by Daniel Gibbs
The missiles passed each other in the inky blackness of space while the ECM systems went to work. Roughly half the warheads were spoofed by advanced electronic countermeasures used by both groups of fighters. Many of the others fell prey to chaff, but more than a few struck home. Two CDF Sabres disappeared, blown apart by concentrated fusion explosions, while three pirate fighters exploded from multiple warhead strikes.
“Alpha One to all pilots. Break, break, break,” Whatley said, his voice tight. “Close in and engage. Weapons free.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Whatley noticed that Adeoye was heading directly for the nearest craft to him. Neutron-cannon bolts and unguided rockets blasted away from his Sabre. For a moment, Whatley thought he was seeing things. Ground-attack rockets? What the hell is he doing? As the warheads struck home, the pirate craft’s deflectors dropped like a stone. In short order, the fighter was a burning wreck that exploded in a bright ball of flame before flickering out as the onboard oxygen supply quickly exhausted itself.
“Alpha Three, splash one.”
“Lieutenant, were you using ground-attack rockets?”
“Yes, sir,” Adeoye replied. “They worked well against League bombers. I thought they’d do the same here.”
“Brilliant.” Whatley was rarely left speechless, but this was one of those times. Spencer’s got some sharp cookies over here. I should quit discounting him and his pilots.
His eyes flicked back to the HUD’s sensor screen. He wasn’t kidding when he said these guys are high-quality combatants. The pirate corvettes were in the process of making another attack run on the Ernest Evans and the Vasco da Gama, though the da Gama was trying to retreat.
“CAG, those frigates are getting shot to hell. Request permission to break off and engage the attacking corvettes,” the voice of Lieutenant Green came in on a private channel.
For a moment, Whatley considered rebuking her, but he knew it was unlikely the da Gama would make it out without help. “Granted, Lieutenant. We’ll keep the enemy off you for a bit. Take an element of Maulers too.”
“Yes, sir. We’re on it.”
As Green and her Boars roared off toward the ongoing battle between the corvettes and the Greengold’s battlegroup, Whatley did the math. With the continued loss of hull stability in the da Gama, there was no way they’d make it in time. The stricken frigate tried to open a Lawrence drive portal. Bright crackles of energy radiated out from the artificial wormhole before it collapsed on itself and spread out. One of the arcs intersected with the da Gama’s forward hull and blew the bow off. A chain reaction began, and explosions dotted the length of the vessel before it blew apart in uneven chunks no more than a meter wide.
Stunned, Whatley could only stare and wonder at the horrific loss of life. No escape pods were launched. God help us all.
A new pirate fighter to attack in the target-rich environment was only a few seconds from his grasp. He determined to even the odds as much as he could. These bastards are gonna pay with their lives.
19
The glare from the reactor explosion that had just claimed the Vasco da Gama still cast a shadow over the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. Tehrani’s mouth went dry as she contemplated the loss of yet another vessel and the more than two hundred soldiers manning it. Her gaze went back to the tactical plot. The pirate corvettes were massing for another attack run, but the other wing was sweeping up behind the Greengold’s battlegroup.
“Sierra One is reporting full alpha strike ready, ma’am,” Wright said as he stared at the fleet tactical network link. “Only seeing a couple of life pods off Sierra Three.”
Tehrani felt the Marcus Luttrell, combined with their forward beams, ought to inflict some damage. There’ll be time for grief later. “Navigation, shift us ten degrees to starboard. Signal all escorts to follow. TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Eight.” She sucked in a breath. “Set primary fleet target as Master Eight.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. Firing solutions set,” Bryan replied.
The closest enemy ship made a decent target, as it had the tightest turn and most predictable path.
On Tehrani’s monitor, the enemy forces edged closer to weapons range before accelerating. The moment they crossed the line, she spoke. “TAO, signal Sierra One to engage.”
Despite its deceptively small size, the Gladius-class destroyer packed a punch. A volley of magnetic-cannon shells raced away from the Marcus Luttrell’s turrets, packing EMP warheads to drain shields, followed by neutron beams and a brace of anti-ship missiles. The weapons fire crisscrossed with a stream of plasma balls and meson energy from the enemy. Shields on both sides lit up like Christmas trees.
“TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.” Tehrani held on for dear life as repeated impacts from the hostile barrage hammered the Greengold’s defensive screens.
The four pirate corvettes to the front of them filled the void with a variety of energy weaponry, most of it directed at the Greengold’s forward shield. Amid the maelstrom, the carrier’s bow came alive with two beams of blue light that connected immediately with the enemy ship receiving the most attention from the CDF vessels. Its shields flickered then blinked out, and the neutron beams sliced through the armor, turning it molten. A few moments later, the corvette blew apart in a powerful explosion.
“Conn, TAO. Master Eight destroyed, ma’am.”
My tactical officer’s calm demeanor in the face of overwhelming odds says a lot about what we’ve been through the past year. Tehrani leaned forward. “Navigation, come to heading zero-eight-five, all ahead flank. Signal the fleet to join our maneuver.”
“Trying to recharge our fore and port shields, Skipper?” Wright asked.
Tehrani nodded. “Exactly. Drop them, cycle the generators, and get back into the fight. Hopefully before the hammer drops.” She was cutting it far closer than was prudent, but it was still their best chance to eliminate the pirate threat once and for all. Allah help us, because these scum need to be wiped off the face of His universe.
A group of new icons suddenly appeared on the tactical plot, clustered together and roughly two thousand kilometers away from the group of corvettes that had just attacked them.
“Conn, TAO. Starbolt missiles in the void… headed for Master Ten.” Bryan turned his head around. “Running hot, straight, and normal.”
“And that would be the Astute,” Wright murmured. “Right on time.”
“It’s becoming a thing,” Tehrani replied dryly. “They might lay claim to our motto.”
Wright snickered. “Nah, Skipper. We’ve got that down to a science.”
Tehrani’s gaze remained glued to the plot as the eight anti-ship missile icons raced toward Master Ten. Point-defense fire felled three of them, but the rest pressed onward and merged with the dot representing the hostile vessel.
“Conn, TAO. Master Ten disabled. Make that destroyed, ma’am.”
Four down, seven to go. Battlegroup Z had eliminated three of the pirate corvettes outright and disabled a fourth. The enemy seemed to have no desire to break off the engagement. Rather, they were pressing forward. They can absorb the losses. We can’t.
A group of Mauler bombers rushed forward. While the enemy's point defense was ineffective against the advanced technology of the Starbolt missiles, it seemed to be more than up to the challenge of defending against small craft.
First one Mauler then a second and a third exploded in quick succession from massed PD fire. “XO, warn the CAG off,” Tehrani said through gritted teeth. “Direct him to use the Boars to take out those turrets first.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied somberly.
Tehrani felt despair rear its head. Think, Banu. Work the problem. What else can we do? She stared at the monitor, searching for a solution.
Justin supposed it was too much of a stretch to think the Eagle missiles he’d launched would find and disable the enemy, but almost any outcome would’ve been better than the one he got:
both were actively tracking his fighter. He deployed several rounds of flares and maneuvered wildly.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Trying to flush me out, Terran?” The enemy pilot sounded amused.
“More like blow you up,” Justin replied as he whipped the Ghost around and narrowly missed one of the warheads. It exploded a hundred meters behind him, sending his craft into a wild spin.
“That’s a real religious sentiment right there. I’m surprised you weren’t thinking about burning me at the stake instead.”
Justin regained control of his fighter and studied the HUD’s integrated scanner. He saw no sign of the pirate. “Again, you’re the one trying to kill me.” If I can keep him talking, maybe I can triangulate his position once more.
“I wonder if the League is any better than the Terran Coalition. I’ve seen the videos in which they promise universal income and a life geared toward the betterment of your mind.”
“You could always present yourself to a League cruiser and ask for asylum to find out,” Justin replied snarkily. “I figure it's all hogwash.” He recalled what Nishimura had said about what the League transport officer had told him. “And even if it’s not, it comes with an all-controlling government that dictates everything you do.”
The other man laughed. “If I didn’t know better, Terran, I’d wonder if I was fighting a politician out here. That was pretty good for a simple pilot.”
“Terran Coalition, you know—always the overachievers,” Justin replied.
Two possible contacts had materialized on his HUD. He wasn’t sure which one, if either, was the enemy. The closest dot was a few hundred kilometers in front of him. With all the twisting and turning to avoid his own missiles, Justin had no idea which way the pirate had gone. I suppose it comes down to a guess. Supposedly our sensors work better in the forward-facing arc. I hope I read that right.
A few minutes passed with no further communication between them. Justin kept glancing to his right, left, and above. It seemed that nothing quite beat the mark one human eyeball in the depths of the nebula.
“Still out there, Terran?”
“Oh, I love flying through plasma fields, getting shot at, and trying to kill the guy doing it before he kills me. But aside from that, just peachy, you know?”
Laughter echoed out of the commlink. “Under the right circumstances, Terran, I’d buy you a drink. But I’m afraid today isn’t the right circumstance.”
“I’m not sure I could say the same.”
“Why? Because I’m a nasty, murderous pirate, out killing innocent spacers?”
Justin scanned his HUD. “For starters, yeah.”
“Would it surprise you to know I was once a dashing officer in the CDF?” The man’s voice turned bitter. “I even believed in the fairy-tale man who supposedly controlled the universe, ensuring justice and right.”
“Then how’d you end up doing this?” Justin kept a careful watch on his HUD.
A long pause came over the commlink. “I made a mistake. And like the holier-than-thou hypocrites the rest of you are, instead of forgiving me, they tossed me out on my ass like a used piece of trash.” He laughed. “One thing led to another, and I needed to put food on the table. My marketable skills? Flying spacecraft, so here I am.”
“Even if I believed that, it's no excuse to kill innocent civilians.” Almost there to see you off. Justin squeezed his lips together as he closed within a few kilometers of the contact. The cloud ahead cleared momentarily, and there was nothing there. The specter of panic gripped Justin’s heart. Work the problem. He took a deep breath and scanned his HUD once more. If the bandit isn’t in front, he’s gotta be behind.
“Overconfidence, Terran. That’s your downfall.”
Justin killed the inertial dampers in his Ghost and reversed heading to fly forward while the nose of his craft pointed backward. The familiar shape of the pirate heavy fighter erupted from a gas cloud at nearly point-blank range. Justin held down the trigger for his neutron cannons.
Dozens of blue bolts stabbed into the void. Many connected with the enemy craft. Though it tried to maneuver away, the range was so close that Justin could easily track and maintain continuous fire. A few moments later, one of the fighter’s wings blew off and tumbled away.
“Well played, Terran. Not a trick I’ve seen bef—” A harsh screech of static followed.
As the fighter exploded brightly, Justin stared at the glow. Within a few seconds, no trace was left.
Surprised to be alive, Justin pondered the other pilot’s last words. Why didn’t he use the last breath he had to curse me? Something about it made him consider the hate he’d felt rising for the League over the previous year. Justin laid his head back and did a quick check. Moderate damage to his control surfaces, with at least one hit causing stealth reduction. All in all, not bad for nearly getting destroyed.
Time to go back to the Greengold, have my bird repaired, and get some grub. Justin keyed in a course away from the gas cloud and changed his commlink channel to the ship-command frequency. “Spencer to Zvika Greengold. Come in.”
A few seconds passed before Lieutenant Singh’s voice echoed in his ears. “Captain Spencer, we’re under attack by massed enemy forces.” A string of coordinates appeared in his navigation computer.
“Say again, Lieutenant?”
“The pirates sent everything they have at us. If you can return to assist, that would be most welcome.”
They knew I was here the entire time. The guy I just popped was just tying off a loose end. “Acknowledged, Lieutenant. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
No reply came. Justin plugged the numbers into his Lawrence drive and hoped he wouldn’t be too late to affect the battle.
20
Punch and counter-punch continued between the Greengold, her battlegroup, and the pirate forces. While Tehrani had more skill in tactical combat and exploited the pirates' relative inexperience in fighting as a cohesive group against them, it seemed to be only a matter of time before the CDF ships would have to retreat. She studied the tactical plot, searching for anything to use against the enemy. They have too much volume of fire compared to our shield strength.
“Whatcha thinking, Skipper?” Wright asked quietly.
“It might be time to go. If we were defending Terran Coalition citizens…”
“It might be different, but I’m not interested in sacrificing everything for a megacorp.” Wright said the last word with borderline disgust.
“Exactly.”
“It’s still our best chance to stop these pirates, ma’am.”
I know. Tehrani closed her eyes for a moment.
“Conn, Communications. I’ve got an inbound transmission from one of the civilian ships, ma’am.”
“Put it on.”
The screen above Tehrani’s head came to life with an image of a man in uniform similar to that of the other megacorp vessel, though it was more utilitarian. The outline of a sidearm could be made out in the lower left quarter of the screen. “Colonel Tehrani?”
“With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” she replied with mock politeness.
“Sentinel Ohmedov, Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies, security division. I want to apologize on behalf of the corporation.” He set his jaw. “I’ve got a small force of four vessels here with upgraded shields and weapons. With your permission, we’d like to join the fight.”
Tehrani’s jaw dropped so far that it nearly rebounded off her legs. “That would’ve been nice thirty minutes ago.”
“I regret we were prevented from joining you.” Ohmedov pursed his lips. “I expect to be terminated by the company, actually. But my crews and I are united in a belief that others shouldn’t die in our name without us at least making ourselves useful. Please, let us help.”
His words resonated with Tehrani. She nodded. “Very well. My communications officer will link you into our tactical network. Follow my commands, Sentinel. That is the only requirement.”
“Aye, aye, Colo
nel Tehrani.” Ohmedov’s face disappeared from the monitor, leaving it blank.
“I guess pigs are flying today,” Wright said with a smirk.
Tehrani snickered. “Maybe they are, but I’ll take all the help I can get at the moment.”
“Conn, TAO. The Astute’s launched another wave of Starbolts, ma’am.”
Immediately, Tehrani’s gaze went to the tactical plot. A group of eight icons rapidly gained on one of the pirate corvettes. It twisted in the void, straining to avoid the kill shot, but failed. Caught out of position, its consorts couldn’t provide adequate fire support from their point-defense weaponry. Seven out of eight warheads slammed into the vessel’s shields, and when the glare faded, another enemy ship had vanished.
“Conn, TAO. Master Four destroyed, ma’am.”
That brought their total to five corvettes out of the fight. Six to go plus the carrier. On the small-craft front, Tehrani had concerns they were losing the battle. The pirate fighters were soaking up a lot of damage, and they’d destroyed two Maulers, a Boar, and a Sabre so far.
“Conn, TAO. They’re coming back around, ma’am, on a vector for our port quarter.” Bryan paused. “I’m having difficulty getting our deflector cohesion up. We need to drop them to recharge.”
These pirates know their business. Their tactics reminded Tehrani of a pack of wild animals hunting wounded prey. “We’ll take a shot at that after this next pass, Lieutenant.”
They were probably looking for a knockout blow before the civilian security vessels got in range. It’s what I would do.
Incoming plasma-cannon and meson fire raked the Marcus Luttrell’s shields, hammering them down. As she was ahead of the Greengold in formation, the destroyer took the brunt of the attack. Pieces of hull were blasted off along with at least one point-defense turret. Vaper trailed from multiple hits as the battered ship fought back with everything she had. Neutron beams and magnetic-cannon rounds raced away from the Marcus Luttrell and smacked the lead corvette.
