by Daniel Gibbs
“Music to my ears, sir,” Feldstein replied.
As the friendly fighters grouped back into a spherical formation, Justin studied the squadron-readiness readouts. They were down seven craft, with a few more seriously damaged. He second-guessed pulling out the extra shield generators. The Ghosts were clearly fragile after losing their deflectors. All that matters now is we’re going home.
Then his sensor readout started beeping wildly.
Three wormholes opened between the fighters and their escape route. A League of Sol frigate flew out of each. Within moments, more Shrikes launched and raced toward Justin and his compatriots.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Justin said. Where do they get all these ships? He took a deep breath. Work the problem. One at a time. Don’t let them compromise your OODA loop. “Alpha One to all pilots. Come about zero-nine-zero and follow my lead.”
“What’s the play?” Green asked.
“I’m working on it,” Justin replied. “For now, we trade space for time.”
“Roger that, sir.”
The sensor overlay clearly showed running would only get them so far. League Shrike fighters closed from astern, while more craft and ships maneuvered to cut off access to the Lawrence limit. Even if we get past them, I’ve got four Ghosts that can’t jump. Justin wracked his mind, trying to find a way out. The stealth raiders. He cued his commlink. “Alpha One to CSV Astute actual. Come in.”
“This is Astute actual. Go ahead, Captain,” came the baritone voice of Lieutenant Colonel Fielding a few moments later.
“How do you guys feel about packing a couple of damaged fighters into your shuttle bays?”
“I think my boys are crazy enough to try. Are you clear of the enemy?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Get some separation, and we’ll jump in at the limit.”
Justin stared at the sensor screen, wondering how they would pull it off. The only option was through. “Understood, Colonel. See you soon. Alpha One out.” This is going from bad to worse. At least we’ll take some of the Leaguer bastards with us.
Tehrani stared at the fuel gauge display on the screen mounted into her CO’s chair. It had taken considerable digging to find the readout within the engineering console subsystem, but staring at it was better than asking Hodges every five minutes how full the tanks were. The seconds continued to tick by, each feeling longer than the last. Ninety-eight percent, then ninety-nine, and finally, the monitor showed full helium-3 reserves. She let out a sigh of relief.
“Took longer than expected, but at least we’re able to get underway again,” Wright whispered. “Well, if the reactor starts.”
“Oh, don’t even.” Tehrani turned toward him. “I’ll go down there and jumpstart it myself if I have to.”
“Don’t tell the engineers that,” Wright replied with a chuckle.
“Communications, get Major Hodges on my commlink.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.
A few moments later, Hodges’s voice echoed through the speaker on Tehrani’s chair. “Engineering here, ma’am.” He sounded far more harried than usual.
“Our fuel level indicator shows one hundred percent. Timeline to starting the main reactor?”
“Momentarily, ma’am. If you’d like, we can do it now, with you on the line.”
“By all means, Major.” Tehrani stared at her monitor, which was configured to show reactor status. “Don’t wait on my account.”
Mechanical noises filled the commlink. Simultaneously, the power-outlet-level graph increased rapidly.
“We’re back online, ma’am. Call it ten minutes to reach eighty percent output.”
“Outstanding work,” Tehrani replied. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Engineering out.”
The tension level on the bridge, which only a few minutes before had been akin to a pressure cooker, subsided quickly. Invisible weights lifted off of Tehrani’s shoulders. We’re still in enemy territory, but our chances of success are up from zero. She kept telling herself to think positively.
“Reactor output over fifty percent, ma’am,” Wright announced, breaking into her thoughts. “We should jettison the umbilical with the Salinan.”
“Do it, XO.” She paused. “Communications, send my compliments to the Salinan and thank them for their assistance.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.
“Umbilical disconnected,” Wright said. “We’re under our own power again, Colonel.”
“Run diagnostics on all critical systems as power is restored.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright busied himself with his small screen.
With the crisis averted, Tehrani allowed herself to relax for a few seconds and put her head back. Now, all we need is for our fighters to jump out. We’ll pick them up, form up with the stealth raiders, and head for home. The neat and tidy course of action brought a smile to her lips.
“Conn, Communications. Text-only transmission from Captain Spencer, ma’am.”
“Send it to my viewer, Lieutenant.” As she read, her smile vanished almost immediately.
Colonel,
Situation poor. Combat objectives achieved, but many Ghosts have received enough damage to make Lawrence jumps impossible. Attempting to land as many as possible on the stealth raiders. Remaining assets will jump in thirty minutes, regardless of status.
CAP Justin Spencer
By Allah, a third of their number can’t jump? Justin’s message painted a grim picture. Tehrani reread it twice, thinking through what they could do about it. The most obvious answer was to jump the Greengold in and pick up the pilots. She pulled up a navigation chart of Sol and overlaid the transmission location on top of it then smiled again. “XO, have a look at this.”
Wright bent over and stared at the map. He traced a finger over Justin’s location. “Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“Our Lawrence drive hasn’t been used in a week. A jump to get us in range followed by a fifteen-minute cooldown would enable a nearly risk-free double jump.”
“I knew we weren’t getting out of this without you charging in to save the day.” Wright set his jaw. “Trying to persuade you otherwise is pointless, right, skipper?”
“You know me well. Beyond the obvious of leaving so many of our pilots behind, it’s almost impossible to land a fighter in the shuttle bay of a stealth raider, let alone with being under enemy fire.”
“You’re right.” Wright let out a sigh. “Okay. Let’s go get our people and get the hell out of here.”
“Agreed.” Tehrani turned to Mitzner. “Navigation, prepare Lawrence drive jump coordinates to get us in range of Sol then plot a jump into Sol system as close as possible to friendly forces and back out.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.
As the bridge crew performed their duties, Tehrani worked through her mental checklist. She punched up the shipwide intercom, 1MC. “Attention, all hands. This is the commanding officer. General quarters. General quarters. Man your battle stations. I say again, man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Set material condition one throughout the ship.”
The lights immediately dimmed and turned blue, bathing the bridge in a calm, relaxing light that made staring at the screens easier. Simultaneously, the general quarters klaxon blared.
Bryan turned to face her. “Conn, TAO. Material condition one set throughout the ship.”
“Conn, Navigation. Jump coordinates confirmed, ma’am. All systems nominal,” Mitzner interjected.
Tehrani sucked in a breath. “Time to get our people and go home. Navigation, activate Lawrence drive.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The void ripped open in a swirling mass of colors directly outside of the Zvika Greengold. The maw of the multicolored vortex grew until it was larger than the ship, which accelerated to enter the wormhole. Tehrani held on to the armrests of her chair. This will either be our crowning achievement on this
mission or my worst blunder.
19
Red plasma balls from several separate engagements flashed around the cockpit of Justin’s fighter. Most of the remaining friendly craft were locked in one-on-one matchups with Leaguers, with only a few elements maintaining cohesion. The general strategy was to move the dogfights away from the League frigates and edge toward the Lawrence limit. I’m buying time at this point. The odds of any of them getting away were rapidly approaching nil, but he was determined to take as many enemies to the grave with him as possible.
“Alpha One to Alpha Three, you still with me?”
“A bit busy, sir,” Adeoye replied. “But still combat capable.”
“Give ’em hell.” Justin searched for his next target on the HUD’s sensor display. A League fighter hanging behind the general furball seemed like an excellent next victim. He edged his flight stick toward the enemy and pushed his throttle as high as it would go.
The Leaguer seemingly noticed Justin’s approach and changed heading—directly for him. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed, and Justin pressed the missile-launch button. A Vulture dropped from the Ghost’s internal stores bay and zoomed toward the hostile. I’m down to one active-LIDAR tracker and two heat seekers. He had no anti-ship warheads remaining. “Alpha One, fox three.”
At the last moment, the enemy pilot dodged with a gravity-defying pivot followed by whatever countermeasures the League craft carried. The Vulture exploded harmlessly in space. Justin and the Leaguer traded energy-weapons fire on a high-speed pass before Justin reversed his course with an Immelmann, looking to reengage.
“Coalition pilot,” someone with a Chinese accent said on the guard frequency, “why you here?”
Justin cued his commlink. “You really have to ask? After what you guys did to Canaan?” He gritted his teeth as the targeting reticle lined up on the Leaguer. Blue neutron-cannon energy stabbed into the void. “It’s called payback, you son of a bitch, and a preview of what’s going to happen when we invade your home.” Anger poured out of him like a caustic flood. “Don’t like it? Tough.”
The enemy pilot slowed suddenly, forcing Justin to overshoot him. They began a deadly ballet of scissor maneuvers, each changing positions until Justin was on the receiving end of a stream of plasma balls.
“This our home. No one kill our people here. League defend Sol with our lives.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you attacked us out of the blue.” Since the Ghosts lacked afterburners, Justin had practiced some out-of-the-box advanced-combat maneuvers, including a modified version of Pugachev’s Cobra, and it seemed as good a time as any to try it. He cut the throttle to zero and pointed the nose of his fighter ninety degrees positive in declination. Thanks to the onboard inertial damping system, the direct effect was a massive slowdown in forward motion. The Leaguer shot by, momentarily disoriented.
“The capitalist cowards run after attacking civilians,” the Chinese pilot sneered. “I will finish you off before the hour is done.”
Justin grinned as he used the thruster controls to push his Ghost back to a flat Z-axis in relation to the enemy craft and kicked up the throttle. “The officers and crew of the CSV Zvika Greengold send their regards, asshole.” With the Leaguer less than three hundred meters away, he couldn’t miss. Blue neutron-cannon bolts shot out of Justin’s fighter and ripped the hostile apart. It exploded in a bright-orange flame for a moment before fading to nothingness.
“Alpha One to all pilots, update jump-readiness status.” Green and red lights flickered on Justin’s HUD. Only eight? Shock set in as he stared at the display. “Stores check… does anyone have any Javelins left?” If anyone was getting away, they had to knock out the remaining point-defense frigate and make a mad dash for the Lawrence limit.
“My boys still have a few, Spencer,” Martin replied. “You thinking we try to knock out this last bugger, yeah?”
“If anyone has a better idea, now’s the time.” As he spoke, Justin examined the overall status of Martin’s craft along with the other former Mauler pilots. Damn. Everyone’s shot up, and shields are nearly depleted.
Another friendly icon disappeared, without the pilot ejecting. That made eight lost so far. As if that wasn’t enough, the proximity-alert alarm buzzed. “Heads up, everyone. Inbound wormhole.” If it’s more Leaguers, we’re toast.
Tehrani felt so tense that she couldn’t exhale as the carrier emerged from its tunnel through the void—at least not until the shields were up and they had some idea of what was going on. The five-second wait was agonizing.
“Conn, TAO. Shields raised. Sensors coming online. Numerous hostile contacts consisting of frigate-class warships and space-superiority fighters,” Bryan said.
Tehrani took in the battlefield on the tactical plot. “Navigation, come to heading zero-eight-one, all ahead flank. Communications, signal our friendlies to make for the hangar bay smartly.”
Incoming plasma balls found them, rocking everyone on the bridge.
“Skipper, we’ve got a problem.” Wright pointed at two of the icons closest to them, which represented League frigates.
“Well, don’t keep it to yourself.”
“Their configuration. More point defense than we’re used to seeing. They’re optimized to attack fighters. If our Ghosts try to land, they’ll get cut apart.”
Somehow, I knew this wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. Tehrani let a breath out. “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way, then. Navigation, belay previous orders. Intercept course…” She glanced at the plot. “Master Five. TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Five.”
“I was afraid of that,” Wright muttered.
“Aye, aye, ma’am. Firing solution set,” Bryan replied.
Just in range. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
Two beams of blue energy erupted from the Greengold’s bow. Moving at the speed of light, they immediately smacked the League frigate’s shields, which held under the strain as energy radiated in all directions amid a red glow. As the energy-weapons capacitor exhausted itself, the outgoing fire faded in power before blinking out.
“Conn, TAO. Master Five shields under twenty percent, ma’am.”
Tehrani did some mental arithmetic and didn’t like the answer. “It’ll take us too long to knock these frigates out. Asking our fighters to attack would be suicide. We need options.”
“The stealth raiders,” Wright said. “They should be close by or within jump range.”
Yes! “Good thinking,” Tehrani replied. “Communications, request fire support from any friendly stealth raider in range. Target Master Four and Five.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormholes,” Bryan interjected, his voice rising in pitch slightly.
Instinctively, Tehrani knew it was more Leaguers and not the stealth raiders. She steeled herself for the report to come as she pondered how bad it would be. Allah, please, do not let me have led us to our doom.
“League signature confirmed—six Alexander-class battleships, designated Master Ten through Sixteen. Numerous heavy cruisers, destroyers, and frigates. Three frigates designated Master Six through Eight emerged within weapons range along with one destroyer, designated Master Nine.” Bryan turned around. “Target-rich environment, ma’am.”
“As you were, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied. “How close are those capital ships to us?”
Bryan checked his board. “No more than ten minutes, ma’am. Maybe less.”
“The frigates that dropped in next to us, they’re the anti-fighter variant, Colonel,” Wright interjected.
Tehrani sucked in a breath and fought to clear her mind. Think, Banu. What’s the fastest way out? They had to disable the League frigates before the battleships and their respective escorts arrived. We’d last thirty seconds against that kind of force. Without help, they weren’t likely to pull it off. Regardless, she would try. “TAO, time to energy-weapon-capacitor
recharge?”
“Ninety seconds, ma’am.”
“Bleed every milliwatt of power possible to the weapons.” Tehrani turned to Wright. “We might need to use your trick for overcharging the neutron beams again.”
“Single-use, ma’am. Remember?”
“I know.” She forced down the overwhelming fear that threatened to take over at any moment, as they were six thousand light-years from home, in the League’s home system, and surrounded by enough firepower to take out half the CDF. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Five.”
“Firing solution set, ma’am,” Bryan replied.
She counted down mentally for a full charge. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
While the words “give up” weren’t in Justin’s vocabulary, a few minutes prior, he would’ve admitted the situation was grim at best. Again in a position to make peace with death or worse—capture by the League—he’d adopted an almost Zen mental stance, working through each problem in turn. When the Zvika Greengold arrived, not only did he nearly jump out of his skin in joy, but it also changed everything. They had a chance to survive, and his job was to see to it that as many of his pilots as possible made it to the carrier.
“What’s the plan, sir?” Feldstein asked. “I don’t think we’ll make it through a landing evolution with the combat damage most of us have sustained with those point-defense frigates positioned around the Greengold.”
“Take out the frigates,” Green interjected. “If we had our Boars here, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“When we make it home, you can do all the stupid sound effects you want, Lieutenant,” Justin replied. “That’s a promise. For now, the best I can come up with is a massed attack on the nearest frigate to the port docking bay. Then we go for a combat landing.”
“Those frigates will eat us alive.”
His fellow squadron commander’s observation was correct, but they had no other choice.
An unfamiliar voice broke into the comms channel. “Red Tails, this is CSV Astute actual. Our position is roughly a few hundred kilometers from your starboard quarter, with the Leviathan. Hold off on your attack, as we’re about to break stealth and engage.”