Dark Space

by Stephen A. Fender

  With the Duchess quickly falling behind him by a mile, Shawn reached for the control stick and brought the fighter to bear on the rendezvous point for his squadron. A minute later he spotted them. Raven was in the lead position, with Jerry “Nova” Santorum and Drok “Drake” I’rondus trailing closely behind her. Behind them was Clarissa “Bagpipes” McAllister—the apparent love of Trent’s life—and Walter “Weasel” Gunderson.

  Shawn was glad to have Raven and Nova back under his command. For the last few weeks, the two had been temporarily assigned to the Kafaran flagship, the Saa’krular, under the watchful gaze of Commodore Savath and Colonel Tausan. The two pilots were tasked with teaching the Kafaran pilots the basic combat tactics of Sector Command in order to make them more efficient during combined operations with their new allies. Now, with their assignment complete, they would be returning to the Duchess after this engagement. While Shawn was grateful for it, he wasn’t looking forward to a conversation he knew he’d have to have with Nova over his past performance. Pushing the upcoming uncomfortable conversation from his mind, Shawn refocused on the current mission.

  As he approached the squadron from the stern, it re-formed into an inverted V, with the commander’s craft in the lead. Kestrel did one final check on the navigation sensor array and then requested the computer bring the missile systems online. After a series of beeps, the computer had all twelve missiles online. “Do you wish to automate the firing controls, Commander?” the computer asked.

  “Negative. Keep them in manual mode.”

  “Not even the forward lasers?” the computer argued, which was something new. Obviously Trent had made more than a few “minor” adjustments to the vocal processors.

  “No means no.”

  Shawn could almost swear the computer let out an exasperated sigh. “Understood,” it all but pouted.

  A series of beeps came through his headset, letting Shawn know that the control officer on board the Duchess of York was calling to update his squadron on the position of the Meltranian vessels. Shawn tapped the comm button on his console. “This is Kestrel. Go ahead, Duchess.”

  The bass voice of Commander Weberity came across his headset. “Commander, the Meltranians are coming in hot and fast. ETA: five minutes. Stand by to engage the enemy.”

  “Did our primary target change?” Shawn asked hesitantly. Based on their previous heading, the combined Unified fleet wasn’t scheduled to engage the Meltranians for another ten minutes. In hindsight, however, he should have expected such an overly aggressive move by the enemy. Once the Meltranians had located the fleet, the enemy had three choices: turn back, continue on course, or rush in and fight. It seemed that they had chosen the latter.

  “Negative, Commander. Your primary target is still the centermost carrier. Admiral Hansen is still convinced that the Meltranian fleet coordinator is on that vessel. However, the enemy has increased to flank speed. They’ve released a massive protective screen of small craft.”

  “That doesn’t seem much like a Meltranian leader,” Raven spoke up, her face automatically appearing on Shawn’s side console.

  “On the contrary, that sounds exactly like a Meltranian commander: send in the cannon fodder first, followed by the heavy guns. Keep back while the grunts take the blows.”

  Roslyn let out a small “humph” and nodded her head slowly.

  There was a long silence between all the fighters in the wing. It seemed everyone was poised for what was about to come next. Three minutes later, the yellow light began to flash once more on Shawn’s control panel. “Kestrel here. Go ahead, Duchess.”

  “The Meltranians’ vessels are in visual range. Short-range sensors are picking up a massive buildup in their forward weapons arrays, Commander. The Kafarans are advancing to the head of the fleet for our protection. Prepare for battle.”

  Shawn tapped in the command that would link his comm to his tactical officer. “Drake, what do you have?”

  The lieutenant’s highly modified sensors, which had been further enhanced with specifications provided by the Kafarans, reached out far ahead of the Sector Command forces. “Confirmed, sir. All intruder vessels appear to be arming their forward batteries.”

  “Duchess, what does their formation look like?” Shawn asked, knowing that the carrier’s much more powerful sensors would, by now, be able to discern the composition of the entire Meltranian fleet.

  “Not as loose as we’d have liked, Commander. We’re counting fifty-two vessels. They’re in a staggered formation, roughly ten vessels high and about twenty wide. Sensors confirm that there are three collectors in the lead, flanked by cruisers and destroyers. The larger carriers are in the middle of the formation, which should give you some time before they’re clear enough to launch fighters of their own. Recommend you cut in from the Z-axis. There seems to be less resistance that way.”

  “Roger, Duchess. Just give me the word,” Shawn said, gripping the shuttle’s control handle with one hand and the index finger on the other poised above the thrust control switch.

  “Stand by,” Weberity replied distractedly, probably conferring with Admiral Hansen, who would very likely be in the Duchess’s combat information center.

  Shawn brought up Roslyn’s channel. “Raven, signal the rest of the squadron. We’re getting ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir,” the seasoned lieutenant commander responded.

  Commander Weberity’s voice came back over the headset a moment later. “Engage thrusters in five … four … three … two … one. Mark.”

  “Time to light the fire,” Shawn said, pressing the thruster igniter. The blue-white glow of the engines sprang to life, rocketing the tiny craft farther away from the Duchess of York. The rest of the Rippers were tight on Shawn’s tail; their engines lighting off in a computer-controlled sequence directly after their commanding officer.

  When the Meltranian ships became discernable out their forward view ports, Shawn heard someone—probably Bagpipes—let out a gasp. There were easily a hundred skeleton-like vessels, perhaps more, nearly twice as many as the Duchess’s sensors were reporting. How they had managed to hide so many of their numbers was beyond Shawn’s comprehension. But one thing was certain: the combined Unified fleet was decidedly outmatched. Based on detailed sensor information provided earlier by the Kafarans, Shawn’s computer quickly went to work identifying the targets. There were light and heavy cruisers, destroyers of three different hull types, two fleet carriers, troop and equipment transports, and a few types that the computer was completely at a loss to identify. He quickly turned on his sensor recorder. The information his computer was now obtaining would be invaluable to the tacticians at Sector Command headquarters—if they made it back from this mission alive at all.

  Before Shawn was within a hundred miles, the lead Meltranian collector opened fire, its powerful isotonic burst streaking below the Rippers’ nimble fighters. A half second later, from nearly every ship on the front line of the Unified Collaboration of Systems combined forces, long lances of blue and yellow laser blasts sprang out in an attempt to perforate the front line of the Meltranian forces. These were quickly followed by the heavy, puncturing rounds from the Rugorian battle cruisers’ heavy cannons. While the blasts from Sector Command and the Kafarans did only superficial damage, the powerful bolts of the Rugorians scored direct hits on the lead collector, blowing off building-sized chunks from the enemy vessel.

  One down, ninety-nine to go.

  As soon as a damaged Meltranian ship moved out of formation, another collector rushed in to take its place.

  Seconds later, the Rippers, Red Skulls, Hunters, and a dozen other Sector Command squadrons were winding their way perilously through the maze of Meltranian warships, themselves continuing to fire on the combined fleet. Shawn was doing a masterful job at dodging and jinking around the lumbering capital ships until an enemy frigate made an abrupt turn to starboard, putting its bulk directly in line with his fighter. With cat-like reflexes, Shawn slammed the fighte
r hard forward, narrowly avoiding the seemingly massive Meltranian warship, only to find his fighter rushing toward the top of a cruiser only a few hundred yards away.

  “Pull up,” his computer replied calmly. “Collision imminent. Pull up, or I will be forced to take control.”

  “Not today, sister.” He pushed the stick forward, inverting his fighter. The momentum brought his Maelstrom closer to the spine back of the Meltranian than he’d have liked, and a small jolt he felt a moment later told him that a collision had indeed occurred. Not only will I never live this one down, but Trent’s going to kill me. “Damage report!”

  “Port stabilizer damaged. Rudder control is not responding.”

  Not too bad. That’s for atmospheric operations only. It has nothing to do with in-space combat.

  “Port thruster nozzle is obstructed,” the computer continued after a pause. “Output is thirty percent of normal.”

  I take it all back. That’s not good. If I get into a pinch, I’ll need all the thrust this puppy has.

  Shawn switched the communications channel to address his entire squadron. “Attack pattern Beta-Two!” Slipping his fighter to port, he barely missed another warship by a matter of yards, then ducked under the bow of a destroyer before coming to a clearing in the Meltranians’ battle formation. Allowing himself a moment to breathe, he looked at the short-range sensors. His entire squadron was right there with him. Thank God.

  “Drake?” Shawn asked.

  Drake’s image came up on the screen. Although the tactical officer was sweating, he managed a smile. “Amazingly, sensors are showing that we’re right where we need to be.”

  “Now that’s a stroke of luck I wasn’t counting on,” Raven said. “No offense, Commander.”

  “None taken,” Shawn almost laughed. “Where is the primary target?”

  “Just to our stern, sir,” Drake said. “Looks like the capital ships are too involved with fighting our fleet to worry about little old us.”

  Shawn nodded to the image. “All right, everyone. Let’s do it just like we went over in the briefing. Target all concussive and phillium missiles at the center mass of the flagship.”

  “Locked and loaded,” Nova’s West Texas drawl came over the headset. “Let’s go put a burr under their saddle.”

  Shawn’s couldn’t agree more. “Swing around, commence attack, run!”

  “Apparently, if you’ve convinced the powers that be that flying is all you’re ever going to be good at, that’s when they ground you. And … if you’re really good at flying, they ground you with a promotion.”

  -Shawn Kestrel

  Modern Military Tactics During the Meltranian Invasion

  Chapter 2

  With his squadron in a staggered formation, the intended target—an enormous Meltranian flagship—quickly filled the view beyond Shawn’s cockpit. Like all other vessels in their fleet, this one looked like an enormous desiccated skull, the discarded and picked-apart remnants of a galactic-scale beast. At over three thousand feet long, it dwarfed not only the Duchess of York, but many of the nearby Meltranian vessels. Large, spine-like protrusions came out at irregular angles along the dull gray surface, each concealing sensors and weapons batteries. Along the ventral side, near the large, gaping mouth-like orifice that served as the opening of the ship’s hangar, two large eye-shaped clusters sat side by side, adding to the inkling that the entire vessel was—at one time—a living thing. However, in past briefings, the Kafarans had mentioned that the resemblance was just that, and had no basis in fact. The “eyes” that Shawn was referring to were in fact the housings for enormous sensor clusters, and were his primary target.

  When the target was locked into his weapons computer, Shawn ordered his people to fire.

  The phillium missiles were, by their very nature, a concussive ordnance, and not very useful in fighter-on-fighter engagements. They were simply too easy to outrun. The beauty of their destructive power—if one could call such a thing beautiful—was in their ability to destabilize the hulls of nearby vessels. The explosion would create an enormous shockwave that would ripple and tear the space around them, causing massive hull breaches and wanton destructive power. They were definitely something a pilot wanted to fire, and then beat a hasty retreat before they detonated. As the ten missiles streaked away from the Rippers, Shawn and his people peeled away at odd angles to the flagship, engaging their thrusters at full military power.

  On his sensor screen, Shawn watched as the missiles exploded a microsecond before reaching the Meltranians’ hull. The overlapping wave of so many warheads tore a gash in the large sensor-eye, and he watched in delight as the entire assembly crumbled and exploded.

  One down, one to go.

  “Wowee,” Lieutenant Santorum screamed. “That’s sure gonna ruffle their feathers!”

  Shawn silently agreed. However, now was not the time for elation. His people needed to stay focused. “Keep it cool over there, Nova,” he said, trying hard not to chide the junior officer. “We’ve still got problems to handle before we can throw a party.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the dejected voice of the young lieutenant.

  Shawn was about to say something in response, but knew that anything he could utter would mean very little until they got back to the carrier. Deciding to save it for later, he turned his attention to his executive officer. “Raven, we need to swing around and take out that other sensor cluster.”

  “Understood,” Roslyn said as her image appeared on his screen. “Suggest we take vector Beta-2 … come at them from their stern.”

  “That’s going to give us a very narrow target,” Shawn replied. He glanced up and saw three Meltranian fighters closing in on a pair of Kafaran fighters, themselves destroyed a moment later by three Sector Command interceptors. Good job, people. “Drake?”

  The Rippers’ tactical officer’s image appeared next to Raven’s on Shawn’s screen. “It’s getting pretty crowded out here, sir. The plan is definitely doable, but we’ll have to be in an even tighter formation than before. The flagship has less batteries pointing in that direction, but what they do have is more than enough to take us all out. Timing will be critical. Regardless, whatever we do, we won’t have enough missiles to make a third run.”

  Shawn nodded. “Computer, activate navigation coordination.”

  “Activated, dear.”

  Apparently the ship’s audio system was also connected to the intercom. The computer’s inflection and cooing elicited a snicker from both Raven and Bagpipes.

  “You bring somebody up here with you, Skipper?” Lieutenant Gunderson asked with a chuckle.

  “Stow it, Weasel,” Roslyn piped in, her tone a curious mixture of authority and mirthfulness.

  “Everyone lock your computers onto my nav signal. It’s going to be too tight for individual maneuvers, and I want you people more than just comfortably close to my fighter. I’ll take control of our position and overall weapons control, but you’ll be able to override if something unexpected happens. Understood?” When everyone had affirmed the plan, Shawn nodded. There was a brilliant flash of light to his port, and Shawn watched as a Rugorian battle cruiser, one of three in their fleet, took a direct hit from an enemy isotonic cannon. The vessel was sheared directly in half, with both sections exploding a moment later. His thoughts went to the Rugorian Captain Voula, and their quickly budding friendship, and Shawn silently prayed that it wasn’t his ship that had been destroyed. “All right, people. Let’s do this and get out of this mess.”

  The sleek Maelstroms of the Rippers were in extremely tight formation as they rounded the stern of the Meltranian flagship. Wingtip to wingtip, they were separated by mere inches as they screamed down the length of the long, irregular hull. Even though they were engaged with other targets, the Meltranian turrets found time enough to take more than a few potshots at Shawn and his people. With expert flying, Shawn guided his team as close to the flagship as possible as he set them up for their attack run.

 
“Everyone, get ready. I’m about to fire.”

  The target was coming up quickly. As the spikes and spires dotting the hull passed under and around his fighter, Shawn could see the soft glow of the sensor cluster just on the horizon. With both clusters out of commission, the Meltranian flagship would be hard-pressed to coordinate the battle orders for their fleet. All Shawn had to do was take it out.

  “Standby to fire,” the computer, reading the targeting and sensor information, informed him.

  Shawn’s index finger poised over the firing switch on his control stick, and on his HUD he could see the distance quickly tick down to optimal firing range. Just a few more seconds.

  To the right of his screen, an audible alarm sounded, and Shawn looked down in time to see one of his fighters had manually activate their weapons system. Before Shawn could issue the command to abort the launch, the plume of a missile afterburner rocketed past his ship. Too soon! They were about to be engulfed in a concussive wave that, considering their tight formation, was going to blow them all apart. With just enough time to react, Shawn immediately disconnected the squadron’s navigation systems from his own. “Abort! All craft pull away! Abort!”

  Shawn pulled back, with Raven and Drake soaring off to port and starboard. Just as the hull of the flagship disappeared from his view, Shawn felt the expanding blast wave from the ill-fired missile. The jolt pushed his craft around in an end-over, which he was able to recover after a simple roll.

  “Damage report?” Shawn barked at the computer.

  “Stabilizer damaged. Thrust nozzle restricted. Auxiliary power generator down. Fusion cannons offline.”

  At least I still have life support.

  “Life support systems at sixty percent efficiency and dropping.”

  Perfect. Looking beyond the canopy, there was very little action going on. Glancing at his sensors, Shawn noted that, blessedly, the explosion seemed to have pushed his craft well outside the main battlefield. “Open a channel to the rest of the squadron.”