by Daniel Gibbs
“Hard to believe after over thirty years of peace.” Tehrani turned back at her XO. “What do we have on the flight line for ready five?”
“Four more Sabres with standard loadouts. And the usual SAR bird.”
“Get them into space and vector them toward Alpha flight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and tell the air boss to warm up the rest of the Red Tails squadron, just in case.”
Wright nodded. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Trust in Allah and tie your camel to a tree.”
Bryan broke in, “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes. Unknown signature.”
Artificially created wormholes were the only known means of faster-than-light travel. The human version of the technology was known as a Lawrence drive, named after its creator.
Tehrani and Wright glanced at each other. She inhaled sharply and punched a button on her chair for the ship-wide intercom. “This is the commanding officer. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations.” She clicked the intercom off. “TAO, set material condition one throughout the ship, raise shields, and charge the energy-weapons capacitor.”
While the Zvika Greengold had a full complement of thirty-six space-superiority fighters and bombers, it lacked offensive anti-ship weaponry. It had close-in point defense and a limited number of neutron-beam emitters to engage other vessels. “Communications, order our escorts back. Emergency jumps, as fast as they can safely make it.”
First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh’s bright-purple turban bobbed up and down. “Aye, aye, ma’am.” He’d been assigned to the ship for several months and was short, at not a centimeter over 1.7 meters. The handgrip of his distinctive blade, known as a kirpan, was just visible above his waist.
Singh’s left shoulder bore the flag for the nation of India and the Sikh religion. One of the unique features of CDF uniforms was dual flags on the left shoulder. Regulations permitted any soldier to wear their country’s flag and religious emblems or, if they preferred, solely the flag of the Terran Coalition.
“Conn, TAO. Unknown vessels confirmed. Three ships, all of the same type and size. Roughly equivalent to a CDF frigate. Contacts designated Sierra One through Three.”
“Sierra” indicated that the target was unknown or not hostile. In the absence of identification, a new contact was never labeled as hostile, to prevent a potential tragedy.
“They’re raising deflector screens, and I show weapons-power buildup. Type unknown.”
Tehrani’s heart raced as she stared at her tactical plot. The possibly hostile vessels were directly ahead of them. What is going on here? A sixth sense warned her they were moments away from combat, but it didn’t add up. The Terran Coalition was at peace. “Range, TAO?”
“Fifteen thousand kilometers. They’re accelerating toward us rapidly, ma’am.”
“Communications, put out a wide-band hail. Instruct Sierra One through Three to turn away, or we’ll treat them as hostile.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The purple dots representing the incoming vessels moved ever closer on the holotank’s projected tactical plot. Tehrani stared at it, trying to decide the best course of action. What if they’re aliens and I screw up first contact, starting a war? As she pondered the situation, she realized that even if it was a first-contact situation, they’d already fired first—assuming the bandits Alpha Flight had splashed were from the same force. These ships are probably connected with the attack on Alpha, but I have to be careful not to assume. She turned toward Wright. “Thoughts, XO?”
“We have no choice but to treat the incoming as hostile and deal with them as such.”
The simply stated opinion made sense. “Agreed, but we don’t shoot unless they shoot first. TAO, redesignate Sierra One through Three as Master One through Three.” “Master” noted the target as a hostile entity. Tehrani leaned forward. “Get me a firing solution for our forward neutron beams. Communications, status of our escorts?”
“I’m having trouble getting through, ma’am. We’re being jammed.”
She sat back and punched a button. “Air boss, this is Colonel Tehrani. Scramble our bomber squadron, anti-capital-ship loadout. I say again, scramble all bombers.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change. Master One, Two, and Three have opened fire. Assess they’re using plasma-based weaponry.” As Bryan spoke, the ship rocked from repeated impacts. “Shields holding. Strain on fore generators rising.”
“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master One.” Tehrani’s voice took on rigid formality. “Forward neutron beams.”
“Firing solution set, ma’am.”
“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
With that order, the CSV Zvika Greengold became the first CDF warship in almost thirty years to open fire on an enemy vessel in Terran Coalition space.
A LIDAR-tracked missile pursued Justin’s fighter through the void as he desperately jinked around a massive asteroid. He triggered the release of two chaff balls then pulled up sharply. The incoming warhead exploded in the cloud of decoys, creating a shockwave that nearly sent his Sabre into another rock. “I could use some help over here,” Justin called.
His HUD showed his three wingmen engaged in dogfights of their own. Deciding to try a new tactic, Justin engaged the afterburner on his craft. He whipped around multiple asteroids and through a dense cloud of ring material while avoiding red balls of energy flung at him by the enemy fighter. After picking out an unusually large rock, he used it to hide behind as he looped around and headed directly toward the craft firing on him.
Streaks of red flashed by his Sabre’s canopy. Some struck the shields, while most missed. Justin adjusted his aim until the neutron cannon lead indicator turned green, then he squeezed the trigger. Blue beams lanced out from his craft, cutting through the vacuum toward the enemy. Again and again, enemy fire struck his forward shields, while shot after shot of his own connected.
As his deflectors were about to fail, he armed a Vulture missile and pressed the button to fire. “Alpha One, fox three.”
Though Justin wrenched his fighter to the left, balls of red energy continued to find him for a few more seconds—until the impact of his missile on the enemy craft blew it to bits. Stunned, he let out a breath and checked the board. Two out of four bandits were down, while his wingmen continued to engage the rest. “Alpha One, splash one. I’m moving to assist.”
Mateus flew the nearest friendly fighter, engaging in a tight-turning series of scissor maneuvers with an enemy that was aggressively attempting to destroy her craft. Justin came in at full afterburners, and the moment the missile-lock-on tone sounded, he squeezed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox three. Mateus, break right and burn.” If she does it right—hopefully the enemy will fly right into my missile.
“Roger, Alpha One.” Mateus’s fighter jinked to the right, and its afterburners kicked in. A few moments later, the enemy craft exploded from a direct missile hit.
“Alpha One, splash another one!” Testing himself in battle felt incredibly exhilarating after the hundreds of hours of training Justin had endured. And whoever they are, they’re getting what’s coming to them.
But the question remained: Who the heck are we fighting? Justin played it over and over in his mind.
“Alpha Three, splash one. We’re clear,” Adeoye said. “I show no further hostiles.”
“Alpha Three, I’m showing hull damage on your left wing.” Justin’s HUD provided details on each fighter’s status.
“No reduction in thrust or combat effectiveness, sir.”
Justin wondered how true the statement was. Even if entirely accurate, another hit on the affected area could be catastrophic. “Understood, Alpha Three. Stay in the back of our formation, and we’ll cover you.”
“Wilco, sir.”
“Resuming formation,” Feldstein said.
“At this rate, you’ll be an ace before we get back to the Greengold, LT.”
“I doubt that,” Justin replied. “There hasn’t been an ace pilot in the CDF since… hell, the Saurian War.”
“Since when do reservists get to fight?” Mateus asked. “I signed up for one weekend a month, two weeks a year, and never thought I’d see combat. No complaints, though. That was a rush!”
Justin thought back to why he’d joined the CDF. Simple… free college. The degree program offered through Reserve Officers’ Training Corps had allowed him to get a degree without debt and set his young family up for success. I suppose helping to safeguard the Terran Coalition was in there too. But we don’t have any enemies. Or...we didn’t until now.
As the adrenaline of combat faded, he found something else in its wake: shock and stress reaction. His hands shook. My God, I just killed someone. Three someones, to be exact.
His commlink crackled, jerking him out of his fugue. “This is the Zvika Greengold to any friendly ships and fighters. We are under attack by hostile forces. I repeat, we’re under attack and request immediate assistance.” Lieutenant Singh’s voice cut through Justin’s mind like a knife.
These aren’t mere pirates. Someone is attacking the Terran Coalition. He cued his commlink. “You heard the man. Form up and stand by for max burn. It’s fifteen minutes back to the Zvika Greengold, and they need our help.”
He hoped they would make it in time.
3
“Conn, TAO. Port shields at forty-seven percent,” Bryan called. “Master Two and Three continue to focus their attacks on that quarter.”
From the CO’s chair, Tehrani split her gaze between her tactical display and the officers in front of her. They had four friendly space-superiority fighters, but those were of limited use against the enemy capital ships. Without bombers or the Zvika Greengold’s own escorts, the battle remained a losing proposition. If we didn’t have friendly fighters in the asteroid belt, I’d have already ordered a retreat. “Navigation, come to course two-one-zero. Roll the ship to present our dorsal deflectors to Master Two and Three.” Right now, I’m just buying time.
“Aye, aye, ma’am. Steady on course two-one-zero. Rolling the ship,” Second Lieutenant Leah Mitzner replied.
Weapons impacts continued to reverberate through the deck plating, though the Greengold tried to maneuver to avoid them. But a few seconds after engaging the turn, the shield capacity indicator on Tehrani’s display stopped its steady march to zero.
“Conn, Communications. Colonel, I’ve got Lieutenant Spencer on audio for you. His element is exiting the asteroid belt and is five minutes out.”
Tehrani perked up. Some welcome good news. She glanced at Wright. “About time. We can scoop up our pilots and get out of here, if nothing else.”
“Personally, I’m not interested in running from a fight,” Wright replied as he rubbed his arms. “We have to uphold our tradition of being in the right place at the right time, yeah?”
Instead of replying, Tehrani stared at her tactical plot and the blue dots representing the inbound flight of Sabres. “Communications, put Lieutenant Spencer on.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
A moment later, Justin’s voice came through the speaker on Tehrani’s chair. “Colonel, we’re coming in at max thrust. What’re your orders?”
“Link up with Beta element and engage the enemy, Lieutenant. We’re scrambling bombers and additional fighters. If the Greengold gets too banged up, we’ll pull back.”
“Understood, ma’am. Spencer out.”
Tehrani had little time to continue to ponder her tactical options. Between outgoing neutron beams from the Zvika Greengold and incoming plasma balls, the usually dull void of space was a lively place. All the while, our shields keep taking a beating.
“Conn, TAO. Master Two shields have failed.”
“TAO, vector the friendly fast movers to attack Master Two’s weapons emplacements.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Has anyone ever fired on a ship in space before?” Adeoye asked, the rich timbre of his voice filling the commlink.
“Once, at a shoot-ex during the Valiant Shield exercises,” Feldstein replied.
Justin listened to the banter, more focused on the battle ahead than idle chitchat. The scene on his HUD was nothing short of surreal—three moderately sized enemy warships engaged in a pitched battle with the Zvika Greengold. He swallowed. I picked a terrible week for my annual tour.
Their target, Master Two, loomed ominously. The vessel was oddly shaped, at least to his eye. Mostly black with red accent lighting, the enemy ship had two blocky turrets on its front hull, and both spewed red plasma balls. They make an excellent first target to me. “Alpha flight, link into my target package.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Feldstein said. “Taking out the turrets first?”
“If you have a better idea, I’m all ears, Lieutenant,” Justin replied. He left out his concern that the anti-fighter missiles the Sabres carried might not be strong enough to penetrate whatever armor plating the enemy had.
“That’s a negative, sir.”
“Stand by for max range.” Justin rotated his fighter’s trajectory slightly and toggled his laser designator pod on. “Alpha One, playing the music.”
“I’ve got a good lock,” Adeoye interjected.
The missile-lock-on tone sounded in Justin’s cockpit, and he immediately pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”
A LIDAR-guided missile dropped from the underside of his fighter, and a split second later, its engine fired, sending it toward the target. The rest of his element fired, with four blue icons representing the inbound warheads populating his HUD.
“Follow our birds in and engage with energy weapons, Alpha flight.”
Each pilot responded with their confirmation of Justin’s orders, leaving him to make microadjustments to his approach in order to avoid taking down friendly missiles with his miniature neutron cannons. He squeezed the trigger on his flight stick, sending dozens of blue bolts through the void.
The fusillade from the small fighters blasted through space, and all four missiles struck home. They impacted directly on the turret’s housing, exploding with brief flashes of red flame. The target remained, though dozens of neutron cannon bolts slammed into the same area.
“Alpha, break off and circle back for another pass,” Justin said.
As he jinked his craft around and sped up, enemy point-defense fire found him. His aft shields dropped like a stone, going from ninety percent charge to twenty in a few seconds. “Watch out for that AAA fire!”
He punched the afterburners, and the g-force wore through his Sabre’s inertial dampers and pressed him firmly back in the pilot’s seat. It took a few more seconds to escape the deadly barrage. Justin let out a breath and calmed his nerves once more.
“That’s some nasty point defense those ships are sporting,” Feldstein commented. “I’ve got a couple of hits on my aft stabilizer. Nothing I can’t compensate for, though.”
As Justin looped his fighter around, he lined up for another attack run. A glance at his HUD confirmed the rest of Alpha had followed suit. “This time, Alpha Two, break right with me. Three and Four, break left. We’ll try to divide their fire.”
“Roger that, sir,” Adeoye replied.
The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and Justin pressed the button to launch another Vulture missile toward their target. It barreled away, and much like his last attack run, he lined up to send a stream of blue energy at the turret. That time, the volley had the desired effect. As all four warheads impacted, the weapons mount on the hull buckled then blew apart in a dazzling display of red-tinted plasma flow. Incoming point-defense fire noticeably decreased as the element of fighters rocketed away. Maybe we hit something vital.
“Ordnance check. Next pass, we’ll hit the other turret.”
A flash of light filled his cockpit. It came from a new wormhole opening almost d
irectly in front of his fighter. The maw of a black-hulled ship bristling with weapons emerged from it. He twisted the Sabre to the right and accelerated away to avoid a collision. As he passed, it became apparent that the new combatant had been made by whoever had made the other vessels they’d fought. Both the coloring and the hull configurations were nearly identical. The only difference was the new contact was bigger—a lot bigger.
“Conn, TAO,” Bryan began. “Aspect change… I’ve got a new contact designated Master Four. Same Lawrence-drive signature. It’s got seventy-five percent more mass than the other ships, ma’am.”
Tehrani’s heart skipped a beat as the new vessel glided into the battlespace. Still in the destroyer-size range, but it's sporting far more weapons emplacements. As if to underscore her concern, the newcomer flung a stream of plasma balls toward the already-taxed shields of the carrier. Time to go. “Communications—”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change,” Bryan interjected. “New contact… CSV Marcus Luttrell, designated Sierra One!” The young man’s voice went up an octave as he gave the report.
About time. “Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington and order him to engage the enemy.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
On her tactical plot, Tehrani watched as the Marcus Luttrell accelerated. Missiles erupted from her bow-mounted launchers along with multiple neutron beams and the coup de grâce of Terran Coalition weapons: magnetic cannons. The Galahad-class destroyer sported three turrets with dual barrels each, each three hundred millimeters in diameter. Thousand-kilogram projectiles spat out of them and slammed into the hapless enemy ship. As the missiles impacted with giant explosions of orange flame, secondary explosions blossomed across the hull.
“Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed. Access warhead or fuel bunkerage cookoff.”
“XO, status of our bomber squadron?”
“Ten minutes to launch, ma’am. They’ll be launching with half stores, though.”
Tehrani nodded. “Until then, we’ll degrade the remaining enemy vessels.”
