Merkiaari Wars Series: Books 1-3

by Mark E. Cooper

  “It’s nothing,” he said, sweating as the pain threatened to break from his control. “How bad you hit?”

  “Don’t know. A diagnostic says I’m screwed one minute, but then it says I’m a hundred percent combat capable the next. My wristcomp is out too. I can’t see out of my right eye, and when I stand up I fall over. My—” Kate hissed as the pain slammed through her again. “My belly hurts.”

  “Not surprised,” Stone said doing something to her down below. “Half your guts are hanging out. You hit by a tank or what?”

  “Gauss slug I think.” Stone probed her belly with his fingers. “What you doing?” She hissed as agony blossomed. “Fuck! Leave it will you!”

  “I’ve got to push it back in or I can’t get you out of here, bitch-girl. Stop your whining.”

  “Sorry,” Kate said, and panted as the pain stuttered along outraged nerves. “How are you going to do it with your leg hanging off?”

  Stone grimaced. “It’s not that bad.”

  It was, but Kate said nothing as Stone dragged her upright. She took the weight off his smashed leg so that they could move, and he held a hand over her belly to stop her insides slopping out. Kate’s world became one of excruciating pain as he half dragged half carried her over the rubble-strewn streets. Splinters of concrete and brick pelted them as ricocheting slugs kicked up the debris around them. She felt like the world around her was spinning out of control, and it made her dizzy and sick. She heaved wanting to throw up her last meal pack, but all that came up was more blood. Her armour and uniform was covered in it. She fumbled at her face with a shaking hand trying to wipe her mouth, but only succeeded in smearing the disgusting stuff over her chin. Her face felt numb. She stared at her hand, and found it slick with more blood. Shouldn’t her bots be taking care of that little thing?

  Kate blinked dazedly around, hoping to see Gina and the others, but they must have pulled back already. That meant the strike was imminent. They would not have pulled out otherwise. She ordered her sensors to find her friends, but nothing happened. The data on her display kept insisting she was falling. She watched her altimeter spiralling down, and winced when it hit zero, but nothing happened of course. It was just her processor having a whigout.

  “Where are we going?” she said, slurring the words. Her lips weren’t working right. Hell, what was these days?

  “God knows,” Stone said as the bombers came in to drop their loads on the museum.

  WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!

  * * *

  27 ~ Trouble at Masaru

  Zuleika Spaceport, one month later

  Flight lieutenant Gary Newlove, otherwise known as Scorpion Leader, paced slowly around his ship’s forward intakes, open now that she had an atmosphere to breathe again, and along the fuselage passing the one-step ladder waiting for his foot. He ducked under her starboard wing, and paused to check that her pylons were all secure. The SPAF-18 Nighthawk had four pylons, two under each wing, which could take a variety of munitions in any configuration a mission required. The Nighthawk was a very versatile craft. Fast and manoeuvrable enough to ensure air superiority against other fighters, while retaining enough spare payload to make it a very respectable bomber in its own right. His ship was currently configured for ground attack. The white tipped Hornet AG missiles were a dark menacing shadow within their launcher hanging from her inner pylon, while the fat and happy bulk of an Atlas bunker buster bomb took her outer pylon. All her munitions had the white tips indicating war shots. Red tips would have indicated this was a training mission, and incidentally would have had him screaming bloody murder, but all was fine.

  Before leaving to check her portside, he grabbed the Atlas and shook it roughly. It barely moved, as it should be. If the movement had been excessive his baby would have been down checked. The inner pylons, which were designated one and two on his weapon’s consol, held the twelve shot box launchers rarely seen by anyone these days. Not counting missions here on Child of Harmony, he had used them only twice before, both times during his academy days. All cadets were expected to make at least one run over the range with them.

  Pylons Three and Four were encumbered with the two Atlas bunker busters he was carrying. The Atlas was a 250kg bomb designed to penetrate hardened targets such as missile silos or reinforced bunkers. It had a destructive capability out of proportion to its seemingly small size, almost bordering on a mini-nuke in the results it could produce. He had great confidence in its ability to do the job, and in his ability to deliver it on target. He had never dropped anything bigger, though Sutherland did carry them among other nastier things. Nukes were never used on planetary targets of course, but again Sutherland did carry them.

  He had heard through the grapevine that a Shan delegation in the east wing had asked that the cities be nuked, and the Merkiaari with them. That was fine by him, but Burgton had vetoed it saying it was too close to breaking the Accords. To his mind, that was a specious argument, but there were other reasons not to nuke the cities. Fallout for one thing, and where would the natives live afterwards? No, on the whole he was happy with his part in the campaign.

  Newlove checked his portside pylons and found all well. He walked into the open and found that his people were already climbing up into their cockpits. He was running late.

  He trotted up to his bird, automatically thumping the second step cover, before climbing up and into the cockpit. He flicked the master power switch to on, and his instruments activated and calibrated themselves. His helmet went on his head, and he plugged his flight suit into the life support consol. He grunted as the suit pressurised. It squeezed as if his ship had just gone to max thrust. It lasted a moment only, and the computer beeped, indicating he had a good seal. His harness was next, and then he flicked more switches to activate the fuel pumps.

  Newlove keyed his mic live. “Scorpion Leader to all Scorpions. Ready to roll?”

  “Scorpion Two, all systems nominal.”

  “…Three ready to roll.”

  “…Four, affirmative, Scorpion Leader.”

  Newlove listened as the twelve ships of his wing reported in, but kept his eyes glued to his pressure gauge until it reached the green zone. Depressing the engine preheat button, he counted to ten under his breath, and then pressed engine start. The explosive roar of his burners punctuated the familiar whine of his twin Megabyne Dynamics engines as their revs built. He watched his instruments, but all was in the green.

  “Zuleika Tower, Scorpion Leader,” Newlove said over the comm. “Ready to roll.”

  “Roger, Scorpion Leader. You are number two for takeoff. Repeat number two.”

  “Roger tower, Scorpion Leader copies number two.”

  Hanna led the twelve ships of Jaguar wing onto the runway. They could have taken off vertically of course, but that was slower and used more fuel. There was no need for it here. One after another, the fighters accelerated hard down the runway, and leapt into the sky. Newlove watched with pleasure as they pulled into a steep climb to clear his sky. Even after all these years, it was still a thrilling sight watching the twin burners shoving a Nighthawk through six gees.

  “Zuleika Tower, Scorpion Leader, rolling.”

  “Roger, Scorpion Leader. Good luck.”

  Newlove taxied onto the runway and stopped. Setting his brakes he throttled up until his baby was straining at the leash. He let her go. She mashed him into his acceleration couch as she raced down the runway, and leapt into the sky. His vision greyed as his flight suit squeezed his extremities, but that was normal. He endured, and pulled up violently into a vertical climb to two thousand metres. He levelled off, and led his wing to join Hanna’s people.

  “Scorpion Leader, Jaguar Leader.”

  “Scorpion Leader. How do you want to play this one?”

  “Me first?”

  “Fine by me,” Newlove said. He had led the attack the last couple of times over the cities. “I’ll circle around until you drop your loads, and then you do the same f
or me. Okay?”

  “Copy that. We hit them with the hornets together from the south.”

  Newlove nodded; it was the best way. “Copy Jaguar Leader, you have the lead. Scorpion Leader out.”

  He contacted his wing and gave his orders.

  Jaguar and Scorpion wings climbed to forty thousand feet where their pilots set their computers to supercruise. In supercruise mode, the pilots had little to do but monitor their instruments. Their ship’s flew themselves, but after the warm welcome the Merkiaari had laid on for them on their first night on Child of Harmony, they weren’t willing to relax their guard. Merki interceptors had the advantage over them. They were faster and more manoeuvrable, as some had found to their cost when they were shot down over Zuleika. The survivors didn’t want a repeat performance, nor did they wish to join those who hadn’t been lucky enough to eject in time. Paranoia was a hobby that veteran pilots cultivated diligently.

  Flight time to the city of Masaru was a little over two hours.

  The mission went according to plan. Hanna led the attack, and then played high guard while Newlove’s Scorpions dropped their bomb loads on the selected targets. Flashes lit the darkened city, and buildings crashed down upon already deserted and rubble-strewn streets. Fires raged out of control and unopposed, while both wings roared away only to turn back a minute or so later to engage secondary targets with their Hornet AG missiles.

  Unbeknown to Newlove and his superiors, who were even now evaluating the results of the attack real time via satellite, the Merkiaari ground forces occupying Masaru had already left the area under cover of darkness. They were many kilometres distant by the time the attack commenced.

  The mission was a complete and utter failure.

  “Bandits, bandits!” someone screamed, and Newlove’s heart skipped a beat. “Many bandits bearing one-two-zero degrees, angels three-niner thousand.”

  “Roger. Bandits incoming one-two-zero. Scorpions break, break.” Newlove pulled up hard and to the right. His vision greyed as the gee-stress built, but he was concentrating hard upon his instruments, and ignored the discomfort. “Take them two against one.”

  They had learned not to try attacking one on one. SPAF-18s simply couldn’t compete with Merki interceptors, and neither could its pilot compete with the Merkiaari pilots. It was an unpalatable truth, but they were simply better suited to withstand g-stress. They had evolved in a heavy grav environment, and could withstand faster and tighter turns. All was not lost however. Newlove’s people were highly trained professionals, and had fought successfully against the Merkiaari at Zuleika and other cities over the last few weeks. The new doctrine hammered out using those experiences, paid good dividends in the opening seconds of the dogfight.

  Two of the interceptors went down almost immediately under intense cannon fire, but a minute or two into this new battle, the tide turned against the Alliance. They were outnumbered three to two, but worst of all, both wings of fighters were configured for ground attack. The only weapons they had after bombing Masaru were a pair of twin-barrelled railguns one on each wing. These cannons, though effective when on target, were not self-seek weapons. They relied upon the pilot’s dog fighting and gunnery skills. Against so many interceptors fully armed for air-to-air combat, they had no chance.

  Heat-seeking missiles criss-crossed the sky in appalling numbers. Missiles designed to memorise an enemy’s radar footprint, and hunt that enemy down, locked on. Missiles that did nothing but sow the sky with electronic interference hashed the fighter’s sensors. Missiles everywhere. Fighters dove and jinked trying to shake them off, but a pilot lucky enough to do so once, might immediately stray into the path of two more a moment later. Should he successfully avoid those, he might then be shot down by pulser fire from the interceptors that had managed to get behind him while he was preoccupied shaking off the missiles. Explosions pocked the sky. Engines howled, cannon fire roared, and men screamed as their ships came apart around them.

  “Mayday, mayday… Scorpion Six going down,” Briggs began, but a moment later his ship disintegrated, and rained burning debris down onto the trees below.

  “I’m hit! Ejecting…”

  “Behind you, Lou, behind you!”

  “Get him off me, get him off me!”

  “Eject, eject, eject… noooo!”

  Newlove tried to watch for threats both to his right and his left. He tried to watch his instruments for missiles locking on. He tried to chase down an interceptor while avoiding the others of his wing engaged in their own battles. He tried to get good position and fire while glancing back over his shoulder for the reassuring sight of his wingman. Mike wasn’t there, and then he was, and then he wasn’t again. He had a missile on his tail, and he was jinking to lose it. He succeeded, but then another Nighthawk, one of Hanna’s people, roared through his airspace with an interceptor on its tail, and all three collided in an eye-searing ball of light.

  “Noooo,” Newlove howled, as Mike’s ship flipped over minus its right wing. The fighter burned spiralling out of control toward the ground. He willed his friend to eject but he was either dead or unconscious from the collision. The broken ship struck the ground in a ball of fire. “Mike!”

  Half of the fighters sent to attack Masaru were shot down in the first three minutes of battle. Five of those twelve brave pilots ejected safely, while their comrades fought for their lives above them.

  On his own now, Newlove seemed to enter another state of consciousness. His vision tunnelled, populated only by his HUD and the interceptor swooping crazily left and right up and down trying to evade him. His breathing was loud in his ears, yet he couldn’t hear his ship’s engines as they howled in protest. He didn’t even notice the warning light that denoted an overheating engine. His fear had pushed him as far as it was possible to go. His unblinking eyes were fixed only ahead of him. They only had time for the enemy now. What was behind him was of no interest. What was to right and left was irrelevant. All that mattered was killing the enemy, even if that meant his own death.

  The chase he was involved in turned to a game of cat and mouse as the interceptor dove for the deck in an effort to evade him. He followed at tree top level along a valley that ran north to south for kilometres. He had no idea where he was, and cared not at all. All that mattered was the interceptor in his gun sights. He fired and missed. Fired again. The interceptor clawed for a little altitude, and swept around in a tight turn. He fired a burst, and hit his target, but before he could fire again, the Merki pulled up into a vertical climb.

  Newlove tried to follow as the interceptor pulled into an unbelievably fast and steep climb. His flight suit squeezed his legs so hard he felt in danger of being crushed. His vision greyed and dimmed. He fired as his target crossed in front of him, but he was too late. The Merki dove managing to evade his fire. He gave chase recklessly, and almost collided with the Interceptor when it decelerated hard in an attempt to get behind him. He poured fire into it, and this time the job got done. The Interceptor disintegrated into a ball of fire and debris.

  “Splash one,” Newlove said, and pulled up steeply looking for another target.

  Pe-peep… pe-peep… pe-peep, peep, peep, peep, peep!

  The target lock warning went frantic. Newlove went to max thrust in an effort to outrun the missile that had dropped onto his tail. Where the hell had it come from? He didn’t have time to ponder. He jinked and dove, and then pushed the throttles through the stops. He couldn’t shake it loose! He dove hard, and pulled into a five-gee positive turn to starboard, but the missile had him locked solid into its tiny little brain. Decoys automatically popped free from their bays in the tail of his ship in an effort to suck the missile off target, but it wasn’t interested in being decoyed. Flares lit the sky, but they also failed. The missile wasn’t letting go. He continued the turn, and pulled up hard. His vision greyed as the g-stress built.

  Booom!

  “I’m hit,” Newlove gasped as his ship shuddered from the impact.

&
nbsp; His ship bucked and fought him as he tried to maintain control. His display was awash with warning lights, and the air was filled with warning sirens. Number two, his starboard engine, was on fire. He used the extinguisher, but already he could feel the loss in power.

  Pe-peep… pe-peep… pe-peep, peep, peep, peep, peep!

  Newlove gaped in disbelief as another missile locked on and began homing. Where the hell were they coming from? He dove away from the new threat trying to gain time to assess the damage to his ship. He was losing power in number two, and fuel pressure was dropping. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and realised his starboard wing had been shredded.

  Booom!

  His ship shuddered again, and this time he knew it was all over.

  Beep, beep, beep…

  Flame out on number two. Newlove pulled up, desperately needing the altitude. He would surely die if he ejected so close to the ground. His ship clawed for height shaking so badly he feared it would shake itself apart.

  “Mayday, mayday… Scorpion Leader going down. Position…” the stick went dead, and so did most of his displays. His ship began to roll starboard and down. “Position unknown… ejecting.”

  Newlove yanked the black and yellow handle between his legs. The canopy above his head blew clear, and his acceleration couch rocketed out of the cockpit. The force of his ejection must have knocked him out because when he awoke, his chute was already deployed. He drifted sedately toward the ground. The sky was utterly black. His comm was dead… of course it was dead. His ship was gone. All he heard was the whistle of the wind.

  Fires raged upon the ground below. An explosion to Newlove’s right had him spinning that way in an effort to see. He needed to get his bearings. He couldn’t tell what had caused the eruption of flame. Maybe it was his own ship. The ball of fire had leapt skyward, but it was gone a moment later leaving nothing in its wake. A building would still be burning, but a fighter’s tanks would explode exactly like that. He had seen it before.