Flying the Storm

by Arnot, C. S.

  Soon, they were complete.

  “Commodore, all control systems are functional and operating nominally. The reactor has reached operating conditions, and is now deep-charging the energy storage. DT fuel pellet stocks are at maximum. Primary repulsor unit is responding correctly…”

  The woman’s accentless voice continued listing off system information, but Solomon was only listening for one phrase.

  “The Enkidu is ready for launch.”

  Solomon leaned back in his chair. “Take us out, then.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  There was a gentle rumble as the warship began to move backwards, the massive struts guiding it to the hangar doors. Solomon watched as the cavern moved around him and the gantry receded into the distance. He was almost bouncing with anticipation. Swivelling his chair around, he could see the huge rolling doors slide ponderously open, and the vast tunnel beyond become illuminated by long strips of lights. The tunnel sloped downwards steeply, and gradually the Enkidu was guided down it. In the distance, at the bottom, all Solomon could see was blackness. A patch where the lights are out?

  No. It was water.

  So that’s how you hide the construction of a state-of-the-art aerial warship. You build it inside a mountain, with the only real access from beneath the sea. Have all the materials and machinery shipped in by submarines, avoiding prying eyes in the sky and even the knowledge of the locals. It was perfect. The whole project was perfect.

  If only the war hadn’t ended.

  Soon the water lapped at the bridge’s cameras. It was an odd notion that he in fact was already several metres below the water, but the sensors through which he was looking had only just reached it. He noted that it was mildly uncomfortable as the optics did their best to convince him that the black water was lapping at his face, and he found he needed to remind himself to breathe. Fascinating.

  The Enkidu slid into perfect blackness then, and the only hint of motion was the gentle rumble of the rolling struts that gripped the warship and guided it through the tunnel. Then, after several minutes, Solomon could see a faint light beyond the stern. It was filtering down from above, green and shifting. It was the sun, piercing the depths of the sea loch.

  Soon the light was almost directly above him. It was a marvel, sitting in the dry bubble of the bridge, staring upwards through fathoms and fathoms of water. There was a deep clank as the struts let go, and the surface came inching towards him.

  The Enkidu broke the surface of the loch. Again the water seemed to lap at his face, but this time above it were the green slopes of the mountains and the blue, hazy sky. The warship floated at the surface for a few moments. Solomon leaned back in his chair and took in the view.

  “Repulsor is active, Commodore,” said the female voice.

  “Thank you, Enkidu. Take us to one-point-four kilometres.”

  Without any sound, the repulsor began to lift the ship. Every molecule within an envelope of several cubic kilometres beneath the warship now bore an imperceptibly tiny share of the Enkidu’s weight. Solomon was carried out of the water and he watched it fall beneath him, running in great streamers from the armour of the warship. Some informative text floated before him, something about the current reactor output and repulsor efficiency, but Solomon paid it little heed. The Enkidu was airborne. It was working just as well as it had been intended to, more than twenty years before. He let out a triumphant laugh.

  Twenty-two years ago, he had been promised command of the new aerial warship that would single-handedly break the Asian Territorial Concorde and win the war. But two years later he was denied that honour. He was left to be forgotten, just another dismissed naval officer among thousands.

  But now the Enkidu was his. He would carve himself the name that he had been denied.

  Soon the warship was hovering above the peaks of the mountains. A small section of the display suddenly zoomed: in the saddle between the mountains still sat the two aircraft. The Enkidu had spotted them.

  Solomon was tempted for a moment. He could have tested his weapons batteries on them, but he decided that was unfair. The Dane and the Scot had served him well; they had brought him to the Enkidu and provided some muscle should there have been an encounter with the marines. No, he would leave them be.

  “Enkidu, are the primary engines operational?”

  “They are, Commodore.”

  “Excellent. Have them ready for cruise. We will take a heading of zero-nine-zero momentarily.”

  “Of course, Commodore.”

  A timer appeared in the air before him, counting down from thirty-three seconds.

  Then the female voice spoke again. “Commodore, active sensors are detecting a large signature beyond visual range, approach bearing one-zero-five, ninety-six kilometres. Attempting to identify.”

  Large signature. Dread dropped like a stone into the pit of Solomon’s stomach. A little red circle had appeared in the distance on the display, where the signature was coming from. He could see nothing but blue haze.

  “Are the stealth measures active?”

  “Yes, Commodore. Active sensors are operating in burst mode to reduce detection probability. What are your orders?”

  Orders. Yes. He had to act fast.

  “Can we outrun them?”

  “The object is approaching at eighty-three metres per second. Our top speed is one-hundred and twenty metres per second, however we will be within conventional weapons range for several minutes before escape, and our engine signatures will reveal our position. Recommended escape under secondary propulsion. Estimated time to readiness, fifteen minutes.”

  Ffiteen minutes. That was a hell of a long time. The secondary propulsion was his best hope of getting away, but until then…

  “Aggressive stance. Arm all point defences and SAM batteries. Charge and load the main armament.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  Solomon could hear the warship’s inner workings behind and beneath him. He could hear its loading mechanisms, though they were at the far end of the ship, handling the heavy railgun slugs. He even imagined he could hear the vast quantities of electric charge moving from deep storage to the banks of capacitors that powered the various weapons. Little tags of information flashed on the screen, notifying him of the different weapons systems and countermeasures that were now armed.

  “Commodore,” said the calm female voice of the Enkidu, “the approaching signature has been identified as the NAUS Gilgamesh.”

  It cannot be. This couldn’t be happening, surely.

  “Should the aggressive stance be relaxed?” the voice asked.

  It was happening. There could be no other object with a signature that size. The naval officer in him took over then.

  “No, Enkidu, the Gilgamesh is not friendly,” he said. “Give me main armament firing solutions to the Gilgamesh, now.”

  “Of course, Commodore.” Even as the voice spoke, two red arcs had appeared before him, stretching off into the distance to the red circle where the Gilgamesh hid in the haze.

  “The target is inside maximum range, however for nominal damage the target should be within-”

  Solomon interrupted the voice. “Are the main guns loaded?”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  He who does not strike first will be the first struck. Solomon knew what had to be done.

  “Elevate the guns.” Fins on the projectiles would correct any slight errors, but the guns still had to be well aimed. The Enkidu’s nose raised, tilting the whole ship and the guns that ran along its length. Then it stopped.

  “Firing on your command, Commodore.”

  “Fire.”

  The ship’s engines spooled up for a second, thrusting to take some of the recoil.

  And then the Enkidu roared.

  When the display had recovered from the huge, blinding flash, it showed Solomon the two white-hot points spearing up into the sky, already impossibly distant, trailing vapour and plasma and smoke as they arced perfectly t
owards their target. Through the optical zoom the slugs shimmered and wobbled, before disappearing into the haze.

  And Solomon waited.

  Many seconds later, Enkidu spoke to him again. “Both rounds have impacted, but target is still too distant to verify effect. Multiple additional signatures received. The Gilgamesh is launching fighters, Commodore.”

  Fighters meant that escape under primary engines was not an option. He’d just be too slow. He had to give his missile defences every help he could. Altitude would give them energy.

  “Take us to three-point-five kilometres.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  “And target those fighters as soon as they are in range.”

  “Of course, Commodore.”

  “Why are they not launching missiles yet?”

  “It is probable that the Gilgamesh and its fighters still cannot achieve radar lock. The report from the main armament will have revealed us momentarily, but beyond visual range the Enkidu is essentially invisible.”

  Solomon felt a swell of pride in his warship. Essentially invisible.

  “Commodore, would you like the factory defences to be activated?”

  “I would like every scrap of help I can get,” he replied.

  “Factory defences are coming online now, Commodore. Their effectiveness will be limited to repelling the fighters, however, since they are not designed for-”

  “Thank you, Enkidu.” Solomon did not have time for lengthy explanations. What he needed was the main guns to be ready to fire again. One shot every twenty seconds, the tech notes had said. Solomon was close to calling it bullshit. Maybe if the reactor didn’t have to supply anything else… “Is the main armament rearmed yet?”

  “Three seconds, Commodore. Increasing reactor output to augment fire rate.”

  “Enkidu, fire at will.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  Momentarily, the ship thundered again with the shock of the guns. Once more the two white points shot into the distance, following the firing solutions.

  “Change altitude to four kilometres, and take us north three kilometres,” ordered Solomon, not wanting to linger where the guns had fired.

  Sure enough, roughly where the Enkidu had first fired its guns a rippling volley of rail shells exploded, thrashing the surface of the sea loch and throwing up spires of white spray. That hammered it home for Solomon. This was a fight. They wanted him dead.

  Well come and get me then.

  From the steep angle the shells had come in at, Solomon realised just how much more powerful the Enkidu’s armament was. The Gilgamesh’s railgun batteries would be firing at the limit of their range. He wondered if they would even penetrate the Enkidu’s skin. Possibly the only real threat at this range was the explosive charge they apparently carried.

  He knew that if the Gilgamesh made it to close range, it was over. Though the Enkidu’s guns were bigger, the sheer weight of firepower that the Gilgamesh could bring to bear would be overwhelming. At close range, even its lightest railguns would cut right through his warship.

  But Solomon did not intend to let this engagement become close-range. He could put a lot more one-ton slugs into the Gilgamesh before then, and every time he fired the target would be closer, and his slugs would hit it with more energy. This was a fight he would not lose.

  “Hostile fighters are crossing in to visual range,” said the female voice. Solomon could see them marked on the display now, and an optical zoom showed twelve dark spots slowly spreading out into six pairs.

  “Enkidu, defend yourself as necessary.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  Suddenly the Enkidu jolted and thrusted, shaking Solomon around in his seat.

  “What on Earth-”

  “Performing evasive manoeuvres and deploying electronic countermeasures. Incoming missiles.”

  The fighters were marking him for the Gilgamesh. Clever idea.

  On the display, little flashes and blooms of flame signalled the missiles that the Enkidu had destroyed with its lasers, though these ones had been launched from the fighters. Solomon knew that there would be long-range missiles incoming from the Gilgamesh, but they would be out of laser range yet. The fighters were dispersing further now, twisting and weaving, trying to dodge the lasers. One of them failed, and the little dark speck disappeared in a ball of igniting fuel.

  He silently congratulated the Enkidu. She was clearly perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. She weaved and accelerated, firing lateral thrusters until she lined up for another shot at the Gilgamesh.

  The two slugs were only a few milliseconds out of their barrels when the Enkidu manoeuvred again, not giving the gunners on the distant Gilgamesh any semblance of an easy shot.

  A moment later, another return barrage cracked and thundered a kilometre from the Enkidu, but this one was less intense than the first. Instead, shells began detonating regularly in different positions, all close to the Enkidu. They were exploding almost constantly, pocking the air with grey smoke and supersonic fragments.

  It was no surprise to Solomon, then, when a hail of those fragments glanced from the port-side armour of the warship a second later. It was hardly a scratch to the Enkidu, but it was enough to get the anger pumping into Solomon’s bloodstream.

  They hit his ship. The sons of bitches hit his ship.

  “Enkidu,” he snarled, gripping the arms of his chair.

  “Yes, Commodore?” asked the Enkidu, manoeuvring through the rippling explosions.

  “Bring that bastard down.”

  35.

  Between the Devil and the Deep

  Aiden stumbled out from under the rock to what sounded like thunder. But the sky was blue and clear, and though there were dark clouds in the west they were still far away. The source of the sound was hidden from him: it seemed to come from the mountains themselves, echoing and booming back and forth between the slopes. What it was he dreaded to think.

  The Iolaire was right where he’d left it. So was the Gilgamesh’s aircraft. The sight of it made him look for his new companion, Hammit. The boy had been following him back out through the twisting and winding tunnels, and was currently clambering from under the rock, looking around for the source of the noise. He didn’t seem to speak much, but then Aiden hadn’t spoken a great deal either. The only thing he’d managed to glean was that the boy had been with the Gilgamesh’s team, had somehow avoided being shot by the turrets and had hidden away in the dark for God knew how long, terrified of moving.

  But Aiden hadn’t taken the time to ask the boy anything more than that. He’d been rushing to get back to the surface to tell Fredrick of Solomon and Vika’s betrayal. He wasn’t entirely sure why, though, since there wasn’t anything Fredrick could have done about it anyway.

  He hoped that the sound of explosions was the Enkidu having some kind of catastrophic failure. Something to wipe the smirk off of Solomon’s smug face. Oh how he would laugh at that.

  The Iolaire’s cargo ramp was down. Aiden ran across the saddle as fast as the lumpy ground allowed, with the scrawny boy not far behind.

  “Fredrick!” he shouted as he got closer, but the sound of detonations drowned him out. He spotted the pilot clambering onto the wing to reach the starboard engine. That’s not good.

  “Fredrick!” he shouted again as he reached the aircraft. “What’s happening?”

  His friend turned to him then, glancing only for a moment at the boy. “It’s the warship!” he shouted back, pointing to the north-west. “The Enkidu! Something’s attacking it!” He bent down to open a maintenance panel, hurriedly reaching into it to feel for something.

  Aiden spun around to look where Fredrick had pointed. He could see nothing. The mountain was in the way. What on earth would attack the Enkidu…?

  “What are you doing?”

  Fredrick swore and drew his hand back out of the hatch. “The bloody engine won’t start!”

  Shit.

  “Why the hell not?” cried Aiden. />
  “I think… I think it’s a coolant valve…but-”

  “Let me look at it,” said the boy, suddenly. Aiden turned to face him. He was looking him hard in the eye. “I’m an engineer.”

  Aiden looked to Fredrick, who just shrugged. “Go on then,” he said.

  Fredrick stooped down to give the boy a hand up onto the fuselage. The oversized flight suit hung ridiculously from his skinny frame, getting in the way of his climbing.

  Aiden turned to the sky again, to the north-west. Then, as if it knew he was watching, the Enkidu backed into sight, several kilometres distant, just cresting the ridge before Aiden. The air around it was filled with flashes and long, conical clouds of smoke almost as long as the warship. They reminded him of something. His heart seemed to stop when he remembered what.

  “It’s the Gilgamesh!” he yelled, watching as the Enkidu ducked and weaved, little thrusters firing from its sides. “It has to be the Gilgamesh!” The barrage of explosions continued, clearer and louder now that the ridge no longer blocked the sound. How they weren’t hitting the warship he couldn’t tell. It was diving and swerving randomly, but surely one of them would get lucky.

  Slowly but surely, the Enkidu was being fought backwards. Through all its small bursts of speed, its general motion was westwards; out to sea. Then it seemed to raise its nose, becoming still for a moment.

  A massive blue flash erupted from under its bow, like a bolt of lightning that disappeared suddenly in a shower of sparks. Two bright white lances, as thin as needles, streaked off into the blue sky unbelievably fast. Impossibly fast. All that remained visible of their passing were twin lines of smoke and steam; white tracks on a blue field. Aiden stood gaping at them.