The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” he nodded vigorously. “I’ll complete any task you give me, without fail.”

  Glad to hear that one of us can. “Good, you have the bridge,” Parks said. “I have to get to the flight deck and find out what the hell’s happened.”

  *

  Estelle stumbled down the poorly-lit corridors of Griffin’s lower deck, trying desperately to locate her fellow team-mates. She had been making her way to the flight deck when the carrier had lurched horribly, flinging her against a wall. The entire ship had then descended into darkness, causing her to crash into a number of shapeless forms – other members of the crew who were attempting to negotiate the near pitch-black passageways. What had been the cause of such a heavy jolt she didn’t know, but it seemed that each subsequent strike against the ship was worse than the last.

  She had to find Dodds, Kelly, Enrique and Chaz as soon as possible. With the call for pilots having been issued, she had decided to head straight to the flight deck, in anticipation of finding them there. Other crew members were running and pushing past her, hurrying to deal with their own problems. Either she had done something to herself when she had been flung against the wall, or there was an issue with the gravitational systems, Griffin seeming to be tilted at an angle. It was making it difficult to walk straight and avoid people.

  She switched her route, heading down a passageway that appeared emptier than the rest. Her feet caught on something as she went, nearly tripping her over. She proceeded more carefully, making out a mess of materials and shrapnel that was littering the floor, and it wasn’t long before she came to the source, a pile of remains from a collapsed ceiling blocking off her route. Beyond it, she could see a fire door sealing off the rest of the corridor. The taste of smoke was stronger this way, as was the smell of burnt copper and electricals. Some might still be shorting, ready to catch fire or explode at any moment. It wasn’t safe to be here; she should find another way around. She started to double back …

  “Help …”

  Estelle felt something snag her foot. Her eyes tracked down her leg, to see a limp hand holding on. Someone was caught beneath the wreckage. She then saw a woman’s face, recognisable even in the dim lighting, the curly blonde locks removing any lingering uncertainty.

  “Andrea?” she said, startled.

  “Estelle?” Andrea Kennedy asked, still grasping for Estelle’s leg, as if it were a lifeline. “Is that you? Estelle, please help me …”

  “What happened?” Estelle asked, kneeling down next to her.

  “We were heading for the bridge, the others were walking just in front of me … The wall ahead of us exploded. I managed to grab onto something, but the others … the others were spaced! I couldn’t save them, Estelle! Their faces … I watched them die! I tried to find another way to the bridge … and then the ceiling came down on top of me … Estelle, I can’t move my legs … It hurts so much …”

  Andrea didn’t need to say much more. It was all too clear to Estelle that beneath that tremendous mass of metal, the woman’s legs would’ve been broken, skewered and crushed. The same was almost certainly true of her trapped arm, too. Estelle grabbed at some of the steel, trying to find a way to pry it loose. When it became obvious that it wasn’t going to budge, she moved around to try another section. She only managed to move a handful of light parts before the heavier portions of the wreckage defeated her. She wished even more that she could find her team-mates now. Between them, the five would’ve had little trouble freeing Andrea.

  “I can’t move it,” Estelle said. Andrea said nothing. She was shaking, as if she was cold. She must’ve been starting to go into shock. Estelle ducked down next to her, trying to see if there was a way to pull her out from under the mess. There was none. “I’m going to find help,” she said, standing up. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

  Still Andrea said nothing, and made little movement other than her convulsions.

  Estelle hurried away, darting down the corridors, looking for someone to assist her. Few paid her any attention, Estelle unable to get the words out before the person she tried to stop pushed past her, and those that did listen already had higher priorities. Eventually, a man and woman agreed to assist.

  “Andrea,” Estelle called, returning to the trapped woman’s side, “I’ve brought help! Don’t worry, we’ll get you out!”

  Not a word from Andrea, her eyes open, staring straight upward, a trickle of blood running from her mouth.

  “Andrea?” Estelle gave her a gentle shake. She remained unresponsive.

  The woman who had come to help knelt by Estelle’s side and felt Andrea’s neck. She shook her head. “She’s dead.”

  Estelle gazed at Andrea’s face, suddenly sorrowful. It should’ve been me, Estelle had told herself every day since she had arrived at Spirit. She was the one that should’ve seen through the ATAF program. No one else deserved it more than her. She had worked so hard for it.

  “Help me!” a hysterical cry came from behind.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman who had come to assist said, “there’s nothing anyone can do for her.” She got to her feet and, along with her companion, ran to help the person who had cried out, before all three vanished from the scene.

  Estelle saw none of it, her eyes focused on Andrea’s face, racked with the guilt of the sheer jealousy she had felt only hours earlier. She reached down and closed the dead woman’s eyes, no longer wishing to be in her place.

  *

  An out of breath Parks arrived at one of the flight deck’s observation galleries. Or, at least, what remained of it. All access to the deck itself had been sealed off, blast doors preventing anyone from getting any closer to the source of the devastation that had crippled the carrier. Even the gallery itself refused to permit its occupants any idea of the level of destruction that lay beyond, thick blast screens covering the windows.

  The smouldering remains of terminals and computer screens, as well as shattered glass covering the ground, was all that remained to suggest what the gallery’s purpose may have been. Everything around Parks was charred black, the damage spreading several feet down the approaching corridor. As on the bridge, people were assisting the wounded and attempting to revive others. Just inside the doorway, a woman was attending to the injuries of a man propped up against a wall. His face was bloodied, the result of a wound somewhere at the top of his head. She was now making a clumsy effort at wrapping a bandage around the affected area. The man pushed aside the woman’s hand as Parks entered the room.

  “Captain,” he began, presenting a limp salute.

  “As you were,” Parks said, waving him down. “What’s the status of the flight deck?” he asked. Though, given the state of the observation gallery, Parks was sure he already knew the answer.

  “Badly damaged,” said the man on the floor, wincing as the woman went about her bandaging. “There is no hope of launching anything until it receives extensive repairs. And that won’t be before we re-establish the forcefields. The whole deck has been exposed. If we open it up now, then we risk depressurising the entire ship.”

  “Survivors? Anyone still alive down there?”

  “Not a chance. If they weren’t killed when that damn fighter hit, then they would’ve been spaced straight after. Hell, we’ll have lost everyone – pilots, attendants, the OOD, the junior OOD, technicians and munitions handlers … How we can do anything without all of them—”

  “Stay calm, man!” Parks cut him off, as he began to gibber. “We’re in trouble, yes, but we’re not dead yet!”

  “Captain!” a voice came from behind.

  Parks looked around as a man came bounding up the stairs to the remains of the observation room. It was Wyatt, the security officer he had sent to fetch Andrea Kennedy and the rest of her team. Except … he was alone. “Mr Wyatt, where are the Red Devils?”

  “The Red Devils are dead, sir. They were spaced during the frigate�
��s initial attack.”

  Though he knew the shock on his face was clear for all to see, Parks found himself unable to do anything to conceal it. This was news that he had not been prepared for.

  What the hell had he been thinking when he had approached Turner with the idea of recovering Dragon? Stupid, stupid, stupid! As it stood, the entire plan to intercept and retake the battleship had been nothing short of a total disaster. Even retreating was now no longer possible, at least not until the engines were brought back online. Abandoning Griffin wasn’t an option, either. The evacuees would be sitting ducks in their escape pods. Prisoners would not be taken, lives would not be spared. Even without full shielding or weapons systems, they stood a far better chance of survival by remaining on the ship and attempting to restore power, than floating around in escape pods in the middle of a battlefield.

  And minutes from destruction or not, Parks would never abandon Griffin.

  Regaining some of his composure, he felt his shock turn to anger at his own stupidity. He turned to the man and woman on the floor next to him. “You two – once you are able, start organising an assessment of repairs needed to the flight deck. We must find a way to launch fighters. If we can’t get weapons systems or shielding back online, then we will be totally defenceless.”

  “At once, sir,” the man said.

  “Come with me,” Parks said to Wyatt, starting back to the stairways interconnecting the carrier’s decks. “I want you to get as many crew members as possible to help with repairs, skilled in that field or not. The restoration of power to the engines, shields and weapons systems should be our number one priority. Failing that, I want to make sure that every able-bodied crew member is given a firearm. Perhaps worse than them destroying Griffin, we could be boarded and lose the ship to the Enemy. We need to stop that from happening at all costs. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Wyatt said.

  “In the meantime, we need to find a more immediate way to defend ourselves. Our own weapons systems are of no use to us right now, and Leviathan and Grendel’s Mother will only be able to fend off a dedicated attack brought against us for so long.”

  “What about the ATAFs?” Wyatt asked, increasing his stride to keep up with Parks. “They weren’t on the flight deck, so we can still deploy them.”

  “True, Omar,” Parks said, “the only problem is that we’ve no one who can fly them—”

  “We can fly them, sir!”

  Parks spun around at the sound of the familiar voice, to see five people standing behind him – Estelle de Winter, Simon Dodds, Enrique Todd, Kelly Taylor and Chaz Koonan.

  “We can pilot the ATAFs!” Estelle repeated. “We were trained for three weeks on Xalan to do just that!”

  Yes, Parks thought, yes, you were! He looked to Wyatt and gave his next order without even one second’s hesitation. “Get them to the rear cargo hold.”

  XVI

  — The Knights’ Charge —

  Standing before the row of ATAFs, Dodds found himself at a loss for words, the danger temporarily forgotten. The footage that he had viewed back on Xalan had failed to fully convey the craft, not inspiring the deep sense of awe he now felt. Even in the dim emergency lighting, the sleek black armour of the fighters seemed to gleam with elegance.

  He found himself drawn towards one, and approached to run his hand over the smooth curvature of the nose, his eyes wandering across every surface, absorbing every detail. Now he began to understand how Estelle sometimes felt, striving always for moments like this. He caught the dim reflection of Enrique standing a little way behind him, looking equally spellbound.

  The spacious cargo hold had been quite empty when the five pilots had entered it, containing only the ATAFs and equipment necessary to handle them. It was now beginning to fill with other personnel, who had come streaming in to aid with the launch preparations. They buzzed around, for a time ignoring the Knights and concentrating only on what had to be done. Estelle soon called to him.

  *

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” Estelle began. “I will take off first, to get an overview of the standings and liaise with Commodore Parks. Dodds, I want you out next, followed by Kelly, Enrique and then Chaz. Once we are out there, I will issue you all with objectives.” She looked to the ATAFs. “Just … just remember – it’s just like flying a TAF.”

  She could hear her voice quivering ever so slightly, the anticipation of what was to come causing her to draw breath much faster than usual. Whether it was because she was finally getting the chance to pilot the ATAFs, or because they were all about to face the biggest fight of their lives, she couldn’t say. Most likely a combination of both. The fear and great trepidation she had experienced when the alarms had first sounded were nothing compared to how she felt now. She turned to the conning officer. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” the woman replied, signalling to others in the bay who began wheeling a ladder over. “Those special considerations I mentioned”, the woman added, “obviously we’re not able to set up any sort of launch catapult down here, so you’re going to have to maintain a hover while we rotate the inner and outer forcefields. You okay with that? Also, don’t boost until you’re fully clear, otherwise you could cause major damage to the hold or even incinerate all of us. Clear?”

  The five pilots nodded.

  “Good, let’s get going! Last we heard, Dragon just commenced fighter deployment! Good luck!”

  Estelle leapt up the ladder, scooping up the helmet that was nestled into the seat and slipping it over her head. Despite the ATAF evaluation program having concluded several weeks ago, the cockpit layout was still fresh in her mind. Her fingers pressed buttons and flipped switches as they had done in the simulations many times before, the craft’s systems coming online exactly as expected. As the last notification appeared, Estelle informed the flight crew that she was ready to go. She could feel her heart beating hard, threatening once more to burst out of her chest. But now she knew – this was neither out of fear nor uncertainty, but sheer exhilaration.

  This is it, she thought to herself. This is what it has all been about. Do yourself proud. Do us all proud. Ahead of her, the cargo bay doors slid apart. Moments later, the forcefield rotated, the all-clear was given, and she accelerated out.

  *

  In no time at all, the Knights were clear of Griffin and the team looped around the rear of the carrier, to face the incoming threat.

  It became clear to Dodds that the situation they now faced mirrored one from the many hours they had spent on the simulators. It reminded him of the team’s very first failure, and of how the training manager had assured them that it had been designed to be unfair, unrealistic, and not ever likely to occur in real life. Estelle’s orders – derived from what she had managed to understand from Parks between the static and regular loss of signal – only made it harder. They were to lend support to the three carriers that were attempting to escape the system, providing extra support to Griffin in its crippled state, by standing up against a wall of enemy starfighters, one frigate and one colossal battleship.

  With that in mind, he approached the confrontation with added caution.

  “… though it looks like we’re going to have to fight our way through this lot first,” Estelle concluded.

  Dodds noted that while some of the fighters that had departed Dragon had peeled off from the main group and were heading in the direction of Leviathan, the majority were on course towards Griffin and Grendel’s Mother, thus heading straight towards the Knights. Dodds swallowed and braced himself.

  As they drew within range of one another, both sides spread out to gain more fighting room, three of the Imperial fighters aligning themselves with Dodds’ craft. He eyed his opponents carefully. Though he had never seen them outside of a simulated environment, there was no mistaking the form of an Imperial Mantis. The fighter was designed around a Y-shaped frame and egg-like body, where the cockpit and single large engine resided. Three struts jutted out of the body, a single can
non affixed to the tips of the frame’s top two points, the lower, central one, home to a number of missiles, set into a rack. Though not visible from where he was, Dodds recalled that the craft’s designers had also seen fit to squeeze in another pair of guns just beneath the main body. The appendages appeared almost as if they were claws and mandibles, poised to rip their opponent apart; the maroon hues of the colour schemes decorating the armour alluding to the blood of its previous victims.

  Closer and closer they came, the distance between Dodds and his opponents diminishing rapidly. He held his course unwavering, making no indication that he intended to deviate from it, all the while keeping in mind his experiences of the ATAF back on Xalan, confident that the fighter he occupied was in every way superior to those he faced, no matter the odds.

  Weapons ranges were met, and immediately all three Mantises’ guns opened up, a torrent of cannon fire streaking towards him. At the sight, Dodds felt his heart leap into his throat, panic deriding the pride he had felt only moments earlier. He banked hard to avoid the shower, though he reacted far slower than he would’ve liked. Much of the enemy fire hit home, the ATAF’s encasing shields reacting as they were tested, bathing the entire cockpit in rippling blue hues.

  Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  As the Mantises streaked past, Dodds’ hand flew to the ejection handle, preparing to blow the canopy and jettison himself from the doomed craft the instant he heard the blare of the warning siren. It never came; all was silent, save for the jumble of noise from his comms. Relief washed over him as he glanced to the instrument panel. The attack had barely even registered, his shields retaining close to their full power, the armour beneath not even scratched.