by Nick Webb
“None of those ships have q-jump capability, and we don’t have time to let them dock. I’m not going to leave these people to their deaths,” he replied in a murmur.
“Tim, if we stay, they’ll still die, just a minute or so later,” pleaded Haws.
“And if we leave, we’ll die just a few hours later. So what’s your point?” He said this out loud and several officers glanced at the two of them. He raised his voice to the whole bridge and pointed at the comm officer. “Pipe me through to the ship.”
“You’re on, sir.”
“This is Captain Granger. As you may know, we’re about to engage with the enemy fleet. Probably Swarm. I’ll be honest with you: the odds don’t look good. These bastards just took out Lunar Base and half a dozen IDF vessels in under ten minutes. This is the real deal, folks. This is the moment we’ve trained our whole lives for.”
He paused to glance around the bridge. Except for the hum of systems and the sound of the ventilation, all was silent, all paying rapt attention to the captain. He needed this to be good.
God, he hated speeches.
“We’ve already lost friends. We’ve lost family. Ships newer and larger than ours have already met their end. But I’ll tell you something.” He glanced at Haws, who glared back. “This ship has never met her match. Seventy-five years ago, when she was already fifty years old, she held her own against the Swarm. She and the rest of the Legacy fleet. The Congress, the Warrior, the Independence, and the Chesapeake, all lived to tell the tale. So I say to you: do your duty. Stand firm. Keep your wits about you. Remember your training. Be true to her and she’ll be true to us. And if we fall, then by God we will fall in defense of humanity, and those after us will tell stories that will pass through the ages. Granger out.”
Haws grumbled. “Let’s hope there’s still someone around to tell stories about us.”
Granger ignored him. “Launch fighters. RPO crews stand ready. As soon as the fleet is in range I want firing solutions. Scan their vessels for their power plants and focus on them. I want their power systems crippled as soon as possible. Contact the Qantas, tell them to back us up—our armor is ten times as thick as theirs. And if Captain Argus gives you any guff about his precious smart-steel armor, just remind him I have operational authority over this mission.” His string of orders came out so fast that those around him at first weren’t sure which was directed to whom. But within a few seconds they snapped into action, Haws barking orders to the weapons crew, Commander Proctor relaying orders to the fighter bay, and the comm station chattering into their headsets.
“Time?”
Lieutenant Diaz glanced at his console readout. “One minute, twenty seconds until maximum firing range, sir.”
“Begin firing in twenty seconds. I know targeting is less accurate, but I want a barrage to greet them on their way in. Full spread, rate of fifty kilograms per second for the mag-rails. Wait on the lasers until they’re in range.”
“Aye, sir,” said the tactical officer. “Targeting computers engaged, ready to fire. In ten. Nine. Eight. Seven....”
This was it. Granger gripped the edge of his command station and glared at the viewscreen on the wall, as if daring the enemy fleet to come any closer.
“Two. One,” continued the tactical officer. “All guns, fire.”
On the screen he could barely make out the flashes of the mag-rail slugs as they shot away at speeds faster than his eyes could track. With any luck, a few would find their targets and soften up the fleet before it arrived. He watched as two by two the fighters sailed out of the fighter bays and glided into formation, flanking the giant ship. Soon, sixty-three were out, and above the hum of general operational activity on the bridge all he could hear was the distant pounding of the mag-rail guns firing their slugs.
“Anything?” he said to the sensor officer. “Any impacts?”
“Not yet, sir. Targeting is difficult at this range, and they have time to move out of—” The officer peered closer at his display, “Hot damn! We hit one, sir. Got ‘em good.”
“On screen. Maximum magnification.”
The view of the distant approaching points of light was replaced by a grainy close-up of one of the alien ships, which was belching fire and debris. “Good work, people,” he said, with a nod to the tactical station.
“Twenty seconds until laser firing range. The fleet is beginning its deceleration. Holy mother of god ... Sir, they’re decelerating at over five hundred kps per second. That’s—”
“Impossible?” Commander Proctor finished his sentence for him. “I think not, Lieutenant. I think we’ll find the Swarm will be full of surprises today. It’s how they’ve evolved—every cycle they swarm outward, with a whole new slate of technology to throw at their perceived enemies—”
“Cut the chatter, Commander. When I want a dissertation I’ll ask for it.” He watched the countdown timer tick to zero, indicating the fleet was in range of the rest of their armaments. “Fire lasers. Target the lead ships—maybe the debris blowback will impact the other ships.”
The telltale pulse and thrum of the laser systems sounded in the background. Usually, in practice simulations, the lasers were only fired at half power, tops. And only one or two. Not all of them. Between the lasers and the mag-rails, the ship shivered with the combined rumblings.
“Any effect?” he said, but from the screen he had his answer. None of the alien ships showed any signs of distress, and as the image became less grainy, signifying their rapid approach, the lead ship flashed with green light.
The sensor officer yelled out across the bridge. “They’re firing, sir!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Near Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Constitution
“Who are they targ—” But Granger knew the answer before the question left his mouth as the ship was slammed violently back. The pulsing, shimmering green beam rammed right into the forward section of the ship and began cutting into the hull. He watched as, on the screen, debris and wreckage blasted out into space as the ship reeled.
The deckplate shuddered and the bridge crew cringed at the sound of distant explosions.
Granger lurched over to the operations station, his legs buckling a few times as the rocking continued. “Damage report. How deep is it cutting?”
The terrified young officer shook his head. “Looks like the tungsten plating is doing its job, sir. But that beam is pretty powerful. Two—no, three—sorry, four meters of shielding gone in the section they struck. And it’s still firing, sir.”
The captain wheeled around to yell at the tactical station. “Redirect all fire to their energy beam emitter. Blast that piece of shit to hell.”
“Aye, sir,” said the tactical officer, as he motioned to his subordinates to focus their fire on the lead ship. Targeting this far out was still iffy, but Granger was hoping for a miracle.
“Position the ship so the energy beam hits starboard. Let’s distribute some of this damage.”
“Firing thrusters, sir,” called out Ensign Prince, the navigation officer, as the sound of new explosions rang out through the deck plating.
“Twenty seconds until arrival, sir. Sensors show our lasers had zero impact—they have some kind of electromagnetic shielding that deflects the lasers, even with our random modulations.”
Suddenly, the rumbling stopped. Granger glanced up at the screen, hoping for good news. And he saw it: the lead alien ship, now more resolved than just a few pixels, began to erupt with minor explosions all over its hull as the Constitution’s mag-rail slugs pounded on its surface. The other ship apparently wasn’t immune to ballistic chunks of metal sailing through space at fifty kps, plus the alien’s residual speed.
“Good. Signal the Qantas. Let’s coordinate all fire on that lead vessel. Take them out one by one.” He turned to Haws, “Get on the horn to Commander Pierce. I want the squadrons flying interference against the other ships while we take them out one by one with the Constitution and the Qanta
s.”
He heard Haws bellow into his comm, and the rest of the bridge crew complying with his orders, and he finally sat down in the chair next to the command station. They were hurt, but it was already going much better than he’d thought. They were not only alive, but they’d also heavily damaged one of the alien vessels already.
It couldn’t last.
“Captain,” began Commander Proctor, sidling up next to him, “when they show up, chances are they’re going to deploy that weapon—the one that destroyed Lunar Base.”
“Agreed. What do you propose we do about it, Commander?” He was unnecessarily testy, but he couldn’t help responding so to such an obvious statement.
She apparently didn’t notice, or didn’t let it get to her. He liked that—she kept her emotions in check and didn’t let it become personal. “Let me work with the science station crew to analyze all the data we picked up on that weapon. We’ll come up with some options for you.”
He nodded his approval, and she retreated to the rear of the bridge and gathered the small science crew around her. Haws turned to him. “Pierce is ready, Tim. And good timing—look,” he added, pointing to the viewscreen.
Granger looked up.
They’d arrived. An alien fleet, now six ships total, and judging from the smaller green beams lancing out from their hulls, they didn’t look happy.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Near Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Winchester
Vice President Isaacson drummed his fingers nervously on the edge of his chair. The feeling of helplessness was utterly maddening.
“Are those damn techs done yet?” said Isaacson, staring nervously at the viewscreen, which displayed an image of the alien ships drawing ever closer. “How long does it take to install a quantum field coupler?”
Captain Day scowled. “Just another few minutes, Mr. Isaacson.”
“They’ll be here in another few minutes!”
As if to punctuate his point, a green flash filled the screen. Isaacson jumped in his chair. “What the hell was that?”
The image on the screen was answer enough. One of the distant dots on the screen unleashed another barrage of fire at the Constitution, which cut deep into the hull.
“Looks like some sort of directed energy weapon. Clearly not laser,” said the sensor officer. When he looked up again the color was draining from his face. “I’m reading an anti-matter signature, sir! It’s very high energy—highly focused gamma ray and x-ray, with a high flux of anti-boron ions!”
Isaacson didn’t understand what that meant, but it didn’t sound good at all. What in the world was taking those techs so long? “Captain, we need to—”
Captain Day interrupted. “Q-jump drive coming online now, Mr. Vice President. Just hold tight.”
Another few minutes passed, and the alien ships grew from tiny dots to gargantuan behemoths, which all began unleashing unholy hell upon the Constitution and the Qantas. Good god. What in the world was in the Russians’ minds when they decided to attempt contact?
The fighter bays of the two IDF cruisers disgorged dozens of fighters which swarmed out to engage the similary-sized craft being pumped out of the alien ships by the hundreds. Isaacson looked at the captain.
“And”—Captain Day pointed at the navigation officer, still looking at his console—“engage the q-drive.”
The viewscreen, which showed the unfolding battle, briefly flashed, and within another moment the familiar, safe image of a blue and green Earth filled the display.
Isaacson breathed a sigh. That was too close.
He turned to Ambassador Volodin, who’d stood close by him since they arrived on the bridge. “Looks like we’ve got some work to do, Yuri.”
Work indeed. If the situation could be salvaged, an alien incursion straight to Earth would help him bounce Avery out of office all the sooner.
But if IDF failed to stop the invasion ... well, then it would be time to make a backup plan.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Near Earth’s Moon
X-25 Fighter Cockpit
Lieutenant Miller pulled up hard on the navigation controls, grunting as the sudden g-forces slammed her down into the seat. The stars wheeled overhead, and she had to use the trick that Ballsy had taught her during her brief, one-hour training session: keep your eyes fixed on a point on the dashboard and keep the spinning starfield in the peripheral vision.
“Fishtail! Level out!” came Ballsy’s voice over her headset. She pushed down on the controls and saw the reason for his warning. Three Swarm fighters were barreling towards her, guns blazing. With a frantic squeeze of the trigger on her navigational stick, she shot off a flurry of gunfire of her own.
“Hard left, then loop up and reform the wedge!” Ballsy’s confident voice was reassuring, if a bit loud, but she did as he said, firing off another burst for good measure at the lead Swarm fighter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Volz swoop in and pick off two of the fighters, while the other newbie in the squadron, Hotbox, blasted the third to fiery pieces.
“Nice shot, Ballsy,” came Dogtown’s voice over the comm.
Miller risked a glance at the alien ships that loomed large in the viewport, and cringed in dismay at the dozens of fighters disgorging from the massive bays. The lighting within the alcoves of the giant capital ships was a sickly pale green, otherworldly and downright terrifying. A nearby explosion lit up the nearest ship and, horrified, she realized the light was coming from the Constitution. A deadly-looking shimmering green beam had lanced out from the alien ship and slammed into the hull of the Old Bird, carving deep into her, releasing an explosion of sparks and fire.
“Head in the game, Fishtail!” came Volz’s voice.
She swerved to maintain the wedge formation, and saw their next target: a lone alien fighter that was homing in on one of the Constitution’s laser turrets.
“Take it, Hotbox,” came Dogtown’s voice. She watched Hotbox veer left and blast the alien fighter to oblivion before it could unleash a single shot at the Old Bird.
It was going well. Far too easy, in fact, against an alien fleet that had just devastated Lunar Base and the ships defending her.
Tom’s ship.
She grit her teeth. She couldn’t allow herself to think about that yet. Her eyes burned and her shoulders began to quiver.
No. No, not yet. Focus on the battle. Stay alive. For Zack. Stay alive.
Her headset beeped, indicating an incoming message from the CAG. “This is Pierce. All fighters direct your fire at the trailing alien capital ships. Your orders are to engage the capital ships. Keep them busy and focused on you. We need to give the Constitution and the Qantas a reprieve so they can pound the bastards one by one. CAG out.”
Ballsy’s voice followed Pierce. “You heard him. Let’s bugger over to that second ship and have a field day.”
Pulling up on her navigation control again, she held the wedge formation as they veered up and above the first alien ship and towards the second.
“Watch those fighters!” said Ballsy.
“Do we engage?” shouted Hotbox.
“Negative. Maintain course towards the target. We’ll engage the fighters once we’re there, and in the lulls between bogey engagements we’ll pop off a few rounds into that fat mother’s ass.”
Deadly alien fire lit up her viewport, and she instinctively ducked her head. Luckily, she also pulled down on the control, dropping her ship underneath the line of fire, and to her relief the alien bogey exploded as it caught a few slugs from Volz.
“Thanks, Ballsy,” she said, catching her breath.
The second alien capital ship now filled her viewport, and, miraculously, there were no bogeys trailing them yet. “Ok crew, blast the shit out of her. See how much blood we can draw before they swat the mosquitos,” said Volz.
Maintaining the wedge formation, they unleashed a full barrage of gunfire at the enemy hull. They had no idea where their sensitive systems were, or for that
matter, where their weapons installations were. But they peppered the surface with as much ordnance as they could before the next wave of bogeys showed up.
And show up they did.
“Shit. Dogtown, back me up on this one. Newbies, lay down some suppressing fire for Dogtown. I’m going in.”
Ballsy breathed hard into his comm, and with good reason. A swarm of at least a dozen fighters was racing towards them, guns blazing. Ballsy veered and swooped like lightning, blasting craft after craft, and those he didn’t get, Dogtown picked up. Jessica and Hotbox picked off the ones who’d veered wildly to escape Ballsy’s suicide run.
Intense green light lit up her viewport, nearly blinding her before she squeezed her eyes shut, and she gave a little yelp. Tentatively opening her eyes, she saw the viewport had compensated for the overwhelming brightness of the alien energy weapon. Following the track of the beam with her gaze, she saw that it terminated in a massive fireball erupting on the hull of the Constitution, cutting deep into the ship.
The Old Bird belched fire and debris from a gaping hole in her starboard flank, and the fear welled up inside her.
They weren’t going to make it.
Zack would be left alone.
If Earth even survived.
Bullshit, she thought, and, kissing her fingers, brushing them up against the photo sticking up out of her dash, she keyed in a set of instructions to the nav computer. She may have been new to the nimbleness of the little X-25 craft, and the fighter’s guns, but she’d been programming complicated flight vectors for years.
“FISHTAIL, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
“Just saving the ship, Ballsy. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
She smirked as she remembered that was her reply to him a few days before when he was pestering her to use the long-range comm station.
