“I’m picking up movement from low orbit. Medium sized transport, ETA twelve minutes,” said the tactical weapons officer.
The officer hit a key on his terminal as he checked the configuration of the vessel. It didn’t take him long to find the correct ship in the database and in seconds he had crosschecked it with Confed Naval records.
“Sir, it’s an Icarus Class medium transport, she’s heading right for us!”
Captain Hardy moved to the centre of the bridge. The Admiral commanded the Fleet, but it was still his ship and he knew how to get the most out of his crew. Jarvis nodded as he carried on.
“Are they showing on IFF?”
“Negative, Sir, there are no transmissions coming from the vessel. They are still accelerating.”
The IFF system was the Identify Friend of Foe system that was a requirement of every vessel, be it civilian or military. Each time a craft made a journey its logs and codes were updated. This allowed customs and military forces to establish the origins and allegiance of a vessel when at range. It might seem draconian, but with the kind of distances the ships passed it wasn’t always possible to easily identify a craft before it was too late.
Hardy turned around and wiped his forehead.
“Admiral, I recommend full alert, this craft could cripple any one of our ships. If they hit the transports we’ll lose thousands!”
“The transports, how do they know?” Without waiting for an answer the Admiral pulled the intercom close to her mouth.
“Action stations! We have incoming craft! Set Condition Red through the Fleet. All ships have permission to open fire on unidentified vessels within twenty kilometres!”
“Where is our CAP?” she asked.
“Combat Air Patrol is already on a course to intercept, they will be in range in sixty seconds,” said one of the officers.
“Put me on with the lead pilot.”
With a few clicks of the buttons Admiral Jarvis was on with the pilot of the closing fighter. On the screen in front of her the data for the Lightning MK II Fighter appeared. It was a small two-man craft equipped with automatic cannons and anti-ship missiles. The Lightning Fighters were carried aboard many of the carriers in the Fleet, as well as some of the escort cruisers where a few small craft were handy for use in customs duties or ship defence.
“Lieutenant Jacobs, Fourth Interceptor Wing, closing on unidentified craft.”
“This is Admiral Jarvis. Are you detecting any signs of life or any transmissions coming from the craft?”
There was a short pause punctuated by the crack and hiss of static. The officers in the CiC of the Wasp kept quiet, each waiting for the word.
“Admiral, the vessel is already damaged, she’s leaking fuel and it looks like the port hull has been shredded by anti-aircraft fire. She was hit trying to get from the surface, I can’t tell who did the shooting though.”
“I need to know if it is a threat. Can you see inside the craft?”
The pause was much longer this time and as she waited, Admiral Jarvis looked over to General Rivers. He had already helped plan the dispersal of the ground forces from the first transport but many more were unloading and they were right in the path of the craft.
“I can see inside. The passenger section is full of containers of some kind. Can’t quite tell from here,” there was a pause before he continued, “there is nobody at the helm, I repeat there...” he said but the transmission was mysteriously cut off.
“Damn!” growled Captain Hardy. “Who else is out there?” he demanded.
The weapons officer checked the rest of the approaching units but could find no one who could reach the vessel before it was in range of the Fleet. He cycled through the attack wing. The nearest ship was too far away to fire its weapons, but they might be able to get a visual. He sent a coded signal to the leading fighter’s computer receiving an acknowledgement and video feed almost immediately. As the video popped up the pilot of the vessel spoke.
“Admiral, I’m picking up debris ahead, it looks like Jacobs is down. The unidentified vessel is still approaching.”
On the video screen the cameras on the small fighter zoomed in to show the faint outline of the damaged, but rapidly approaching transport.
“What do you want to do?” asked Captain Hardy.
Admiral Jarvis looked at the screen but she didn’t really have to think too hard. The lives of the sailors, marines and soldiers in the Fleet were too much to risk for one vessel that appeared hostile. Without hesitation she spoke directly to the Captain.
“She is hostile. I can’t risk it. Destroy her and quickly!”
“Yes, Sir!” replied the Captain as he moved to the weapons officer’s console.
Admiral Jarvis continued speaking with the pilot of the fighter. “Get out of there, she’s hostile. I repeat. She is an enemy combatant!” The pilot responded with a simple acknowledgement.
“Permission to fire, Sir?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Do it!” ordered Captain Hardy as he watched the view screen.
It seemed like an age as the weapon system activated. All around the ship were small weapon mounts, each fitted with medium power railguns and rapid-fire projectile weapons. Against a target as small as the transport, the aircraft carrier would have to make use of the point defence turrets. Each one had a maximum range of twenty kilometres, but could launch a devastating barrage of explosive shells that could hold off scores of missiles or attacking fighters.
“She’s in range, opening fire!” The Lieutenant hit the automatic defence system.
Lights started to flash along the console as the weapon systems took turns to lock and fire at the ship. First one, then forty separate turrets fired bursts of shot at the craft. From their position on the ship they could see the grey trails from the shells as they blasted out into space and towards the unseen target. The defensive fire stopped almost as soon as it had started. In the distance a tiny yellow flash indicated the weapons had hit something.
“Report!” called out the Admiral.
“Target is off the board, we’re clear, Sir,” said Captain Hardy.
The officers breathed a sigh of relief. Another attempt to break the blockade had failed, though at the loss of a good pilot.
“General Rivers, you are clear to continue ground operations.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
Admiral Jarvis took a few steps back and sunk into her chair. With the ground operation still ongoing and the frequent attempts to get near her ships, it felt as if everyone was aiming to make her life as difficult as possible. She could only hope that the arrival of the Army would give the forces on Avagana a chance to recover lost ground and push out the rebels once and for all.
* * *
Spartan watched the black shapes emerge from the clouds. According to his tactical display the approaching vessels were the heavy Landers of the Army. Around these massive vessels were dozens of the small Lightning MKII fighters. A few seconds after the first emerged the dark shapes of more Landers appeared behind them. The roar from their engines took a short time to reach the ground but when it did it was mighty.
“Where are they going?” asked Marcus.
Spartan checked his tactical map, there were no details for the Army units anywhere near his position. He clicked a button to contact Lieutenant Daniels.
“Sir, are the Army units deploying in this area?”
“Negative, Sergeant. I’ve just been in touch with Captain Mathews, he is further down the line and establishing a high bandwidth link with the Fleet. Apparently the Army units are being landed outside of the cities to start sweeping actions against the enemy.”
Spartan zoomed out on his map until he could see some of the others settlements still occupied by Confed units.
“So what about us, Sir? Any reinforcements coming our way?”
“Our orders are to maintain the perimeter and the city defences until relieved by the Army. For now the marine units are to operate as a defensive
bastion.”
Spartan wasn’t impressed. Everything he had learnt and been taught during basic training had shown him that the marines were flexible and well-equipped units designed for movement and rapidity. He couldn’t understand why the slow moving behemoth that was the Army, was to be given the job of field combat operations, when the more flexible marines were stuck in the rubble defending the cities. To him it seemed to be a complete role reversal.
Another noise indicated yet more Landers as they roared off into the distance. Smoke trails snaked up from the ground towards one of the massive vessels as two shoulder-mounted missiles rushed towards the hot engines of the Landers. Spartan cringed at the thought of the hundreds of soldiers plummeting to their deaths with the loss of such a major vessel. He needn’t have worried though as a wing of Marine Corps electronic warfare jets whistled past and engaged the missiles with their point defence weapons. At the same time the Lander emptied over a hundred ultra hot flares that scattered around the craft to distract the missiles. The fire from the fighters was rapid and accurate. With two brief explosions the threat was neutralised and the Lander was able to continue its journey in safety.
Marcus climbed up the rubble to Spartan’s side to get a better view. The difference in mass between them was considerable with Spartan looking far more bulky in the armour. Checking the open plane was secure, Marcus turned back to Spartan.
“How is Teresa doing?”
“Teresa, yeah, well it was going well. But since the landing on Titan I’ve only seen her a few times,” he said in a low tone.
“What’s the story with her? Last time I spoke to her she told me where to go when I asked her about home!” he laughed.
“Yeah, sounds like her. She doesn’t talk about her home much. I know she hasn’t been back for a few years. She’s travelled the System for work, I think this was her last choice.”
“Last choice, I’ve heard plenty of people saying the same, though some here actually volunteered. Can you believe that?”
Spartan was lost in his thoughts, thinking back to his time on Prometheus where he had worked as an illegal pit fighter on the many stations in the System. His debts had since been wiped due to him joining the Marine Corps, but that didn’t remove the memories of the many fights he’d had. He liked the fighting but not the people involved. It was laced with gambling, prostitution and drugs. He had managed to avoid the worst of it but there were memories he would like to forget, things he never wanted to remember.
“Never believe what?” Spartan asked, completely forgetting or mishearing most of what Marcus had said.
“Forget it. I think we’ve got more important things to think about. Look!” he pointed out to the horizon.
In the far distance a dust storm was gathering and making its way to New Carlos. Spartan looked around his position, checking on those nearby and the combat units who were starting to relax.
“To your posts, incoming!” he shouted.
The voice commands were instantly transmitted to each of the CES units and speakers fixed to the exterior of the suit sent the audio to everybody within a hundred metres. Nearby he could see Lieutenant Daniels on top of the outer wall checking the approaching storm.
“Sir, any intel on this?”
“Lieutenant Weathers just reported that two Thunderbolts have been brought down. It looked like someone triggered a series of seismic charges along the front line between us and the landing zones for the Army.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they do that?”
“No idea, Sergeant, if you ask me I reckon they’re trying to create cover for an attack on the Army or us, maybe even both. One thing I do know, that dust storm is coming our way and when it hits it will hit fast. Satellite feeds show it will be here in the next three minutes. I suggest we all get undercover, fast!”
“What about the perimeter lines? If we all take shelter we’ll leave the line open.”
“Shit, you’re right. Get the civilians and militia into cover. All armoured units on the front line. Try and keep your heads down and ride the storm. Let’s just hope the Zealots don’t get through our lines!” The approaching storm started to drown out his voice.
Spartan shouted at the marines, commandos and civilians, doing his best to clear them from the open ground and trenches into areas with cover from the elements. Small groups of marines in their PDS suits ran to the outer line and replaced some of the militia units who had been taking their turn there. A few CES units fired up their power units and stomped forward into their pre-prepared pits for possible battle. In the distance the other companies of marines and civilians did the same. Marcus, Davis and Humphreys, all men from his own company, lay down along the rear of the rubble wall and watched the storm through the scopes on their L48 rifles. Spartan moved up ten metres behind them locking his armoured legs into position, ready and braced for the storm. To his right a group of a dozen marines rushed forward to occupy another section of the wall. From where he stood he could see two companies of marines covered a wide front.
“This storm had better be over fast or this battle will be finished before it starts!” he said to himself.
The swirling dust and debris was now only a hundred metres from the outer wall and the noise was already as loud as the battle they had fought when first landing at the outskirts of the city.
“Here is comes! Brace yourselves and watch for...” Captain Mathews’ voice was cut off as the swirling dust and dirt became a thick fog.
A man tumbled past as Spartan covered his face and fell over backwards. The winds caught his suit but the mass and weight of the armour kept him secure but he didn’t feel completely safe. His right leg slid back a few centimetres so he pushed it down harder into the ground. He turned back just in time to see the ground around him disappear as he collapsed thirty metres underground, buried under masses of dust and rock.
“Shit!” he shouted as his visor was covered in rocks.
He had just enough time to hit the seal button, which brought a thick metal shutter down over the visor to protect the vulnerable hardened glass. As it dropped down the visibility in the suit vanished until the internal lights kicked in to illuminate the interior of the helmet. He tried to move his arms and legs but all four were locked into place. For a second he started to panic then he remembered his training, his people knew where he was and the suit was easily capable of staying secure and sealed for hours of use. At least, he hoped so.
CHAPTER FIVE
The needs for aircraft of all sorts never diminished, even after mankind spread through the worlds of the new Confederacy. These machines comprised transports, strike craft and fighters and all were optimised for operations in a variety of atmospheric conditions. The Marine Corps and Navy concentrated on multi-role variants of common designs, the Army on their specific roles of ground attack and transportation. Unlike the craft used by the Navy, all Army combat aircraft were for atmospheric flight only, with even their versions of the Thunderbolt fighter being fitted with greater weapon loads and tracking pods at the expense of the ability to fight in space.
Aircraft of the Confederate Armed Forces
The CiC was dark and the temperature slightly cool. Unlike most of the sections of the ship it was quieter, just the sound of low voices and tapping on computer displays. The limited illumination came from the subdued tones of the red tube lights fitted along the walls. The computers and display screens gave off multiple colours that flickered around the room, casting hard shadows on the faces of the operators. This was the beating heart of the battlegroup, and from this one room many ships, fighters and ground-based units were coordinated with skill and precision. In the centre of the room was a three dimensional tactical display that currently displayed the disposition of the ground combat units on Avagana. There were already thousands of marines, commandos and army personnel fighting across the continent as well as small garrisons trapped inside their forts in the other colonies. New Carlos was still under attack but the force
s of the Army and their heavy armour were rapidly retaking the open ground around the city. In just seven hours two cities had been relieved and two armoured columns were making their way to relieve New Carlos, over a day ahead of schedule.
The heavy armour of the Army was proving decisive, as were the heavy artillery and overwhelming firepower of the unstoppable battalions of soldiers. They were less flexible than the marines but well equipped for the grinding attritional combat of major field operations. With the newly arrived air support from the Thunderbolt and Lightning fighters the ground war was certainly turning around fast. With the arrival of these news forces General Shears had taken over command of all field Army units on Avagana. He was conducting a pincer movement around the northern and southern approaches to the city. According to his estimates the region would be completely pacified by the end of the day. At this rate the Marine Corps forces could be withdrawn to the transports in orbit and on the ground.
In the CiC, Captain Hardy watched over the Fleet, ever watchful of the potential for danger from either the surface or from new vessels arriving from space. On his display he watched the latest batch of landing craft and transports drop down from orbit. The army transports seemed to be able to disgorge an almost unlimited number of infantry and aircraft. Hardy wondered to himself how things may have gone if the Army had been able to land at the same time as the Marine Corps? Still, the whole point of the Marines was that they were fast, flexible and powerful. If they had relied just on the Army, Avagana would have fallen days before.
He noticed the ship’s log on the side of one view screen now listed scores of vessels that had tried to pass through the blockade. Some had tried to head for the surface but most were making a break for open space. This number of civilian traffic was going to be a problem if it kept increasing at this rate, as more and more of the fighters were having to be used to help screen craft attempting to flee the warzone. Though craft heading from Avagana were being watched carefully, it was perfectly legal for vessels to travel to and from the other six colonies, and these were the most worrisome.
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