“What’s going on here, Fesky?” Lieutenant Hornwood shouted across the hangar deck. He was no longer atop the stealth ship, and now he marched across the floor toward her. Senior Airman Bradley joined him, looking as angry as Hornwood sounded. Most of the other Condor pilots left whatever they were doing to join the pair, and few of them looked friendly.
A small voice inside her whispered: This is it. You’ve spent whatever points you gained as their CAG. Bow your head and say you’re sorry.
She began to tremble, but not with irritation—with rage. Rage at her own cowardice in the face of the humans’ aggression. “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” she said. “These Wingers were all once Talon pilots in my species’ Interplanetary Defense Force. You are to teach them about the capabilities of our Condors, so they can join us in the coming battle.”
“Like hell we are,” Bradley retorted, a sneer twisting his pinched face, making it look even uglier. “We’re not trusting these winged rats anywhere near our Condors. Obviously we were wrong to ever trust you with one.”
Behind her, she could hear several beaks clacking together, and Blackwing stepped forward, talons raised. Fesky raised an arm to restrain him.
“These Wingers broke into the Providence, Fesky,” Lieutenant Hornwood said. “They attacked us. And now you’ve released them?”
“They attacked us because they mistook us, Lieutenant,” Fesky said. “Just like we’ve mistaken them. These Wingers don’t want us dead. They actually want the same thing we do. They want justice. And in order to get justice, in order to win the coming battle, we need their help.”
“I’ll never accept the help of a bunch of Winger pirates,” Bradley spat.
“Then you’ll die,” Fesky said. “And not just that: you’ll kill everyone aboard the Providence with your stubbornness. I know you humans have never liked me. I know you resent that Keyes placed me in command of you. But I also know you recognize my head for battle. Who here can name one time I’ve steered this Air Group wrong? Anyone?”
She glared around at her fellow Condor pilots. Some of them met her eyes, but many of them looked away. No one answered her challenge.
“That’s what I thought. Now, let me tell you what I know about the conflict that’s coming in a couple short hours. We can’t win it without that stealth ship, and we can’t fly that ship without these Wingers. Lacking new pilots to put more Condors into battle, we also probably can’t hold long enough for the marines to complete their mission.”
Without any conscious decision to do so, Fesky spread her wings to their full span—an act of pure instinct. She stepped forward, putting most of her weight on her front foot, and raised her voice. “You can let your prejudice rule you, humans. You can let it kill everyone aboard this ship, and maybe even the entire human species as a result. Or you can accept these aliens into our Condors with open arms and win a battle that will go down in history.”
Fesky held her position, willing her wings not to waver from fatigue. After a few seconds, Hornwood crossed the open space between the human pilots and the Wingers. Then he came to attention in front of her and saluted.
“I’m with our CAG,” he barked.
A few more seconds, and another pilot marched up beside him—Airman Gaston, callsign Voodoo, who Husher liked to use as his wingman. Voodoo fell in beside Hornwood and snapped his own hand to his temple. “I’m with our CAG,” he shouted.
One by one, the Condor pilots crossed the floor and fell in, saluting Fesky. Finally, Bradley was left standing alone, and with a grimace he also marched over, falling in and saluting.
“At ease,” Fesky said, and the Condor pilots’ left feet parted from their right, their hands clasping behind their backs.
“Now get to work,” she said.
Chapter 63
Weapons Manifest
Husher stood just inside the weapons locker, using the console near the door to scan weapons and equipment manifests for what they’d need in the coming fight. Tactical suit and helmet… Much of the orbital defense platform sat exposed to space. Satchel charges. A few of those, actually.
He planned to divide his forces into two: one platoon to guard the stealth ship while the other fought their way to the reactor at the platform’s center. Husher intended to lead that platoon himself.
Something made him glance toward the weapons locker entrance. Sergeant Sera Caine stood there, still wearing her gown from sick bay and studying him with solemn eyes.
“Sergeant,” he said. “Does Doc Brusse know you’re here?”
A sharp sniff, and then she cast her eyes downward. “I escaped.”
“For what reason?”
“I’m coming with you.”
His mouth fell open, and he snapped it shut, teeth clicking together. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m not asking your permission.”
“You’d need it. I outrank you, Sergeant, and I do not grant my permission. You’re not well.”
Crossing the room with steps as surefooted as any she’d taken while in uniform, Caine joined him at the console. “Let me see the inventory you’ve put together for the mission.”
“Sergeant—”
“I want to see it, Husher.” She glared up at him, her eyes alight.
“Okay, fine.” What can it hurt? He brought up the inventory.
After a glance at it, she turned to him. “Where are your weapon-mounted tactical lights?”
He blinked. “The orbital platform’s well-lit.”
“And you don’t think that might change, once the Wingers realize we’re there? You don’t think they built in minute control of every last system on that platform?”
“All right, but if the area goes dark, our helmets will just switch to night vision.”
“And having tactical lights will enable us to blind the enemy, whether they’re using night vision or not. Shouldn’t you be looking for nonlethal ways to engage? This is technically a diplomatic mission, isn’t it?”
“You’re right. I’ll add them in.” As he did, he shook his head. “How did you even know about the mission?”
“I have my sources. You’ll want CS gas. And stun grenades.”
He typed them into the console.
“You have suppressors, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. What are you bringing in terms of lethal weaponry?”
“Um…well, I have most of the marines outfitted with assault rifles and sidearms, with some carrying SAWs, grenade launchers, and a couple heavy machine guns with tripods. I’m guessing you’re about to advocate for taking less weaponry.”
Caine shook her head, brow furrowed in concentration as she studied the console. “Definitely not. It’s smart to take some nonlethal weapons, but that doesn’t mean we go in with our pants around our ankles, either. Things could get pretty real, down there. I expect it to.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her intent expression. “Thanks for the input, Sergeant. Seriously.”
She turned to face him. “I haven’t forgotten what I know about battle, Husher. I might be having trouble knowing what’s real these days, but I’m still the best battle commander on this ship. You need me down there.”
He sighed, gazing past her at the racks of weapons, every one of them polished to a gleam. Waiting to be picked up and used to kill again. “What would the captain say about it?”
“He’d forbid me to go. Captain Keyes would never let one of his own go on a mission in the state I’m in. Both of you are about doing the right thing, but he’s more of an old-school, code-of-honor type. You’re the type who can see that putting a mentally unstable sergeant in charge of half your forces could make the difference between getting through to the Wingers or paving the way for the Ixa to kill us all.”
Several moments passed as they tried to stare each other down. But Caine refused to look away.
What frightened him most was that he felt certain she was right.
“Okay, Sergeant. You�
�ll command the platoon that guards the stealth ship.”
God help us all.
Chapter 64
Wingleader Korbyn
It took everything Wingleader Korbyn had not to clack his beak in anticipation. Doing that would be particularly inappropriate, and not only because of his lofty position, in command of all the Roostships in orbit around Spire. He’d reprimanded his bridge crew for clacking their beaks just minutes before, so doing it himself wouldn’t do much for his authority.
I still can’t believe the humans threw us back at Larkspur-Caprice.
Everything had gone so well for the Winger fleet, before that. Even with the Gok alliance, he’d never expected to enjoy such success against the UHF. Dark tech failing had been a stroke of luck, and after that, the Winger-Gok position surrounding the darkgate had seemed unassailable.
Who could have known Leonard Keyes would strike with such ferocity? The man had exceeded even his reputation, and the Providence’s stand in front of the darkgate had bought the humans the time they needed to come through in meaningful numbers.
Now the Fleet was coming for Spire—of that, Korbyn felt certain. It was only a question of when. However long it takes to conquer our colonies, most likely.
Well, he did not plan to allow the humans to capture him, or enslave him, or whatever it was they intended to do. He planned to die killing as many of them as he could.
“Captain, a human vessel approaches.”
Korbyn’s beak clacked, and then he began to tremble in irritation with himself. Several of the bridge crew glanced at him. Damn it. “What type of vessel?”
“It’s a combat shuttle, and it’s broadcasting on an open frequency, requesting contact.”
He laughed. “They must be suicidal.”
His strategic adjutant spoke up. “Should I send orders to launch Talons, sir?”
“Yes,” Korbyn said.
“With orders to take out the shuttle?”
Korbyn hesitated. “It poses no meaningful threat to the homeworld. Does it?”
“No, sir.”
“I want four Talon pilots to escort the enemy shuttle to our primary flight bay, under threat of death.” He turned to his communications adjutant. “Put me through to whoever’s commanding that shuttle.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Soon, a woman with long brown hair appeared on the bridge’s main screen.
“Yes?” Korbyn squawked. “Who are you?”
“Thank God,” the woman said. “Thank God you accepted my transmission. I’m Senator Sandy Bernard of the Commonwealth.”
“The Humanwealth, more like.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,” Korbyn said, secretly displeased no one had laughed at his joke. “What do you want?”
“I’ve come to tell you that this entire war is one big misunderstanding. I was aboard the UHS Buchanan before it crashed into your planet. That ship’s mission was a routine weapons inspection—an inspection Winger government officials had agreed to. But something went wrong with the wormhole the Buchanan opened, and her entire crew was vaporized. Only Corporal Simpson and I managed to escape. We’ve been trying to reach you ever since.”
Korbyn scratched the back of his head with his right index talon. “And what would you call decades of human oppression, Senator?”
Bernard squinted. “What do you mean?”
“I asked what you’d call the way you’ve oppressed us. Is that a misunderstanding also? And what about the hundreds of ships currently laying waste to our colonies? Is there something I’ve failed to understand about that situation, too?”
“If you’d just—”
“I’m not totally heartless, so I’ve decided not to swat you out of the sky like the flea you are. But you will reside in my brig, going forward, and you’ll probably rot there. I find it disappointing but typical that you would consider us stupid enough to fall for a trick like this. No doubt you would have us drop our guard, to give your Fleet an easier time eradicating us.”
“That’s not—”
“Cut off the transmission,” Korbyn said with a wave of his talons. He settled into the Captain’s chair, his full attention on his beak.
No more clacking.
He waited for the humans to come.
Chapter 65
Stealth Tech
“I can’t believe you took that thing with us,” Corporal Davies said as she dismantled her assault rifle and inspected each part, even though the gun would have been thoroughly cleaned and checked after the last mission. Most marines obsessed over the care of their weapons.
Husher followed Davies’s gaze to the aft end of the stealth ship’s troop compartment. To where Sergeant Caine sat by herself, staring into space.
Fighting to suppress a surge of anger, Husher glared at Davies. “Corporal, I won’t tolerate any negative comments about Sergeant Caine. Not on this mission and not afterward.”
The corporal’s eyebrows climbed toward her short-cropped hair. “With all due respect, sir, I think you need to relax. I was talking about the reentry suit.”
He looked again, past Caine, at where he’d ordered the Darkstream reentry suit affixed to the bulkhead. “Oh. I see. I apologize, Corporal Davies.”
“It’s fine.”
A sigh escaped his lips. “Believe me, I didn’t take that suit because I’m eager for a chance to use it.” He stood and crossed the troop compartment, past two platoons’ worth of marines preparing for the coming battle. They’re ready for this. For anything I could care to point them at. But he wasn’t worried about them.
To Husher, the approaching battle felt like a test of everything he’d ever done to defy Command. A test to find out whether the sort of person he was even deserved a place in the universe. Maybe Carrow and Dawson have the right of it. Maybe we should be out there helping them crush humanity’s perceived enemies.
He didn’t actually believe that, of course. Not for a second. In Keyes, Husher had finally found a superior willing to join him in bucking convention and fighting in the name of humanity, not just its elites. And it scared the shit out of him.
As he passed the compartment that contained the nuke, he tried not to let his eyes linger on it for too long. Taking that much explosive power onto the orbital platform, and then down to the planet if they succeeded…
How will we ever look the Wingers in the eyes again, let alone partner with them?
Blackwing didn’t turn around when Husher entered the cockpit, even though the opening and closing of the hatch produced a chime. “Husher, I presume,” the Winger said.
“How’d you know?” Husher said, taking the seat next to Blackwing’s—the copilot’s chair.
“You’re the only one aboard who doesn’t fear to approach me.”
“You think the others are afraid?”
“Of course. Humans fear everything they don’t understand.”
Grunting, Husher eyed the array of readouts and instruments that covered the front of the cockpit. “You said we need to perform our first engine burn behind the Providence, so that the Wingers can’t detect it from Spire. I thought you had stealth tech?”
Blackwing shot him what Husher took for a disdainful glance. “Remind me why you think I should share any details about this ship with a human.”
Husher shrugged. “We’re on the same side now.”
“For the duration of this mission, maybe. But I never agreed to a long-term alliance. Besides, we all might die today.”
“Exactly. So what does it matter? And even if we survive, do you really think we’re going to share your secrets with the Fleet or the Commonwealth? Us?”
A sharp click as Blackwing brought his beak together. “There is no magical box aboard this ship that gives us stealth. We haven’t broken the laws of thermodynamics, as you humans seem to think.”
“What, then? Stealth isn’t supposed to be possible in space. Not with current Winger t
echnology, and definitely not under our current understanding of physics.”
“Foolish human. Stealth isn’t something you turn on with a flip of a switch. It’s more a sliding scale, and it’s my job to decide where we need to fall on the scale to complete a given mission. Many ships have been lost because their captains miscalculated that.”
“How do you move up the scale, then?”
“Hiding engine burns is one technique. But it’s one of many, and which methods you use depends on the mission. The main reason we’ve been so successful with using stealth against you is because we have perfect knowledge of the location of every human sensor platform.”
Husher turned his head to look at the pirate captain. “How did you obtain that?”
The Winger laughed. “There are several in your Fleet who sympathize with our situation. They’ve always been more than happy to provide us with the information we need.”
“My God.”
“Not all human are blind to the tyranny of their own species. Luckily. Still, we’ve had the most success out in Pirate’s Path, where there are barely any sensors to account for at all, other than the ones your ships bring with them.”
“Tell me how you’ll conceal our approach today.”
“Well, I have perfect knowledge of Winger sensor locations too, obviously. Still, our mission will require at least two retro-burns, which makes things tricky—one to put us into orbit around the planet, and the other to guide us down to the orbital defense platform. The retro-burns will be harder to hide.”
“And yet we have to hide them.”
The Winger hesitated. “Well, yes. So we’ll run cold once we complete the engine burn the Providence is currently masking. When it comes time to perform our first retro-burn, I’ll deploy the ship’s cold plate in the direction of the only Winger sensors that should be able to spot us on that side of the planet. In the meantime, I’ll use directional radiators to beam our heat in the opposite direction.”
“What if we need to perform attitude adjustments while landing on the platform? Won’t that complicate things?”
Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1 Page 20