Strike Battleship Engineers (The Ithis Campaign Book 2)

by Shane Lochlann Black

  By her best estimates, Copernicus One would be back to ten percent power generation in 40 minutes, at which point Yili would be able to restore life support and be ready to work on the larger problem of putting the rest of the boat back in operation.

  Seventeen

  The Minstrel boarding party had advanced as far as Wildcat fusion storage terminal six.

  “Brogan, you’ve got to get me maneuvering power.”

  “If they’re down, I can’t bring the mains up without help, ma’am. If everything on the engineering deck is just so, I might be able to swing auxiliary power, but it’s going to take a lot of mau-mau to get this battlewagon out of orbit, and aux control might not be enough.”

  “If we’re looking at inbound hostiles, we can’t be on a predictable course. This thing already has a scanner cross-section the size of Canada. Leaving her on a standard track only makes us easier to hit. If we start maneuvering, we might be able to make those approaching wolves think we’re a drowsy bear instead of an all you can eat barbecue joint.”

  “I read you, Captain. We’ll get this thing moving, even if I have to–”

  The blast door exploded with sparks, heat and smoke. A moment later, the entire latching mechanism and its electronics clattered to the floor. Fortunately, all three of Islington’s security marines guarding the door were ready for just such an eventuality. A Sarn commando grappled with the lead security marine for a moment, and the fight immediately spilled out into the flight area. Helmet lights twisted and turned crazily in the blackness.

  A second attacker was caught framed in the shadowy doorway. Two conc rounds from a TK40 sent it wheeling back into the melee. Light strobed in the corridor. A short and vicious firefight forced the attackers to retreat behind one of the trucks used to re-arm Argent’s fighters.

  As weapons fire intensified, things were taking place elsewhere neither the Minstrel officers nor the Sarn attackers were aware of. Since the battleship was home to the Force Command Computer, Dominique was at full operation. Even though the ship was running on local circuit batteries, her functions were unimpeded by the kind of confusion the gunship system had experienced on the surface of Bayone Three.

  A Skywatch strike battleship was equipped with rather powerful emergency self-defense mechanisms, and many of them were automated by both the battle and navigational computers in much the same way they were aboard the approaching Black Seven gunship. Essentially, at least as far as the enemy task force and the hostile boarding parties were concerned, Argent was a Himalayan mountain of gasoline-soaked gunpowder, and the approaching T-Hawk was a lit match.

  Her captain’s sixth sense as sharp as ever, Rebecca Islington saw it first. She only had moments to react, and fortunately she trusted her instincts above the riskier course of hedging her next actions. The words “fuel truck” and “automated defenses” connected in her mind and she instantly changed tactics.

  “Get back! Fall back! Now! Move! Move! Move!” The marines looked a little confused, as they were just starting to obtain an advantage. There was a muffled alien war cry of some kind just before another blast of weapons fire from a second position further inside the flight area, meaning reinforcements had arrived. Without spending any time wondering how their captain knew, the security marines rapidly retreated to the relative safety of fuel storage.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Black Seven was racing towards Argent’s position when it re-broadcast its hostile action bulletin, this time for the benefit of the battleship’s crew and the rest of the gunship’s as-yet-unlocated squadron mates. The moment Argent received the transmission, its own battle computer upgraded the big ship’s alert condition automatically, which tripped all thirty-four deck alarms at once.

  Independently powered automatic deck scans analyzed everything that was happening in the enormous flight bay. It located and identified five Skywatch personnel in fuel storage, and then detected four non-human personnel loose it its security zone who were not wearing Skywatch commlinks. That tripped the intruder protocols. The sudden scream of heavy weapons fire filled the darkness.

  The Minstrel boarding party didn’t see anything, but they did hear a bubbling shriek from one of the Sarn attackers, preceded by more rapid-fire flashes of white that filled both the storage bay and the area outside the hatch. Another barrage followed, and then another. Shouts in a strange alien language were heard, followed by more weapons fire. Islington made her way to the port and peered outside, fully aware of the fact she might take one of those stray shots right between the headlamps. What she saw was encouraging, if perhaps a little unsettling.

  A large powered anti-personnel rifle had deployed itself from the ceiling overlooking the short fuel truck and was traversing the deck floor with targeting LASERs. Each time it detected movement, it opened fire at more than twenty bolts a second and tore red-hot gashes in the metal plating. Two more Sarn attackers were already down. Return fire impacted the ceiling from much further away and the rifle reoriented itself to target the reinforcing group. It launched five barrages of high-powered plasma energy into the forward section of Flight Two, causing another low-grade explosion and fire. Frantic screaming ensued, followed by silence.

  With Argent herself joining the fight, Islington had a moment and activated her commlink. “Boarding party to Minstrel.”

  “Minstrel.”

  “Report all contacts.”

  Another barrage erupted from the overhead rifle, followed by another shriek. Islington put one hand over her ear to try and pick out the responses from her bridge crew.

  “Enemy task force on an intercept course and closing rapidly. Navicomp reports three Sarn destroyer-class warships in the 40,000-ton range. They’re coming in hot. All three mount energy primaries. Estimated time to intercept twelve minutes.”

  “Take evasive action. Slip behind Argent’s primary hull if you have to. If our plan works, I doubt our dinner guests will make it past the line. Do not fire unless fired upon. Islington out.”

  The captain grabbed her engineering chief by the back of his collar and pulled him close. “How would having this monster being at full alert help you?”

  “At least it means I won’t have to judo flip alien riflemen to get to the light switch, ma’am. It’s not going to solve our engineering problem, though. If she’s really powered down–”

  “I’m going to accept your recommendation. Take an escort and get to engineering. Get this thing moving. I don’t care if you have to raise a sail, clear? We’ve got to pull the Argent out of orbit!”

  “I’m going to need someone on the bridge to navigate, ma’am.”

  “Let me worry about that. Go!” Islington slapped him on the shoulder and nodded to one of the marines. As the two men slipped out the hatch, the overhead rifle fired again and caused another small explosion of fire across the flight bay. The captain was considering her next move when it hit her. She fumbled with her commlink again.

  “Command computer tie-in.”

  The channel on her commlink clicked. “Identification, please.”

  “Senior Lieutenant Rebecca Islington, commanding officer DSS Minstrel. Authorization Palomino Nine Eight One Six.”

  A pause.

  “Greetings, lieutenant. How can Argent help you today?”

  “Tactical station access. Report all contacts.”

  The first four reports were exactly what the captain expected. The fifth wasn’t.

  “Say again?”

  “Contact Black Seven bearing zero six zero on tangent course to intercept unidentified inbound target designate Kilowatt Bravo Three, bearing–”

  “What the hell is going on?” Islington muttered. She switched channels on her commlink.

  “Black Seven. I say again Black Seven. This is Argent, Captain Rebecca Islington speaking. Report.”

  There was a blast of static followed by the familiar thumping sound of a voice channel being switched on.

  “Hello?”

  The captain
looked at Cal and the other two marines. They didn’t look like they knew what was going on either. It sounded like a child’s voice had answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Identify yourself.”

  Another pause.

  “My name is Aibreann! I want to go home!”

  There’s a little girl aboard?

  “Tactical access. Confirm position of Black Seven.”

  “Contact Black Seven bearing zero seven one on tangent course. Accelerating to intercept velocity and approaching unidentified inbounds designate Kilowatt Bravo–”

  “Intercept velocity!” Islington repeated. She frantically switched back to Minstrel’s channel. “Hollis! Belay that evasive order! That gunship out there is engaging the Sarn squadron!”

  Eighteen

  The closer Zony Tixia got to her unidentified surface contact, the more confusing her readings became. The fourth humanoid life sign was still indeterminate, and the other three hadn’t moved more than fifteen feet from their current location since Zony had started her approach.

  As an experienced signals officer, Zony knew anyone with even novice-level experience in surface warfare tactics wouldn’t maintain a wide-open position in hostile territory unless they were waiting for evac, and even then, they wouldn’t make themselves obvious. Granted, if contact number four was injured or experiencing equipment failure, a visit by a friendly ship would make sense, but according to Zony’s chronometer, these unidentified personnel had been at their current location for nearly sixteen minutes, which was more than enough time for orbit-to-surface transit. Even a ground unit would have had time to fly hundreds of miles one way by now.

  The only reasonable conclusion was these unidentified contacts weren’t waiting for evac, which left Zony with a wide variety of possibilities, none of which were particularly encouraging. Having already encountered hostiles, she fully expected her next encounter to be at least as dangerous, if not more due to her disadvantage in numbers. She was halfway through configuring her scanner’s ECM circuitry when her commlink lit up.

  It was the automated hostile action bulletin from Black Seven.

  In that split second, everything changed. Such a message from an Argent ground unit created all kinds of command overrides the landing party couldn’t have authorized on its own. Zony had no choice but to go active and break comm silence. She set her scanner back to standby and activated her commlink.

  “Landing party to Argent.”

  After a brief moment, the channel clicked.

  “Argent, Islington here.”

  “Captain? Captain Islington from Minstrel?”

  “Identify yourself, landing party.”

  “This is Lieutenant Zony Tixia, Argent Signals Officer. Our boat is down not far from my location. We’ve received a hostile action bulletin planet-side. What is Argent’s status?”

  “Your entire crew is missing, lieutenant, and we’ve been fired upon by a hostile Sarn boarding party. Argent’s mains are down and her orbit is decaying. We are now attempting to maneuver out of orbit to evade an approaching task force. Your bulletin was broadcast by what appears to be an unmanned gunship that apparently picked up a civilian on the surface.”

  Zony tried her best to process what she had heard. For her, the two key statements were “missing crew” and “task force.” The unidentified humanoids would have to wait. Someone had to defend the ship!

  “Acknowledged, captain. Are you near a console? I need you to authorize the command net for me.”

  “One moment, landing party.”

  Zony watched her commlink carefully. A few moments later, the telltale light pattern switched and gave her a direct telemetry link to Argent’s command computer. She immediately pulled up the Skywatch STC manifest in order to identify the current alert spacecraft status. Sure enough, the alert ten wing included a fully armed two-gen Yellowjacket fighter. It was the ship belonging to Ensign Gus Samuels, callsign “Badoo.” According to flight records, it was practically brand new and loaded to the teeth with two banks of powerful STS missiles, one Hemlock-class Mark VI anti-matter torpedo, twin short-range energy mounts on the wings and one rotating mount aft. Nice and versatile. Fortunately it had its own power. Argent couldn’t perform a conventional fighter launch without rail tunnel power, but the lack of conventional options would never stop the Bandit Jacks.

  As a fully qualified and authorized flightline pilot, Zony simply added herself to the squadron roster and navigated the fleet little craft right out the back door of Flight One so she could pilot it down on remote. Spacelane Traffic Control estimated its arrival in eight minutes.

  “Help is on the way, Argent, landing party out.”

  Zony switched channels on her commlink.

  “Tixia to Copernicus One, emergency.”

  This time there was an immediate answer.

  “Copernicus One. Curtiss.”

  “Yili! Is everything okay? What’s your status?”

  “We received a hostile action bulletin. The boat almost cracked up on impact. I’m in the freezer, but I’ll have ten percent power restored in about a half-hour. What is your location? I’ll set up a repeater so you can navigate back.”

  “Negative. I have to return to the ship. Minstrel contacted us. Argent’s crew is missing and an enemy formation is approaching. They’ve already tangled with a boarding party. Arm yourself and lock the door. As soon as we’ve secured the ship I’ll send a rescue for you. In the meantime, I’m transmitting the coordinates of the unidentified surface contacts I’ve been tracking.”

  “Affirmative, Diamonds. Coordinates received. I’ll see if I can identify them with my lookdown probes. Copernicus One out.”

  Two thumps in the distant sky told Zony her ride was rapidly approaching. She set her handheld scanner to broadcast a repeating LZ position report and made her way to the largest open area she could find quickly. As she emerged from the treeline, she scanned the horizon for any kind of movement, then checked her commlink. The combination of electronic acquisition circuits between her scanner and commlink finally gave her a fix on the approaching Squadron 994 fighter. She flipped the overrides on the vessel’s navigational controls and took command from her position on the ground.

  Moments later, she spied running lights on the horizon. The fighter arrived over Zony’s LZ and slowed to a hover. The Argent signals officer expertly guided it to a surface landing and popped the hatch. She let the ship’s energy systems cycle while she did a quick walk-around to make sure her new fighter hadn’t incurred any physical damage on its de-orbital course. She checked her weapons loadouts and all of the ship’s electronic gear. Everything seemed to be in working order, at least from her visual inspection. Then she spied what she was looking for and made a little victory gesture. Her Jackrabbit module was mounted in the forward ventral sensor bay. She wasn’t just flying a Yellowjacket fighter any more. She was flying the combat space patrol equivalent of an anti-missile frigate. If her enemies were planning to rely on indirect fire weaponry to counter her offensive capabilities, they were in for a rude and potentially painful surprise.

  Zony removed her outer suit and swapped her power-armor helmet for the flight helmet inside the Yellowjacket’s cockpit before climbing up on the smooth composite wing and hopping into the heavily reinforced crash couch.

  Badoo’s fighter was so new Zony could smell the new grip surfaces on the floor and controls. 2G Yellowjackets incorporated all the most effective safety features built in to Skywatch warships. For example, it was virtually impossible to keep a fire going in a fighter cockpit. Every surface was either made from or coated with anti-combustion compounds, and even outside of combat, fighters often operated with zero-oxygen pressure, opting to purge all interior gas mixtures moments after launch. The only way a fire could catch would be if it used the pilot’s tac-suit and gas mixture as a fuel source and even then, the cockpit interior used the same fire suppression technologies as most vessel reactor chambers. It had long been said a Skywa
tch fighter pilot could be made out of charcoal and light a bonfire on the floor and still land with their teeth chattering.

  The hatch whispered shut with a satisfying dense-metal thump. Zony flipped up the ignition mix switches one by one to verify the twin engines were hot enough for full power. The convex anti-glare blast shields in her helmet lowered over her eyes as her crash couch pressurized. She threaded her 12-point harness around her waist and shoulders. Within moments, she was secured at the controls, which rose from the forward console to the exact height and extension to fit her gloved hands, height and reach.

  Zony was appropriately impressed. The Jacks had retired their squadron just before the two-gen fighters were scheduled to be put into action. Nevertheless, everything was where she remembered it. She had to make do with someone else’s helmet and warpaint on the hull, but she was now better armed than a small company of infantry, and capable of rather impressive speeds and maneuvers, not to mention her signature advanced electronic warfare and anti-missile capabilities. Her signals knowledge was at least an order of magnitude more complete now than it was when she was Bandit Three and flying wing in Jason Hunter’s squadron formations. Unfortunately for her enemies, the Jack of Diamonds was also one of the most dangerous fighter pilots in a radius of twenty light years, and that included most of Argent’s contemporary Yellowjacket wing. She activated onboard communications.

  “Buccaneer Four to Argent.”

  “Go ahead,” Islington replied.

  “Landing party communications secured. Switch combat targeting to signal station Jackrabbit Nine Nine Four. Vectoring zero niner zero for bogey. My signal is buster. Acknowledge.” Zony flipped switches one after another, watching her fighter’s onboard systems flicker to life one by one. With her last pre-flight system activation, she engaged her ship’s electronic warfare transmitters and deactivated her approach transponder. She was now practically invisible to both friendly and enemy tracking.