Second Earth

by Stephen A. Fender

  She sighed heavily. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “As soon as you’ve released the last missile, I want you to bug out to at least a mile before you detonate them. We will try and cover you as best we can.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  And cover her they did. Shawn and Nova took down the first few fighters that tried to harass Bagpipes on her way in. Those had been the easy ones. The closer she got to the enemy ship, the thicker the density of opposition was becoming. When she was a half mile from the target, a swarm of five Betas took aim at her single fighter. Raven was there in an instant, and with Saltori and Drake, the trio quickly cleared the remainder of the path to the Meltranian warship.

  When she was within three hundred yards, the turrets took their turn at knocking her from space. The Sector Command pilots did their best to either draw the turret fire from her, or to knock out as many of the gun emplacements as they could. One persistent turret scored a hit on the small fighter, damaging the missile launcher on the outside of her starboard wing, rendering that particular Phillium useless.

  She flew as close to the Meltranian ship as she could, skimming its surface along the bulbous bow. She didn’t like being this close to the enemy’s main weapon, and knew full well that it would be ready to fire at any moment. On several occasions, Meltranian craft had approached her position, but Shawn and Raven had managed to keep her tail clear for the duration of her mine-laying operation.

  Shawn watched as Clarissa came to complete halt, dropped off her makeshift mine, and continued on down the hull. Each time she did so she was a sitting duck. At any one point, she had no less than seven Sector Command angels watching over her shoulder, but Shawn still felt incredibly uneasy each time her craft slowed to a stop.

  When the last missile was in place, the Sector Command fighters quickly moved away under full speed. The trip only took about minute to reach a distance of five hundred yards, but it wasn’t without incident. Both Drake and Saltori’s ships had been strafed by turret fire during their escape, and both of Raven’s stabilizers were sheared off by a kamikaze Alpha that had been previously hit by friendly fire.

  Once safely out of range, Shawn turned his fighter to get a better look at the intended victim of his plan. He could see Meltranians tangling with Kafaran and Sector Command fighters alike, all three of the factions taking heavy casualties in the process.

  Shawn’s computer began registering a buildup in the Meltranians’ forward section. This time, however, it was not pointed at the Kafarans; it was aimed directly at the Rhea. The time to act had come.

  Shawn reached into his flight suit collar and withdrew the silver cross that hung there. He gripped it tightly as he said a quick prayer. Dear Lord, please let this work. “Stand by for detonation,” he called out, then flipped down the blast shield on his helmet. “All craft withdraw immediately. Detonating in five…four…three…two…one. Now!”

  Deep in the heart of the Rhea, Krif and the others watched as one by one, in a chain of chaos, the missiles exploded. They sent out an array of overlapping bubbles of super-compressed gas that struck the surface of the Meltranian vessel with a force near equal to that of the Breckenridge’s death knell. Each sphere compounded upon the first, growing larger and more destructive with each successive explosion. The hull plating of the Meltranian ship couldn’t withstand the pounding. After the third detonation, the hull buckled and then gave way, splintering and fragmenting in a thousand places at once. A two-hundred-foot-wide section of hull plating pushed in on itself, caving in a large section of the bow and forming a crater not unlike the one on the surface of Second Earth. Soon the entire forward half of the Meltranian vessel, including the barrel of the isotonic cannon, was in complete ruin.

  Chapter 13

  On the upper CIC deck on the Rhea, Krif watched with deep satisfaction as the explosions rippled across the bow of the Meltranian ship. The holographic representation of the ship, its formerly lethal bow now in flames, began to slowly pivot away from the combined Sector Command and Kafaran forces.

  Oh, no. You’re not getting away that easily.

  “All batteries commence immediate fire on the Meltranian warship.”

  The Rhea, now straddling the Meltranian with the Kafaran carrier on the starboard side, opened fire with everything she had. Dozens of small emplacements began firing plasma salvoes, particle cannons were tossing rounds, and missile after deadly missile streaked toward the now point-blank target. Most of the barrage impacted the Meltranians’ stern, which seemed to be the weakest portion of the vessel. Large bits of alloy and plating flaked off as each successful strike hit home.

  The Meltranian carrier, far from defeated, continued to return fire from turrets of its own. It seemed that half were directed at the Rhea on its starboard side, while the others were directed at the Kafaran carrier on the port. And though the Kafaran shielding was holding, the Sector Command ship had no such luxury. The stronger, more lethal rounds from the Meltranian vessel were taking their toll on the Rhea’s hull. A series of explosions rippled across the Rhea’s port side, and when two of the fighter launch tube doors exploded out into space, Krif decided that he’d had enough.

  “Caitlin,” he called out. “Inform the Breckenridge to continue the assault on the Meltranian warship. We are taking the Rhea out of the fight for now.”

  “Yes, sir.” There was an almost triumphant edge to her words.

  Krif stepped beside the holotable and pressed a series of commands into the panel. “Auxiliary control, this is the Captain.”

  “This is Commander Ashdoe, sir,” the Rhea’s stern executive officer replied. “Go ahead, sir.”

  “Commander, take us out of here. All available speed.”

  “Course and heading, sir?”

  Krif didn’t even think about it before he spoke. “Take us back toward Second Earth.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the Sector Command fleet carrier Rhea and the Kafaran carrier slowly moved out of range of the Meltranians’ weapons, the lone Kafaran destroyer and—more importantly—the USCS Breckenridge took over the firing line duty. Avenging not only the loss of the Agincourt, but the fallen cruiser Icarus as well, the Breckenridge poured everything it could into the alien vessel’s stern.

  The outcome of the attack was only partially successful. The Sector Command destroyer had taken as many, if not more, hits as the Rhea had. Her bow had taken the majority of the damage, with her weapon emplacement numbers there being cut in half in the first few minutes of the battle. The large cluster of communications and radar antenna had taken several direct hits, and the Rhea had just gotten word that the Breckenridge’s bridge—and half the officers on it—had just been wiped out. However, the destroyer had managed to knock out one of the large trio of thrusters on the stern of the Meltranian, as well as two smaller ones, cutting the Meltranians’ thrust by over a third. Sputtering fumes, flames, and sparks, the Meltranian vessel was now completely at the mercy of the Kafaran destroyer as the Breckenridge altered course and headed for the Rhea’s position.

  In the meantime, Shawn Kestrel and the rest of the fighter wing were dealing with their own problems. The Meltranians had impossibly launched a third wave of fighters, and while these weren’t nearly as numerous as the first two waves, the enemy fighters were still more than a handful for the Sector Command pilots.

  I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but for once I’m glad to have the Kafarans out here. At least it swings the odds in our favor.

  Shawn called out to Raven and Jerry Santorum for them to form up on his wing.

  “What’s shakin’, Skipper?” Santorum responded, his Texas drawl adding extra syllables to his words.

  “I want you both to stay tight with me. We’re running low on missiles out here, so it’ll be easier to pick off the aliens if we keep a tight formation.”

  “Running low?” Roslyn chucked. “Try completely out. I just launched my last one.”

  “Two of the lau
nch doors on the Rhea are jammed, as well as three of the landing bay ones,” Shawn replied, giving his squadron an update on the carrier. “That means it’s going to take some time before we can all land, assuming we don’t have any of these Meltranians interfering in the process. The carrier is stating that only severely damaged craft will be allowed to enter the hangar at this time, so it looks like we’re going to be out here until the bitter end.”

  Nova laughed. “Like I’d have it any other way.”

  “Just remember what I said, Jerry. Keep your head on your shoulders at all times. Don’t give these bastards an inch, or they’ll litter space with your debris,” Shawn said, hoping his words didn’t sound cold.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Santorum replied weakly. “I hear you, sir.”

  “Good. There’s a heavy swarm of enemy fighters three hundred yards off our six, starboard side.”

  “I see them.” Roslyn concurred.

  “Arm your particle accelerators and follow me in.”

  “Right behind you, sir,” Jerry replied confidently.

  Together with the help of the Kafaran fighters already present, the few remaining Sector Command pilots made short work of the Meltranians’ dwindling fighter complement. It seemed to all present that the combined might of the Sector Command forces along with the Kafarans had managed to take all the fight out of their common foe. Much to Shawn’s delight, he noticed that as the last few Meltranian fighters were rounded up, the enemy carrier had yet to launch another wave of attackers, and he hoped that it continued to stay that way.

  In truth, even if the Meltranians could have launched an additional surge, they probably didn’t have the time. Not long after the Kafaran destroyer started picking apart the Meltranian warship, the Kafaran carrier moved back in as well. The two combined forces quickly pulverized the already-stricken vessel into oblivion. Many of the long spires projecting from the Meltranian splintered and cracked off as dozens of lights and turrets flicked off, their power cut off at the source.

  Shawn watched as lumps and bumps began to ripple across the surface of the enemy’s hull, the tell-tale sign of massive internal explosions that were quickly overtaking the Meltranian cruiser. Soon, pockets opened up in the hull, not unlike small volcanos erupting from the surface. Gases, flames, and debris rained out into space from a dozen gashes, and the experienced Lieutenant Commander knew the end would soon arrive. He sent a signal out to the combined forces, ordering everyone to evacuate the area immediately.

  It was just in time. The Kafaran destroyer, still pummeling the Meltranian, was lit up as bright as a star when the Meltranian ship exploded in a ball of brilliant blue and white sparks.

  The shockwave from the aliens’ death knell reverberated throughout the immediate area, and Shawn had to tighten his grip on the flight yoke to maintain a steady course away from the expanding fireball. When the explosion died down, there was nothing left of the once-deadly vessel. The Kafaran destroyer, apparently none the worse for wear, was still positioned to fire on an enemy that had long been turned to dust.

  Half-expecting to see another Meltranian jump unexpectedly into the system, and after a further ten minutes of tense patrol flying, Shawn decided it was time to start the journey back to the Rhea.

  Likewise, and without any further communications from Admiral Graves, the Kafaran fighters also began to return to their home carrier. They silently and without a hint of malice passed the Sector Command interceptors in the soundless void as if the USC pilots were little more than an annoyance around which to navigate.

  Another answered prayer, Shawn thought as he watched the last of the Kafarans return to their point of origin. But now what? Do they rearm themselves for a new attack against the Rhea? And what about William Graves? He’s still on that thing. How the hell are we going to get him back with less than a third of our fighters still operating?

  It was then that Commander Caitlin Hayes signaled that it was time for Shawn and the remainder of the fighters to begin their landing approach. His burning questions, no matter how valid, and no matter how significant in their implications, would have to wait.

  Shawn waited until the last of the Sector Command fighters had made it through the few remaining landing bays before he finally brought his ship in—but not without several hesitant looks over his shoulder to see what the Kafaran carrier was doing. It was still out there, as still as the giant pair of moss-covered rocks it resembled. Dangerous. Deadly. Waiting.

  As soon as his craft had touched down, before his canopy had fully retracted, Shawn could see the beginnings of a shapely pair of legs being revealed as the canopy opened. As the form slowly became more exposed, he noticed by body shape alone that it was Melissa Graves. When at last the woman’s face was visible, he saw a wide smile beaming back at him. Shawn undocked himself from the ship’s computer, disconnecting the interface in his helmet, and stepped out onto the small gantry that had been pushed into the side of his Maelstrom’s fuselage.

  Removing his helmet, he absently tossed it back into the fighter. “Well,” he said through a cocky, self-satisfied smile. “As I live and breathe. If it isn’t Agent Melissa Graves. Am I late for my official debriefing?”

  She shook her head slowly, then reached out and cupped his face, drawing him into a long kiss. “Welcome home.”

  Shawn reached his free arm around her waist and pulled her closer. After a moment, they mutually drew away from one another. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call this home, but that’s definitely one heck of a homecoming if I ever saw one.”

  His words were a soft whisper across her flushed cheeks. “I thought you might approve,” she said barely above a whisper.

  As Melissa’s eyes began to water, Shawn smiled, gripped her tightly once more, and placed a passionate kiss on her inviting lips.

  An exaggerated cough, one fully capable of taking the wind out of any romantic sail, emanated from somewhere behind and below Melissa. Shawn reluctantly pulled away, then peered over her shoulder at the form below.

  Trent was gazing up to Shawn, and offered a sheepish wave of his hand. “Do I get a kiss, too?” he asked with his usual smarminess.

  “Not on your life, pal,” Shawn growled.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Skip,” Trent said.

  When Melissa turned she caught the sergeant’s eye, and he gave her an exaggerated wink in response. She chuckled lightly, then rested her head against Shawn’s welcoming shoulder. “Sorry, Trent. I don’t date enlisted men.”

  “Uh-huh,” Trent nodded.

  “If anyone is going to kiss you around here, Trent Maddox, it better darn well be me.” It was Clarissa McAllister, her violet eyes beaming and her immaculately groomed blonde hair flowing as she neared Shawn’s fighter.

  “Oh!” Trent exclaimed, and Shawn wasn’t sure if it was in mock surprise or if Trent was really shocked to see Clarissa standing there. “Hello there, my darling.”

  She strode up to him confidently, dropping her helmet at his feet. “Don’t you ‘hello darling’ me, mister. I risked my backside out there, just like he did,” she said, inclining her head in Shawn’s direction.

  “And what a beautiful backside it is,” the sergeant replied slyly.

  “Well, I expect a little gratitude for…oh, I don’t know…destroying the enemy’s defensive capabilities single-handedly.”

  Melissa turned and whispered playfully into Shawn’s ear. “Sounds like someone I know.”

  Shawn couldn’t help but pinch her someplace currently invisible to both Trent and Clarissa.

  “Of course,” Trent said nervously. “Yes. Right.” He moved in to kiss her, but just as his lips were about to brush hers, she held up a hand to his chest to stay his weak advance.

  “Oh, no you don’t. Not here, and certainly not now. My quarters, thirty minutes, and don’t be late.” She then turned her head toward Shawn. “With your permission of course, sir.”

  Shawn held up his hands, knowing not get in the way when a driven woman wante
d something. “I didn’t see anything, and I know nothing, Ensign. Carry on…both of you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” McAllister said it with a smile and a salute, then shifted her eyes toward Trent. She lowered her voice as she gave the handsome mechanic a once-over. “Thirty minutes, Sergeant. Starting ten minutes ago.” She then turned and left the hangar.

  Trent offered Shawn a quick salute, then brought his palms together and looked to the distant overhead, mouthing the words, “Thank you, God,” before turning and heading off in McAllister’s direction.

  “Should we be worried about those two?” Melissa asked as she placed an arm around Shawn’s waist and turned to face him once more.

  “Everyone needs love,” he said as he looked into her sparkling eyes.

  “Everyone?” she repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Everyone.” As he leaned down to kiss her once more, his name was called over the ship’s intercom, as well as those of Melissa and Roslyn Brunel. It was the voice of Caitlin Hayes, and they were to report to CIC immediately.

  Krif was still standing on the upper deck near the large holotable when Shawn and Melissa arrived. Melissa noted with approval that most of the chaos of the last hour had died down. Where there had once been a bustle of activity and a cacophony of voices, there were now only the murmured whispers between officers and specialists that indicated business as usual for a fleet carrier.

  In fact, only the ship’s operations officer, Commander Caitlin Hayes, turned to regard the pair as they entered the space. She and Shawn shared an understanding glance before Krif’s voice boomed from the upper deck.

  “Get up here now. Both of you.”

  Melissa, followed closely by Shawn, reached for the handrails and hoisted herself up the few steps to the upper deck. She could see that Krif was clearly scrutinizing a large three-dimensional representation of the Kafaran carrier.