With Our Dying Breath

by Unknown

  "Command, Tactical."

  "Go Tactical."

  "MCC is issuing orders to deploy paper planes."

  "Let's throw some paper planes then, Tactical." Oswald knew the

  MCC would issue the commands remotely if Roland didn't do it in a timely manner. It helped them with the feeling of participation to beat MCC's override.

  "Countermeasures deployed." Mathesse sounded a tiny bit pleased with himself.

  Two small pods ejected from the Roland in random directions and after separating about one kilometer they unfolded into large foil sails with optical, EM, and thermal signatures almost identical to the Roland. It wouldn't fool any Centauri military craft for long, but as the remotes got closer they relied more on their internal sensor suits and lesser computers. By the time the surviving remotes had passed each other to speed on to their targets, the Earth fleet had eight new ships and the Centauri five.

  "Sir, it seems the foe has had the same idea."

  "At least we have home field advantage. MCC should be able to figure out which ones to shoot." Oswald didn't remind everyone about the likely Centauri sensor stations hiding in-system.

  Within five minutes the Centauri decoys had been identified and marked on the display. The incoming remotes entered the squadron's point defense ring.

  "Triumph initiating point defense." Matthese said grimly. "Charger initiating point defense," he added a minute later. Point defense was somewhat of a misnomer in the space service; the small rockets were fired when incoming targets were still thousands of kilometers away.

  "Roland initiating point defense."

  The tracks of the incoming remotes closed on the Earth Force squadron. MCC initiated the second wave of remotes, adding munitions from the Roland, Triumph, and Charger. The Centauri similarly launched their second wave, though it was smaller than that of Earth Force.

  "Sir, Charger and Triumph initiating combat burn," McFarran announced. "Roland is not, however. How bizarre."

  "MCC is sending them in front to make sure we can get to the jump threshold," Mathesse said flatly. "Second wave of remotes engaging."

  Two waves of remotes engaged; the one closer to the Earth squadron first then the one closer to the Centauri five minutes later. When the mess on the display cleared, only a handful of remotes closed with each force. Four vector tracks closed on Triumph, two on Charger, and three showed converging on Roland like bright talons.

  Two of the remotes closing on Triumph blinked and disappeared.

  "They got'em!" Breen exclaimed over the net.

  "Pipe down, Astro!" Oswald snapped. "Keep watching."

  "Uh, roger that, Command."

  The two remaining Centauri remotes were replaced with small explosion icons to indicate the warheads had detonated.

  "Sir," McFarran breathed as if greatly offended. "We've lost telemetry from the Triumph." The icon and date track for the lead Earth ship blinked grey to indicate the computer was working on last known data.

  Oswald brought up the optical display provided by the Roland's powerful telescope. "Sensors, put Triumph in the big-eye."

  "Roger that, Command. Request twelve degree roll clockwise."

  "Flight, initiate roll, twelve degrees." Oswald ordered. A moment later grainy video of the Triumph appeared and was slowly cleaned up by the system digitizers.

  "Overlay current velocity track and thermal output," McFarran ordered. The computer quickly set yellow tracks to indicate the current movement of the space craft. She was drifting from her previous track. The radiators were extended and glowed red in the thermal scan but everything else was cooling down. The reactor had obviously scrammed, which it was designed to do when the spacecraft lost power. Triumph showed no other physical damage but was starting to tumble slowly, a silent coffin upon the black waves.

  "Looks like both detonations were EMP generators," Mathesse said. "I see no obvious structural damage."

  "Can they have lived, sir?" Breen whispered.

  "I'm sure they survived the EMP. These suits are rated very high against it. The question is if they can get the ship back online." Oswald took in a slow breath. "Two EMPs like that probably fried everything aboard. Triumph is a mission loss. But they are well trained. We might see them when we get back," Oswald lied. They might see the Triumph—with a new crew. More likely she would be added to the memorial list next time EF updated it.

  The tracks closing on the Charger blinked away one by one, as did one aimed at Roland as Charger reached out with her laser arrays.

  "Command, two tracks incoming," Mathesse spoke through painfully clenched teeth. He had seen this play out three times prior where he had been the only survivor. "MCC has set Roland's laser arrays to point defense."

  There really was nothing for it at this point except to wait. Oswald sometimes wondered about his tendency to grow calmer the closer death's hand came. It was described by some as an indicator of clinical psychopaths, but it was more about accepting the inevitable than it was true fearlessness. Someone whimpered on the net as the two remaining tracks approached detonation.

  "Keep steady," Oswald whispered. One incoming remote blinked out of existence. The equation was playing out on his screen.

  "Laser array one, successful engagement." Mathesse's jaw crackled loudly as it parted. There was a high pitched gurgle from someone else on the net. Of relief or panic Oswald couldn’t tell. But he knew that if the missile was in Roland's laser envelope...

  The remaining Centauri remote detonated. Sensors indicated a spike in radiation as the thermonuclear warhead detonated, pumping out a series of x-ray lasers.

  "Detonation!" Mathesse growled.

  Oswald waited for the Roland's sensors to register equipment going off-line, atmospheric evacuation, or to see a bright flash that indicated the end of it all—which would have happened already it were going to happen. "Engineering, Command. Verify damage reports. Or lack thereof."

  "Command, we show nothing but the spike in radiation and a slight increase in skin temperature."

  "Sir, they missed?" McFarran asked, sounding nearly as offended as when the Centauri had hit.

  "The paper planes." Oswald zoomed into decoys' vector tracks; they had both been evaporated. "Good call, MCC."

  "Our turn," Mathesse grunted.

  Oswald watched as the Earth Force remotes, at least two registering from Triumph, closed on the enemy.

  "Sir, we are seeing high photon refraction coming from the lead Centauri craft. It looks like quite a mighty blow has been struck, but Charger is not in laser range yet and I see no new detonations, sir."

  "Except the putt-putt." Mathesse's chuckle was just short of sounding insane. "Like an old Q-ship. That's why it had the heavy-duty cryonics."

  Oswald ordered the optics towards the lead Centauri ship. A series of flashes silently danced across the spacecraft, leaving clouds of plasma and debris bleeding from wounds. More tiny sparks erupted across the Centauri vessel, one touching off an explosion deep within. Large pieces of twisted frame went spinning madly away and the Centauri craft went dark, tumbling off course.

  "Confirmed, Command," Lieutenant Chip Gresh cheerfully replied. "The putt-putt, I mean the ion-hauler, has two high power laser arrays. It looks like they are engaging Centauri designated Charlie-five. Switching big-eye."

  Another Centauri ship came on the screen but the laser hits looked like white blobs which had faded away by the time the video image had been scrubbed. No more strikes came.

  "Looks like the Centauri figured it out." Oswald looked on his display and the fake hauler, with its little putt-putt ion engine, had been destroyed. But Anahita timed the surprise attack to coincide perfectly with the wave of Earth Force remotes that detonated in the midst of the Centauri squadron.

  "Well," Mathesse said, suddenly calm as they waited for the interference to clear and see how hard the enemy had been hit, "that's the last time they'll let any civvies get close to them."

  The tactical display updated as t
he terrible energies released slowly dissipated. The Centauri craft that had previously only been damaged by the decoy ship was now a cloud of spinning wreckage. Another had taken several direct hits; Oswald guessed one of the Earth Force Thermonuclear Rod-Expended X-Ray, known as a T-REX in space force vernacular, sub-munitions scored several hits. Power output was null and thermal imaging indicated the inner compartments had been sprayed with jets of hypervelocity plasma; it wasn't likely anyone had survived.

  A third spacecraft had taken severe damage to its radiators and was emergency venting its vaporizing coolant into space. It might live but it was out of the fight and unlikely to return home. There was only one Centauri craft left and it was now in a high-speed game of chicken with the Charger.

  "Command, Tactical!" Mathesse whooped.

  "Go, Tactical."

  "According to the logs, it was one of our T-REX that scored the kill on Charlie-four. Die, freak-show." A smattering of cheers came over the ops net.

  "Roger that, Tactical. We'll do a jig later... if we get to the jump." They had survived the initial duel of remotes—barely. He now knew that Roland at least would survive but he didn't feel like celebrating.

  "That makes fifteen for you, right, Colonel?" Breen was breathing heavy into his mic. "Not counting that battle station in AC."

  "Something like. Now get your heads back in the battle space." Roland hadn't worked out the engagement envelope or ordered the launch per se but it was still her kill. The crew needed that even if Oswald didn’t.

  "Roger that, Command."

  Oswald muted his own mic for a second to take a deep breath. "Astro, there are now a million pieces of shrapnel out there. I want constant updates on nav-hazard plots. Even MCC could miss a golden BB in this mess."

  The navigation tracks grew longer as the surviving spacecraft spent their deltaV to get on station. The Charger was on a straight intercept course with the remaining Centauri, both ships launching more remotes. MCC vectored the Roland to put Charger between her and the enemy. The Centauri track shifted slightly on Oswald's display to indicate it had decided to engage the more imminent threat.

  "And here we go," Oswald muttered off net.

  "Command, this is C'n D." Lieutenant Trese spoke quickly, making the abbreviation sound like 'Cindy.'

  "Go C'n D."

  "Incoming transmission from Charger actual to Roland actual."

  "Patch him through, C'n D." Oswald watched Charger approach knife fighting range with the Centauri and knew Roland would not be sent to help.

  "Oswald! I see you got another one of those Centipedes."

  Oswald chuckled despite himself. "MCC aimed and pulled the trigger for us.

  "Don't matter mate, that one's yours." Gryphon paused. "Shame about Triumph."

  "Yeah."

  "But you don't worry about us, Pierce. You worry about what you're meant to do. As for Charger, we say it's better to go out blazing than to float away."

  "We'll do you right, Gryph. You want us to lob a couple warheads your way?"

  "Not a one. You might need them when you get back."

  "Service." Oswald was never good at farewells. Especially since Charger wasn’t going to fare well at all. "Godspeed, Charger." "Service, mate. We'll give it to 'em. Charger actual, out."

  The channel chimed to let him know the connection had dropped. In micro-gravity, tears glob together and stick to one's face in a quivering puddle. Oswald jerked his head to send the tear flying off his face and returned his full attention to the net. But there was little to do except acknowledge the stream of status updates and watch as the Charger raced to her death.

  "Sensors, let's get the Charger on the big-eye."

  "Roger that, Command." The video feed centered on the Earth Force rocket and quickly worked out the fuzz.

  "Sir, Lieutenant Colonel Gryphon will make the Centauri pay dearly."

  "Roger that, Aux."

  "Command, Tactical. Photon spikes and ECM pulses from Charger and Charlie-five. Looks like they're going fisticuffs."

  "Here we go again," Oswald muttered.

  The little sparkles of death that danced across the Charger's hull were almost pretty. Traces of light from the dueling laser arrays could be seen in the clouds of dust and plasma that spewed from her hull. Oswald wished he could pull up the Centauri craft to see how bad she was getting it, but they only had the one big-eye and he was more concerned about Gryphon that the Centipedes.

  The derogative had been coined early in the war, along with many more vulgar names, and it was the nom de guerre given to the extraterrestrial enemy of Earth. Oswald suspected some salty old Navy dog had come up with it; they had a penchant for it. In the many pillared halls of Earth bureaucracies it was considered a racial slur and was verboten. Oswald was not one to use it himself, but he just might take it up.

  "Tactical, see if you can work up a firing solution with a T-REX that could get both remaining enemy craft with a single warhead."

  "Roger that, Command." Mathesse sounded extra gleeful in his own, special, malicious way.

  "Sir," McFarran sounded down-right scandalized. "MCC has authorized no such expenditures."

  "Roger that, Aux." Oswald would have playfully chided his stuffy, but correct, second-in-command if not for the increased flashes flaring up from the Charger. "But I have some leeway in this, at least enough to make preparation." Oswald continually scanned between the flight path, enemy threat indicators, time to jump, and the optical feed of the Charger. The latter was tactically the least important as Roland was no longer in the enemy engagement envelope. But he couldn't look away. He stared as the flashes on the hull became plumes of fire and the plumes became silent screams.

  The hits were going deep and Charger's radiators were overloading. Thermal indicated the LANTRn had been turned down to reduce heat generation but it left the rocket with no thrust. An incoming laser strike erupted against one of Charger's radiator panels causing critical meltdown.

  "Oh God," Breen muttered.

  The thermal signature of the ship intensified. Oswald decided that critical ships systems were already overheating and shutting down. If Gryphon didn't jettison his heat sink—

  "Sir, Charger is going." McFarran's voice was one of dignified solemnity.

  "Oh God," Breen repeated louder. "The reactor."

  Charger's radiation profile pegged as her reactor went supercritical and overheated, warping coolant channels and setting up a failure cascade that worsened exponentially. Something deep within finally gave way and the rear of the rocket split apart like a bad novelty cigar exploding. The remaining radiator failed and the spacecraft just boiled away into nothingness in a series of liquid eruptions.

  "Let's look at the Centipede, Sensor." Oswald let out the breath he'd been holding and checked the time to jump threshold; less than five minutes.

  The remaining Centauri was barely alive. It had performed an emergency vent well before the Charger fell. Gryphon, or Anahita, or both, had kept the guns blazing and in doing so killed the Charger and her crew. A draw might have endangered the Roland so they pushed the Charger too far into the red and she had given up the ghost to the icy void.

  "Command, Astro." Breen sounded a bit back at himself. "Three minutes until jump. MCC has updated the master clock."

  "Roger that Astro."

  "Command, Tactical. Requested target package uploaded and available to deploy." The plotted course and detonation point appeared on Oswald's display. "I think we can get them both."

  "Sir, you would not do such a thing."

  "Tactical, deploy T-REX on flight commander authority."

  "Sir..." McFarran warned gently.

  "Command, T-REX alpha-four successfully deployed." Mathesse sounded thrilled. Whether from acting against McFarran or from the thought of killing, Oswald couldn't say. He believed it was probably both.

  "Sir..."

  "Aux, that is enough." Oswald's display was dominated by large red numbers counting down. He opened the
intercom, "Roland, get ready to jump."

  "Oh God I hate this part," Matthese announced.

  "Flight, Astro. Jump in three-two-one!"

  Chapter 7 The MCC erupted in cheers as the Roland blinked off the main display. Anahita let out a long sigh and stepped to each officer's station to offer a smile and a handshake. In the MCC casualties were to be avoided if possible. This time the only important factor was the mission, a strategically critical one, and they had succeeded. And they had succeeded in a big way, despite the loss of two battle rockets. Anahita shuttered at how close that Centauri missile had come to killing her main charge, but Roland escaped without a scratch. And the entire Centauri squadron had been eliminated and two of their hidden sensor stations had been sniffed out during the battle.

  "General, shall we guide the Roland's remote?"

  "No." Anahita waved a dismissive hand. She would definitely have to have a talk with him about unauthorized ordnance expenditures. "Support it with ECCM if we need to, but that's Colonel Oswald's parting shot." She gave a cursory glance over the remote's plot; it would likely get each of the damaged enemy spacecraft at least once. Anahita estimated an eighty percent chance of mission kill strikes on both.

  "I'll have my headset if you need me," Anahita called as she stepped from the cubical. "Make sure to give the recovery MCC full telemetry. They'll need a good track on Triumph. We might be able to recover her."

  Victory always made Anahita's step light. She was almost skipping when she peered into the cubicles she passed on the way to the waiting room where Oswald's family waited. He had asked that they get to see but it went against Anahita's better judgment, not to mention Earth Force policy. She apologetically had them escorted away just after the Centauri jumped in.

  Anahita pushed the door into the lounge and every face immediately turned to her. Wisps of hope eased those faces as they noticed her bright smile.

  "They made it! They are safely on their way."

  Misty, Mara, Mary, and Brent hugged and patted and sobbed as a wave of relief crashed over them. A little blond girl about six years old sitting in the far corner jumped up from her seat and started bouncing up and down.