So Fight I

by Daniel Gibbs

  “Conn, TAO! Aspect change! Sub-light engine light off. League fleet is moving at flank speed, directly at our battle line!”

  “They mean to cut the engagement range and overwhelm us,” Aibek said, glancing at the plot himself.

  “Thankfully, we didn’t have to expend our missiles on the way in to clear out the mines, XO. Communications, signal the missile cruisers and the Saurian battleships to link all active missiles in their tubes to our tactical network.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Jefferson replied.

  “TAO, prioritize all incoming targets, and link them to the battlespace awareness system. Target our own forward and aft VRLS against that list as well.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Sir, the fleet reports all missiles are ready to fire, and we have a confirmed network link,” Jefferson interjected.

  “TAO, firing point procedures, prioritized target list, all available missiles, make tubes one through two hundred and forty ready in all respects and open the outer doors.”

  “Firing solutions confirmed, sir. Tubes one through two hundred and forty ready in all respects.”

  “Match bearings, shoot, all missiles,” David said, his voice rising in pitch.

  Ruth pressed down on the button that would not only fire the two hundred and forty missiles that the Lion of Judah had ready to shoot, but another eight hundred missiles from across the cruisers and battleships that possessed VRLS launchers in the fleet. It took all of her concentration to ensure the launches were successfully vectored toward the right targets; and this was with most of the real work being done by the computers and the battle management system contained within their CIC.

  “Conn, TAO. All missiles running hot, straight, and normal, sir.”

  David stared at the tactical plot on the monitor above his screen, while the ship shook as it took repeated hits from League plasma cannon fire. Masses of icons, overwhelming the screen, popped into existence as the launch occurred. For several seconds, there was information overload as the tactical system tried to process all of the incoming data. Then groups of missiles broke off and began tracking separate enemy vessels. David watched with grim satisfaction as the icons belonging to League ships began to blink out, one after another. It took five minutes for the volley to press home completely, but in that time, numerous League vessels were destroyed.

  Departing from bridge protocol, Ruth turned to look back at David with a fierce warrior’s stare. “Sir, seventy-two League ships destroyed.”

  David allowed himself to nod, trying not to take pleasure in the sight of all those League ships, reduced to constituent atoms. “That’ll even up the score a bit, Lieutenant. Outstanding shooting.”

  Ruth’s face turned to a grin. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now let’s finish the job,” David said to the bridge at large.

  Meanwhile, Amir was matching a League fighter move for move as he tried to line up a missile shot. Sensor conditions had improved to the point that LIDAR guided munitions now functioned, but they still went wide and didn’t hit the target more than he’d normally expect. At last, the missile tone sounded, and his SF-106 Phantom gained positive lock. “Knight One, Fox Three!”

  The missile leapt away from Amir’s fighter, quickly reaching its homing speed of ten thousand kilometers an hour. He kept turning with the League fighter, so if the enemy craft survived his assault, he’d be lined up for another shot. As it turned out, he wouldn’t need to take it. The missile connected and blew the League fighter apart in a bright orange fireball that existed only for a moment as the oxygen reserves on the doomed craft burned.

  “Splash one! Splash one bandit!” Amir called into the comm, his battle spirit coming alive. He’d been greatly affected by the loss of so many pilots, many of them friends, in the battle three days prior. Delivering payback wouldn’t bring those fine men and women back from the dead, but it would help settle the debt he felt the League owed.

  “This is CSV Roger Hamilton to all friendly fast movers!” A voice Amir didn’t recognize broke into his comms net with an emergency transmission; his flight computer verified it as coming from the CSV Roger Hamilton, a Meade class frigate. “We’re tracking an inbound flight of fifty plus bandits. I say again, fifty plus bandits. It looks like they are attempting to knock a hole in our point-defense picket protecting the heavy cruisers and battleships. Request immediate assistance from any friendlies in range!”

  Amir immediately cued his comms channel to reply. “Roger Hamilton, this is Lion of Judah CAG, Hassan Amir. My squadron and I are on our way to assist you, requesting a live tactical network link.”

  A moment later, the link was established. “Done, Colonel Amir. Any assistance you can provide will be much appreciated.”

  “I will try to drive them into the kill zone of your automated point defenses,” Amir replied. “Allu Ackbar!” As he was speaking, Amir rolled his fighter and rotated its facing toward a flight vector that would take him on an intercept course to the League craft. “Black Knights, this is Knight One. Form up on my wing and stand by for maximum thrust.”

  Amir waited as the rest of his squadron formed up into three “finger-four” formations, which allowed for maximum fire support from wingmen to the flight leaders. “Push it up, Knights!” he roared into the comms, then simultaneously pushed his throttle up to one hundred percent and kicked in the afterburners. Designed to provide a short-term boost to speed, the afterburners used fuel at a prodigious rate. The range closed rapidly, and his onboard sensors began to sort out what they were up against: a formation of forty-eight heavy bombers escorted by only six fighters. Steep odds, especially considering League heavy bombers had tail gunners; those odds were, however, significantly increased by the direct support of the Roger Hamilton. The other frigates in her group had been destroyed, so the enemy CAG clearly felt they could overwhelm the frigate then directly attack the capital ships which lay beyond it.

  “Stand by for maximum range, target the enemy fighters escorting those bombers,” Amir called out, lining up his shot. The advanced integrated network between the squadron would allow them to effectively target the escorting fighters without wasting missiles. The missile tone sounded, and Amir reflexively pressed the button on his flight stick to fire a LIDAR guided missile. “Knight One, Fox Three.”

  Missiles roared away from the CDF fighters; twelve in all, the pilots calling out their launches. Amir cut his afterburners to save fuel, and the rest of the squadron followed suit. The League fighters got off their shots and the space between the opposing forces was crisscrossed with chaff and countermeasures. Most of the League missiles missed, but one exploded close to Knight Seven, damaging the craft but not knocking it out of the fight. In exchange, four Leaguers were destroyed.

  Amir reversed thrust, slowing his craft down as he came in for a close pass of the bombers; switching to his miniature neutron cannons, he called out, “Guns, guns, guns!” on the active commlink, repeatedly firing into one of the bombers. Rewarded with an explosion that destroyed the League craft, he peeled off to the right. “Knights, weapons free, target the bombers. Watch out for the tail guns and good hunting.”

  Weaving in and out of the enemy formation through a series of high-speed passes, Amir hoped to keep the tail gunners guessing while he raked them with neutron cannon fire. Rewarded with one destroyed bomber and another with significant damage, it became quickly apparent that despite the success his squadron was having, it wouldn’t be enough. “Roger Hamilton, this is Colonel Amir. What’s the status of your missile tubes?” he said into the comms channel that was open with the tactical action officer on the frigate.

  “We’ve got a full load of Starbolt missiles in our tubes, Colonel. What’d you have in mind?”

  “I’m going to feed you a series of XYZ coordinates that I want you to target those missiles on. We will drive them into what I hope will be a large kill zone and leave enough so my squadron can finish them off,” Amir replied.

  “Pretty ball
sy, Colonel. Good luck,” the Roger Hamilton’s TAO replied.

  Amir pulled back his integrated sensor and common operating picture display and mentally marked several locations for missile detonations with the neural link. Once accomplished, he fed the information back to the frigate and created waypoints for the other two flight leaders to stick to. “Black Knights… follow my instructions to the letter. Drive the enemy before us into the path of the missiles!”

  Amir’s fellow pilots acknowledged his orders while he and his two wingmen pivoted back around for another pass. Just outside of the effective range for the tail gunners on the League bombers, he lined up another missile attack with heat-seeking warheads, pushing the missile launch button and sending two missiles toward the closest bomber. “Knight One, Fox Two.”

  “Roger Hamilton, launch the Starbolts!” Amir commanded, rolling his fighter away from sustained fire from the League craft. On his HUD, he could see the icons representing the missiles’ leap away from the frigate and accelerate toward the coordinates he had provided. With his squadron hemming them in, the League bombers flew straight into the kill zone as the missile warheads exploded. Multi-megaton nuclear explosions wiped most of them off the face of the universe, but a lucky few managed to avoid being destroyed.

  Tracking the movements of one of the surviving bombers, Amir heard the missile warning sound go off as a League fighter rolled in behind him, avoiding his wingmen and firing multiple heat-seeking missiles. He pulled back hard on his flight stick and triggered the flare launcher on his fighter, sending dozens of plasma balls into space to confuse the enemy. The first missile went for the decoys and exploded, doing nothing more than shaking his fighter. The second, however, tracked far closer than he would have liked for comfort; he made a series of tight turns to attempt to throw off its guidance system. The missile exploded during one of those turns, sending shrapnel into his right wing. The master alarm in his fighter sounded, and in glancing to his side, it was clear he had lost part of the wing. While not a concern for aerodynamics since he was in space, nonetheless, at the speed he was going, not having a stable airframe was a severe problem.

  “This is Knight One declaring an emergency,” Amir said into his communications link calmly. The decades of experience and training kicked in; there was no time for panic. He quickly scanned the tactical network for the closest carrier he could land at and adjusted his heading toward it. A few seconds later, however, the fire alarm sounded on his primary engine. He pulled the fire handle and attempted to get the situation under control to no avail. A readout on his HUD showing the status of his fighter began to show his fuel supply increasing in temperature. While ejecting into the middle of a battlefield wasn’t his first choice, it at least held a chance for survival.

  “Lion of Judah, this is Colonel Amir. I’m being forced to eject from my fighter,” he said into the communications link. “I’ll trigger my rescue beacon as soon as I’m clear.” Not waiting for a reply, he reached down and pulled up on the ejection lever, which immediately triggered a series of explosive bolts that blew the canopy off his fighter; next, the rocket motor in the bottom of his seat kicked in and blew him away from the doomed craft. He saw it explode ten seconds later and thanked Allah repeatedly for his survival. After a moment, he switched on his emergency locator beacon and toggled on his in-suit communications link. “Knight One to any friendlies. Can you hear me?”

  “This is Knight Two. We’ve got you, Colonel, flying overwatch until a Jolly Green makes its way over.”

  “Negative Knight Two, return to the battle.”

  Amir could hear the hesitation in his wingman’s voice. “Sir, are you sure?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. The battle is in doubt, and the League sorely presses our forces. Do your best, and if I am to survive this, I will. Insha’Allah,” Amir replied, determined not to undermine the cause to benefit himself.

  “Yes, sir, Black Knights breaking off. Good luck and Godspeed.”

  32

  Taylor made a fist with his right hand and held it up above his head, the signal for all behind him to stop. Kenneth was at least eight rows back, but thanks to his height, saw it better than most. Pausing with the rest, he gripped the battle rifle he carried tight enough that if it had been made from a polymer, it would have broken in two. They were standing in a nondescript passageway on Unity Station; slowly making their way to one of the auxiliary control rooms that Calvin had ordered taken.

  “You okay, boss?” Harold Billings asked.

  “Yeah, Master Chief. I’m okay.”

  “Remember what I told you. Short, controlled bursts. Don’t pray and spray.”

  “Got it,” Kenneth replied as he forced a grin onto his face.

  Taylor turned around and waded back into the motley group of civilians and soldiers, almost all of whom were communications technicians. “Everyone good back here?” he asked the group at large.

  Many replies of “Yes, sir!” and “Hoorah!” rang out; they were, as a group, quite pumped in Kenneth’s eyes.

  “Okay. There’s a large contingent of League troops guarding the entrance, so we’re going to toss in pulse grenades, then rush them. A direct attack on their location; there’s no other way in or out, and no other options. Are we clear?” Taylor stated.

  “Aye aye, sir!” Kenneth answered along with everyone else.

  “Take your positions and be ready,” Taylor said before turning around and walking back up to the front of the formation.

  There was another pause, and Kenneth stood there, waiting. Dread filled him, and he clutched the rifle even harder. Finally, he heard the telltale report of pulse grenades exploding, followed quickly by Taylor screaming, “Go, go, go!”

  Everyone surged forward, Kenneth and Billings right alongside. Almost a human wave, the mass of soldiers and civilians rounded the corner to find dozens of League troops facing them. At first, those at the front had an easy time of it; the Leaguers were still stunned and were shot down at close range. That only lasted for a few seconds as the enemy security officers and Marines quickly regained their senses and returned fire.

  Those in the first line began to drop, wounded or worse, and they spread out as best as they could, taking cover behind bulkheads and firing through the hatch doors. Kenneth found himself out in the open, frozen as a Leaguer advanced on him. Willing his hands to work, he brought up his rifle and squeezed the trigger, only to be rewarded with the click of the hammer; a dry fire. He tried to work the action, but his hands betrayed him; shaking with fear, he was unable to chamber a round. Time seemed to stop as the Leaguer raised his rifle, only to be cut down by a trio of well-placed shots from behind Kenneth. He whirled around to see Billings standing there, the barrel of his rifle smoking.

  Kenneth was still frozen as Billings grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him to the deck. “Boss, you okay?” When Kenneth didn’t respond, he shook him gently. “Snap out of it, boss.”

  “Yeah…yeah,” Kenneth finally said, looking down at his rifle and chambering a round. “I don’t know what happened there.”

  “It’s okay, just focus. We shoot those guys,” Billings said, pointing down the passageway. “Before they shoot us.”

  “Right, Master Chief.” Kenneth got out weakly with a forced smile.

  Another wave of what appeared to be League Marines pushed forward; this time, Kenneth raised his rifle, aiming it from the prone position he was in and squeezing the trigger. Between all the other soldiers that were also firing on the oncoming troops, he couldn’t tell if his shots hit the target or not. It continued for what seemed like an eternity. He reloaded his rifle several times while prone before they finally secured the area. It was only when he stood that he realized his pants were soaking wet in the front.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, boss,” Billings said, glancing down.

  Kenneth was aghast. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Anyone who says they haven’t known fear in combat is a liar, or simply insane,” Bi
llings replied. “You did well.”

  Taylor spoke into his commlink. “Colonel, we’ve secured the target. Moving up to assist you with taking the central control area.”

  Weak at the knees, Kenneth held his rifle in both hands and followed Taylor as they moved off. Why did I volunteer for this again?

  As the Marines were fighting their way through Unity Station, the battle continued to rage in space. David sat in the CO’s chair on the Lion of Judah, his eyes continually surveying the tactical plot. After the attack run the League fleet made, which was thwarted by massed missile fire from the CDF and Saurian ships, the Leaguers had pulled back behind the defensive emplacements of their space station. Glancing over at Aibek, he decided he wanted some advice. “XO, what are you thinking? My thoughts are if we keep sitting here, the rest of Seville’s fleet will come back, and we’ll have considerably more ships to fight. On the other hand…”

  Aibek finished his thought for him. “If we attack now, that station will inflect far too many casualties on our fleet, and we have to take care to preserve its combat effectiveness.”

  David nodded. “There’s also the fact that I’m not willing to just toss lives away, especially not while Colonel Demood seems to have the situation in hand.”

  “Conn, TAO! Colonel Amir appears to have ejected from his fighter, sir,” Ruth interjected into the conversation.

  David immediately turned toward Ruth in dismay. “Say again, Lieutenant?”

  “Confirmed, sir. I’m reading his emergency locator beacon in active mode.”

  “Do we have any search and rescue assets in the area?” David asked.

  “Negative, sir. SAR has been focusing on the areas of the battlespace with fewer hostiles.”

  “Task the nearest Jolly Green,” David began, referencing the nickname of the SAR birds, Jolly Green Giants. They were large and painted green to differentiate themselves from other combat spacecraft. The name had been applied to many search and rescue craft over the centuries. “Task a four-fighter escort for them as well.”