by Daniel Gibbs
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.
Please, let it be enough. Tehrani stared at the plot and prayed.
22
With no afterburner, Justin was at a disadvantage in his Ghost fighter. The stealth coating helped, but with the damage sustained from the nebula battle, he was sure to be visible to most modern sensor systems, which the pirates clearly had. As he fought with the rest of Alpha, they’d remained in a desperate furball. Dozens of craft from both sides continued to engage with energy weapons and missiles. No quarter was asked or given. They were all fighting a battle to the death. Each side had momentarily disengaged, seeking to consolidate their formations for another attack.
“Spencer, I’ve got orders from the quarterdeck,” Whatley said on a private commlink channel.
“We’re pulling out?”
Whatley snickered. “No, son. We’re attacking the enemy freighter. Trying to decapitate them.”
The strategy wasn’t a bad one. “Most of our bombers are out. I’d be remiss if I didn’t point that out.”
“There’s that, but if you take a look at your scanner, you’ll notice its shields are down.”
Justin rolled his eyes, even though no one could see him. “Yes, I get that, Major. It’s still a tough order.”
“Yeah, well, ours isn’t to question why. It’s to do or die. So let’s get on with it.”
“Yes, sir,” Justin replied with finality. He toggled his commlink to all fighters. “Alpha One to all pilots. We’re going in on Master One. Red Tails and Black Hogs will see the Maulers in. I sure hope you guys have a few Javelins left to shove up these pirates’ exhaust pipes.”
“Let me get this straight. You want to fly straight into the teeth of an enemy that’s holding its own? CAG, are you on board with this?” Green asked.
“Lieutenant, we get paid, so the carrier doesn’t go down. If anyone’s got a better idea, now’s the time, because they’re on the move,” Whatley rasped.
Adeoye’s deep voice broke through the crosstalk. “I may have a solution.”
“Let’s hear it, Lieutenant,” Justin said before anyone else could speak.
“Lieutenant Green,” Adeoye continued. “Are your Boars carrying ground-attack rocket pods?”
“All of us have a pod mounted. Yeah. It's built into the fuselage. Pardon me, but what the hell do ground-attack rockets have to do with attacking their carrier?”
Justin grinned. He knew what was coming next.
“During the Battle of Canaan, several of us discovered that they could be dumb fired in space to significant effect against larger bombers. If the Boars go in front, clearing a path with a sustained burst of neutron-cannon and rocket fire, it might allow us to sweep behind and get an attack run in on the enemy carrier.”
“Okay, Lieutenant. It’s your lucky day, because we’re collectively crazy enough to try. CAG, with your permission, Black Hogs will take point.”
“Granted,” Whatley replied. “Line it up by element and fall in. Let’s remind these bastards we’re the Coalition Defense Force.”
“Fight the good fight,” Feldstein said, beginning the war chant.
“No matter the odds!” the commlink echoed with the reply from every pilot.
Justin pulled up his detailed sensor screen and examined the opposing group. Roughly twenty enemy craft remained, mostly the heavy-fighter variant. The Black Hogs eased out in front of their formation, the Sabres took the right and left wings, and the Mauler bombers made up the protected center. They ended up with a roughly spherical shape that would allow for maximum firepower directed at the hostiles.
“CAG to all pilots. Max thrust. Push it up.”
Not needing to be told twice, Justin kicked his throttle up to the maximum level. While every other craft in the formation had some form of afterburners, he trimmed out power reserves from his shields and weapons to add extra speed. Justin let out a breath. One way or another, we win or die here.
The opposition had lined up in two neat rows, almost daring the friendly forces to engage. Justin used the interactive HUD to tag several primary targets for the Red Tails before he cued his commlink. “Alpha One to Alpha, Beta, and Charlie fighters. Double up on the Black Hogs’ targets. Do not break off to engage. Put everything you’ve got on target and blast through.”
“Wilco,” Feldstein replied, as did the remaining Red Tails.
In front of them, the Boars, led by Green, opened up with a murderous flood of neutron bolts and dumb-fire rockets. She’d carefully selected the weakest, damaged pirate fighters for their assault. The barrage of firepower was too much—several enemy craft blew apart, and the Boars roared through the holes in their line, followed closely by the Sabres and the slower Mauler bombers.
The remaining pirate corvettes were next in line, forming a protective screen around the carrier. Several Boars broke off and lit up one of the vessels with missiles, energy weapons, and the distinctive primary armament: the nose-mounted magnetic cannon. Their fire focused on the most damaged ship, and the mag cannons proved highly effective at knocking out turrets. Once the ship was defanged, the rest of the small craft swung around it and pressed on.
Come on. Come on. We don’t have all day. Any second, Justin expected to find a brace of anti-fighter warheads heading for their exposed six. The slow Maulers rolled into firing position while the Boars and Sabres moved out of the way.
“Gamma Two, fox four.”
The bombers launched five Javelins, and they accelerated quickly toward the target vessel: the pirate carrier. In the melee of combat, Justin was focused more on staying alive than tracking the exact trajectory of the warheads. However, it was readily apparent that most missed their target, destroyed by the enemy's point-defense system. Dammit. In desperation, he rolled away from the craft he was trying to obtain a guns solution on and aimed his Ghost for Master One.
As the converted bulk freighter filled the view at the front of Justin’s cockpit, he realized the fighter bays, built into the side of the vessel, seemed to lack protective force fields. At least they’re not glowing like the Greengold’s do—and every other carrier I’ve ever seen. Justin reached down to toggle his missile launcher to the LIDAR-tracking Vultures. “Alpha One to all friendlies. Keep these guys off me for fifteen more seconds.”
Point-defense fire zoomed toward Justin’s Ghost as half a dozen turrets lit up the area around his craft like the fireworks display on Coalition Landfall Day. He applied fine movements, avoiding as much of it as possible while keeping in arc toward his target. All the while, Justin tinkered with the fail-safes on his weapons. I wonder if it’s even designed to do this. Probably not.
Green’s Boar roared by his right side, its neutron cannons blazing away. The stream of blue bolts went straight for one of the point-defense emplacements engaging him. Her intersession worked: half the turrets switched their target to her fighter, and maneuvering became far easier.
It took a few more minutes to get to point-blank range. All the while, Justin juked and dodged fire from both the pirate fighters and their mothership. He completely lost track of the battle and focused solely on getting in range of the hangar. A few more Boars joined the fray and silenced one of the PD cannons, making Justin’s job even simpler at the last second.
As the giant hangar area loomed, he pressed the missile-launch button twice, sending four Vultures into it—with no target. Immediately, Justin pulled back on the flight stick and reversed course. He rocketed away from the carrier, redirecting his weapons power to the engine to get a few more KPH to avoid the corvette’s PD as he entered their range.
“Spencer, what the hell did you do?” Whatley rasped.
“Uh, tried something, sir.”
“We’ve got secondary explosions out of the flight deck on Master One.”
Son of a… It worked. Justin gave a knowing grin. “On my way out of that League cruiser earlier in the year, I accidently fired a missile that started a chain reaction. I decided to try it o
n purpose this time.”
Laughter filled the commlink. “More guts than brains, son,” Whatley said. “They’re not out of the fight yet. Gamma, time for another pass.”
The few remaining Maulers swung around, putting four more anti-ship Javelin missiles into the void. Unlike the last time, the enemy vessel’s defensive systems were clearly affected. They fired bursts that weren’t on target, and all four warheads slammed into the deflectorless ship. Bright explosions spread across its surface, and patches where they hit turned molten.
Justin finally allowed himself to relax.
A brief jet of flame shot out of a bank of electronics on the Argos’s bridge. The ship was taking a beating at the hands of the CDF forces. Multiple decks had depressurized, and dozens of crew were lost to the void. Amidst the maelstrom of chaos, Sokratis Papoutsis sat mute, almost in a daze. I was so close. I could taste victory. Another explosion rumbled across the control center as part of the overhead collapsed onto the third mate of the vessel. The man was crushed instantly.
“All deflectors offline!” someone shrieked. “Forward weapons offline!”
Papoutsis stared straight ahead. “Keep firing. Use the broadside and aft turrets,” he mumbled.
“No power, sir,” the tactical officer replied. He was one of the few uninjured crewmen left. “We should think about abandoning ship.”
The words went through those who could hear them like a bolt of electricity.
Papoutsis shook his head. “No, the CDF will capture us. We can still win.” He tried to force steel into his voice.
“I signed up to get rich, not die.” The tactical officer stood. “Whoever’s with me, we can still get to the escape pods.” He turned to go, and a couple of others joined him. They ran as weapons fire continued to pummel the bulk freighter.
Something prevented Papoutsis from leaving. Fear invaded his heart as everything crashed down around him. He climbed into the helm station’s chair, pushing debris out of the way, and tried to pull up the tactical control system.
After another brutal series of impacts, decompression alarms sounded. Papoutsis checked the hull integrity to find that deck one—the bridge—had multiple holes leaking atmosphere into the void. The realization that the fight was lost set in.
Papoutsis stood. “Abandon ship!” he shouted then ran for the passageway behind the control center.
The nearest pods were located in an escape trunk ten meters aft. Each section of the hauler had its own rescue compartment with EVA hard suits, an airlock, and two escape pods. Papoutsis slid into the chamber and noted only one pod was left. He made a split-second decision to climb in and seal the hatch behind him.
As it slid shut, the sounds of pounding against the alloy filled the tiny interior of the lifeboat. Papoutsis secured himself in the pilot’s harness and pushed the cries out of his mind. He was something of an automaton, operating solely on instinct.
The pod zoomed away from the stricken vessel as Papoutsis engaged the emergency release and activated the thrusters. Taking a deep breath, with his fight-or-flight instinct faded, he regained control of himself. Papoutsis felt regret for leaving his crew behind, but his survival instinct had taken over and pushed it away. No matter. They’ll get another pod, or they won’t. The cold, hard truth of the universe was that everyone was expendable and replaceable. He had enough money in his Galt-based accounts to buy another ship and recruit more wannabe pirates who thought they were striking a blow for the common man.
While incoming energy-weapons fire peppered the Argos, the CDF warships seemed to take care to avoid shooting the escape pods launching from her. Papoutsis chalked it up to the overhyped Terrans’ sense of morality. They always blather on about God this, God that. Behind every CDF officer, a hypocrite wanted to get out.
At four hundred meters from the bulk hauler, the sensors in the escape pod detected an energy buildup in the main reactor. Papoutsis immediately recognized it as a runaway fusion reaction. Moments later, the Argos exploded violently.
The shockwave was stronger than several two-hundred-megaton fusion warheads. Papoutsis fought with the controls to keep his pod trimmed out and flying away from the threat. The tiny craft shook and rattled like it was coming apart, but it held together.
Just when he started to breathe a sigh of relief and plan a course farther in-system to avoid the CDF vessels, the proximity alarm blared. In what seemed like slow motion, a several-meter-wide chunk of debris from the Argos slammed into the side of the pod. Though Papoutsis tried to avoid it, he didn’t have enough time.
Shrapnel ripped through the pilot's compartment, and in an instant, all breathable atmosphere escaped as the lifeboat disintegrated around him. No! So close. No! Papoutsis groped for anything to keep him alive as panic set in. Unimaginable pain came over him as his body flash froze in the void, and the last thing his mind processed was a vague sense of being dragged away by distorted figures. Before he had time to ponder the sheer insanity of what he thought he saw through frozen eyes, his brain finally died.
23
“Conn, TAO. Master One destroyed, ma’am.”
At Bryan’s report, the Zvika Greengold’s bridge erupted into cheers and clapping. Even Tehrani and Wright joined in, with the XO pumping his fist and shouting.
“As you were,” Tehrani said after counting off five seconds. “We’ve still got hostiles out there, ladies and gentlemen.” Her gaze went back to the tactical plot. Not only was the elimination of the pirates’ carrier a significant tactical victory, but she was sure it would tilt the battle in their favor from an emotional sense as well. All these fighters out there have no place to go. Time to exploit that. “Communications, put me on wideband vidlink.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied. “You’re on.”
Tehrani pulled herself up as straight as she could in the chair and stared into the camera with eyes narrowed and a frown on her lips. “Attention, unlawful combatant vessels. This is Colonel Banu Tehrani of the Coalition Defense Force. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance will result in your destruction. You have two minutes to comply.”
“Message sent, ma’am.”
Wright asked, “We taking bets on somebody trying to jump from inside the Lawrence limit rather than accept they're going to jail?”
“I see Hodges is rubbing off on you,” Tehrani replied archly. “Or do you not remember his little betting pool on whether or not the reactor would explode when we restarted it in League space?”
“Touché, ma’am.” Wright’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly, an effect made difficult to see thanks to his darker skin. “Please don’t compare me to the chief engineer again.”
“Don’t act like him, then.”
They both chuckled.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Twelve. She’s powering up her Lawrence drive, ma’am.”
Tehrani stared at the monitor above her head. Don’t do it. You’re throwing your lives away. Whatever she thought, whoever was in charge of the pirate vessel seemed to believe they could defy the laws of physics. Within the Lawrence limit, ships trying to open a stable artificial wormhole required massive amounts of power, which current-generation fusion reactors couldn’t provide. Barring that, there was a nearly ninety percent chance of failure.
“Conn, TAO. Master Twelve’s vortex disintegrated, ma’am. Sensors show the corvette destroyed.” Bryan turned to her. “No life pods.”
As the red dot disappeared, Tehrani felt a pang of regret. Not that the enemy deserved it, but she had remorse for any vessel lost to the void in that way. A person caught between reality and the mind-bending dimensional portal generated by the Lawrence drive could exist simultaneously across multiple dimensions, neither alive nor dead, or so it was speculated. To her, it was one of the worst fates imaginable. Grant them forgiveness, Allah. Increase their good deeds and overlook their evil deeds. May the mercy of Allah be upon them.
“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected, breaking her train o
f thought. “Remaining vessels and small craft are transmitting surrender notices.”
“Weapons power-down confirmed,” Bryan said. “Remaining enemy contacts have ceased maneuvering and lowered their shields.”
Allowing herself to relax a hair, Tehrani leaned back in her seat. “XO, get VBSS teams to each of those vessels. I want the prisoners brought back to the Greengold for processing and prize crews transferred over. We’ll fly them back to Coalition space.”
“Maybe the CDF will convert them into picket ships for the border,” Wright replied with a snicker. “What about search and rescue, ma’am? We’ve got a lot of pilots out there looking for a pickup.”
She nodded. “Scramble them as well. Save the ejected pirates from their fighters for last. They can wait.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Time seemed to speed up. It didn’t take long for Marine units to move out, with an assault shuttle headed toward each corvette. Tehrani watched Nishimura’s progress from her monitor, noting the professionalism of his teams. They’re almost as good as some tier-one operator units I’ve seen video of. She began to mentally compose her after-action report and dreaded the paperwork to come.
“Conn, Communications. Ramires would like to speak with you, ma’am,” Singh said with mirth in his voice. “He appears quite agitated.”
“Put him on,” Tehrani replied. She smirked as Ramires’s face appeared on the screen above her. I can’t take his garb seriously. Who dresses like that?
“This is Shipmaster Sabastian Isais Nilo Ramires. Is this Colonel Tehrani?”
