Ep.#8 - Celestia: CV-02

by Ryk Brown

  All of this did not matter to Jessica. The one thing that did matter was the fact that she had no thermal shielding that she knew of, and the temperature on the outside of her suit was climbing rapidly. She could feel the cooling system in her suit struggling to keep the interior cool, but it was failing. She was beginning to sweat quite a lot.

  As both her exterior and interior suit temperature indicators on her visor display continued to rise, a sense of panic swept over her body. The feeling was accentuated by her inability to move her arms and legs against the force of the thickening air, as well as a general lack of visual cues from the outside environment. She tried to think of pleasant things to calm herself and reduce her anxiety, but nothing worked. One thing kept running through her mind. “I’m gonna be one of the eight fucking percent!” she screamed.

  Four more Jung fighters exploded as the ready flight’s missiles found their targets. Fragments from one of the Jung interceptors struck a neighboring ship in their formation, causing it to go into a spin. The pilot struggled to control the interceptor with thrusters but failed and struck the ship on the other side. Both ships broke apart, their spilled propellant going up in a brief flash fire.

  “Yes!” Major Prechitt cried out as he watched the devastation from his cockpit. “Ready flight, flip and burn,” he ordered as the eight fighters blew past the remaining six Jung interceptors. “Once you catch up, fall in above and below the bandits. We need to get guns on these bastards and take the rest of them out before they get into firing position. Once they launch their nukes, they’ll be free to maneuver, and things will get really difficult.”

  “Ready flight just took out six more interceptors!” Mister Randeen reported. “They’re moving into position to go to guns.”

  “How long until those interceptors can launch on us?” Nathan asked, staring at the tactical overlays on the main view screen.

  “One minute.”

  “Mister Riley?”

  “Primary in three minutes, Captain,” the navigator answered. “One minute to second alternate.”

  “Screw the alternate,” Nathan said. “There’s no way we’d get our fighters back in time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mister Riley answered. “Locking jump drive onto primary jump point.”

  “How far out is the Jung cruiser?” Nathan asked.

  “Cruiser will be in targeting range in two minutes,” Mister Randeen answered.

  “Flight, Captain,” Nathan called over his comm-set. “Recall all fighters! Repeat, recall all fighters! I need them on our deck in two and a half minutes!”

  “Recalling all fighters, aye,” the flight operations officer answered.

  “Pitch us back over, Mister Chiles,” Nathan ordered. “I want our fighters to have a straight-in approach.”

  “Talon Flight, Talon One. Pivot and go to guns!” Major Prechitt ordered as he manipulated his flight control stick, yawing his fighter to port and pitching his nose down toward the six Jung interceptors below him. He watched his targeting display as his ship’s attitude changed in relation to its orbital path, waiting until his targeting reticle was in the center of the group of six targets. After stopping his ship’s yaw and pitch, he selected a firing pattern for his rail guns and squeezed the trigger on his flight control stick.

  A constant stream of brilliant, blue-white bolts of energy shot out of either side of the fighter’s nose. The selected firing pattern caused the fighter’s maneuvering system to begin a series of tiny bursts from selected maneuvering thrusters that caused the fighter’s nose to dance around to an almost imperceptible degree.

  A kilometer away, where the major’s energy bolts met the flight of six Jung interceptors, the pattern was obvious. The blue-white bolts of energy drew a zigzag pattern across the flight of interceptors in an attempt to score as many hits as possible.

  Only a second later, several more Talon fighters joined in the attack, their own energy cannons dancing across the flight of Jung interceptors in their own patterns. Within seconds, the blue-white bolts of energy were coming from both sides and from behind the interceptors.

  The Jung pilots panicked, having never encountered Earth fighters armed with energy weapons. The Jung interceptors began to maneuver wildly in a desperate attempt to evade the bolts of energy lashing out at them from seemingly every angle.

  Energy bolts walked across the lead interceptor as it rolled and jinked. They cut into its wing and fuselage. The interceptor broke open and exploded, sending fragments in all directions. An interceptor nearby also exploded, a combination of both the bolts of energy and the fragments from the lead interceptor.

  Major Prechitt watched as his flight quickly annihilated the group of six Jung interceptors. It had been almost too easy, and he almost felt bad for the pilots of the Jung ships. The entire attack had taken only twelve seconds, after which, his threat display was clear of the tiny pests. The only one that remained was still a minute away, but there was nothing he could do about that one.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” the major ordered his flight of fighters.

  “Man!” one of his pilots yelled over comms. “What a slaughter!”

  “Man, I can’t tell who shot what!” another pilot said.

  “Who cares?” a third pilot declared.

  “Corinari!” one of the older pilots yelled proudly.

  “No, Alliance!” another one corrected.

  “Talon leader, Flight,” the flight controller’s voice called across the comms. “All Talons are to return to the Aurora immediately! Repeat, all Talons are to return to the Aurora immediately! We jump out in two minutes!”

  “Flight, Talon leader copies,” the major answered. “Talon Flight, recall! Return to the Aurora as fast as you can! We’ve got two minutes before she jumps. If you’re not wheels on deck by then, you’ll be joining Nash on the surface!”

  “I wouldn’t mind!” one of the younger pilots commented.

  “Just get your ass on the deck,” Major Prechitt scolded, although he did not disagree with the young man’s sentiments. He also knew that an incredible amount of testosterone and adrenaline was currently surging through the veins of all his pilots, even the older, more experienced ones. “Nothing fancy, just get your wheels on deck. We’ll cycle through the airlocks after the jump.”

  “Lead the way, boss!”

  Major Prechitt fired his main engine once more and throttled up to full power. It would take them just over a minute to reach the Aurora, which left them even less time to land. “Flight, Talon One,” the major called over his comms. “Open the outer doors on all three transfer airlocks. We’re going to need all the room we can get if we’re going to fit fifteen of us on deck at once.”

  “All incoming Jung interceptors within contact range have been destroyed,” Mister Randeen reported from the Aurora’s tactical station.

  “Flight reports Talons are on their way back and should be on deck by the time we jump, sir,” Naralena reported from comms.

  “Target the cruiser with our quads and open fire,” Nathan ordered.

  “Sir, we’re not in effective targeting range yet, and the Earth’s gravity is going to make it even more difficult at this range.”

  “Just sweep the target,” Nathan instructed. “It doesn’t have to be pretty. We just have to send as many projectiles in their direction as possible. Something’s bound to hit. We certainly won’t destroy them, but we might give them a bloody nose on the way out.”

  “What about the fighters?”

  “Cease fire as they pass over our tail.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mister Randeen acknowledged. “Quads are firing.”

  “Contacts!” Lieutenant Yosef reported from the sensor station. “Multiple contacts coming from the cruiser. Probable missile launch! Transferring tracks to tactical.”

  �
�Eight missiles inbound,” Mister Randeen reported. “Time to impact: seventy seconds!”

  “Time to primary?” Nathan asked.

  “One minute!” Mister Riley answered.

  “How long until our fighters are down?”

  “Fifty seconds,” Mister Randeen answered.

  “Keep your finger on that jump button, Mister Riley,” Nathan said. “It’s going to be close.”

  “Talon leader, Flight. Forty-five seconds to jump,” the flight controller’s voice called over the comms.

  Major Prechitt’s eyes shifted between his flight data display and the view out the front of his canopy. The aft end of the Aurora was coming at him fast. “Talon Flight, leader,” he called over his comms. “As soon as you pass over the Aurora’s aft end, do an end over and go to full burn to decelerate quickly.”

  “You want us to land ass first?” one of his pilot’s asked.

  “That’s the plan,” the major answered. “Got a problem with that?”

  “No, sir.”

  Major Prechitt glanced out his canopy again. The Aurora was going to pass closely under him. He noticed the blue-white flashes coming from the rails of the Aurora’s quad guns as they reflected off the back of her forward section. “Flight, Talon One. We’d appreciate it if those quads weren’t firing when we land.”

  “Quads will cease fire before the first Talon lands,” the flight controller answered.

  “That will certainly help,” the major responded.

  “Captain, Lieutenant Commander Nash’s outer suit temp is getting awfully hot,” Lieutenant Yosef reported, genuine concern in her voice. “I don’t see any thermal shields on her.”

  “Why aren’t her thermal shields on?” Nathan asked Lieutenant Montgomery.

  “She doesn’t have any,” the lieutenant answered, surprised that the captain was not aware of the fact.

  “What do you mean, ‘She doesn’t have any’?” Nathan asked, a look of disbelief on his face.

  “The Ghatazhak space-jump systems were designed to be as stealthy as possible. The use of powered thermal shielding would make them much easier to detect during atmospheric interface.”

  “What keeps them from burning up?” Nathan asked.

  “The suits are designed to withstand the heat of atmospheric interface through the use of aerodynamics, heat resistant materials, and a robust, internal cooling system.”

  “How robust?” Nathan asked. Lieutenant Montgomery appeared confused. “How hot is it likely to get inside the suit?” he added in a more demanding tone.

  “Based on the density of Earth’s atmosphere, approximately sixty-five degrees by your Celsius temperature scale.”

  “Sixty-five? Are you kidding me? That doesn’t concern you?”

  “The Ghatazhak had never had a problem…”

  “She’s not a Ghatazhak, Lieutenant!”

  “Captain, even I could withstand such temperatures,” Lieutenant Montgomery argued. “I admit, it would not be pleasant, but…”

  “Don’t you think you should have mentioned this before?”

  “I explained it to Lieutenant Commander Nash when she was preparing for departure. Perhaps she was distracted by your exchange.”

  “Medical, Captain!” Nathan called over his comm-set.

  “Medical. Go ahead, sir,” Doctor Chen answered.

  “Can a human survive a temperature of sixty-five degrees Celsius for several minutes?”

  “Possibly, but steps would have to be taken to condition the person. Proper hydration, physical conditioning, prolonged exposure to high temperatures to precondition the subject…”

  “Can Lieutenant Commander Nash survive it?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. She is in excellent condition, both physically and mentally, but I just do not know.” The doctor paused for a moment. “I would not have recommended it.”

  Jessica felt as if she were on fire as her space-jump suit shook violently during reentry. Her body was dripping wet, and her eyes stung from the perspiration running down her face. She kept her eyes closed as much as possible, opening them intermittently to check her altitude and exterior suit temperature, the latter of which kept climbing at a frightening rate.

  Something hot touched her left shoulder. It didn’t hurt at first, but the burning sensation intensified. An alert tone sounded in her helmet. She opened her eyes again, checking her visor display. An alert message was warning her of impending seal failures. “Oh, God!” she yelled. “I’m gonna kill you, Montgomery!”

  Major Prechitt’s fighter descended rapidly down the sloped, forward face of the Aurora’s main drive section. The backward burn of his main engines had decelerated him fast enough to get him down to a manageable landing speed, even coming in tail first. His eyes were locked on his flight data display and the lines that indicated his approach parameters in relation to the Aurora’s flight apron. With his landing gear down and locked, he would coast in with his wheels a meter above the deck.

  His fighter coasted over the aft edge of the flight apron just as he had planned. He waited several seconds before thrusting downward so his fighter would touch the deck as far forward as possible in order to leave plenty of room for those coming in to land behind him. At the right moment, he applied a gentle downward thrust, just enough so the apron’s artificial gravity systems would grab hold of his fighter and pull him the rest of the way down.

  Collision alarms sounded as his wheels touched the deck and his ship rolled backward toward the open, port-side transfer airlock. He applied wheel brakes to slow his ship, taking great care not to over steer. His fighter finally came to a stop just inside the port-side transfer airlock. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Flight, Talon One down.”

  He looked out his canopy, aft toward the forward slope of the Aurora’s main drive section, watching as the rest of his fighters came in to land in the same backward fashion. As promised, the quad rail guns on either side of the flight apron were no longer firing.

  The major’s wingman was already on the deck. He could see the nose of his wingman’s fighter barely sticking out of the larger, center transfer airlock. Two more fighters touched down nearly simultaneously, one of them rolling in next to the major’s wingman in the center transfer airlock while the other rolled backward into the starboard transfer airlock.

  Major Prechitt checked the time display on his console as the landing procession continued outside his canopy. They had twenty seconds until the Aurora would jump away. A quick count revealed that more than half of his fighters had already made it down onto the apron. He ducked his head slightly in order to see out from under the overhang of the transfer airlock alcove as the last five Talons descended along the sloped hull of the drive section. Four of them were descending perfectly. The last one was not. “Fifteen!” the major called over his comms. “Thrust down! You’re too high!”

  “Something’s wrong!” the young pilot replied. “I’m losing power in the vertical thrusters!”

  “Can you roll?” the major asked urgently.

  “I’m trying!”

  A few small squirts of thrust shot out of the wounded fighter plane, causing him to descend, albeit too slowly. His nose drifted downward as well.

  “I’m not getting enough thrust!”

  “You’re starting to translate down,” the major told him, “but it’s not enough!”

  “I can make it! I can make it!”

  “You’re going to hit the upper hull and bounce off!” the major yelled. “Eject! Eject! Eject!”

  It was too late. The fighter slammed tail first into the hull of the Aurora just above the major’s head. He could feel the vibrations of the impact. “Lieutenant!”

  “Two missiles have breached our point-defenses!” Mister Randeen reported.

  “Jump
point in seven seconds!” Mister Riley announced.

  Nathan felt a distant thud, as if something had struck the ship from behind. “What the…?”

  “Ten seconds to missile impact!” Mister Randeen added.

  “Flight reports Talon Fifteen has struck the hull!” Naralena announced.

  “Jumping in five…” the navigator reported.

  “What about the rest of the fighters?” Nathan demanded.

  “Four……”

  “Flight reports all fighters are down,” Naralena answered.

  “Three……”

  “Damn!” the young pilot yelled as his damaged fighter slid up the sloped backside of the Aurora’s forward hull section.

  “Two……” the Aurora’s navigator counted over the comms.

  “Damn!” the pilot swore again as his ship continued to slide up the Aurora’s hull. At any moment, his ship would slide past the curvature of the upper hull and tumble into space.

  “One……”

  He knew what would happen if he was partially caught in the Aurora’s jump fields. He had seen the images of the ill-fated shuttle that had experienced a partial shield failure while jumping out of a hot landing zone during the battle of Answari.

  “Jumping!”

  The young pilot took his last deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt a prickly sensation sweep over him as the blue-white flash of the jump made the inside of his eyelids appear as a bright, pinkish hue. There was a ripping sound and a sudden whoosh of air as if the canopy of his fighter had been ripped away. Even inside his helmet, the sound was deafening. Then the light was gone, and silence and darkness enveloped him.