by Daniel Gibbs
Whatley gave no response, for once.
For the third time in a day, blue light bathed the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. A dozen additional enlisted personnel stood watch. Battle stations were manned and ready across the vessel.
Tehrani was adjusting to the new normal of combat every few hours. While she still felt a rush of adrenaline, it wasn’t the same as it had been the last time. Am I getting used to it? She briefly recalled taking part in the Valiant Shield exercises, but they didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
The other major difference was that simulated losses in a fleet exercise held no emotional weight. Everyone went home to their families, and the absence of friends and colleagues in the mess wasn’t an ever-present reminder of the cost of war. How does one get used to that?
“All systems ready, ma’am,” Wright said. “Damage-control parties standing by, and our fighters are ready to launch.”
“Good,” Tehrani replied as she nodded. “Give us another week. We’ll be veterans.”
Wright snorted. “If we’re still alive.”
“Touché.”
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive charge completed,” Mitzner called. “Ready to jump at your command.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said. “TAO, weapons and shields status?”
“Shields fully charged. Energy-weapons capacitor at one hundred percent, ma’am,” Bryan replied.
Once more unto the breach. “Communications, order the battle group to follow us in.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Tehrani stared at her tactical plot. It’s time to go. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive, all ahead full.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Space erupted in a spectacular display of colors as a vortex formed in front of the ship. The Greengold slid through. The view changed briefly to the inside of the wormhole, directly followed by the blackness of space—albeit with a new set of stars visible.
“Conn, TAO. Sensors online… showing three League of Sol destroyers, designated Master One, Two, and Three.” Bryan turned around. “Master One and Three are pretty banged up. It appears as if they took damage from automated defenses.”
“Prioritize those ships for our fast movers,” Tehrani replied. “Launch ready fighters and bombers.”
“All ready craft launching now, ma’am,” Wright said. “I show four Sabres and four Maulers in space and forming up.”
“TAO, firing point procedures,” Tehrani began, not missing a beat. “Master Three, forward neutron beams.”
“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”
“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
Justin was filled with wonder and amazement as his Sabre rocketed out of the Greengold’s hangar bay, pawing the vacuum. It was difficult not to be. Bright-blue beams erupted from the carrier’s bow and slammed into the shields of one of the enemy destroyers. Red energy radiated around the strike. If he weren’t in the middle of a fight for his life and the continued existence of the Terran Coalition, it might’ve been a beautiful display.
“Alpha One, I’m showing a bunch of debris out here,” Feldstein said. “Guessing it’s what’s left of the defense emplacements.”
That deep inside of Canaan’s system-defense grid, there would be point-defense and anti-ship batteries, but most of the protection would come from other ships. At least that was what Justin remembered reading. “In other words, we’re on our own?”
“Exactly, sir.”
A group of four enemy fighters lit up on Justin’s HUD. They headed directly for the Epsilon bomber formation. “Alpha, break and attack inbound enemies. Weapons-free status. I say again, weapons-free status. Splash ’em.”
“Well, what else did you expect us to do?” Mateus asked in a goofy voice. “Shake hands and offer them a bowl of feijoada?”
Feldstein laughed. “It might give them indigestion.”
As they bantered back and forth, Justin watched the range to target close rapidly. He lined up with the lead fighter and waited for the missile-lock-on tone. Checking his weapon stores, he was happy to see that besides the normal Vulture LIDAR-active-tracking antifighter missiles, he had a pod of dumb-fire rockets. Those will come in handy if League bombers appear. Heh, when they appear. A harsh buzzing filled the cockpit. Justin depressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”
The weapon dropped smoothly out of the internal weapons bay, ignited its engine, and sped away rapidly. A moment later, a blue icon appeared on Justin’s HUD, representing the Vulture. He lined up the targeting reticule for his miniature neutron cannons and squeezed the firing trigger the second he was in range.
Between the missile and numerous streaks of blue neutron energy, the target exploded in short order. The orange blast quickly ended, as the available oxygen supply from the fighter’s life-support system was consumed almost immediately.
But the remaining League craft weren’t sitting ducks. They gamely returned fire from their plasma cannons while sending anti-fighter warheads from their internal weapons stores into the fray.
Justin’s HUD came alive with competing alerts, missile icons, and threat indicators. Like every other encounter so far, the engagement quickly degenerated into a quick-turning dogfight, with him chasing enemies’ aft sections to score another kill—with the added challenge of avoiding death himself. “Alpha One, splash one. Engaged with hostile fighters.” He rocked the flight stick to the left, avoiding a stream of plasma balls as they sailed past his craft. “Epsilon, you’re clear for an attack run.”
“Right, mate, we’re on it. Going after Master Three. Keep those buggers off us, Alpha,” Martin said. “Extra beer for all of you if my old girl doesn’t get shot up again.”
“You’re on, Martin.” Justin laughed softly. Even in the heat of battle, the colorful pilot brought a smile to Justin’s face. He sent another volley of neutron energy at a League fighter, which dodged most of the incoming fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mateus eradicate another enemy.
“Alpha Four, splash one.”
Taking advantage of the momentary lull in fighter combat, the four Mauler bombers lined up for their attack runs. Martin took the lead, and two anti-ship missiles streaked away from his craft. The others followed in short order, leaving a total of eight fusion warheads headed for the League destroyer. Following them in, the bombers added streams of miniature neutron-cannon energy to the mix, causing red impact effects all over the shields of the enemy vessel.
A Lawrence-drive-generated wormhole opened within a few kilometers of Jason’s craft. It took a few seconds for the onboard combat computer to classify its IFF as the CSV Marcus Luttrell. Justin breathed a sigh of relief as the friendly destroyer opened up with all its might, sending neutron beams and magnetic-cannon rounds into Master Three. The Leaguer ship took a beating, and eventually, its protective screens blinked out. Instead of red shield effects, minor explosions blossomed across its armor plating and hull.
“Right on, mates. That’s how you do it!” Martin exclaimed. “Can you do something about the bloody wanker trying to lock me up, Alpha? I’d much rather stick a Javelin up this commie’s tailpipe than have to veer off to avoid another missile heading for my old girl.”
Justin had to stare at the HUD and its augmented-reality display for several seconds before he picked out the offending fighter Martin was talking about. Once he located it, Justin tagged the target as his primary and engaged full afterburner. The Sabre rocketed forward, quickly reaching maximum thrust. He allowed the g-forces to build to an almost unbearable level, mentally calculating the time to intercept. Come on. Come on. The Greengold couldn’t handle an extended capital-ship engagement, and the bombers needed time to lock on properly and fire their large, poorly maneuvering anti-ship missiles. But the League pilot seemed to have an almost myopic focus on Martin’s craft and didn’t react to his approach.
The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and Justin pressed the launch button. An ac
tive LIDAR-tracking warhead dropped out of the internal stores bay. A moment later, its engine engaged, and it rocketed away. “Alpha One, fox three!” he called.
As his fighter entered energy-weapons range, Justin lined up as best as he could and held down the firing trigger. Streaks of blue energy erupted from his craft and zoomed through the void. Several hit, followed closely by the missile. The enemy craft exploded in bright-orange flame. “Alpha One, splash one. You’re clear, Epsilon leader.”
“Thanks, mate. Now, enjoy the show.”
Four Javelin missiles blasted away from the flight of Mauler bombers. With no fighter cover remaining, all the enemy vessel had for protection was its point-defense emplacements, and they weren’t up to the task. Three out of the four warheads impacted the hull of the League destroyer, turning the armor molten and exposing the innards of the ship to the vacuum of space. A few seconds later, secondary explosions erupted from the stricken vessel. It blew up before Justin’s eyes, reduced to one-meter chunks that posed no threat except to an unshielded shuttle. It didn’t quite register mentally that besides erasing the ship, hundreds of souls had been erased from the universe at the same time.
“Pleasure doing business with ya, buggers,” Martin said.
It took Justin a moment to realize Martin was transmitting on the guard frequency.
“Now, how about you bugger off, or we’ll do the same thing to your other ships here, yeah?”
To Justin’s immense surprise, someone with a Russian accent spoke, also on the guard frequency. “You capitalist pigs will die. League conquers all, and death of comrades only inspires us further!”
“What are you? Off your face, mate?”
“My face is on, capitalist dog!”
By that point, every CDF pilot in space was snickering at the exchange. Justin could barely contain his laughter as he aimed his Sabre toward the next group of enemy fighters. “These guys fly about as well as they speak English,” he said.
“All right, wanker. We’ll see you off presently,” Martin replied. “Tally ho, boys. Giant target at one o’clock!”
Still laughing, Justin down-selected to the lead fighter of the next group of bandits headed toward the Mauler flight. He patiently waited for the distance to close enough for a solid missile lock while Martin continued his comedic activities. Justin felt glad for the brash pilot—the running stream of jokes allowed him to forget for a moment that they were in a life-or-death battle.
9
Long shadows ran across the bridge. The area was bathed in dim blue lights as the Zvika Greengold maintained condition one. Tehrani monitored the battle from her tactical plot, noting with satisfaction that Alpha element had cleared a path for the bombers once again. Icons representing anti-ship missiles blossomed from each Mauler and raced into the side of a League destroyer right as the Marcus Luttrell opened fire with magnetic cannons and neutron beams.
“Conn, TAO. Master One neutralized,” Bryan said. “Its engine pods sheared off during the attack run by Sierra One. I’m detecting escape pods launching.”
“Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington,” Tehrani began. Two down, one to go. Shocked by their performance so far, she marveled at how they were dispatching the enemy vessels with ease.
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Wright intoned.
Tehrani turned toward him. “Get out of my head,” she replied with a grin. “I just thought this was a bit too easy.”
“Yeah, I’m not jinxing us. We can save that for the after-party.”
“Party?”
Wright raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, when this series of battles is over, this ship’s gonna rock like you’ve never seen. You might want to take shore leave.”
“I can put my liquor down just the same as you, XO.” She winked. “Just because I’m a Muslim doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.”
“Point taken, ma’am.”
“Conn, TAO. Master Two entering weapons range.”
“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master Two, forward neutron beams.”
“Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan said.
“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
Twin spears of blue neutrons shot out of the Greengold and crossed the void at the speed of light. They slammed into the shields of the remaining League destroyer, and the impact point crackled with blue and red hues as the deflector generator pushed back against the solid-energy weapon. The enemy’s protective screens held, but from Tehrani’s readout, they’d weakened considerably from the full power blast. Red plasma balls and anti-ship missiles erupted from the League warship and lashed the Greengold along with the Marcus Luttrell.
“Conn, TAO. We’re taking significant shield damage to our forward arc, ma’am.”
Tehrani checked her display and mentally plotted a new course. “Navigation, come to heading zero-three-eight, mark negative fifteen.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner called. “Coming to course zero-three-eight, mark negative fifteen.”
The ship rotated slightly, and its thrusters kicked in, pushing them to the direction prescribed. The incoming fire from the League vessel slowed and started hitting the starboard shield instead of the forward generator. All the while, combat between the friendly and enemy small craft continued. To Tehrani’s practiced eye, the blue forces were clearly winning the engagement—at least so far. They’d taken one craft lost to almost a dozen Leaguers. I’ll take that rate of exchange any day. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how easy it was to be happy she’d only lost one pilot.
“Conn, Communications. A wide-band transmission is coming from the remaining League vessel. Can’t read it, ma’am.”
Wright snorted. “Distress call, most likely.”
“We need to finish that ship off quickly,” Tehrani replied. She leaned forward as a small seed of fear implanted itself in the pit of her stomach. “Communications, vector all friendly assets to attack Master Two.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh answered quickly.
The Marcus Luttrell commenced another attack run on the hapless League destroyer. Backed by the Mauler bombers nipping at the enemy’s heels, the Gladius-class vessel’s magnetic cannons and neutron beams flashed in the deep. High-explosive and armor-piercing projectiles raced toward the enemy and exploded against its shields, while the blue neutron beams bored away. Between anti-ship missiles and the Luttrell’s barrage, the Leaguer’s deflectors failed, and minor explosions dotted its hull.
“TAO, energy-weapon capacitor recharge status?”
“Eighty percent, ma’am,” Bryan called over his shoulder.
“TAO, snap shot, Master Two, forward neutron beams.” In CDF parlance, a snap shot was firing a weapon without an affirmative firing solution—a best guess. I’m taking a chance here, but every second counts. Tehrani could almost feel more League forces about to jump in.
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Two blue beams stabbed out from the Greengold and speared the League destroyer. They burned through the brittle armor, bored through the hull, and erupted out of the other side of the hapless vessel. A series of secondary explosions started small then blossomed into an explosive wave that blew the ship apart.
“Conn, TAO, Master Two destroyed.”
A few cheers rang out on the bridge before a sharp-tongued senior enlisted soldier barked, “As you were. Maintain focus!”
Tehrani stared at the plot, which showed the few remaining enemy fighters being run down by Alpha element and its expertly flown Sabres. She breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at the readout for the shipyard—damaged but still in one piece. “Well, that was a nice change of pace,” she said with a smirk in Wright’s direction.
“Makes me begin to believe we’ll beat these guys in no time,” Wright replied. “Though trying to keep a damper—”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole.” Bryan interrupted. A moment passed. “League signature, ma’am. I’m showing a fr
igate at heading two-seven-eight, range seventy kilometers. She’s right on top of us.” He took a breath. “Contact designated as Master Four.”
I knew it was too good to be true. “TAO, designate Master Four as the primary target for all friendly forces.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” A few seconds later, Bryan spoke again. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormholes!” His voice tensed as he spoke. “New contacts… two heavy cruisers, designated Master Five and Six. They’re targeting Sierra One, ma’am.”
For a moment, Tehrani’s tongue caught in her throat. Two heavy cruisers? They’d barely taken one out—with help—in the last engagement. If we lose this shipyard, it will cripple our ship-repair capabilities in Canaan. Why hasn’t Command sent more help? She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and focused on the battle. One problem at a time. “Communications, direct the Marcus Luttrell to engage…” She glanced at the plot for a moment. “Master Five.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“What’s on the flight line and at ready five, XO?”
“Four Mauler bombers… Delta element, ma’am,” Wright replied. He paused and leaned closer. “We need reinforcements. There’s no way our task force will defeat two capital ships.”
Tehrani set her jaw and whispered back, “We can’t abandon the shipyard. Get those bombers in space now.” She turned toward Singh. “Communications, request immediate reinforcements from General Irvine’s command.”
A short distance away, Justin stared numbly at the battlefield. Fresh League fighters streamed out of the shuttle bays on both newly arrived heavy cruisers, complicating an already-dangerous tactical situation. The only support forthcoming from the Zvika Greengold was another element of bombers. He steeled himself for another fast-paced dogfight. “This is Spencer to Alpha flight. Form on me and prepare to engage hostiles bearing zero-one-zero, two clicks out. We’ll take a run at the ones attacking the Maulers first.”
