“And in civilian life, just what are you again?”
Cracking a smile, the officer replied, “Junior Associate at McBride & Taggart. Specializing in visual advertising.”
Shaking his head, Ballard said, “Beautiful. Be that as it may, the problem remains the same. We don’t have the funding for a full sweep. I can manage all station personnel, perhaps those in critical locations, but we get several thousand people through every month, and there’s no way we could ever come close to checking them all.” Turning back to Drake, he said, “I’m going to need your people to augment my local security force, but I want them in plain clothes.”
“That violates a couple of dozen regulations just off the top of my head…”
“I do not want this station panicked! Even if they might have cause!” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “Send me a patrol schedule, and we’ll talk about it later. Squadron Leader, just how long do you expect to remain here?”
“As I understand it, this is ultimately meant to be a permanent assignment, with the Double-Deuce activated as a training command,” he lied. “We’re here to stay, though I would have thought that a good thing. Lots of military credits.”
“The Double-Deuce?”
“The Twenty-Second,” Winter replied. “Just fighter slang.”
“I see.” Shaking his head, Ballard said, “Nobody bothered even asking me before you arrived, Squadron Leader.” Before Winter could interrupt, he raised his hand and added, “I know, I know, you’re about to point out that under the terms of the original construction and support agreement, you have the right to make use of the reserve facilities of this station at any time, but we both know that’s really meant to apply only to a state of war. At least as a courtesy, I should have been informed. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to operate your headquarters out of a steakhouse.”
“It has its advantages,” Winter said. “Though I am hoping that is only a temporary expediency.”
“Go on hoping,” Ballard replied. “There’s a six-month waiting list for office space, and I’m not going to push aside paying customers for you. I already made sure that you have every cubic meter of space you are entitled to, and unless your superiors decide to actually start sending me some money, that is all you are going to get.” He folded his arms, and said, “I should also state that I have made a formal protest to the Secretary of Labor, though I doubt it will help.”
“It won’t, but if it makes you feel any better.”
“What would make me feel better…,” Ballard began, before being interrupted by a blinking light on his desk. He grunted, stabbed a button, and said, “Ballard here. Bellini, this had better be pretty damned important…”
“It is, sir,” a softer voice replied. “We’ve had a distress signal from the Wolfhound.”
“I’m on my way,” Ballard said, leaping to his feet. He paused for a moment, glaring at Winter and Drake and added, “You’d better come too.” The trio walked out of the Administrator’s office, across the corridor and into the station’s Operations Room, a dozen cramped consoles scattered semi-randomly around, facing a large viewscreen which showed a blurry sensor image, switching to a trajectory plot as they entered, showing a quartet of targets at extreme range.
“What’s happening?” Winter asked.
“Squadron Leader, this station is under civilian authority, and…,” Ballard began.
“Damn it, Ballard, those are fighters out there, and I doubt they’re on our side!” Winter snapped. “Which of you is Bellini?” A slender, weary-eyed woman looked up from her console, and he added, “Situation report, please.”
“Wolfhound contacted us about some anomalous sensor readings from the far side of Taranis, about five minutes ago. We couldn’t verify them at first, but we’re picking them up now on our long-range detectors. Four of them, on a direct intercept course for the freighter. They’ll be in combat range in less than ten minutes unless the situation alters.”
“How long for the freighter to get here?” Winter asked.
“Thirty minutes, sir, and even if they do, we don’t have any defenses,” Bellini protested.
“Like hell we don’t,” Winter said, walking to the nearest console and opening a channel to the cargo decks. “Danny, what’s the situation down there? If I gave the order now, how many fighters could we scramble?”
“Two, maybe,” Nguyen replied. “Those bastards made a hell of a mess down here, boss. We’re having a hard time just getting all of our equipment together at the moment. If you can give me an hour, then I might be able to get the third one on the line, but I haven’t even had a chance to complete the diagnostic runs on the fighters I’ve finished rebuilding yet. I was going to try and arrange a flight test…”
“We’re going to have to skip that part,” Winter said. “Charge the pulsar batteries, and prepare both ships for immediate launch. Contact Cassie, have her meet me down there right away. We’re running out of time.” He looked up at the trajectory plot, and asked, “Are there any other ships in the area? Any of ours?”
“The nearest is the Ariadne,” Bellini said. “Patrol corvette, running fighter battle drills. We were monitoring them earlier.” She frowned, then added, “As it stands, I don’t see how they could help in the time. Let’s face it, that freighter is as good as dead.”
“Not yet, it isn’t,” Winter said. “Patch me in.”
“Squadron Leader, I will not permit you to place this facility in hazard for the same of some aerial ego trip!” Ballard protested. “Nor will I permit you to strip her only defenses away on some hopeless suicide mission. Should those terrorists attack, they could wipe us out with a single salvo. Eight hundred lives are at stake.”
“I’d suggest you get as many of them off the station as soon as possible,” Winter replied. “Bellini, get me that freighter, damn it, right away!”
“You’re on, Squadron Leader,” she replied, tossing him a headset.
“Mitchell Station to Wolfhound,” he began, looking at the screen. “Help’s on the way, but you’re going to have to live long enough for us to reach you. I’m sending you a new set of co-ordinates. If you change course now, you’ll throw off your attack run and buy yourself some time. Enough to allow fighters from either this station or Ariadne to reach you. If you hold your current course, you don’t have a chance.”
“Wolfhound here,” a harsh female voice replied. “We’re not seeing this ship of yours.”
“She’s in your blind spot, on the far side of Taranis, but she’s there, I assure you. You’re going to have to trust me on this one, Captain, but unless you can coax a hell of a lot more acceleration out of that ship of yours, this is the only chance you’ve got to live through this. Your call.”
“Are you giving me an order?” she asked.
“Yes, then damnit, I’m giving you an order. I’d also suggest that you put all non-essential personnel in the escape pods and get them to safety right away. We’re coming as fast as we can, but there’s only so much we’re going to be able to do, and I cannot completely guarantee the safety of your ship and crew.” He paused, then said, “Liaise with Flight Officer Garcia. He’ll be on the line to you shortly. Mitchell Station out.” He slammed the handset down, then looked ruefully up at Bellini, asking, “Is she always like that?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Figures. Call Randy Garcia, tell him to put down his spatula and get up here to run fighter co-ordination. And see if you can get in touch with Ariadne, as well.” He raced to the elevator, Ballard putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Were you planning at any point to ask permission for any of this?” the bureaucrat asked.
“Actually, no,” Winter replied, shrugging free of Ballard’s grip and stepping through the doors. “I wasn’t.” He smiled at the expression on the administrator’s face as the elevator raced towards its destination, to the cargo bay that they were hastily modifying to launch fighters. It had been a long time since he had flown in an
ger, years since his last battle, but the same emotions and feelings came rapidly flooding back, adrenaline rushing through his system.
“Squadron Leader?” the ceiling speaker barked. “I have Squadron Leader Baxter for you.”
“Thanks, I’ll take it,” he replied, glancing at his watch. “How the hell are you, Johnny?”
“Same as always. I assume this isn’t a social call. If it’s about your daughter…”
“We’ve got incoming bandits threatening a freighter, the Wolfhound, on an approach vector. I’ve sent them onto a trajectory that should allow an intercept if you launch at once. I’ll be coming to the party as well. My best guess requires you to scramble in three minutes minus, at maximum acceleration. I know you’re going to be flying on vapors by the end of the mission, but…”
“That’s putting it mildly, Jack. Christ, we’ll be lucky to make it back at all. You realize I’m bossing a support squadron right now, I hope. I don’t even have a full complement on board, and I’m two fighters down for maintenance problems. I can only get four birds into the air.”
“Good. My two will make it a good half-dozen.”
“Six fighters between two squadrons? What the hell are we facing, anyway?”
“Hawk fighter-bombers. Four of them. Should be no contest if we do our job right. The steaks are on me when we get back.” He paused, smiled, then said, “I’ll explain later.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing it. Throw in a beer and you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll see you in the black. Out.”
It had to have been Ariadne, of course. The ship upon which his only child was flying on her induction cruise. She wouldn’t be riding fire, but he still felt a tug of fear in his chest, knowing that he was ordering her into even potential danger. There were no safe assignments in the middle of a battle, no way to guarantee that you’d come out the other side in one piece. And the Thirteenth had never tasted real action. They’d only switched over to fighters a few months before, held for home defense and battle drills, a proving ground for the warfighters of tomorrow. They needed an attack squadron, seasoned warriors, not overconfident rookies. One more thing to worry about.
And Hawks, as well. An old design from the Technocratic League, a generation out of date but still used by a lot of worlds for training and garrison duty. A solid, reliable fighter, battle-tested, which counted for a lot. Too many of the newer designs had never seen any real action, only the comfortable, calculated simulated battles. The Javelins he was flying were different. They’d been in service for long enough for him to know he could count on them. The Thirteenth didn’t have that sort of luck.
The doors slid open, and Nguyen tossed a helmet at him as he stepped onto the cargo bay, a pair of sleek fighters ready and waiting in front of the cargo airlock, poised to be hurled out into the cold vacuum of space. Dubois flashed him a smile as she climbed into her cockpit, waving as she settled into place at the controls. Sliding his helmet on, Winter followed, scrambling up the ladder into his own fighter, the systems activating automatically as they registered his presence. The heads-up display burst into life, the plotted trajectory he would take reaching off into infinity.
“Garcia to Winter, I mean, Blue Leader,” his speakers barked. “I’m all set up here, and you have launch clearance whenever you want it. All civilian traffic has been suspended until we know where we stand, and I’m coordinating with my counterpart on Ariadne.” He paused, then added, “After a fashion.”
“Meaning that we’re going to end up doing most of the work,” Dubois replied. “Don’t worry, boss, I’ll sit back long enough for you to get that fifth score. It’ll be nice to have two aces in the squadron.”
“You’re just saying that because you know I’ll get there first anyway,” Winter said. “Danny, get the third fighter onto the line as fast as you can. Absolute top priority. I want Lieutenant Cohen ready to defend the station should one of the bandits manage to break through our formation. I’m not entirely sure that Wolfhound is their target.”
“You think they’re trying to decoy us away?” Dubois asked.
“I think they’re probing, testing us. We don’t have the strength to cover that option, though. You ready?”
“I was born ready, buddy.”
“I hope so,” Winter said, settling down in his chair, hands poised on the controls. “Let’s get into the fight.” The two fighters were gently tugged into the cargo airlock, the hatch slamming shut behind them, the gap barely large enough to hold them. After what seemed an eternity, the outer door opened, the last traces of atmosphere gently guiding them clear of the station, drifting freely in space. The navigation computers engaged, firing a series of thruster pulses as they continued to drift, locking them on course, towards their distant goal.
“Maximum boost,” he said. “Push your engines as hard as you can, Cassie. We’re on the clock. Let’s go.”
Chapter 6
Bradley stood at attention in front of Flight Officer Haynes, the latter meticulously scrutinizing the contents of the datapad in her hand, periodically pausing to scrawl notes with her stylus on the display. She finally looked up, a thin smile on her face, and rested her datapad on the table.
“Well, Cadet, you are certainly off to an interesting start, are you not.”
“I hope so, ma’am.” Knowing their conversation was on the record, she added, “I had a contribution in saving the life of one of our pilots. That’s exactly what I came out here to do.”
Frowning, Haynes replied, “The Orbital Patrol does not give the Aerospace Force orders, Cadet. That’s a precedent we really don’t want to set. There’s a reason why SAR shuttles usually fly with our people in charge. If we weren’t so short-handed, Sub-Lieutenant Bishop would never have been in the chair in the first place. You need to learn that you have to respect the chain of command, Cadet, and that you cannot count on your family name to circumvent the regulations.” Folding her hands together, she added, “I’m taking you off active duty for the next week. You will research and write a ten-thousand-word essay on the protocols of search-and-rescue missions, with a focus on the necessity of Aerospace Force personnel handling such missions in the future.”
“Ma’am, I only have another twelve days on board before I am scheduled to return to the Academy.”
Raising an eyebrow, Haynes said, “Assuming you are fortunate enough to retain your position after I have prepared my report. Perhaps you should consider a transfer to the Orbital Patrol. I’m not certain that…” An alarm wailed, and Haynes looked up at the wall monitor, information rapidly flowing across the screen.
“Attention, attention. Pilots to their ships. Pilots to their ships,” the voice of Commander Murphy barked.
“What the hell?” Haynes said, leaping from her chair and sprinting down the corridor, Bradley a few paces behind her, racing to keep pace. The two of them raced to the hangar deck, the other pilots hurrying after her. Without waiting for orders or permission, Haynes snatched a helmet from the rack and climbed into the nearest fighter, one of the younger pilots scowling as he realized she’d taken his ride. Before he could protest, the magnetic catapult engaged, hurling Haynes from the ship, leaving the red-faced rookie looking around for someone to blame.
“You,” Sokolov said, shaking his head. “You’re the one who damn near grounded me.”
“Actually, Pilot Officer,” Bishop replied, walking over to the two of them, “she’s the one who saved your life. That engine wasn’t going to play long enough for you to get home. Best case you’d have been out there for hours waiting for someone to pick you up. Worst case you’d have ended up flying recon to the afterlife.” She reached for a control, and said, “All fighters are up, Commander. Haynes was the last to go. I’ve got my crews working on the lame ducks right now, but I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of getting them ready in time. We’ve got them stripped down to the guts of the engines.”
“Understood, Sub-Lieutenant. I doubt our Aerospace Force friends are
going to like this, but I need you to run Flight Ops. Get down to Astrogation. You can run the battle from there. And get the SAR shuttles on the line and ready to go, just in case. I don’t trust those fighters in their current condition. If two of them can malfunction, so can the rest.”
“Agreed, sir. I’m on it.” She turned to a technician, one of the few Aerospace enlisted on the deck, and said, “Corporal, get SAR One ready to go. Grab anyone you need. Make it priority.” She paused, turned to Bradley, and added, “Set up the control configurations for Cadet Bradley. She’ll be at the helm for any rescue ops.”
“Wait a damned minute,” Sokolov protested. “She isn’t even a first-year cadet yet!”
“She has ten times the flight hours in that model of shuttle. That’s what matters right know. If we need SAR Two, you’ll be taking her up.” She looked around, and said, “There should be two of you. Where’s the other one?”
“Right here,” a panting pilot said, running to the deck. “I knew I’d never make it in time, so I swung by Sensor Control and got the latest updates.” Turning to Bradley, she said, “We haven’t met. Pilot Officer Vasquez. I guess you’ve already run into Pete.” Sokolov’s face reddened still further, and she added, “Don’t worry, he’s just been catching hell from Baxter and Haynes over what happened out there. He’s really a nice guy normally.”
“Come on, we’re marking time,” Bishop said, running to the far door. “Chief, take the deck, and keep an eye on those SAR shuttles. If we need them, we’ll need them in a hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a grey-haired veteran in maintenance coveralls said, nodding in agreement as he rushed to SAR Two, half-grabbing a tardy technician. The four of them bounded down the corridor, an elevator waiting for them, and stepped inside, impatiently waiting as they sped down the decks to their destination. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the doors opened again, and they walked into Astrogation, the duty technicians standing to attention as they entered. One of them had already placed the battle on the main screen, the image dominating the wall, the three groups of fighters ranging towards each other on interception courses.
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