Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D.

by Glenn Van Dyke

  “Time for action, gentlemen. Full power to the shields, 3—2—engage.” Ashlyn’s Sharkfin shot forwards, the pressure forcing her body deep into the cushioned, restraining field.

  During drills, Ashlyn had always run the simulator at its maximum enemy encounter ratio to improve her flying skills. Once you had the basics down, Ash knew that no sim could provide the edge that was needed to survive in real combat. You could be killed over-and-over again. Knowing that the human tendency was to become cocky, taking foolish risks—or sometimes, not taking it, when it was the only option. This was the real thing though and the loser wouldn’t get to play again.

  Ashlyn glanced at the targeting display, her radar showing all contacts as numbered triangles, friendlies in green, enemies in red. “Call your targets, gentleman, and engage. I’m on 1.”

  As her target came within range, Ash feinted a move to the left and shot downwards, the alien ship responded and performed a roll to its right, thinking to follow in pursuit. It was the move for which she had set him up. She flipped her craft 90-degrees, while swinging the throttle to the right. The nose of her Sharkfin came up aiming straight at the fighter’s belly, even as he began to do a counter-roll left.

  Thumbing the trigger, the nose-mounted laser blazed. The shields held for only the merest fraction of a second before it sliced its way through, striking the canopy as he rolled around. With Ashlyn’s heightened time perceptions, she caught the oddest glimpse of the pilot as he gasped for a last breath of escaping air, his large, innocuous eyes accusing her skillful maneuvering of being sheer luck.

  Looking at her tactical display, Ash saw the blip of Red 4 wink out as his ship exploded. He had never gotten off a shot. There was no worse way for a pilot to die.

  Ashlyn’s radar showed that Red 5 was in serious trouble. “Landry, cut sharp to port, drag your bogey in front of me, now.”

  “Roger!”

  With her boosters at full, she watched Landry cut to port.

  “Landry, flip 180 and hit the turbo, now.”

  Landry performed the maneuver and streaked by upside-down over her head. The chasing fighter came straight up into her line of fire and at pointblank range. She opened up, cutting a clean slice cross the enemy’s fuselage. In passing, the enemy fighter’s wing clipped her shields, sending her into a roll.

  Swinging hard to starboard, she teamed up with Landry. The two of them were now behind the advancing line of enemy fighters.

  “Thanks, Commander.”

  “My pleasure, Red 5.”

  While she was busy helping Red 5—Red 6 and 9 had been destroyed.

  “Red 10—sorry about your two wing-men. Join up on my right. We’ll chase them into Red 11's team.”

  “Roger that, Red 2. Taking position off your right wing.”

  “This is Red 1. I need help, people; I have a hornet on my ass. He’s got a lock, swinging right—”

  “Red 3 here. They got Red 1. I’m in pursuit of his bogey.”

  “Red 3, do you need an assist?”

  “Negative, I’ve got the bastard in my sights—bingo. That one was for you, Charley.”

  “Red 3, follow our wing back to Red 11.”

  “This is Red 11. What the hell is going on? My radar’s got a swarm of blips behind. Avenger?”

  “It’s just a trick. She’s dumping her reserve engine coolant tanks.”

  Red 11 wondered how Ashlyn could know what Avenger was doing, but he never questioned her.

  Ashlyn’s scan of Steven’s mind had shown her Avenger’s desperate situation. She saw how Steven hoped that by purging the contents of the six monstrous, reserve, engine coolant tanks it might form a frozen, makeshift wall that would take out the chasing missiles.

  She also saw that Steven did not believe it was likely to work.

  Suddenly, a powerful three-meter wide laser shot from behind, skipped off Ashlyn’s shields, and dropped their integrity almost to zero. She took an evasive roll to starboard, pitched downward, and then veered to port, trying to shake the enemy’s targeting system.

  “It’s the destroyer,” called Red 3. “I’m taking evasive, swinging left.”

  Ash watched her radar as Red 3 swung away. “Red 3, this is Red 2. What are you doing?”

  “I’m going after her.”

  “You can’t do it by yourself,” said Ashlyn.

  “Her shields have to be redlined from the mines Avenger laid down. I am still packing two Stingers. Get the team back to Avenger.”

  “And they call me stubborn?” said Ash, jesting playfully with him. Ashlyn ordered her team to continue pursuit of the remaining enemy fighters as she came about, preparing to join Red 3.

  “No disrespect, Commander, but stay clear. I can do this. Engaging—firing Intercepts.”

  Ashlyn tipped the nose of her craft up 90-degrees. She engaged the boosters and shot ahead just as again the flagship’s laser targeted her. The beam cut a gash down her port side hull.

  “Damage to port side hull. Oxygen is being vented. At current rate of loss, air will be exhausted in 38.4 minutes,” said Gena.

  On her monitor, she saw the two Intercepts racing away from Red 3. A moment later two small flashes lit the sky. Several smaller explosions followed. Finally, the destroyer blew, becoming a huge expanding ball of flame and sparkling debris.

  “Red 3, good going!"

  “Red 3, do you copy? Briggs?”

  Over Ashlyn’s open comm channel she heard. “This is Red 11. All pilots hold position. On my orders, hit them with a heavy barrage of fire.”

  Red 11’s team of Sharkfins had formed a wall, daring the enemy fighters to pass.

  “I’ll be back for you, Red 3, hold tight.” Ash hit the turbo in pursuit of her team. “Red 11, we’re bringing them home to you. Give us a moment to clear out and we’ll give you a clean shot.”

  “Roger that, Red 2.”

  “Red 5, Red 10, take’em up three klicks. I’ll descend three klicks.”

  “This is Red 11—okay, Rockettes, time to kick-up your heels!”

  Red 11 and his wing of fighters, laid down a heavy display of firepower in front of the advancing enemy, long before they had visual contact. Ashlyn’s team closing in from behind opened fire, tightening the noose. The enemy pilots’ confidence waned and they broke formation, splitting off in all directions. The two teams of Sharkfins hit their turbo and took off in pursuit. Within moments, the enemy fighters were destroyed.

  “Red 11, you have the team, if you punch it hard, there’s a small chance you might be able to catch the missiles chasing Avenger. I’m going back for Briggs.”

  “Aye, ma’am. Godspeed, Foxy Lady. Godspeed.”

  ***

  “Admiral, a strafing run by one of our fighters has finished off the last destroyer,” said Rawlings.

  “On screen.” The rearward view monitor lit up showing the dimming explosion of the destroyer.

  “Enemy missiles are closing on the coolant dump—contact.” The intricate artwork erupted into a dazzling display of exploding, glistening ice crystals.

  “We still have three incoming, sir.”

  “Missiles at 6100 meters and closing. 35 seconds until impact.”

  “Order the returning Sharkfin’s to clear the area, they won’t get here in time to intercept them. Send the team to LV-6.”

  Unfortunately, there was only one option left. “Comm, open a channel to engineering.”

  “Go ahead, sir.”

  “This is the Admiral. Emergency evac, repeat emergency evac of all engineering personnel. Section 3 will be disengaged in 15 seconds.

  “Gena, initiate emergency disconnect of Section 3. Ten second delay. Shipwide, verbal countdown.”

  “Password verification required,” came Gena’s request.

  “Admiral Steven Sherrah, password, Lizard Tail.”

  “Password verified.”

  The ten-second verbal countdown began with the pre-mandated programming that Section 3's two energy cores be ejected.
>
  Nearly 150 men and women scrambled for their lives to reach the connecting node to Section 2. As the door began to lower, one of the crew, a man, sacrificed himself and pushed his wife under the closing doorway.

  “Emergency disconnect of Section 3 initiated,” said Gena. The small internal charges of the massive coupling assembly blew, sending four thudding jolts racing through the hull.

  As the sections separated, the piping and rubber tubing connecting the sections tore away, leaving a messy tangle of tentacles flailing behind Avenger.

  “We’re f-free, sir,” said Novacek. He also saw that forty-seven people did not escape.

  “Robbie, boosters to maximum! Novacek, route all available power to the shields.”

  On the monitor, Section 3 began to brake, its auto-programming forcing it to wait for its slaughter.

  “Missile’s locked and closing, 3 seconds, 2—1, missiles impacting,” reported radar.

  The engineering section exploded in a blaze of glory as a massive shower of sparks filled the heavens. Instantly, the shockwave caught Avenger, carrying her along in its bustling wake. With the loss of Avenger’s primary stabilizers and the main drives on Section 3, they were nearly helpless. The jets fought to stabilize her as she listed to her port side. The jets were but a whisper of wind against the turbulence of a hurricane.

  Steven was nearly knocked unconscious by a crewmember who was flung across the room.

  “Mr. Preston, take my s-s-station!” said Novacek moving to help Steven. “H-helm, get her s-s-stabilized.”

  “Trying, sir. We don’t have much to correct with.”

  “Mr. Preston, s-s-status?” Novacek called.

  “Shield strength stands at 7 percent. Running on backup reserves, currently at 22 percent and falling.”

  “Novacek, use the secondary boosters on Section 2 to get us to the—the planet,” Steven struggled to say, his eyes closed tight.

  “We-we need to f-f-flatten our t-tumble first.”

  “Tumble?” Steven said with only faint comprehension.

  “Med t-t-team to the bridge, Priority 1,” said Novacek as he removed a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and held it to the bleeding wound on Steven’s forehead.

  “Status?” Steven asked weakly.

  “S-section 3 has t-t-taken out all the missiles that were c-chasing us. We are c-currently traveling at 1.54 s-sub-light. We are t-tumbling; helm is trying to get us s-stabilized. We are a long w-way from the p-planet. T-there’s no chance of Avenger m-making landfall.

  “We’re p-preparing for evac.”

  “Use the vertical thrusters in the landing arm extensions,” said Steven with all the vigor he could muster.

  “Aye, Admiral! Extending sea-floor landing arm extensions,” said Robbie, with a proud sense of awe at the brilliant idea.

  Outside Avenger, it appeared as though the ship were morphing into a giant bug as four spindly legs grew from its undercarriage.

  “The Sharkfins?” inquired Steven.

  “You ordered t-them to the p-planet, sir. R-radar, what’s t-the current s-status on our S-sharkfins?” said Novacek.

  “A little over forty million kilometers from the planet.”

  “Casualties?” Steven inquired.

  “A few, sir. We are unsure as to who the specific pilots are though. The array that tracks the tagging signal was lost when we were trying to break free from the sun. I could have them do a verbal roll-call?” offered Chief Engineer Preston.

  “N-negative. The less information we b-broadcast about ourselves the b-better,” Novacek ordered.

  “Ash?” Steven mumbled almost silently. He reached out with his mind, trying to call her, but the pain kept him from focusing.

  “If anyone c-could make it, you’ve got to know it w-w-would be her,” Novacek whispered into Steven’s ear. “She’ll b-be f-fine, I’m s-sure of it!”

  Novacek waved the arriving med team over. After a quick check by the med scanner, the nurse said, “It doesn’t appear too serious, Admiral. You have a concussion. You’ll have some dizziness, and I can give you an inhibitor for the headache.”

  “No, no inhibitors. I need to be alert!”

  The medic nodded. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you decide you need something.”

  “It’s working, Admiral. The vertical arm thrusters are stabilizing us,” said Robbie.

  Steven’s only thoughts were of Ashlyn.

  ***

  Ashlyn had to assume that Briggs’ transponder was destroyed, since his emergency beacon wasn’t broadcasting. Combined with the lack of response to her cry of his call sign, it seemed likely that Briggs was dead. Still, she couldn’t leave without knowing. She owed him.

  The debris field from the destroyer was immense and spreading by the second. Sifting through the wreckage by traditional means would take far longer than her fading oxygen reserve would allow.

  Closing her eyes, Ash let her senses stretch, looking for a patterned wave of thought. Sensing nothing, she drew a deep breath and refocused her chi—drawing upon her inner strength to perceive even the slightest emotion.

  There was something, like the radiating heat of a lit match at a thousand paces. Though weak and unfocused, she knew the thought pattern was human. She focused on it, searching for a distinct direction. Letting her mind guide her, she boosted through the debris to his location.

  Even at close range, lost amidst the junk pile of twisted metal, Briggs’ fighter was barely recognizable. “Eject left tow cable.” Immediately, the tow cable splayed out, hitting the nub of what had once been Red 3's wing. The magnetics engaged. “Tighten line, 80 pounds psi.” The cable retracted, pulling the two fighters together.

  Removing her pilot’s helmet, Ashlyn activated her locket and vented the air in her cockpit. Once the canopy lifted, she stepped out. Walking down the length of her wing, the light-duty magnetics on her boots holding her to her craft, she glanced inside his cockpit. Ash knew that once his cockpit air was vented, she would have only seconds in which to get him safely inside her craft.

  Moving to the small control panel on Red 3's fuselage, Ash hoped that she’d find the ship’s internal electronics still functional.

  Lifting the panel’s cover, she hit the cabin’s manual pressure release button. As she had anticipated, the familiar hiss signaling the cockpit’s depressurization was missing.

  All right then, we’ll do this the hard way. Inside the compartment was a small, emergency repair kit that held an assortment of Magnetite hand tools. Unrolling the bundle, she found the tools she was looking for, a simple screwdriver and a light duty hammer.

  Knowing that the glass would be near unbreakable, her objective was only to puncture the canopy’s seal. She made several hard blows before she saw the small wisp of escaping air.

  Again back at the access panel, Ash grabbed the red, emergency hatch release. A painted warning beneath it read “WARNING, DO NOT OPEN HATCH WHILE INTERNALLY PRESSURIZED! SEVERE INJURY COULD RESULT!”

  She watched until the venting stopped. Ash strained to grasp the handle, her gloves making a simple job hard. With a downward pull, the canopy’s internal locks released and it sprang open.

  Unbuckling Briggs’ harness, she lifted him, carrying him across her wing to her cockpit. Dropping him into the co-pilot’s seat, she jumped in beside him, and quickly punched the buttons that closed the canopy and pressurized the cabin. Deactivating her armor, she turned to check on Briggs beside her. When she saw him take a deep inhalation of air, refilling his lungs, she relaxed. It was all she had hoped for.

  ***

  “Chief, do we have any information on our pilots yet?” asked Steven, after he was again unsuccessful in his attempt to contact Ashlyn.

  “Nothing specific, sir. They are still under long-range blackout. Nevertheless, radar shows they are following standard protocol and following the beacon to its chosen location. They’ll be making landfall shortly.”

  “Keep me informed. Novacek, you have the bridge. I�
�ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Steven had been using sickbay as a temporary childcare facility. He laughed aloud, the pain of his concussion making him wince as the door opened and he saw Phillip playing cards with the nurse. Though they were both securely harnessed, the scene had a contradictory casualness to it. The idea that they had been playing amidst the turbulent shaking was comical.

  “Admiral, your son’s been teaching me a game called poker.”

  “Is he taking advantage of you?”

  “A bit. I owe him 6 tongue suppressors, 1 stethoscope, 2 doctor’s hats, 4 pairs of gloves, and 142 Q-tips.”

  “I see! Then perhaps I am rescuing ‘you.’ We’re abandoning Avenger. We will be evacuating into the emergency pods shortly. About all I know is that, the pods are programmed to follow a beacon groundside. Instructions will be announced in a few minutes. Recruit the help you need to gather all the antibiotics and med supplies.”

  Before returning to the bridge, Steven and Phillip stopped by their cabin to gather a few items. Steven’s movements were harried, his every thought awaiting confirmation that Ashlyn was safe.

  Five minutes later, back on the bridge he said, “Do we have the pilot update?”

  “It just came in, sir. We have six surviving Sharkfins, five of which have just landed on the planet,” said the Chief. He spun around to face Steven, obviously despondent over what he had to say next. “The sixth is Commander Parker. She also has Lieutenant Briggs aboard. She went back to rescue him.”

  Briggs? How the hell did she get him into her ship?

  The chief, after a long, bated breath then added, “She’s in serious trouble, sir. She is ultra-low on fuel—and she can’t go to the planet with the other pilots because she has an oxygen leak. She has less than 12 minutes of air left.”

  Steven tensed. “Give me the options.”

  “There aren’t any. She’s spam in a can.” He saw the disgruntled look upon Steven’s face to his words. “Sorry, sir. She’s at full throttle to try to catch us before we reach the terminator to launch the pods. The oxygen situation is bad enough, but she is so low on fuel, she won’t have any left for braking or course corrections.” Wanting to turn the conversation more optimistic Novacek said, “I’m h-having the bay p-p-primed for a d-dead-stick landing.” It was an avenue of hope, if only a small one.