time. The incoming cloud was artfully designed to come in just under the edge of the incoming fighters. When his people got into extreme range, he ordered them to fire their missiles into the clusters of fighters.

  Missiles lit off from the rails of the fighters in ones and twos as the radio channels filled with “Fox One!” calls. The A.I. and squadron commanders had allocated targets. Heaven help any who targeted the same batch of enemies twice. They didn't have the missiles to spare.

  They cycled through half their missiles as the two forces closed within four million kilometers before something peculiar accorded on his screen. His A.I. beeped and then put up a visual of the enemy force.

  “What am I looking at?” he asked as the enemy formation began to depopulate. “What the hell?” he demanded, staring at the plot and the window the A.I. had opened up. “Artoo?”

  “Ghost fighters. Decoys,” the A.I. replied, pointing to the lead fighter in each group and then to the visual with an icon. He dumbly went from the icon to the video before he got it.

  “Wild Weasel! Wild Weasel! I say again, Wild Weasel! We've been had, abort missile fire! Abort! Abort!” he swore as a squadron to the left of him got another shot off before they stopped firing.

  The CAG continued to swear as he saw the missiles go for the decoys. “Son of a …!”

  :::{)(}:::

  Lieutenant McAll wanted to be anywhere but where he was, but he did enjoy a good prank. He jiggled his Cutlass class fighter and then looked over his shoulder to make sure he didn't tangle the wires dangling behind his ship. Each of the eleven wires went to a decoy package. He was simulating an entire squadron all on his own.

  His actions as well as those of his squadron had sucked off a good percentage of the enemy's incoming fire. Unfortunately, for him the missiles went after him as well. He held in there for a second too long before he ejected the wires and tried to go evasive.

  Once he disconnected the decoys, they went dead. That meant every missile lost locked and then searched for another one. And he found to his brief dismay that they all locked in on him.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Bleakly swore as he got Bill's report. Bill's force had wasted half their missiles on a phantom wing just as they were about to mix it up. Suddenly the odds had changed a bit.

  “All CAGs and squadron commanders, make sure of your targeting. The enemy is using ECM decoys to draw in spreads of missiles. So, watch it and be damn sure of your targeting!” he said over the open net.

  “AWACS, we need more heads-up of incoming clouds. Do something about that,” he growled as the furball began to erupt all over again.

  :::{)(}:::

  Trajan dipped into the fighter audio net and instantly winced at the combat chatter. A cacophony of voices flooded the compartment. Several of the officers and enlisted looked up and around with frowns, then over to the commodore. He was listening intently, trying to make sense of it.

  “Get on him! On your six!”

  “Fox one! Fox one!”

  “Scratch one! Bo-ya!”

  “Way to go, Amber, now get another!”

  “Quit playing with your food, Shaq! It'll bite back surer … see? What'd I tell you??!”

  “Kicking it! Clearing the Bs and rebooting.”

  “Pitch out! Pitch away!”

  “Fox two I mean one!”

  “Get in there, get your ass around … frack look …,” a loud squelch cut that off.

  “Bogie at two o'clock by negative four looks like a stickman. He's firing!” a voice yelped.

  “Break Break!”

  “Left, left, no your other left!

  “Four o'clock low! Spirits … they are coming back around!”

  “For the love of …watch your six high! Two of them! Vampire, Vampire!”

  “Get out of the bubble. Get out of there!”

  “Freak-a-deek is down. I say again, Freak-a-deek is down. I see a beacon though, marking it!”

  “Mother fracker, line up … come on, let's hookup …”

  The rest he could barely understand. It was fighter technobabble, repetitive orders, all of it. Some of it was too fast to follow. Some of it was punctuated by scratches, screams, and static. All of it was supposed to be filtered out but the computers were struggling. No wonder in a furball clear, clean tactical orders were the first things out the window. How the CAGs and squadron commanders could make sense of it all he didn't know.

  Chapter 66

  Commodore Rabideau had little attention to spare to the furball going on nearby. His focus was entirely on the incoming bombers. They were elusive targets, using ECM, maneuvers, and their own counterfire to evade or interdict the frantic fire from his cruisers and tin cans.

  Each of his ships were firing out salvos and streams in their general direction. Most of the fire, especially the laser fire was invisible except on the plot. The plasma fire lit up the skies however.

  But, it wasn't enough. Part of the problem was the combatants; the Antelope class destroyers had mostly forward-facing guns since they had been designed as raiders.

  He groaned when he saw the bombers reach their strike range and begin to launch a wave of torpedoes. They held their course for a beat and then each peeled off to get clear of the battle space. As they did so, they popped chaff, tiny jammer pods, and bright flares that blinded his sensors. For a moment, it was like the torpedoes were coming in out of the sun.

  They'd managed to take out two of the damn bombers and injured another in its turn, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough he knew. The rest of the twenty bombers had cycled four torpedoes each at his ships. Each of those torpedoes was designed to penetrate shields and take on a capital ship.

  He began to curse when he saw the destroyers thundering fire impotently at the torpedoes. Even the damn torpedoes had ECM and countermeasures.

  Two of his Antelope class destroyers were the first to go. The other ships were not coordinating their fire effectively nor maneuvering as they should. As he watched, their defenses fell apart.

  Then the torpedoes were among his ships and detonating, tearing apart their shields, ripping into the armor and blowing him and his ships into splinters.

  :::{)(}:::

  “Well! That sucked,” Admiral De Gaulte said as he saw all of Commodore Rabideau's warships go out as one on the plot. “Comm, anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “CIC, sir. We're picking up multiple detonations and Omega codes.”

  “Damn. Mark the location for Search and Rescue. Status on the furball?”

  “Not good, sir. We've lost half of the fighters from the picket already. The rest are being killed in droves. They are almost useless against the enemy fighters,” Sedrick said bitterly.

  “Damn,” the admiral murmured.

  “All destroyers and battle cruisers have shot themselves dry of rail gun rounds, Admiral. The screen is moving to the fleet train to resupply now,” Berney stated.

  “Recall the fighters. There is no point lingering here. Time to intercept with the incoming enemy main force?”

  “They have maneuvered to come at us from a different angle, Admiral. Call it an hour.”

  “Too close,” the admiral muttered, realizing he'd let himself be drawn in to the fighter battle too far. “Captain Loupin, fire Executioner's rail gun spread at the incoming enemy main body. Time target to make a broad and thick cloud,” he ordered.

  “Aye aye, sir. Tactical is working on the exercise now. You do realize they'll return fire, sir?”

  “I know. Just do it.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Sir, some of the fighters can't disengage easily. They are on the far side of the battlespace,” Sedrick warned.

  “Anyone that can't get to the carriers we leave behind. They knew the risks. Tell them to kick ass.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sedrick replied with a frown of disapproval. He saw the admiral looking his way and schooled his expression appropriately. After a moment, the admira
l looked away and expectantly to Myron and then the image of Captain Loupin.

  “The shot is ready, sir.”

  “Then fire,” the admiral said. “Fire for effect.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir, our bombers are being intercepted by enemy fighters,” Berney said urgently.

  The admiral scowled. He'd thought the enemy would have sent everything into the furball but that had obviously not been the case. They'd been conservative about things and held back a reserve to protect their carriers as well as for future operations.

  “Recall them.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Move the small ships out to screen us until the destroyers are resupplied,” he said as Executioner continued to thunder rail gun rounds at an invisible point in space.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  As he watched, his tin cans were already on their way to the fleet train. All of his other ships were drifting slowly backwards towards the battlespace behind them. As he checked the carriers, he noted the emergency fighters outfitted with rail guns were being recovered. He grunted and tapped the icon with a finger as Berney turned to report the news to him. Berney saw his finger and then nodded and then turned to an ensign to deal with another issue.

  The admiral tucked his hands behind his back and then continued to study the unfolding battle.

  :::{)(}:::

  Commander Meia didn't have time to swear as what they thought was a turkey shoot got complicated. Really complicated, she thought as she picked off another of the enemy emergency fighters.

  She flipped on another bird, but Baker 4 was already on its tail so she backed off to assist. She easily kept up with him.

  Whoever the pilot of the Cutlass he was chasing was, they were smart. The fighter kept randomly banking in all directions to prevent the fighters on his six from firing missiles and to try to get them off his ass. Like that was going to happen.