by Daniel Gibbs
“Understood, Alpha One,” Feldstein replied.
“This is what I call a target-rich environment,” Mateus cracked. “At this rate, I’ll be a triple ace before the day’s out.”
“Or in a pine box,” Justin said darkly. “This is for keeps, people. Keep it tight and watch your six.”
On Justin’s HUD, a group of eight League craft headed straight for his Sabre element, while others peeled off and zoomed away toward the bombers. Damn, this is going to get hairy. He clicked the safety to his neutron cannons off. “All fighters, break and engage.”
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields at sixty-eight percent effectiveness. Master Five and Six coming about to engage us on our fore quarter,” Bryan said, his voice carrying across the bridge of the Zvika Greengold.
The deck plates rumbled and vibrated as more plasma cannon blasts and a few missiles made it through their point-defense screen.
Tehrani adjusted her safety harness and stared at the tactical plot then lifted her head and made eye contact with Wright. “If we adjust our heading here,” she said as she touched the screen, “our bombers and the Marcus Luttrell could focus-fire everything they’ve got on Master Five. Do you see anything I’m missing?”
Wright shook his head. “No, ma’am. The only emergency ripcord I can think of is launching all of our small craft.”
“Which we want to avoid at all costs to deal with whatever comes next.”
“Yup. Don’t you wish we were on a Saratoga-class carrier about now?”
Tehrani smiled. “Too big and impersonal. I enjoy knowing the life history of every officer and most senior enlisted personnel under my command.” She turned back to the front, all business. “Navigation, adjust heading to zero-eight-five, mark zero. Increase thrust to flank.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“TAO, designate Master Five as the priority target for all friendly bombers and inform Sierra One of our new course and speed.”
Arrington is a good-enough ship driver that I don’t have to spell this out for him. Tehrani noted with satisfaction that as they turned, so did the Marcus Luttrell and both Epsilon and Delta elements. Eight Mauler bombers went straight for the League heavy cruiser, while the Luttrell provided fire support. Magnetic cannon shells, neutron beams, and anti-ship missiles crisscrossed space with red plasma balls and the Leaguers’ versions of directed energy weapons. It inflicted significant damage on the enemy’s shields, but they held. Both bomber elements accelerated away for another pass.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole,” Bryan began. “CDF signature… Argyle-class frigate, CSV Sheffield, designated as Sierra Two. She’s dropping out off the port bow, ma’am.”
What in the heck are they doing here? Tehrani’s mind raced with alarm. She’d warned the frigates off because they had limited weaponry and were of little use against a heavy cruiser.
To her concern, almost immediately, the two capital ships shifted their focus to the new friendly contact. Crucially, they landed several hits on the Sheffield’s hull before she could raise her shields. The tactical plot updated with an icon showing primary-systems failure on the frigate.
“Navigation, bring us about. Intercept course on Sierra Two, flank speed.”
“Skipper?” Wright asked.
“We have to get close enough to extend our shields around them.”
“Our shields are almost fifty percent depleted.”
“Your point, XO?” Tehrani asked quietly. “They’ve got to jump out of here as fast as possible. Or we’ll lose over two hundred good men and women.”
The next report from Bryan only emphasized her point. “Conn, TAO. Sierra Two shields are critical, ma’am. I think she’s suffering reactor failure.”
“Communications, get me the Sheffield.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.
A good thirty seconds passed, which seemed like an eternity. “Any time today, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said with a glance at Singh.
“I’m sorry. They’re not responding—”
“Conn, TAO. Sierra Two shields have collapsed.”
“Extend ours, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Suddenly, a bright explosion filled the windows at the front of the bridge. Gasps of shock went up from the officers and enlisted crew. Tehrani felt her knees go weak. She knew what had happened before glancing at the tactical plot to see that the icon for the Sheffield had disappeared.
“Conn, TAO. Sierra Two destroyed, ma’am,” Bryan said somberly. He turned in his chair, his mouth wide open in shock. “I couldn’t get our shields around them in time. I’m sorry.”
“We can only do our duty, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied in a monotone. “We’ll have time to grieve for our friends later. Now, we keep fighting. Navigation…” Thuds from repeated weapons impacts shook the Zvika Greengold. “Resume previous course and turn our port side to the enemy.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner called.
As the watchstanders’ commands flew back and forth, Tehrani took a few moments to pray for the dead. O God, if they were doers of good, then increase their good deeds. If they were wrongdoers, overlook their bad deeds. O God, forgive them and admit them into Paradise. With the prayer completed, she narrowed her eyes and searched for any possible advantage over the enemy.
While Justin’s flight helmet had a built-in anti-glare safety feature that dimmed bright lights, he was still blinded by the Sheffield’s explosion. That frigate had two hundred soldiers aboard. Justin immediately pushed the thought down. He would have time for examination of his flying and tactics later. For the moment, he had to focus on one objective: stopping the Leaguers from doing the same thing to the Zvika Greengold.
Grim determination to press on and defeat the enemy filled him. I’ll blow every one of them out of the void.
Two remaining bombers in the formation Alpha had attacked veered off toward the friendly carrier. Justin kicked his Sabre’s afterburners to max thrust and settled into the six o’clock position of one of the enemy craft. He stroked the firing trigger of his fighter’s neutron cannons. The bomber exploded after six bolts hit, collapsed its weakened shields, and shredded the paper-thin hull.
“Nice shooting, sir,” Feldstein called. Her craft loosed two missiles that tracked the remaining bomber. The explosive impact blew the Leaguer apart. “Alpha Two, splash one.”
“It’s not a contest,” Justin replied, grinning. “Okay, we’re clear for a moment. Status check, Alpha flight.”
“Full hull and shields. Stores at thirty percent,” Mateus reported.
“Moderate hull damage. Stores at fifty percent,” Adeoye said. “Still fully combat capable, sir.”
Before Feldstein could chime in, Justin’s HUD lit up with a bevy of new red dots—eight more League bombers launched four at a time from the two heavy cruisers.
He despaired at the sheer numbers of the enemy. “Tally ho, bandits.” Justin quickly tagged the two groups of enemies. “Adeoye, you’re with me. Feldstein and Mateus, intercept the second blob. Under no circumstances can we allow them to launch missiles on the Greengold. Are we clear?”
“Crystal, sir,” Feldstein replied.
“I love a target-rich environment,” Mateus crowed in the background. “Time to take out the trash.”
Note to self—she’s nuts. Justin adjusted the trajectory of his Sabre, drawing an imaginary line through space in his mind. The aim was to come at them slightly off head-on, making the enemy waste their energy-weapon shots while giving him the ability to get a missile lock. He engaged his afterburners yet again. The energy level hadn’t entirely recharged, so he only got a ten-second burst out of them, but it was more than enough. The lock-on tone buzzed, and he pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”
As the active LIDAR-guided missile flew away, the bomber it tracked attempted to deploy countermeasures and dodge. It played right into Justin’s hands. He settled behind the enemy craft as the missile hit its sh
ields and depleted them by half. Neutron-beam energy stabbed out from the Sabre and sliced through the remaining deflector strength, repeatedly smashing the thin hull. The Leaguer exploded in a ball of bright-orange flame.
“Alpha One, splash one!”
“Alpha Three, splash one,” Adeoye called.
Justin glanced at the tactical overlay on his HUD and noted with satisfaction that the rest of Alpha was tightly engaged. However, two League bombers had broken through the fighter screen and were closing on the Greengold. He pointed his craft directly at their six o’clock and triggered the Sabre’s afterburners. With even less charge than before, they went dead after six seconds of thrust. Dammit, they’re just outside my range. Then it hit him—he could keep triggering the afterburner and squeeze a series of one-second minibursts out of it. The crew chief is gonna rip me a new one.
“Zvika Greengold to Alpha element. Enemy bombers are almost in range. Request you take them out immediately,” Singh said, breaking into the commlink for squadron commanders. “Do you read, Lieutenant?”
“Loud and clear, Zvika Greengold. I’m about to splash those bandits for you,” Justin replied.
It took him another twenty seconds, but his fighter finally entered weapons range. He toggled the secondary weapon selector to the dumb-fire rocket pod he’d had the crew chief load. I hope to hell this trick works twice. Sliding in directly behind the closest bomber, Justin held down the flight-stick-integrated trigger for his neutron cannons while firing the rockets at the same time. The volley struck home as warhead after warhead exploded against the enemy’s shield. Coupled with damage from the barrage of blue energy, the Leaguer exploded in a fiery ball of orange.
Justin didn’t even have time to give the commlink signal for another kill as he quickly altered his heading and locked on to the next target. Another six-second burst of rockets and neutron cannons resulted in a second destroyed bomber. “Alpha One, splash two.”
“Nice shooting, Lieutenant,” Singh said. “Greengold out.”
Justin pondered for a moment how he was still alive. He’d already taken out several League craft, adding to his running total of over ten. I’m not even that good of a pilot. Perhaps the Leaguers were simply worse pilots. Another wave of bombers launched from the heavy cruisers along with a few fighters. He glanced at the HUD and realized they were closely escorting the larger craft. Whoever’s in charge over there apparently learned their lesson. It would make interdicting the next group that much harder.
“I’m all for a target-rich environment, but this is getting ridiculous,” Feldstein said. “How many bombers can they hold in those cruisers, anyway?”
“As many as we can blow up.” Mateus chortled. “What do you Americans say? Bring it on.”
Chuckles from all four pilots filled the channel before Justin spoke. “I read four fighters. They appear to be headed right for us.” He paused as he tagged the craft as priority targets. “Alpha Three and Four will engage the bombers. Feldstein, you’re with me. We’ll splash the fast movers and join in to mop up the others. Questions?”
“None, sir,” Adeoye replied.
The Sabres belonging to Mateus and Adeoye sped away on a direct intercept course with the incoming bomber wave, while Justin adjusted his heading slightly to give himself a better attack profile on the rapidly closing enemy fighters. Both sides exchanged active LIDAR-guided missiles, which the superior CDF electronic warfare capabilities spoofed. Justin didn’t see what happened to Feldstein’s warhead, but his hit its target.
Feldstein rolled off to engage one of the four bandits, while Justin tried to spin out and match the maneuvering of the damaged League craft. He initiated a series of scissors moves, swapping places several times and trading ineffective energy-weapons fire with the enemy fighter. Justin was so engrossed in the twisting and turning of the tail chase that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the missile alarm sounded. A quick glance at the HUD showed two warheads inbound.
“Look out, Spencer. You’ve got two fighters on your tail,” Feldstein called. “I’ll be there as soon as I erase this idiot in front of me from the universe.”
Justin twisted his flight stick to the right, rolling away from the inbound threats while simultaneously releasing multiple balls of high-tech LIDAR spoofing chaff. One missile struck a decoy and exploded, while the other tracked him move for move. At the last second, he tried a high-G maneuver, pulling up relative to how his fighter was pointed and engaged the afterburner. It wasn’t enough—the explosion and impact threw Justin forward as the Sabre’s shields absorbed most of the blast. But not everything—the master alarm sounded, its piercing drone insistent of attention. Damage indicators in his HUD sprang up around his left engine. I have to do something now to change the battlefield, or I’m going to die. Fear crept up inside of him, supercharging his senses. “This is Alpha One declaring an emergency.”
Streams of red plasma balls shot by the transparent cockpit canopy of Justin’s fighter. Dread built up within him as he juked from one side to the other, trying to avoid being blown up. He recalled the words of one of his flight instructors, warning him never to let the enemy penetrate his OODA—Observe, Orient, Decide, and Act—loop. The only thing that would even the odds was to take out one of the pursuing fighters. There’s no way to do that with them locked on my six.
Justin made a quick decision and pulled back hard on the flight stick. His Sabre responded immediately, even with engine damage. G-forces climbed rapidly and brought physical pain as he swiftly turned toward his former pursuers. Combat tactics called for avoiding head-to-head slugging matches at all costs, but it was not the time for timidity.
Justin toggled his heat-seeking missiles to double fire. He only had four in total. This had damn well better work. Unlike LIDAR-tracked missiles, the heat seekers didn’t need a lock. He stroked the firing button. “Alpha One, fox two.”
A bright plume of flame accelerated away from his fighter as Justin held down the trigger for his miniature neutron cannons, sending bolt after bolt of blue energy at the enemy fighter he’d lined up with. Plasma balls found his forward shields and whittled them away, ten percent at a time. He’d briefly questioned the logic of his decision before both warheads impacted on the unlucky Leaguer, who didn’t maneuver away. Rewarded with an orange fireball, he breathed a sigh of relief as the remaining fighter streaked by.
“Alpha Two, splash one! I’m on the way, Spencer. Hang on.”
“Roger, Alpha Two. I got one too. Auto repair unit is online, and I’m reengaging the enemy.”
“I could use some help over here,” Mateus said. “These Leaguer bombers are tough.”
“Got any dumb-fire rockets?” Justin asked.
“Negative, sir.”
“Then switch to neutron cannons and close in. It's not worth wasting your Vultures on them.”
“Wilco.”
The HUD flashed with a message that Justin’s engines had been repaired—as much as they would be by the auto-repair unit. He toggled the thrust up to maximum and set off toward the nearest fighter. The faster he could eliminate them, the faster he could help his fellows in splashing the enemy bombers. As he ran the proper engagement tactics through his mind, he had a thought that seemed out of place: This is fun, in some bizarre way. But another portion of his brain chided him. People are dying out here.
10
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields at sixteen percent,” Bryan called. “Forward deflector generator is overheating and close to failure. Sierra One is taking hull damage.”
While the bridge was a seemingly carefully coordinated level of chaos, Tehrani was the eye of the storm. She stared at the tactical display. It showed the two League heavy cruisers bracketing them and, worse, swarms of bombers attacking them from all vectors. We did our best. But at some point, their best wasn’t enough. Options for retreat ran through her mind. “What else can we get into space, XO?”
“They’re popping so much fire into us, ma’am, that I wouldn’t
recommend any launch attempts. If one of those plasma balls got lucky and took out a fully loaded bomber… the Greengold wouldn’t survive,” Wright replied quietly. “Probably need to think about bugging out.”
No! Tehrani pursed her lips. “Communications, put me live on the general distress frequency.”
“You’re on, ma’am.”
“This is Colonel Tehrani, CSV Zvika Greengold, requesting assistance from any friendly vessels. I say again, this is the Zvika Greengold requesting assistance. We are under heavy attack, and if we withdraw, enemy forces will finish off the shipyard we’re protecting.” She turned to Singh and made a cutting gesture across her neck.
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields have failed.”
To underline Bryan’s report, a series of jolts shook the entire bridge crew in their harnesses, including Tehrani. She held on tight as the deck bucked. “Navigation, emergency turn to port. Present our starboard shield to the enemy. Ahead flank!”
Wright’s face betrayed his fear. “Colonel, I again must urge you to consider retreat.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Communications, signal the fast movers to head to within thirty-second combat-landing range of the ship.” Tehrani opened her eyes and stared at Wright. “We wait until the last possible moment.”
“You heard the Colonel. Everyone back to the Greengold.” Justin’s pulse quickened.
Ominous numbers of red dots appeared on his HUD, signaling another wave of enemy fighters and at least two bombers incoming. Dammit. If we don’t stop those bombers, they’ll destroy the Marcus Luttrell or the Greengold. Both ships were heavily damaged. He wasn’t sure how the Luttrell had stayed in one piece. The little destroyer was shot full of so many holes that it didn’t resemble a ship.
I can’t let that happen. Justin wasn’t entirely sure how he’d reached the conclusion that he had to stop the Leaguers by himself, but when he did, it was with a steadfast resolve. Engaging the afterburner of his Sabre, he performed a loop and headed back toward the enemy.
