The next morning, after his exercise, shower and breakfast, he made his way to the ready room and waited there whilst his pilots trickled in. Everyone was dressed in their black flight suits that doubled as a survival suit and minor med bay. The ready room was full with five minutes to spare. Crineal called them to attention and then sat them down.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to be running a standard patrol pattern today. It’s going to be routine…” he paused for a second, “except the admiral and I are expecting trouble.” Crineal watched as most of them straightened up and listened more attentively. “There is no evidence but we think the rebels might try something. Probably a hit and run raid. I want everyone to be sharp and watch those sensors. No stunts or jerking off today,” he warned them, “Ok, get to your ships and I’ll see you out there.”
The pilots all stood and saluted him and then filed out of the room; Strieger and Crineal brought up the rear. He entered the launch bay and nodded to the tech standing by his Hunter doing the last of the pre-flight ground checks. “Are we ready, Chief?”
Tech Chief Uttepal turned and saluted him. “Yes, Sir. All systems checked and green.”
Crineal nodded and climbed the steps. “Good. I’ll see you later, Chief.”
“We’ll have a nice warm bay waiting for you, Sir,” he replied as he closed the hatch on the general’s Hunter.
Crineal went through the pre-flight sequence and then kicked the engines into life. He smoothly lifted the fighter off the deck, retracted the landing skids and thrust gently out of the bay, slowly building power until he reached cruising speed. As he cleared the carrier he could see the Earth below him. From up here it looked just as he remembered: the blues browns and greens wrapped in swathes of white.
Shaking his head clear of these distracting thoughts, he toggled his comm link on. “This is Delta Leader to all flight leaders; form on me in standard patrol formation.” Crineal switched channels as the squadron assembled around him. “Beta Leader, this is Delta Leader. I’ve set our route so we end up in an area between the Orbital and a line out to the star system Larahope. Fleet Intel thinks the rebels have a base out that way, even if they can’t find it. I expect them to try and catch us when we’re tired and out of position. I’m hoping that we can at least be in place even if we’re tired. Expect the last hour of the patrol to be the hottest.”
Strieger’s calm voice came back. “Roger that, Delta Leader. We’ll be waiting.”
Crineal fed the patrol route into his nav system and then relayed it to the rest of the squadron. Even if the rebels had spies on board the carrier, which he deemed unlikely, there was no way they could know his patrol route. He hadn’t talked about it to anyone and this was the first time his pilots were seeing it. It placed the patrol just on the edge of long range torpedo fire from the carrier. If the rebels were smart they would jump in about that range, orientate themselves and get torpedo locks as they powered up their energy weapons. They would expect to be out and turning for home before the fighter screen could react. Maybe he could pull a repeat of Zephos Mining Station with calculation, rather than luck, this time. He settled back in his flight couch for what he expected to be seven hours of nervous boredom and maybe thirty minutes of hell.
Seven hours and fifteen minutes later his prediction had proven accurate, apart from the hell bit. No rebels had shown up anywhere and it was nearly time to turn for home. He knew his pilots were all exhausted and he looked forward to seeing them off on their leaves tomorrow. He’d just keyed his comm link when his sensor display flickered for a second and then spiked as it started to scream updated information about new contacts. Crineal’s eyes flicked over the data as he took in the numbers. Oh damn, he thought, three full squadrons of Axes leading in a squadron of Archers. Ninety fighters and thirty bombers. The Archers were the preferred bomber of the rebels. Even though there were only thirty of them, that was enough to saturate the carrier’s defenses and score some hits if not significant damage. Each Archer usually carried ten energy torpedoes in pods slung under the fuselage in addition to a pair of lasers. Loaded this way they were ungainly and easy targets. He assimilated the rest of the data. They hadn’t come in where he’d predicted – almost, but not quite. They were at the far side of the envelope. This left them with a free run in towards the carrier, or it would have, if Crineal’s squadron wasn’t bearing down on their flank. He wasn’t between them and the Annihilator, but then the Axes weren’t between him and the Archers, either. He smiled grimly, those bombers were about to be in a world of hurt. After that it was going to be their turn to take some licks as the Axes turned on his squadron. The rebel squadrons only had thirty fighters a piece, but that was enough to give them better than a two-to-one advantage.
“Hera Squadron, this is Delta leader. Alpha through Epsilon flights target the nearest squadron of Axes with missiles; everyone else target those Archers. Once the missiles are away then everyone go for Archers and rake them with everything you’ve got. We need to wipe them out on the first pass. After that, it’s all defensive until reinforcements get here. No stupid risks. Attack formation Omega One. We’ll keep it simple.” He switched channels. “Annihilator Flight Control, this is Hera Leader. You have bandits incoming, one wing of Axes and one squadron of Archers. We’ll be dealing with the Archers as primary, but then things are going to get a little warm for us. Appreciate any help you can send. Hera Leader out.”
“Roger that, Hera Leader. Chronos and Hecate are scrambling now. ETA one-five minutes, repeat one-five minutes. Flight Control out.”
Crineal checked his tactical display and saw that everyone was registering missile locks as they slipped into the attack formation. Even before the last Hunter settled into place, pairs of missiles were streaking from each ship. He watched the display and saw the rebel formations line up for their attack run and then start to scatter as their sensors picked up Hera Squadron’s missile locks. The Axes began to pull around in high G turns whilst the Archers just went everywhere as they tried to lose the incoming missiles. As torpedo platforms they were good little ships; as acrobatic craft, they left a lot to be desired, and right now that’s exactly what they needed to be. The space in front of Crineal’s Hunter erupted in balls of light as missiles found their targets. His sensors fed him updated information: fifteen Archers were gone, six more were crippled. Seventeen Axes were just wreckage, too, as they had practically no chance to make any evasive maneuvers before the missiles were on them. Then Crineal’s squadron was within laser range of the Archers. Each Hunter was armed with four laser mounts in addition to the two missiles. Bolts from the laser cannons lashed out at the remnants of the bomber formation. Three of the crippled Archers died and four more, untouched by the missiles, ran into his squadron’s massed laser volley as they tried to twist away from the missiles chasing them. Crineal heard a few whoops of triumph from some of his pilots, but most were quiet. The old timers knew they were about to be hurt. They’d sacrificed their position to take out the threat to the carrier. Now there were Axes sweeping around in front of them and more curling in from behind. I’ve been in better spots, he thought.
“This is Delta Leader. We’re going to try to blow through the Axes in front and then make a run towards the carrier. We’ll break off and get back in close to them as soon as they come around behind us for a missile lock. We’re just playing for time here, no heroics.”
The Axes in front swept in and opened up with their own lasers. Crineal’s formation answered them. He felt his ship shudder as it took laser hits, and then they were through. His shields were weakened, but he was otherwise in one piece. Not all his people were that lucky, Iota Two was gone as was Alpha Four. Several other ships had sustained hits, some serious. Red damage indicators were streaked across his squadron display like a rash. Seven more Axes were down. He didn’t have a chance to see how many were damaged.
“All ships, break for the carrier.” Crineal pulled his Hunter around in a tight turn and looke
d on in pride as his squadron followed him keeping the formation close despite the damage to their ships. The Axes they had run through had peeled away after contact to pass over their fellows who were following Hera Squadron. The rebel fighters seemed to be caught a bit flat-footed by Crineal’s sudden turn but quickly corrected and moved to run up behind him and his ships again. Crineal figured he’d bought them maybe thirty seconds with that. Still another ten minutes before help arrived.
“This is Delta Leader. On my mark all flights follow your leader and break towards the ships following us. Mark NOW, Break, Break, Break!”
His squadron split into individual flights and curled back around to face the rebel fighters. The rebel reaction was disjointed as they struggled to pick targets out from the splintered Imperial formation. The sleek manta hulls of Crineal’s force tore down into the triangular shapes of the rebel Axes. Shields flared on both sides as ships took hits. Major Strieger scored a blow on one Axe and it spun out of control straight into another Axe. Both fighters came apart in a ball of wreckage. The Hunters of Hera Squadron fought for their lives in a frenzied dogfight. More Axes were damaged and some destroyed, but they were scoring their own hits on the Imperial ships. Just as Crineal registered Lieutenant Perl taking a heavy hit that blew away a stabilizer control panel, his own ship rocked around him. Damage warning lights glared at him casting a sickly red glow around the cockpit and he saw he’d lost a chunk of his right wing tip. His squadron display reported Gamma Two was gone as well. Most of his ships had taken hits and it was looking ugly; the rash of red damage indicators was now a smear across the board. From the display he wasn’t even sure how Eta Leader was still flying. As he wheeled his Hunter around for another pass, Lieutenant Perl in Delta Three started to slide out of formation, the stabilizer damage being just too much for him to hold position in that kind of turn. Crineal cursed as he tried to tag another Axe. He triggered his lasers as it hovered briefly in his sights, but he scored only a glancing hit. The Axe kept turning and then pulled out into a straight line away from Crineal. The move threw him for a second and it took him a few moments to pull out of his own turn and locate the Axe again. Then something struck him, all of the Axes were pulling away and on the edge of his near tactical display the blips representing Hecate squadron started to appear, followed by another mass of blips that were Chronos Squadron.
“Hera Leader to Hera Squadron. All ships disengage and pull back to the carrier. Make sure the flights stick together, we’ll only be going as fast as the most damaged craft can go.” The flight leaders acknowledged his message and the remaining ships of Hera Squadron arced around in wide turns to head for safety. Crineal did another check of his squadron’s status as they made for the cover of the approaching reinforcements. It wasn’t good, three ships gone and at least twenty of the remaining thirty-seven were heavily damaged. Not a single ship had escaped untouched. As he grimaced at the readout, his comm came to life.
“Hera Leader, this is Iota Leader,” Captain Saymes’ gruff voice came through, pain evident in its roughness “I have a distress beacon from Iota Two. I have no idea how badly she’s hurt, but Lieutenant Feldea appears to be alive. Can we get SnR out here ASAP?”
“This is Hera Leader, roger that, Iota Leader. I’ll get Flight on it.” Crineal switched channels. “Annihilator Flight Control, this is Hera Leader. We have a distress beacon from Iota Two. Please scramble SnR to pick her up. We have no readings on Gamma Two or Alpha Four but we might get lucky if we search the area.”
“Roger that, Hera Leader, we scrambled three Search and Rescue ships five minutes ago. We’re passing along Iota Two’s beacon information to SnR One now.”
Crineal felt a wave of relief at the forethought of Flight Control. Getting those SnR craft out early could mean the difference between life and death for an ejected pilot. Their flight suits were rated as being able to keep a pilot alive in open space for twelve hours, under ideal conditions. Of course, being blown out of your fighter as it exploded hardly counted as ideal. “Thank you, Flight. I’m also transmitting you my flight log so you can analyze it and ascertain the last known positions of Alpha Four and Gamma Two. I know the chances of finding them are slim but I’d appreciate it.” He keyed in the log to transmit.
“Will do, Hera Leader. SnR One will pick up Iota Two and SnR Two and Three will sweep for your other two pilots. I’ll pass on the likely positions as soon as we’ve studied the log. If they’re out there, we’ll find them.”
“Roger that, Flight. Better warn the bays that we’ll have a lot of pilots coming in hot and hurt. Med bay is going to be earning its pay today. Hera Leader out.” Crineal wondered if Hantos was still on board. They could surely use his expertise in the flight bays right now.
He looked at his tactical display to figure out why the rebels had run. After a moment’s thought he nodded to himself. If they had stayed they could have probably finished off his squadron but then they wouldn’t have been able to get away from Chronos and Hecate bearing down on them completely fresh and with good missile locks. They’d already lost at least thirty Axes and had as many damaged. The two reinforcing squadrons would have smashed them to pieces. So they had cut their losses and ran for it before Chronos and Hecate squadrons could get within missile range. Another few minutes and Hera Squadron would have been dead. The two other squadrons passed above and below Hera Squadron and then closed up again once Hera was behind them, still heading outwards to cover the SnR craft and make sure the rebels didn’t get all brave again.
Crineal toggled the comm back to squadron frequency. “This is Hera Leader. Eta leader, you’ll have the honor of leading us back in. Please try not to mess up the flight deck too much.” Crineal hoped the attempted humor would lift the pilots’ spirits. They had done their job but it had cost them.
“This is Eta Leader. Roger that, Hera Leader. We’ll try not to leave skid marks,” Captain Treynar’s voice sounded strained, but her own attempt at a joke was hugely welcome.
“Unlikely, Trey, I’ve had complaints from the laundromat,” Strieger chuckled.
Crineal felt a wave of pride in his people. They were all beat to hell but still able to crack bad jokes. “Iota Leader, your flight will be next. I’m going to detach Delta Three to join you. Lieutenant Perl’s ship is pretty shot up.”
“This is Delta Three, boss, I’m good. I’ll stick with you. Besides I’ve heard that you can catch some nasty stuff from Iota Flight.” That raised more chuckles.
“Alright, Delta Three. I guess you can stay. I wouldn’t want you bringing anything back into our hygienic little group. The rest of the flights will land in order. Delta will bring up the rear.”
His comm buzzed and Strieger’s voice came in on a direct channel. “Sir, I don’t want to argue with you, but Delta is beat to blazes. You need to get in early, too. Beta is in pretty good shape considering. Let us cover everyone in.”
Crineal winced as he looked over at Beta’s readouts. Strieger was right in that they were in better shape, but that wasn’t saying a lot. “I appreciate the offer, Major, but you know what they say, rank has its privileges.”
He could almost hear the sigh before she replied. “Acknowledged, Sir. Beta will take its proper place in line.”
“Thank you, Beta Leader. You can get started on making sure the wounded get to medical fast.”
“Will do, Sir. Beta Leader out.”
The last five minutes of the journey back to the carrier seemed to take forever. Crineal was constantly monitoring the status of his ships and waiting for the alarms to sound to say that one of them had finally fallen apart. Miraculously, it didn’t happen. He watched as each of the flights made their landings and at last he led Delta Flight in. He kept a close eye on Perl’s ship but despite the damage to the stabilizer Perl managed a rough but safe landing. It sure wasn’t going to win any awards for tidiness though. As soon as his own Hunter had touched down he killed the engines and popped the hatch. He was halfway out of the cockpit before
the tech had the steps in place. Crineal left the post-flight checks to the tech crew and practically slid down the steps, pulled his helmet off and headed to the flight bay doors to go and check on his wounded pilots.
Commander Del’Tarim was furious. He’d only been in charge of the flight bays for less than a day and they were already a disaster. The incoming squadron had put in some of the worst landings he’d ever seen and it would take weeks to clean up the damage. His bays should be immaculate just as the appearance of the sailors under him should be, too. He prided himself on always being impeccably turned out which helped to emphasize the handsome nobility of his features and therefore his natural place as a leader of men. Blazes, his father was Lord Del’Herat, one of the ruling Lords of the Imperial Council, and he expected to follow in his father’s footsteps. He wasn’t going to stand for this kind of sloppiness. He’d already stamped his authority on the bay crews and put three of them on report so far. The pilots weren’t going to be allowed to get away with this abysmal display of a landing. He watched, seething, as the last fighter touched down and the cockpit swung open. Del’Tarim couldn’t believe his eyes when the pilot shot out of the fighter and down the steps without even bothering to do his post-flight checks. He stood open mouthed for a minute and then roared at the short-assed little wretch.
“You there, pilot. Stop right there!!” He couldn’t believe it when the man, who couldn’t have been even six foot tall, failed to pay him the slightest attention. “I mean you, shorty!” he screamed. “Get over here right now!!!”
Crineal Chronicles 1: In Hera's Service Page 4