Fox glanced at the faces. “Other than that, keep it up and await orders to jump. We’re keeping the pressure on and we don’t have much time left. Flagstaff out.”
The screens went dark and Fox looked over at Grant, pausing in the relative silence. “Was your mission necessary?”
“Yes. We’d have lost Wright’s Patriot without it,” Grant confirmed with authority.
“Maybe, but you’re not the only one with a fighter, and he wasn’t out there alone. If Omega is correct, I think you’re too valuable to run to the front lines every chance you get.”
“No offense, but that’s where I belong.”
“You suffered the only casualties of the battle, and it just as easily could have been you.”
“Call it what you want but it’s what I’m here to do. And you’ll notice it wasn’t me getting hit out there.”
“I know,” Fox acquiesced. “But I think you need to reconsider it. You’re no good to anyone dead. Command from here and we’ll still muster through.”
“I’ll consider it,” Grant agreed. He didn’t have a burning intention to retrograde from the edge, but maybe the commander was right. The only losses were in his flight.
13
Once underway, the crew of the Flagstaff had another eight hours to kill before their expected arrival at the second Cygnan staging area. Commander Grant took to pacing the upper observation deck which ran along the spine of the ship in quiet contemplation of what Fox had said. If Omega had really believed he was so important, why did he let the soldier leave his sight? The alien didn’t give him a talking-to about playing things safe; only his subordinate commander did that. He undoubtedly knew the risks and more than likely knew the darkness that still gnawed at Grant’s heart.
He had a few hypotheses. Maybe the mission was worth, or required, the risk. He stopped walking, his mind suddenly processing the detail on every surface of the hallway, from the textured metal underfoot to the seams between the panels on the walls. Or maybe he was simply expendable. After all, how much faith could an alien place in him? There’d be no way he’d do the same if placed in a similar situation. Or did Omega know this was where he was most useful; bringing pain and crushing souls.
Still thinking over the problem, Grant looked about and noticed he had unconsciously wound his way to the defensive fighter squadron’s mission planning cell. Almost automatically and without further consideration, he released the door latch and walked through. The short, dimly lit hallway contained a few cases of relics, the squadron’s parchment charter and a row of photographs, presumably members lost in the war. He didn’t stop to look over any of it but walked into the circular briefing chamber.
The pilots were seated in a close circle near the center, most quiet and staring at the ground. A dull murmur rose and fell in the background. One of them saw the commander enter and called the room to attention.
Grant waved the gesture off. “Just… just keep your seats. What are you doing up here?”
“Saying goodbye to our lost, sir,” the squadron commander replied.
He put the pieces together. Of course, they had lost two fighters in the battle. It already seemed like ages ago. Half of him wanted to leave the issue but the rest forced him to stay. “Who were they?”
“Captain James Lasky and Lieutenant Eric Shafer. Call signs were Torch and Mittens.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Tell me about them.”
***
Not dissimilar to the commander several floors above, Major Kael and Sergeant Mason checked up on the forces with them on the Flagstaff.
“Keep it together,” Kael said, addressing one of the fire teams. “Hopefully our luck will hold a while longer. If not, we’re gonna tear up every last one of those things that climb aboard.” A few muffled cheers resounded. “But remember, we’re here as the contingency. If the ships come under attack, we need to be ready to respond.”
With his steady, forceful demeanor, Kael continued to expound on their instructions.
***
Fox drifted in and out of consciousness while he leaned back in the captain’s chair on the bridge, still acutely aware of the time he had until their arrival. Every few minutes his eyes flickered open and he would instantly focus on the countdown timer in the center of his console. Only an hour remained.
He sat up straight. It was about time he got the rest of the crew assembled and staged he surmised and let his eyes wander the room. They came to rest on the automatic ZiG rifle clamped to the right side of his station, somewhat out of place. That’s right; he had nearly forgotten that he had taken his own advice to Grant and checked out a rifle a few hours earlier. If they were so important, he didn’t want to be left with only a sidearm if the battle went south.
The rear door hissed open and Fox looked back as Grant walked in, still wearing his black and red armored flight suit and carrying the matching helmet beneath his left arm.
“I’m assuming you’re not going to take my advice,” Fox asked, rhetorically.
“Correct as ever,” Grant raised an eyebrow. “You going to try to stop me?”
“No. As you said, it’s where you belong. At least it’s where you can cause the most damage. To them.”
“Sounds like we’re finally seeing eye-to-eye.” The commander looked down at the clock. “Are you ready up here?”
“Getting there. I was about to hit up the gunners and response teams to finish preparations. How’s your ship?”
“I should ask the same thing, but it’s pretty solid.” He leaned against the console wall. “I can tell Omega’s guys were playing with it. It responds a little differently. Probably for the better but I don’t need Chief inadvertently breaking something he’s not expecting.”
“The Lyrans trained the maintainers, didn’t they? I thought they gave everyone the crash course in Patriot operations.”
“Scott says they did but the trainers didn’t go as deep. It sounded like they told him which boxes they modified and what they shouldn’t touch.”
“Are your guys ready to run interception? We’re looking at a bigger formation to take on this time.” Fox gazed out through the leading glass into darkness.
“Yeah. They were kinda down about losing two of their bros in the last system, but I don’t see why we won’t be ready. They should be loading up now. I just stopped by here on the way upstairs.”
“Well don’t let me stand in your way. I’ll wait for you to call in once you’re up on comms. Good luck.”
“Same to you.” Grant turned to leave. “Hopefully the Patriots get in a little earlier so we don’t have to cut it so close.”
***
The minutes ticked down as Grant dropped into the seat of the SR-X and flashed a salute to Chief Robins who was waiting on the deck below. The ship’s greeting was familiar as the engines came to life and he tapped into the Flagstaff’s communication network.
“Grant online. Commander Fox, you there?”
“I read you on the bridge channel. Standby for battlefield upload and orders.”
The commander leaned back and ran his hands across the controls. Everything responded as he expected. Barring any major disasters, they were ready. He switched the channel to his squadron. “We’ve got one minute to go. Command is set.”
“Copy. We’re green across the board.”
Grant waited nervously the last few seconds until he felt the familiar jolt of the ship dropping back out of the jump into real space. A mere moment of silence preceded Fox yelling, “SHIELDS! SHIELDS SHIELDS! EVASIVE MANEUVERS!”
He locked his eyes on his scope and watched the field fill with alien targets, the dozens quickly turning into twenties and fifties. They were far closer than they had been before and were already in range. Rather than interject his own opinion from his limited viewpoint, Grant only listened to the frantic voices on the other side of the ship.
“Hard right! Get us out of here! Dammit shuttles are closing fast! Target every one of th
em!” The cannons warmed up and let loose a thundering array of shots which reverberated across the bay. “Grant! You there?”
“Waiting on you,” he replied with the emotion and care of a long-worn stone.
“Cleared to launch! We’ve got shuttles incoming from all directions and we’re not gonna hit ‘em all!”
“Copy all,” Grant confirmed and dropped the canopy of his fighter while the thick metal doors to the deck slid aside. “Cleared hot!” he called across to the rest of the squadron. “Launch and stay close! Our targets are the dropships. Keep them off the Flagstaff!” he added and pulled up from the ground. Outside he could already see an array of flashes and explosions from the initial crossfire.
***
On the bridge above, Fox was on his feet, directing every member of his limited crew to the best of his ability. The Cygnan ships were far too close and outnumbered his own to even attempt a fake frontal attack. Battleships and cruisers were spread in every direction, hiding the smaller shuttles beneath their larger signatures. They must have known they were coming; there was no way for the tiny dropships to launch and then jump to Earth. How did they get the message so quickly?
The best solution was to retreat and try to hold off whatever came after them. The Patriots were only supposed to be two minutes behind them. How much time did they have left? He couldn’t stop to concentrate on the clock. The scope before him was a blur of red, tagged alien targets as the fighters streaked out from the battleship in a wave of contrasting blue dots. Flashes lit up the night as rounds began to slam into the leading shields.
***
Grant warmed up the leading cannons on the SR-X and ripped through a small Cygnan ship as it raced towards him and the Flagstaff, leaving the twisted metal to burn out in a quick burst of fire. Without a pause he flipped his fighter about and pulled back towards the alien fleet. The tiny vessels weren’t terribly difficult to engage, but they were fast and there were too many to take on alone. It was only a matter of time before they would start to get through.
“One down,” he reported and picked the next closest to pursue. “Found another. Moving to engage.” His focus was so drawn he hardly noticed the wide white form of a Patriot snap into space far above his head.
“Lieutenant Wright on station!” the officer reported in. “Engaging Cygnan fleet!” he added through the command channel, immediately capturing the situation and not waiting for further orders.
“Watch it! They’ve deployed a couple hundred dropships! Keep your distance!” Grant advised.
“Copy that!” Wright confirmed.
From the corner of his vision, Grant watched the Patriot’s main weapon begin to glow, and with a brilliant burst of light send a projectile straight through a vector containing two battleships and numerous smaller ones. It was a good move, but knowing the Patriots’ power issues, not one the lieutenant could do again without getting drawn into a sustained firefight.
“Where are the others?” the commander asked.
“They were right behind me. I’ve got the opening this time.”
It would have to be good enough, Grant thought and traced a line of bullets across the body of another shuttle, sending it tumbling into oblivion. Far out on his scope, he spied another making a line towards the Flagstaff.
“Fox! I’ve got one on radar about twenty degrees under you. I’ll try to hit it but he’s cooking!”
“Copy. Gunners have it on the target list. Clear to engage.”
Grant swung around again and flew straight to intercept the isolated ship. As he approached, he could see divisions appear on the dark skin of his target. His scope updated its calculation.
“It’s not just one! They’re hiding several behind one signal tag!” he shouted as the Cygnans broke from their tight linear formation and took to sharp maneuvers to evade his tracking. “Shit! I’ve got eight of them down here!”
“I see. Deck guns are adjusting to engage.”
No sooner did Fox’s statement end that the first spear of glowing energy streaked past Grant’s fighter only a few meters away. That’s right, he remembered, he was right in the line of fire for the Flagstaff’s defensive position. Grant rolled hard to the side to get out of the funnel, cursing to himself in a low growl. He took a quick, guided shot on the way and tagged one of shuttles. It immediately slowed under an engine failure and took another devastating blast from the human battleship’s leading gun. There was no time or space to get a shot at the others.
“It’s up to you. I can’t get a lock from my angle.”
“It’s okay,” Fox said. Another shuttle ate a cannon round. “We’ll get what we can and clean up the rest on the ground. Just don’t let us get overwhelmed.”
“Understood,” Grant grumbled but pulled back from the pursuit. He did all he could to not concentrate on the three surviving tags on his scope that intersected the friendly ship at the center.
***
“It’s coming straight at us!” Robins yelled and dove for cover at the corner of the main landing bay. The rest of his maintainers were already armed and positioned in the storage facility in front of him. The man nearest the entrance slammed the thick metal door shut just as the alien shuttle smashed hard through the deployed barricades and in a deafening crash, taking half of the walls and service-ways with it. Metal was still flying in the bay when the ramps dropped and Chief Robins heard the rising echo of random gunfire from the emerging invaders on the opposite side.
***
“Sir, we’ve got three confirmed landings!” the pilot reported and Fox’s heart sank. It was going from bad to worse; even if the rest of the Patriots showed up they’d still have to clean up a serious problem.
“Full lockdown!” he commanded and reached for the rifle at his side. “Mark their locations for our defensive forces, I’m calling for support.” Fox stopped and switched his radio channel. “Lieutenant Wright! What’s your situation over there?” he asked, scanning across the gathering storm of the alien armada.
“Sir, we’ve got the bulk of their ships lining up to engage us. We’ll take them as quickly as we can but the battleships will suppress our weapons.”
“Are any of their shuttles going for you?”
Wright checked his console. “Negative. We’ve only got the cruisers and bigger.”
“Hate to ask you, but I need some of your ground teams. We’ve got at least three confirmed landings on the Flagstaff and I don’t think we’ll be able to hold them.”
“Can do, Sir!” Wright replied. “I’ll send them immediately!”
“For God’s sake, hurry up! Fox out!” The commander flipped off the radio and turned back as he heard gunfire echo in from the hallway behind him.
***
“Carter, you up?” Wright’s voice came in frantically.
“Of course. What do you need?” The lieutenant again stood at the center of the mobile platform surrounded by his team. Scott watched him from his knee, only hearing half the conversation while continuing to scan the plain hallway.
“Copy that, we’re on our way!” Carter glanced down at the engineer. He answered before Scott could post the question. “Time to go to work.”
“How’s that?”
“The Flagstaff’s under attack,” The lieutenant said and dropped the lone control on the platform. “We’re picking up a shuttle in the bay and we’re gonna help them out.”
Scott’s heart jumped as the platform picked up speed. He knew Commander Fox wouldn’t call for reinforcements if he didn’t truly need them.
The closest landing bay was only a few seconds away and the lieutenant made use of every one of them. When they came to a stop, Scott could see a single shuttle was already at idle waiting for the team when they arrived. “Let’s go,” Carter said simply, and led the way up the loading plank. When the twelfth soldier’s foot hit the ship, the lieutenant rapped on the bulkhead above them. “Set! Wheel’s up! Let’s move!”
“Chocks out! Strap in!” The pilot’s v
oice came through over the intercom while the engines outside roared to life. Scott followed the lead of the other soldiers and took a position along the wall holding on to the line of emergency handles and quietly hoping his armor would absorb whatever was to come. He exhaled in a quick sigh to steady his rising nerves.
With a sharp kick, the shuttle launched free of the alien bay and slipped into nothingness. Scott found his heart racing, even though he attempted to convince himself the trip was no different than the hundred or so he took from Earth. Whatever; his brain was not having it and he was still well aware of the likely hundreds of alien ships readying the chance to turn them into dust.
The pilot flew straight and level so he didn’t suspect they were under fire yet. It wouldn’t be the tragedy of dying in combat, but to not even make it there… well that was still more anxiety-inducing. Scott thought through a likely scenario. If they survived a hull breach, it was likely their suits would keep them alive, free floating in space. So he’d asphyxiate, dehydrate or starve. A jolt from the ship stopped his descent into madness.
“We’re lining up for the approach!” Carter yelled out. “Standby, we’re landing hot in twenty seconds!”
Scott dropped his face shield like the other soldiers and clasped his rifle tight with his right hand while still keeping a grip on the wall with his left. He tried to retain his focus and follow every word the lieutenant said.
“Primary landing area is the upper fighter bay. They’ve got a Cygnan dropship on the ground. First move is to secure the site and engage any stragglers. Security feeds have their forces moving forward towards the bridge. We’ll take them from behind.”
“Hold on!” their pilot radioed back into the passenger bay as the shuttle rocked sharply to close in on the Flagstaff and slammed down hard onto the deck, nearly knocking the soldiers from their feet. Scott stumbled but heard the platform release above the deafening screech. He looked up and saw that the first fire team was already off the ship and running on the ground through a thick haze of dark, swirling smoke.
MissionSRX: Deep Unknown Page 14