by Nick Webb
But she quickly ran out of time to think at all. Now, all that mattered was her reflexes.
And faith.
With a pull on the navigational controls, she swooped towards the massive green beam still cutting into the Constitution, wrapping around it in a tight orbit, and corkscrewing down towards the point on the alien ship’s hull where the beam originated.
And released a torrent of gunfire that streaked away and hit hard at the beam’s source.
“Fishtail!”
She grinned, but kept firing. Fragments from the blast whizzed past the cockpit and pelted her viewport, but she held her thumb firmly against the trigger as she looped again and again around the shimmering green beam, corkscrewing ever closer to the hull.
Her stomach clenched, and she prepared to pull away. Just another three seconds....
And with a blinding flash, the source of the beam erupted in a terrific explosion. The navigational controls protested as she pushed them to the limit, and the intense g-force threw her back up into the harness and blood filled her head, nearly making her pass out.
But she leveled the craft out, and swooped back into wedge formation, glancing back to look at her handiwork.
The green energy beam had disappeared, and the hull where it had originated flared with electrical arcing, fire, and a stream of oozing goo, as if the ship itself was bleeding.
“Fishtail ...” began Ballsy, apparently searching for words, “that was incredibly stupid.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, hearing the awe in his voice.
Another swarm of bogeys was descending on them, and with another stream of gunfire, they were back in the thick of it, dodging and weaving through the onslaught.
In spite of the rush of adrenaline that still pulsed through her veins after the incredibly ill-advised maneuver that took out the energy weapon, she felt her stomach clench once again as she saw three IDF fighters get picked off by enemy fire and explode in a blaze of quenched smoke and debris.
“We gonna make it through this?” she mumbled, half to herself, half to her squadmates.
“It’ll take a bloody miracle,” replied Ballsy.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Near Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Constitution
Whereas before the alien energy beam made the ship shudder and quake from the impact, this barrage knocked nearly everyone off their feet. Granger held on to his armrests as Haws flew headlong into the console in front of him, bloodying his nose and face.
Screams and blasts and debris filled the air.
Granger yelled over to the tactical station, pointing at the only officer who hadn’t tumbled out of his seat. “Full spread of mag-rail fire! Initiate the point-defense screen. All RPOs fire! Get me some defensive screening!”
Somehow, even with the tactical station only staffed by one officer, the orders were initiated, for when Granger looked up at the viewscreen he saw a dance of white and red streaks that indicated the activation of the rapid-pulse ordnance point defense, and like a storm of sparks it seemed to lessen the impact of the pounding alien energy beams.
The short reprieve allowed most of the bridge crew to get back into their seats. “Tactical status!” yelled Granger.
“Fighters are engaged with the alien fleet—they’ve dispatched their own fighters,” said a tactical officer.
“Sir, incoming transmission from Captain Argus of the Qantas.” The comm officer punched the command to transfer the audio to Granger’s console.
Captain Granger tapped his acceptance of the transmission and Argus’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Tim, our fighters are taking heavy fire. Recommend we engage the rest of the fleet to take some of the pressure off them.”
“No. Focus your efforts on that lead ship. We’ll take them out one by one—”
“But our boys are dying out there, you bastard! They need our cover!”
Granger sneered at the console even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him. “Remember who’s in charge of this mission, Argus. My order stands. Focus your efforts on the lead ship. When it blows, we move on to the next.”
Only silence came over the speakers, though the ship continued to rumble and quake in protest of the pounding it was taking from the enemy’s directed energy beams. Thankfully, they didn’t seem as intense with the RPOs acting as a shield.
“Captain! The lead ship!”
Granger snapped his head back to the viewscreen, and smiled.
Under a vicious barrage of mag-rail slugs, the alien vessel was erupting with dozens, even hundreds, of small explosions, until finally the starboard half of the ship exploded in a massive blast. The port half careened off and slammed into its nearest neighbor, a smaller alien ship that was busy firing at the swarm of IDF fighters pelting it.
The second ship’s guns fell silent.
“See? They bleed,” said Granger. “Argus? Target the next ship. Move the Qantas to point five mark two and commence firing. Granger out.”
He coughed violently, and held his chest. Haws squinted at him and offered a hand, but Granger waved him off.
“Sir, the Qantas has lost half her compliment of fighters. There’s only sixty or so left,” said the wing commander’s liaison.
“They’re getting ripped apart out there, Tim,” said Haws, with a characteristic grumble.
“I know. But so will we if we directly engage.”
The tactical officer nearly jumped out of his seat. “Sir! The Qantas is changing course. They’re moving to provide cover for the fighters!”
“Damn fool,” said Granger.
“The Qantas is taking a pounding, sir.”
“Status of their armor?”
The officer shook his head. “They’re cutting right through it. She’s not going to last long at—”
But a bright explosion on the viewscreen cut him off.
The Qantas was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Near Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Constitution
The bridge was silent for a few moments as the crew watched the Qantas break up. The dazzling green beam that was still tearing through it emerged from the far side, burning up a fighter that strayed into its path.
But there was no time to mourn. Granger jumped up. “One down, a second crippled. Four left. Maintain fire on the third ship. I want all fighters from both the Old Bird and the Qantas to concentrate on the remaining three ships and keep them occupied. Are those nukes ready yet?” he called back to Proctor, who was still huddled at the science station with the science crew.
“The nuclear chief has not reported in yet, sir,” said Proctor.
“I want an update.”
“Yes, sir.” She rushed back to the XO’s station and almost shoved Haws out of the way, who muttered his displeasure.
Green light filled the screen. A fresh explosion several decks above caught them all off guard and half the bridge crew flew from their seats, Granger included. He landed hard on his side. Pain wracked his chest, and he coughed violently into a hand.
The hand came back soaked in blood.
Swearing, in terrible pain, he pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the damage. One of the operations crew was clearly dead, his head crushed by a girder that had burst through the ceiling. The others, in various states of injury, began crawling back to their seats.
But a body at his feet didn’t move.
“Abe?”
He bent over and shook his friend. “Abe?” he repeated. Granger pushed the man onto his back, and noticed the blood streaming from a giant gash on his head as well as several other spots on his torso and abdomen. He must have caught that girder in the head before it landed, along with other debris that had blasted outward during the explosion.
Granger felt for a pulse. It was there, but faint.
Blood pooled up beneath him.
He wasn’t going to make it.
Steeling his jaw, he stood up and yelled out for Proctor. “Whe
re are my nukes, Commander?”
“The chief says you have two! And only two. So we’d better make them count. Loaded and ready to fire!”
“Fire both at that third ship!”
The nuclear officer at the tactical station initiated the launch, confirmed, and all eyes darted up to the screen.
Two streaks of exhaust shot away from the Constitution towards the alien ship nearest them. Another green beam lanced out from the ship, catching one of them in its sights, frying its detonators, and the torpedo exploded in a tiny muted fireball.
The second, however, found its mark, and plunged into an already gaping hole in the side of the alien vessel. A moment later, the viewscreen went completely white as the explosion momentarily overloaded the imaging sensors. When the image was restored, the alien ship was flying apart in five or six different chunks.
“I want more nukes, Commander!” he yelled.
“Sorry, sir. I’ve got one that will be ready within the hour, but the rest are thoroughly decommissioned. It’ll take a few days to cobble any more from the existing warheads.”
He paused, and considered his options. Three alien ships down. But they’d lost the Qantas, and at least half their fighters. No more nukes. The point defense RPO screen seemed to take the edge off the devastating directed energy tech the aliens had, and their own lasers were completely useless, but mag-rail slugs managed to punch through whatever shielding they had.
Nothing for it but to keep pounding with the slugs, then.
“Sir, mag-rail crews are reporting they’re almost out of ordnance,” said a tactical officer.
“Out?”
“There’s more in storage, sir, but it’ll take several hours to reload.”
Damn. So they had nothing left.
A deep, low rumble had begun, pulsing through the ship, as an added layer to the cacophony of destruction that rocked them. He knew what it was without asking.
“And sir, a point source of energy has appeared in the middle of the remaining four ships. It’s getting bigger.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Near Earth’s Moon
Bridge, ISS Constitution
“Proctor! I want some answers! What have you come up with?” Granger twisted around to face the science station near the rear of the bridge. The low rumbling throb had increased in intensity, and he knew what was coming in the next minute or two.
“It’s a forced artificial quantum singularity, sir. No other explanation fits the data we’ve got.”
He glared at her. “Is that even possible?”
“Possible or not, it’s there, and it’s getting bigger. It’s a miniature black hole—its event horizon is just microns in diameter, and somehow when it reaches a certain mass, they’re able to entangle the matter trapped inside with another point some distance away, essentially teleporting it. That’s what we saw when Lunar Base erupted outward—it was the black hole suddenly appearing a kilometer beneath the lunar surface. And when the surrounding billions of tons of matter collapsed into it simultaneously, it rebounded off the center of the singularity, collapsed the black hole, and blasted all the material upward in a sort of miniature supernova that—”
“BUT HOW DO WE STOP IT?” Granger was yelling now, and he didn’t care what his crew might think—they had seconds to figure a way out.
“We can’t, sir.”
Granger bit his lip and swore. Pounding his console and looking down at his dying friend, he said quietly, “Prepare for q-jump to Valhalla Station. Signal the civilian ships—everyone should scatter, each a different direction.”
Proctor eyed him, emotionlessly. She wasn’t challenging his order, but she apparently wanted to make him actually say the unspoken truth.
He said it. “We’re leaving them here.” He eyed the bridge crew, and caught several fearful, scornful glances. His thoughts strayed to the boy he’d met after the decommissioning ceremony. Cornelius Dexter Ahazarius. The third. What would he and all his classmates think when their teacher told them the Constitution had left? He could almost hear their screams as he imagined the Swarm ships closing in on them, unprotected. Dammit, he couldn’t think about that. Not now. “We either die here protecting a few civilians, or die above Earth, protecting humanity.”
Ensign Prince cocked his head to the side. “Sir, calculations complete.”
“Recall the fighters. Get our birds aboard, and the ones remaining from the Qantas.”
“Sir,” began the comm officer, “the Rainbow is signaling us. One of the civilian ships—the one with the school kids. They’re requesting to dock—”
“No,” he said, quickly.
“But, sir, they—”
“I SAID NO, LIEUTENANT,” he barked. He glanced at Proctor. “Estimated time until that thing hits us?”
She shook her head. “Based on the last one we saw, thirty seconds. At most.”
Granger gripped his armrests and swore again. “How many fighters left out there?”
The wing commander liaison checked her console. “Fifteen, sir.”
“Initiate q-jump on my mark.” He glanced at the clock, counting down in his head to ten seconds from Proctor’s time estimate.
Just a few more seconds....
“Sir, look!” Diaz’s voice came from tactical, and he snapped his head toward the viewscreen.
The singularity pulsed, then flashed bright, oversaturating the screen.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Near Earth’s Moon
X-25 Fighter Cockpit
“Fishtail, you’re too far left. Pull back into wedge—don’t worry, you won’t hit Dogtown. Trust your squad,” said Ballsy.
“Right,” she mumbled. Dogtown had in fact nearly collided with her just a minute earlier, but she nudged the craft slightly to the left anyway.
The battle was going poorly. After a few initial successes, they were on defense far more than they could target the alien capital ship, and she watched dozens of her fellow fighters erupt in fiery debris-filled explosions.
And then there was the mysterious shimmering white light that had appeared out of nowhere in the midst of the battle. At the same time, her fighter began to pulse all around her, and the comm kept time with buzzing static.
“Orders are to stay clear of that anomaly,” said Ballsy. “It’s probably a weapon. The gun crews on the Old Bird are going to attempt to knock it out.”
“Contacts, three o’clock.” Dogtown interrupted, and Miller snapped her head to see close to a dozen more alien craft bearing down on them, releasing a firestorm of weapons fire.
“Split. Fishtail on me, left. Hotbox on Dogtown, right and negative z. Converge and flip on the other side.”
Ballsy shot ahead of her and she followed, laying down covering fire as he blazed a path through the oncoming horde. A stray round blasted into her right wing, and her engine sputtered momentarily, but the ship’s attitude and course held steady.
“There’s too many—” began Hotbox.
“Just shadow Dogtown and lay down the cover fire,” Ballsy barked into the headset.
“I—I can’t maintain—”
A loud crackle and static boomed over her headset, and an indicator on her dashboard flashed red. She craned her head momentarily to look.
Hotbox was hit, barrel-rolling end over end, out of control. Smoke and flame streamed from the ship.
“Oh, god,” she said, as she saw where the damaged fighter was heading.
Straight towards the mysterious shimmering white globe.
“Dogtown, on me,” said Ballsy. “Fishtail, get closer. Shadow my movements.”
But she could hardly hear. Transfixed by the tumbling fighter barreling towards the white light, she flew as if on autopilot, matching Ballsy’s flight pattern even as she watched....
Hotbox’s fighter entered the white maelstrom, and the entire shimmering sphere erupted in a blinding flash.
When she looked again, Hotbox, and the white light, were gone.
A
moment’s silence reigned over her headset, before she realized that voices were yelling on the other end, she’d just been too shocked to recognize them as language.
“All craft, hot landing on the Old Bird, NOW!”
Hot landing. Hot landing? Right. She was a shuttle pilot, but she knew that term. Hightail it to the fighter bay, and don’t slow down for the landing. Constitution must be preparing for a q-jump as soon as all fighters were aboard.
“You heard him, Fishtail. Get the hell out of here!”
Ballsy looped around a pair of enemy bogeys, blasted one to fiery bits, and darted towards the Old Bird at maximum acceleration. She followed.
But glanced back towards where the white light, and Hotbox, had disappeared.
Oh, god. Please be alive, Hotbox, she thought, before pushing forward to maximum acceleration, and struggled to breathe against the massive g-force.
Please be alive.
Her cockpit lit up with Swarm weapons fire and she inhaled sharply. The remaining bogey that Volz had looped around was following them in. “Ballsy—” she began.
“I see it. Hold tight, Fishtail!” Ballsy, ahead of her and about to land on the flight deck of the fighter bay himself, veered up in a tight loop and wrapped around behind her and the enemy bogey on her tail. With a few surgically targeted rounds he sent the Swarm craft spinning out of control.
It slammed right into the tungsten armor overhanging the fighter bay doors, ricocheted down and crashed onto the lip of the deck, just inside the energy field that held the air in the massive bay. Fishtail veered right at the last moment as it fell, braking furiously as she came in for a hard landing. Finally, with a screech of metal on metal, her fighter came to a stop.
She was alive. Against all odds, she was alive.
Her comm speaker burst to life with an angry klaxon.
“Marines to the fighter bay! Security alert! Possible Swarm presence on the flight deck!”
