The entire air wing of the Tillman was at ready five status. They were strapped into their fighters and ready to launch as soon as the Tillman entered the engagement area. Amir had been in his cockpit for the better part of two hours, and the sheer boredom killed him. “Reaper One to Tiger One,” he said into his comm unit.
His deputy air wing commander, Captain Rebecca Tulleny, answered him in her clipped British accent. “Tiger One here.”
Amir keyed his mic again. “I’m bored to tears and in need of a bio break,” he said with a snort.
“We’re in fully enclosed suits for a reason, Major. Just let it out,” Tulleny said with forced cheerfulness.
The commanding officer of the Tillman, Colonel Patrick Forrester, cut in. “Attention, Air Wing. We have arrived within the battle zone and have confirmed over one hundred bandits. I say again, over one hundred bandits. All fighters, launch! Launch! Launch!”
Amir keyed his mic and turned the channel to the air boss, the officer responsible for overall flight operations once the commanding officer gave the order to launch. “Boss, request permission to launch.”
After a brief pause, her response was broadcast to all channels. “This is the boss. Fighters, launch by squadron. Reapers first.”
As he was the first in line, Amir turned up his throttle and punched maximum thrust. He felt the g-forces through his harness, even though his entire flight suit and the cockpit were designed to minimize all g-force discomfort. The thrusters on CDF fighters could push fifteen Gs, or fifteen times the force of one earth gravity, which, without the specialized flight suit harness and inertial damping system, would kill a normal human almost instantly. The fighter raced out the side of the carrier, followed by dozens of others—six squadrons consisting of space-superiority fighters, a squadron of bombers, and interceptors explicitly designed to engage enemy fighters and bombers.
Amir waited for his unit to get into space and ticked down the seconds as the flight of CDF fighters known as the SF-106 Phantoms ran through all safety checks for vacuum operation. As soon as his onboard computer system showed green for his squadron, he keyed his mic. “This is the CAG. Reapers, echelon formation. We’re going to perform close escort for our heavies. Fighter squadrons, engage the bandits.”
Amir’s communications system lit up with green acknowledgment messages from all fighters in the air group. Inside the specialized HUD of his fighter, he could mentally call up information on any squadron and its status from the CDF tactical network.
Colonel Forrester’s voice cut into Amir’s communications net. “Major, I’m tasking your bomber squadron to engage Master Seven, the League carrier on station. Most of its fighter resources are committed, and our capital ships have degraded its escorts. We won’t get a better chance to end this siege.”
Amir keyed his mic. “Wilco, Colonel.”
He switched channels back to the tactical net. “All right, Reapers, you heard the man. Intercept vector on Master Seven. We’ll form a sphere around our bombers and guide them in. Weapons free.” The weapons-free order allowed all the fighters in his area of operations to engage all hostile and unidentified contacts without requesting permission to fire, as opposed to a weapons-tight ROE, or rules of engagement status.
It took several minutes for the fleet of CDF fighters to reach the enemy carrier. Amir analyzed his sensor readings, which were compiled from all of the CDF ships and small craft in the area. He quickly realized that at least two squadrons of League interceptors had been sent toward his squadron and the bombers. He also noted that no fewer than eight squadrons rushed toward the rest of his fighters. Amir focused on the hostiles heading toward him. The rest were in the hands of his pilots, whom he trusted to perform at the most exacting of standards.
“This is Reaper One. Tally ho, ten degrees port, fifteen degrees elevation, two squadrons enemy fighters,” Amir announced. “Stand by for maximum range and obtain a strong lock.”
Standard CDF fighter doctrine was to engage with active tracked LIDAR missiles from the forward arc and to use heat-seeking missiles when on an enemy’s rear or “six.”
The missile tone filled Amir’s fighter as he made a positive weapon lock on one of the interceptors racing toward his flight. “Reaper One, fox three,” he said calmly as he pulled the missile-launch trigger on his flight stick.
Similar announcements from other fighters in his squadron filled the communications channel. Missiles raced from both sides, and electronic countermeasure systems, or ECM, jammed many of them before they could hit their intended targets, causing small explosions all over the battlespace. Several from the CDF side hit, and three League interceptor icons blinked out, indicating hard kills. At the same time, one of his own fighter icons blinked out. Amir silently prayed that the pilot had been able to eject in time.
“Hostiles engaged, Tillman. Reapers, break right and maintain covering fire for our bombers.” Amir angled his fighter downward, aiming for another League interceptor. As he started the process of locking a missile on the inceptor in his sights, warning tones sounded in his cockpit. His fighter had become the target.
“Reaper One, you’ve got one on your tail,” one of his wingmen said. “I’m moving to cover you.”
Amir angled his fighter in a high-speed turn, trying to outmaneuver the enemy craft.
“Reaper Six, guns, guns, guns,” his wingman called, indicating that he was engaging the League craft with the small neutron cannons mounted in his fuselage. Their firepower didn’t compare to the larger versions fielded by CDF capital ships, but they packed more than enough punch to deal with fighter-sized targets. After a couple of misses, the barrage of neutron cannon fire destroyed the League interceptor.
“Thank you, Six,” Amir said.
He quickly scanned his threat display and locked on to the nearest fighter. Matching the League craft turn for turn, he gained optimum vector for a heat-seeker launch and announced, “Reaper One, fox two,” as he pulled the missile trigger.
During the time Amir’s fighter squadron was engaging the League interceptor squadrons, the bombers had closed in on their target enough to fire anti-ship missiles at the League carrier.
The lead bomber’s pilot called, “Keep these bandits off us for just a few moments longer, Reapers.”
The bomber squadrons let loose multiple waves of anti-ship missiles. As soon as the last warhead was away, they turned back toward the Tillman and executed a maximum-thrust burn. Between the remaining League interceptors and point-defense systems on the League’s carrier, most of the missiles were destroyed before impact. Three made their way through to their target, causing additional explosions to blossom over several areas of the League carrier, telltale signs of secondary damage to fuel bunkers and munitions. Despite the damage, the carrier was still very much in the fight.
Then something strange happened—the League fighters still in the battlespace streamed back to the hangars of their carrier, and the enemy ships throughout the area jumped out, disengaging from the fight.
As the carrier faded from view, chatter filled the communications network. “League ships are breaking off combat. They’re retreating!” someone Amir didn’t recognize called.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Amir deadpanned.
“I’ve never seen the League run away from a fight like this before,” Tulleny added.
“The will of Allah can be mysterious.” After keying his mic to the channel for all squadrons attached to the Tillman, Amir announced, “All squadrons, return to home plate.”
14
MacIntosh and David stepped through the hatch into a large training room aboard the Lion of Judah. An electronic sign on the door read “Antimatter Reactor Briefing in Progress, led by Dr. Benjamin Hayworth, Advanced Reactor Consultant—Victory Project.”
David and MacIntosh stood at the back of the very full room, taking in the view of dozens of CDF officers, contractors, and academics observing the briefing, drawing a glare from Hayworth, as th
ey’d arrived late.
Hayworth paused, seemingly to ensure everyone knew they’d walked in, before continuing his presentation. “As you see, the process of antimatter or matter annihilation provides a much-higher level of energy than any fusion reactor system. Although the quantities of antimatter fuel available are low, the potential for this technology to revolutionize power generation in starships is extremely promising. Our latest advancements—some of which are classified, I must remind you—would also increase the safety of this volatile fuel source in all stages: generation, storage, transport, and use, making this technology highly economical for the power it generates.”
A major wearing the insignia of an engineering duty officer spoke up. “Doctor, what about Dr. Gossel’s advancements regarding the mining of the hydrogen reserves of gas giants? Don’t they provide an excellent fuel source for starships as well?”
Hayworth leveled a withering stare at the offending questioner. “Dr. Gossel underestimates the difficulty in extracting such resources with our current generation of starships. Nor does his concept promise to relieve the need for massive, uneconomical numbers of fusion reactors in large-scale starships, unlike antimatter reactors.”
A young woman in civilian attire spoke next. “How safe are negmatter reactors?” she asked brightly, very much engaged in Hayworth’s presentation.
As soon as the word negmatter left her mouth, Hayworth scowled. “‘Negmatter?’ Young lady, if I hear you utter that term again, I’m going to speak to a supply officer about procuring a dunce hat for your use! Negmatter is a horribly unscientific, ridiculous term, and I shan’t have it bandied about within earshot. It doesn’t even deserve the dignity of being considered a layman’s term for antimatter.” Grumbling, Hayworth collected himself. “As for your question, as safe as any technology using altered matter that annihilates its exact opposite can get. But it’s no more dangerous in practical terms than any standard fusion reactor or, more accurately, an old-style fossil-burning sea ship.”
David whispered to MacIntosh, “Quite a piece of work. And he’s my chief engineer?”
Smirking, MacIntosh replied, “Chief engineering consultant. Hayworth’s the only man in the Coalition with hands-on experience with this technology. Unfortunately, that means you’ll have to put up with that infamous ego of his.”
“Dr. Hayworth.” An older man in the middle of the crowd stood and waved. “I’ve followed your accomplishments in this field with great interest. To finally see this technology—”
“Get on with it,” Hayworth said.
“Ah, well, uh, Doctor… what about the destructive potential of antimatter? Can you see it being adapted to create better warheads for our missiles?”
“I don’t create weapons. Next!”
Another man stood. “Doctor, given the cost of creating antimatter in meaningful quantities, how can we ever expect to get this technology out to the entire fleet? Wouldn’t it be better to focus our energy on more refined fusion reactors?”
“Six hundred years ago, you’d be arguing for better breeding of horses to ensure they were more muscular and could keep up with the car. Fusion technology is just that—old and outdated. The future is antimatter, and in time, we’ll have more of it than we could possibly need.”
David wondered if attendees were gluttons for punishment.
After another fifteen minutes of back and forth, which, despite his grumpiness, Hayworth clearly enjoyed, he glanced at the clock. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve hit our time limit for today. I look forward to seeing you again and hope you will have studied the material more thoroughly.”
Everyone filed out except for Hayworth, MacIntosh, and David.
MacIntosh raised his hand to catch Hayworth’s attention and motioned the doctor over. Gesturing to David, he said, “Doctor, this is Colonel David Cohen. He’s going to be commanding the Lion of Judah.”
Hayworth took a moment to look David over. “Awfully young for this job, aren’t you?”
MacIntosh shifted his weight. “Colonel Cohen is a veteran of—”
“Oh yes, veteran of this campaign and that. I’m well aware of how young our veteran officers are getting, General.” Hayworth appraised David closely. “So, Colonel, are you aware of the significance of your vessel’s power source and advanced technology?”
David stared at Hayworth, determining that showing any personal weakness to the man could prove fatal in dealing with him down the road. “I’ve read the engineering briefing and explanation of the benefits and risks of this technology, Doctor. While I make no claim to be a scientist, there seem to be some significant risks in carrying around antimatter on a warship.”
“No more dangerous than the munitions you already carry,” Hayworth snapped. “An antimatter system will make up for any slight increase in internal volatility by significantly enhancing the power output of your vessel. Enough to use a number of the latest, most efficient, and powerful deflector screen generators in our possession, which will, I remind you, enhance ship survivability.”
David bristled. Deciding he didn’t like the man, he responded in a more direct tone. “I’ve found that no matter how much engineers and designers tout a ship’s survivability, it usually comes down to how good the crew is.”
“Well, of course it does,” Hayworth retorted, giving off an air of having fielded such remarks before. “A machine’s effectiveness is determined by the skill of the user. But that doesn’t mean the machine itself isn’t an optimized device.”
Hayworth paused, staring at the patches on David’s left sleeve. Like all CDF members, David had the flag of the Terran Coalition at the top. Directly under it was another patch that denoted his nation-state, which in Cohen’s case was the Republic of Israel, a Star of David on a white background. Some chose to substitute that patch with one for their chosen religion. Wearing a third patch with a religious symbol was also permitted.
“Colonel, do you consider yourself a Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox Jew? I’m assuming you’re not an ultra-Orthodox, since you serve in the military.” Hayworth smirked.
David grimaced as Hayworth’s words registered. I’m not in the mood to have someone who doesn’t even know me insult my beliefs, especially when I put my life on the line to protect his rights. “I’m an Orthodox Jew, Doctor. As for my ultra-Orthodox brethren, they serve in other ways.”
“By endlessly studying some book of fiction from four thousand years ago?”
MacIntosh gazed back and forth at them, not saying anything. David had the sudden impression he was watching to see how he would handle the situation.
“Are law, philosophy, and history fiction?”
“They’re not science.”
“Our holy books don’t purport to be science texts.”
“They do when they insist ‘God created the heavens and the earth.’”
“Yet it’s a scientific consensus that Earth and many other planets are finely tuned for life. A reasonable person—as well as every religion—believes in creation directed by God.”
Hayworth sniffed. “Same old fallacy—popularity does not equal truth. Every piece of evidence that supposedly points toward that conclusion can easily be interpreted to support the Many-Worlds Interpretation of quantum mechanics, Colonel. In the MWI, we are simply one of the universes that happened, by random chance, to be hospitable to life. Combine that with anthropomorphism, and you get humans imagining God.”
“As I understand it, there is no proof of a multiverse existing.”
“There is mathematically—and where math leads, physics follows.”
“There is, on the other hand, clear, concise proof in our physical constants, that if N, for instance, was significantly smaller, our universe would not exist.” Explain that, Doctor.
Hayworth’s face registered shock, and he laughed. “Impressive, General. You found a military man that has a basic understanding of cosmology, even if he interprets it wrong. I thought we were fresh out of those.”
&
nbsp; Before MacIntosh could respond, David interjected, “Jews are taught to question, Doctor. I paid attention in science class, and I put my faith to the test. It’s held up fine so far. Science says it’s impossible to prove a negative. Nobody can prove the nonexistence of God. As a man of science, why do you keep trying so hard to do the impossible?”
“Impossible is just a word for what hasn’t yet been done, my boy—and I like a challenge.”
MacIntosh cleared his throat and cut in, “Doctor, I’d like you to brief Colonel Cohen on how the ship’s engineering section works.”
As Hayworth paused, David realized that despite the man’s arrogance, he didn’t seem willing to cross the flag officer that controlled the flow of his research grants.
“Oh, yes, of course. Please, follow me. I’d like to introduce you to Major Merriweather,” Hayworth said as he led them down the hall to the engineering section of the ship.
They walked down a series of passageways through the mammoth ship, David and MacIntosh following at a distance.
MacIntosh asked, “So what exactly is N?”
David smiled at him. “N is the ratio of the strength of electromagnetism to the strength of gravity for a pair of protons. It’s one of the six constants of the universe that govern our reality.”
MacIntosh snorted. “The science stuff is over my head. Why exactly do you know this?”
“I love to read, and there was a kid in my class in middle school who acted just like the good doctor. I rather enjoyed debating him—and winning.”
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 33
