The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  “You know how the saying goes, Anthony,” Parks said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice …”

  He tapped the screen.

  “… shame on me!”

  The lights running the length of Ifrit’s accelerators suddenly extinguished, as though they were flames doused by water. More and more running lights began to cut out, until not a single illumination could be seen anywhere about the ship. Exactly the same as had been witnessed with Dragon earlier that day. Except this time, Parks knew that the trickery lay entirely with him.

  “Karen?” he said, looking to Weathers for further confirmation of his actions.

  “Ifrit’s shielding, weaponry and engines have all been disabled, sir,” she said. “Life support is still functional, but—”

  “Bring us back online, Mr Liu, and get us the hell out of here!” Parks interrupted, rising from the console.

  “Where?” Liu said, uncertainly. “Jump engines are likely to be extremely unstable since the last attack—”

  “Just put some distance between us, man!” Parks cut him off. While Ifrit couldn’t return fire or give chase, Parks wanted to get Griffin as far away as possible. Not that he knew where they were going to go or what they would do once Ifrit recovered. He was buying time; clutching at straws.

  Griffin’s engines engaged and the carrier started forward, maintaining its same heading and slipping beneath the inactive Ifrit. Though it was clear from their speed that the engines lacked the power they had possessed at the time they had departed Spirit.

  I can’t believe that actually worked, Parks found himself thinking. The idea had come to him in a flash. Upon seeing Zackaria sat in Ifrit’s captain’s seat, he had become angered at how the man had taken, not one, but now two of the CSN’s most prized vessels. He had thought back to the fateful start of the day, to when, during the preparations, he had been certain that they would be returning home with Dragon; with what was once theirs. He then recalled how, prior to the commencement of Operation Menelaus, Griffin’s databanks had been loaded with the security credentials for deactivating Dragon. The data bundle, however, hadn’t been restricted to their mission target and had also contained the protocols and credentials for linking to other major CSN vessels.

  Including Ifrit.

  With the realisation that Hawke had inadvertently handed him the advantage, Parks knew he had only to keep his former ally talking until he could set up the counter-insurgency protocols against them.

  Though he thought his plan to be quite inspired, he found himself unable to revel in the victory. It looked far too short-lived in his eyes. To the Pandoran forces, something like this was only a temporary set back, and one way or another they would be on Griffin once more. And when that time came, they wouldn’t hold back until the carrier was reduced to nothing more than a burnt-out shell.

  Even as Griffin limped away from them, Parks was certain that Zackaria would be lambasting Hawke for his failure to destroy their adversaries, now ordering him to prevent their escape. And though Ifrit couldn’t follow or fire upon Parks’ ship itself, the starfighters that no doubt still stood ready and waiting in the hangars and on the flight deck would be totally unaffected by the power outage. Parks could almost see the black-clad figures leaping up into those fighters, which would in turn be taxied quickly towards the catapult, the speed and efficiency of the pilots and deck crew as clinical as always. Within minutes, the first wing would be hurtling down the launch tunnel, more and more fighters lining up behind them.

  It wasn’t long before he was proven correct, the bridge crew alerting him to the fighter craft already scrambling to intercept them. Dammit to hell! He cursed himself for knowing the Enemy so well now, and failing to draw on such estimations during the confrontation with Dragon.

  Griffin’s remaining cameras tracked the TAFs, Rays and Rooks that were starting to spill from Ifrit, wasting no time in giving chase to the fleeing Griffin. They closed the gap rapidly, the first wing soon bringing themselves into weapons range. Griffin wasn’t moving fast, but even if it had been in perfect working order, it had no chance of outrunning those pursuing it.

  Missile lock warnings sounded as the lead TAF brought itself into range.

  Parks swallowed.

  The seconds and metres ticked down.

  The firing range was met.

  The pilot prepared to fire … and the TAF exploded.

  The TAF next to it fell almost immediately after, as did one of the following Rays. Yet another TAF, not far behind, came down next, bringing the downed-fighter count to four.

  Five black craft appeared from seemingly nowhere and drove themselves straight into the middle of the wing, the tips of all six of their cannons blazing, scattering the pack of hijacked Confederation fighters like a frightened school of fish. They fanned out as they hit the rear of the pack, arcing up and around, before racing straight back at them, cannon fire spraying the squadron indiscriminately. More of the TAFs, Rays and Rooks fell, despite the pilots’ attempts to evade the shower.

  “Griffin, this is Lieutenant de Winter, reporting mission accomplished,” a voice came over the bridge’s comm system. “Returning with five ATAFs, five pilots, and one mission target.”

  “White Knights!” Parks exclaimed, almost unable to express the relief he felt at hearing that the five had not only returned safe, well and successful from their mission, but had also stepped up to pull Griffin out of the fire.

  “I must apologise for cutting that a little fine, Commodore,” de Winter said. “I wanted to better assess the situation and get the drop on Ifrit at the most opportune moment. I fear I may have gotten a bit over-zealous at your expense.”

  “There’s no need to apologise,” Parks said. “Your timing couldn’t have been more appropriate. I think it’s fair to say that our present situation speaks for itself. Griffin needs cover while we retreat and work on a plan of action. Jump engines are currently in an uncertain state, so an immediate evacuation is not feasible.”

  And even if they were, we’re not leaving just yet, Parks added to himself. Not without bringing Zackaria, Hawke and Ifrit in. “Go to it, Knights.”

  *

  Dodds was suffering through a range of emotions from the events of the day – he was hungry from not having eaten since the breakfast he had picked at that morning, weary from the lack of proper sleep, and sore from the encounter at Arlos.

  Finally, the sight of Ifrit opening fire on an allied carrier had resulted in all those emotions clustering together and expelling themselves as pure anger. No one could’ve convinced him that Hawke was not in some way connected with the attack, and the urge to break away from the others and focus his rage straight against Ifrit had been almost uncontrollable. But he had bitten his tongue and remained veiled and radio silent as the group had made their way back towards Griffin, until at last letting everything out the moment Estelle had given them the order to attack. He had raced forward, like a dog out of a trap, passing within mere metres of the underside of Griffin as he deactivated the cloak, surging headlong into her unsuspecting attackers and taking down the lead with his opening salvo.

  “They learned to fly those pretty damn quick,” Enrique said.

  “They probably had a lot of time to practice with the ones that Hawke loaned them,” Dodds glowered, pulling up to continue the pursuit of his chosen target. He noted that the flyers of Ifrit’s fighter complement were operating the Confederation craft with the expertise of any seasoned CSN pilot.

  The Knights carried through Parks’ orders, fighting back waves of fighters the likes of which they had battled alongside earlier that day. A massive hail of fire soon erupted between both sides, plasma bolts drowning out the engine glow of the micro-missiles the Knights loosed against their opponents. Their adversaries made an admirable show of fighting back, but their efforts with the TAFs, Rays and Rooks proved no more successful against the ATAFs than had the Mantises, Jackals and Sphinxes.

  “Are these guys even thinkin
g about retreating?” Enrique asked, several minutes into the battle.

  “I don’t think they know what that means,” Kelly said.

  Dodds brought himself around to look upon Ifrit. Though it would have been clear to any other opponent that they were clearly outmatched, fighters could still be seen launching from Hawke’s ship. It appeared as though the carrier’s hijackers were prepared to throw every last gun they had at the ATAF pilots in order to take them down. It felt like no matter how many fighters Dodds overcame, several more would appear to take their place.

  “Ifrit’s gotta be exhausting its complement soon,” Enrique’s exasperated voice continued.

  “Not even close,” Estelle said. “She came loaded with a full complement, which means well over two hundred fighters.”

  “How many more do we have to get through?!”

  “Doesn’t matter!” Dodds said. “We’ll keep taking them on until there is nothing left but Hawke himself!”

  “Knights, concentrate only on the fighters,” Parks cut in. “Do not open fire on Ifrit. I don’t want that ship damaged and we’re not leaving here without it. I want to do everything in my power to bring her back home with us.”

  Dodds suppressed a growl and plunged forward into another wing, ignoring the hail of fire that sped towards him.

  Several more exhausting minutes of battle followed, when, at last, the streams of fighters departing Ifrit began to abate. They were no longer launching from the carrier with as much gusto as they had at the beginning of the fight, and Dodds could only guess that it was now taking longer to prep what little of the complement remained. It came as a relief. At last, it looked as though the day was finally won.

  He was about to ask how Parks wished for them to deal with the still dead in the water Ifrit, when a flash from close by caused him to swallow his question. He then swore as he saw a massive jump point swirl into existence.

  “Didn’t think it would be long before we saw that again,” he said, as out of the portal slipped the enormous bulk of CSN Dragon.

  XXVIII

  — He Who Fights —

  Standing at the front of Dragon’s bridge, Commodore Rissard looked first to the ATAFs striking down Ifrit’s fighter support, and then to the fleeing Confederation carrier far beyond, still putting distance between itself and the battle area. He gave no further thought to the whirling starfighters, and ordered Dragon onward. Ifrit needed no protection; not from the ATAFs and certainly not from Griffin. He knew that Griffin’s captain would never seek to risk irreparable damage to the vessel, a point that had been made clear to him by Hawke when he had called upon Dragon to assist.

  *

  “It’s going after Griffin!” Estelle called, as the massive battleship powered forward.

  “Ifrit’s back online,” Chaz added.

  Dodds saw that running lights were once again dotting the carrier, and that the ship had started turning in the direction of Griffin. He brought himself about to look over the hulking mass of Dragon, never before having been so close to it in his life. He was granted a close-up view of the depiction of the blue Chinese dragon that spread itself across the hull, claws sunk in deep, jowls pulled back, teeth snarling. He could see that Dragon’s bow was already beginning to split, just as it had done before it had hurled that great big antimatter ball at Grendel. The hijacked Confederation fighters were also breaking off, evacuating the target area, so as not to risk being caught up in the fallout of the assault. He felt powerless. There was nothing he could do to prevent Dragon’s advance. His comms then popped. It was Parks.

  “Knights, what I’m about to ask is going to sound absurd … but I’m going to have to request that you engage Dragon.”

  Dodds swore, though his words were lost within the collective gasps and cursing from his fellow wingmates.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Parks continued, “and, as I said, I know it sounds absurd, but you all witnessed the power of that battleship’s main gun earlier. We can’t allow it to gain a lock on Griffin. If it does, then it’s all over. I’m going to enable the ATAFs’ accelerators. Target and sweep Dragon’s hull exactly across the vector I’m sending you.”

  “Sir—” Estelle’s concerned voice came again.

  “Don’t panic, de Winter. You will be targeting power systems only. There is no danger of you destroying that ship.”

  That’s not what she’s worried about, Dodds thought.

  “The combined power of those accelerators should be enough to break through the shielding,” Parks added. “If you hit it right, then you’ll knock it offline until the Imperial forces can effect repairs. And that won’t be any time soon.”

  Dodds turned again to the colossal battleship, Chaz’s words from earlier that day, of how the number of fighters that the allied forces were bringing to the table being no match for it, coming back to him. Back then, during the commencement of Operation Menelaus, there had been several hundred.

  Now there were five.

  But Parks was clearly convinced that they stood a chance at tackling Dragon. Or perhaps the man was clutching at straws. But what else could they do? They had to at least try. It seemed that as much as the commodore wanted to recapture Dragon with the minimum of damage, he no longer had a choice. Parks had to have resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be bringing the flagship home today, either.

  Dodds’ console jingled, drawing his focus. The restriction on the accelerator had been lifted and Parks’ coordinates had been received. He glanced again to Dragon and set to work utilizing the data and preparing the cannon, before swinging up and around, and bringing himself in line with Estelle and his fellow wingmates.

  *

  Rissard watched as the ATAFs changed their heading, breaking away from their engagements with the Confederation fighters, and brought themselves into a staggered horizontal formation, heading towards Dragon.

  Unperturbed by their sudden interest in his ship, he ordered that they be ignored for now, his focus remaining on Griffin. They could be captured once the carrier had been destroyed. The main cannon was ready. He prepared to give the order to fire, but inexplicably found his eyes drawn back to the camera feed tracking the five black starfighters. They were continuing their approach, closing rapidly, seeming with purpose.

  Moments later, a thick, bright green stream of plasma erupted from the belly of the lead, striking the broadside of Dragon. Beams from the four others joined it, aiming for the same point. There was a call from somewhere down the bridge – the shield generators were struggling. The lead fighter then changed their heading, sweeping the beam along the hull. Its path was followed by its four companions, who banked hard to trace the line. Against the concentrated beams, the protective shielding held for only a few seconds, before it collapsed.

  The defences gone, the beams proceeded to cut straight into the hull, tearing open the armour as they went, the black-suited crew of the bridge being tossed about as the battleship lurched. The warning sirens from computer consoles were drowned out by deep booms, that echoed and rattled their way up from down below. By the time the ATAFs had concluded their sweep, an immense gash ran across Dragon’s starboard side, from out of which gases, chemicals, and the splintered remnants of protective armour plating vented. The graphic of the magnificent Chinese dragon had become a shadow of its former self, a sordid blackened scar running across it.

  Lights and power systems went out all over the ship; operational computer arrays shut off; feeds cut out; the engines stalled.

  Then the gravitational systems failed.

  Rissard felt his feet lift off the floor of the darkened bridge and he found himself floating around helplessly. The emergency systems engaged a short time later, sending him crashing to the ground. He picked himself up as the ATAFs swooped past the bridge’s frontal viewport, and he ordered the crew to resume their pursuit of Griffin. His request was denied, reports coming in detailing the state of the ship in the wake of the attack – the main cannon lacked
the power it needed to fire; shielding and weaponry were now in an unreliable state; one of the flight decks had suffered significant damage; and the power generators required urgent maintenance.

  Rissard glowered as he watched the five starfighters pass by and ordered the repairs be made at once.

  *

  “That’s enough,” Estelle ordered as they completed their run. “Get back on the fighters!”

  Dodds’ scepticism towards Parks’ plan had been high. Dragon was a behemoth of a vessel, and he could see no way in which it could’ve actually succeeded. And yet it had! So much so that it appeared as though the battleship was no longer able to participate in the battle.

  He had watched as the accelerator beams had struck their target’s shield, promising to do little more than prove just how well protected the legendary vessel was. But then, as he had followed Estelle’s lead, he had seen the defences give way, and the beams had cut through into the hull. They had sliced and torn and ripped their way through the armour, cutting it apart like thin fabric.

  He found it almost impossible to tear his eyes away from what they had just achieved, and again the questions about just what this craft was that he was in command of began to rise within him. Twenty-four hours earlier, his world had been a very different place.

  But now was not the time to contemplate such things. He pushed them to the back of his mind, turned away from the crippled battleship and started once again towards Ifrit’s fighter defence. So little remained of the complement now. Even Ifrit herself presented little challenge. Dodds felt relief. Now, the battle was won! Now, they were victorious! At last, the day was finally theirs!