The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy)

by Sweeney, Stephen

  He separated out a target and prepared to engage it, when a number of flashes drew his attention. He caught his breath. His jaw dropped. Jump points … and not even a few of them at that.

  Six Imperial frigates emerged, accompanied by a multitude of starfighters; more than he could count, and a lot more than he knew they were able to handle alone. His radar was already filling with more information than his mind could process. Identifier labels – INF_MORNING_STAR-FRI-T13, INF_ALYSHAS_CAL-FRI-T17 – briefly popping up, before being lost in the crush of others. His eyes darted from Dragon, to Ifrit, to Griffin, to the frigates, to the fighters. He felt his world collapse, totally unsure of how to begin dealing with the reinforcements. The sight was overwhelming.

  “Dear God, there’s a lot of them,” Kelly breathed.

  “We could be coming unstuck here, guys,” Enrique echoed.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Estelle said, somehow still managing to sound resolute. “We need to keep them away from Griffin! Go to it, people!”

  Dodds did as his wing commander ordered, but his own feelings on the matter mirrored those of Enrique and Kelly. The incoming fighter squadrons was made up of almost everything the INF possessed – Sphinxes, Mantises, Jackals, Scarabs, Bobcats, Thunderheads, highly modified Darts, some other types he had only encountered briefly in simulated environments … He had never seen anything like it. And the numbers! They were insurmountable! This was not an Imperial force that he knew of.

  Dodds drove himself into the huge scrum of fighters, the pack looking like a tremendous mixed-flock of migrating birds. He couldn’t count the odds stacked against them, suffice to say that one thing was all too clear – the Knights were now heavily outnumbered.

  With a burst of speed, the Imperial fighters accelerated away from the frigates they had been escorting, aligning themselves with the White Knights and almost defenceless Griffin beyond, readying battle systems as they came – weapon struts emerged from the egg-like bodies of the Mantises, locking into place and presenting fully-loaded missile hardpoints below; cannon racks shifted from docking points on the Thunderheads, moving into position along the cross-axis; combat arrays unfurled from the upper halves of the Sphinxes.

  Mere moments after their arrival, the frontline Imperial fighters’ guns opened up against the five approaching ATAFs, creating an almost blinding torrent of multicoloured light. Missiles from the backline followed, curling and twisting around, many failing to land targets, but many more succeeding. Not one of the Knights managed to evade the shower, their shields glistening as they reacted to the hits.

  There are too many of them, Dodds thought, only minutes into the fight. Already, he could feel his zeal beginning to slip. Even so, he kept his mouth shut, trying to steel and focus himself. The swarm of fighters on his radar and outside his cockpit had become spirit-crushing. His comms were exploding with chatter, and every one of the voices was frantic, urgent and very, very worried.

  Many of the fighters were striking Griffin now. The carrier was making a valiant bid at protecting herself, but with only its rear cannons still undamaged, the cracks in its defence were all too wide.

  Dodds broke off from his current engagement, pushing through the cluster of adversaries and towards the Scarabs that were of the greatest threat to Griffin’s continued survival. His HUD tagged each of them with missiles and he loosed them the instant they were locked. They were joined by a hail of plasma fire from another ATAF, which was quick to enter and leave his view. He gave no thought to who the other pilot may have been; there simply wasn’t time. The bombers fell, but it still felt as though he was bailing water from a lifeboat with only his bare hands.

  He swung back around to the cluster of Imperial forces, trying hard to overcome the sinking feeling that was consuming his every being; though it had already become unshakable. The day was lost. This was it, this was where it was going to end …

  *

  Watching as the bombers fell and the Knights continued trying to cut down what seemed like an unending supply of Imperial fighters, surrounding them like an angry swarm of wasps, Parks found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. For Griffin to remain here, in the face of such overwhelming odds, would almost certainly lead to her destruction. Conversely, fleeing the system would not only be extremely risky in Griffin’s current state, but would leave Ifrit in the hands of the Enemy …

  It wasn’t long before he came to a reluctant conclusion – he had lost. He wouldn’t be bringing either Dragon or Ifrit back home with him today. His priority now was to ensure the safe return of the ATAFs, the Knights and the stolen data card to Confederation space. As of now, they were the most important thing; more so than anything else.

  *

  “Knights, fall back,” Dodds heard Parks order over his comms, “we’re going to return to Spirit immediately.”

  “Sir, the enemy forces could follow us—” Estelle started.

  “I’m well aware of the risks, de Winter!” Parks cut in. “Fall back now! That’s an order!”

  “Yes, sir,” Estelle said, then, to the team, “You heard the commodore – prepare to jump back to Spirit!”

  Dodds complied, breaking off his attack on the enemy fighters and starting toward Griffin, cannon fire chasing after him. “Preparing to engage jump,” he heard from the carrier. He watched the space in front of Griffin, waiting for the slice to appear and the whirlpool-like portal to swirl into existence, opening the inter-dimensional conduit that would lead back home, giving them a chance to live to fight another day.

  He watched and waited.

  Watched and waited.

  Waited …

  And then, at that moment, when Dodds thought that nothing else could go wrong, Griffin’s engines suddenly failed, the brilliant cyan glow fading away to nothing. His comms instantly exploded with chatter from a variety of sources. Enrique and Kelly were swearing, Chaz relaying updates of the standings, Estelle attempting to discover what was going on.

  “What the hell just happened?” Dodds caught Parks say.

  “The jump engines failed to fully engage, Captain!” came the response.

  “Try again!”

  “Negative, sir!”

  “Get an update from Marsh, right this second!”

  An undecipherable interchange.

  “Marsh says he can get them fixed in about seven minutes.”

  “Tell him he has two!” Parks shouted. “de Winter—”

  There was a sudden high-pitched, ear-piercing scream of white noise. It was followed by a pop and the communication cut off. Griffin plunged into darkness, running lights extinguishing as the engines had done. Cannon fire from the pursuing enemy craft sprayed the rear of the ship, what remained of the carrier’s shields buckling instantly and permitting the follow-up volleys to hammer the already greatly suffering armour. Several new holes were punched.

  Dodds swung around to take in the battlefield. The fighter squadrons were already past him, the frigates closing in behind them and preparing to deliver the finishing blow. Estelle was struggling to organise the team and make sense of the chaos. It seemed to matter little; time was now more against them than it ever had been. Never mind seven minutes – in less than sixty seconds, the battle would be over.

  Unless he did something about it.

  And this time, he had to do something. Here, now, was what he had come back for. The chance for a do over; a chance to set things right.

  He turned about to the swarms of enemy craft and powered forward into them, weaving, dodging and twisting his way through their ranks, surging closer to the six gathered frigates, the enormous form of Dragon, and closer to his ultimate target – Ifrit.

  With the cumulative enemy fire focused on him alone, his fighter’s defences had taken a considerable beating during his approach. Not that it now mattered; he was right where he wanted to be.

  *

  “Dodds.” Hawke didn’t need to be told who was piloting the craft that was streaking towards Ifrit’s
bridge. He instinctively knew that only one man could be so arrogant as to pull off such a manoeuvre, when everyone else was falling back. He barked to the bridge crew, ordering them to concentrate their fire on the approaching craft.

  It made little difference. The fighter kept coming, aligning itself with the bridge. Hawke’s eyes widened. For an instant, it looked as though it was going to ram them. The ATAF’s cannons then blazed, dozens of plasma bolts speeding towards the bridge’s frontal viewport, almost right where he and Zackaria were standing. The bolts slammed headlong into the bridge’s shield quadrant, at first striking it like raindrops upon a sheet of glass, before starting to penetrate deeper. Within just a few seconds, the shield collapsed, unable to withstand the continuous hail of fire being directed at it. Shield-splinters erupted, the remaining bolts crashing unhindered into the main viewport, huge web-like cracks beginning to sprout at the points of impact.

  Hawke saw Zackaria’s cloak whip the air as the man turned and ran for the deck lift. Hawke hurried after, the black-clad soldiers that occupied seats and consoles springing up in turn. Not halfway down the aisle, Hawke heard a thunderous crash behind him, followed by the howl of air whistling past his ears. He managed to steady himself for but a fraction of a second, before the tremendous force of depressurisation yanked him backwards. He slammed into one of the forward control consoles, his fingers scrambling for purchase about the long axis. A warning sounded and a large pair of blast screens started to close across the shattered viewport, moving to contain the exposure.

  The safety measure came too late.

  Hawke saw Zackaria tumble over, straight through the middle of the broken window and out into space. Several more of the bridge’s occupants were quick to suffer the same fate, and not long after, Hawke himself lost his grip on the console and was flung out into the vacuum.

  *

  Dodds slowed and looked about from his run, seeing a number of flailing bodies tumbling out across the surface of Ifrit. A small feeling of satisfaction welled up within him as he made out what appeared to be the unprotected body of Hawke amongst them. In their current state, Dodds gave them only a couple of minutes before they succumbed to the vacuum. Although, after what he had witnessed back at Arlos, he wouldn’t be surprised if they survived longer than that. It mattered little. As of now, they were no longer a threat.

  He then became aware that he was no longer being fired upon, and nor was anyone else. He studied the scene that surrounded him, finding it suddenly a great deal calmer than the bedlam and savagery of the battle that had proceeded it. A tremendous amount of debris and wreckage tumbled about, but now the guns on both sides were silent. It was as if they had suddenly reached a stalemate. He wondered why. Ships of the opposing forces were now milling around close to where the former occupants of Ifrit’s bridge tumbled. He remained where he was, watching the Imperial and stolen Confederation fighters circling harmlessly. Ahead of him, a Ray slowed, flipped and accelerated away, without the merest sign of aggression.

  “What’s going on?” came Kelly’s voice over his comms. “Why have they stopped attacking?”

  “I … I don’t know,” Estelle said, sounding just as bewildered.

  “They’re worried about hitting Zackaria,” Chaz said. “They don’t want to risk their leader being killed by a stray shot.”

  Still close to them, Dodds brought himself over to where Hawke and Zackaria continued to drift, reducing his speed to that of a crawl, so that he could examine the bodies up close. He moved unopposed, passing so close to an Imperial fighter that he could see the occupant within the craft. The pilot, clothed in black and wearing a dark helmet with ruby-red eyes, paid him no attention whatsoever, his focus entirely on the commodore and the admiral.

  Dodds came to within just a few metres of Hawke, seeing his face contorted in what could only be a mixture of pain and disbelief. Even with the twisted expression, Dodds noticed just how smooth, healthy and young-looking Hawke’s skin appeared, just like that of the soldier whose helmet he had removed in Arlos’ morgue.

  So, Hawke had been working for the Imperial forces all along. A plant, a mole, or whatever you might want to call him. Dodds saw that the man’s eyes were shut tight. Likely, he had already lost consciousness. He then glanced over at Zackaria and gave a start. The man was looking straight at him.

  My God! He’s still alive! Dodds thought. But … that’s impossible!

  The admiral was staring at him as he tumbled and drifted, consciously making the effort to keep him in sight. There was an expression on the man’s face that Dodds wouldn’t soon forget. Something had fought itself up from deep within him, something angry. It was a threatening look that spoke to him across the vacuum of space. He noticed how, unlike the soldier’s and Hawke’s faces, Zackaria’s was neither youthful nor unnaturally healthy-looking. Though he did appear old, the man’s face had more of a distinguished quality to it. It demanded respect.

  How could the man still be alive? At the very least, he should’ve lost consciousness by now. How could his eyes still focus? How could he even be capable of conscious thought in an environment such as this? Dodds brought himself to a halt, suddenly not wishing to be so close to the man. He then saw a reflective sheen start to build on Zackaria’s face and hands. Ice? No, it looked denser and more crystalline than that. Almost like a cocoon.

  “What are you?” Dodds breathed.

  Zackaria never took his eyes off him as he drifted away, and Dodds couldn’t help but think that the admiral was studying him. Marking him. Remembering him.

  He became aware that his comms were chattering with the sound of many different voices, all four of the White Knights trying to get his attention. He ignored all of them, watching as, in the sudden still that followed the battle, a number of transport craft passed by him, stopping to pick up those that had been jettisoned from the bridge. One slowed close to Hawke and Zackaria.

  “Commodore—” Dodds started.

  “Stand down, Lieutenant. Return to Griffin,” Parks said, pre-empting his question as to whether or not he should engage the transports.

  Dodds didn’t argue and fell back, rejoining his team-mates. Together, they watched as the transports flocked towards the cluster of starfighters, frigates and Dragon, before the warships opened jump points and departed the conflict zone, leaving Griffin, Ifrit and the White Knights all alone.

  *

  Aiden Meyers arrived in the Phylent system less than half an hour later, apologising profusely to Parks for the time it had taken him to reach Griffin, despite matters being well out of his control. Parks had waved away the apology, and together the two had begun organising repairs to Griffin, as well as inspecting the state of Ifrit.

  “How are things looking?” Parks asked Wyatt, as the head of security returned from the carrier.

  “Aside from some minor damage to the bridge, as well as a few other areas of the ship, Ifrit is in perfect working order,” Wyatt said.

  “Any sign of hostile forces?”

  “No, sir. We performed two full sweeps and didn’t find any. It looks like they abandoned the ship immediately after Hawke and Zackaria were spaced. How they did so so quickly, I’m not sure, but I’m guessing they only manned Ifrit with the minimum amount of crew they needed to operate it in the short-term.”

  “Good.”

  “We did, however, manage to locate some survivors—”

  “Have them arrested,” Parks said, not waiting for Wyatt to finish.

  “Sir?”

  “Attend to any injuries and then hold them in the brig. If they try to escape, you are to shoot them dead. Do you understand?”

  Wyatt frowned. “But, sir … with all due respect, they are just galley hands and—”

  “You have my orders,” Parks cut him off. “Now, is the ship secure?”

  “Yes, Captain. Ifrit is ready for command.”

  “Thank you,” Parks said, dismissing Wyatt. He then looked to Meyers. “I don’t know about you, but I’v
e had quite enough of this system for one day.”

  “I can more than appreciate that, Commodore,” Meyers said. “I’ll return to Leviathan and nominate some personnel to help bring Ifrit home. I’ll be in touch as soon as everything is in place.”

  “Thank you, Aiden.”

  Parks returned to the captain’s chair and slumped down, feeling both mentally and physically exhausted. He planned that once they were in jump and on their way back to Spirit, he would retire to his quarters and get some sleep.

  As he waited for Meyers to give him the all-clear on the skeleton crew he was assembling, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the small plastic capsule he had placed there. The usually clear casing was somewhat stained, possessing a light red tinge. He guessed this to be a hint at a long story to be heard. Even so, he hadn’t bothered to ask the Knights what they had been through in order to get it. All five were covered in bruises, looked both physically and mentally exhausted, and seemed ready to bow out at any moment. For now, Parks was happy to see the tiny, thin data card safe and undamaged within.

  He sighed and stared out the frontal viewport, catching sight of starfighter wreckage still drifting around. He had seen so much of it today. He turned the capsule around a few times between his fingers, as he continued to stare out at the remains of the battle. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but look beyond it, to the core Imperial systems and wonder just how much more there was yet to come. They had fought a staggering military force today, but it was nothing compared to what was still out there. Absolutely nothing.

  Tip of the iceberg, he thought, pocketing the capsule. Just the bloody tip.

  Damn the Senate’s Mistake; damn the Enemy; damn those blasted Pandorans.

  *

  A little while later, Meyers and Ifrit’s acting captain contacted him, confirming that they were ready to leave. Parks concurred and requested Meyers open a jump point to Spirit. The route was formed, and together the three carriers started the long journey home.