by Chad Huskins
“Mr. Bingham, track the squadron and relay positions, speed and vectors to weapons.”
“Aye, sir.”
Donovan spun in his chair to face the main viewscreen. “Helm, say speed.”
Helmsman Cortez called out, “We’ve backed off to about a thousand klicks an hour, sir.”
Donovan was about to ask for anomalies, when his XO stepped over to his side hurriedly. “Skipper, we’ve just received a message from the War Room,” Vosen said. “The Visquain say they are modifying the plan slightly in light of the new circumstances. The three Task Forces will still go to their assigned stations, but Lord Ishimoto will penetrate Widden alone. Ramlock and Sikorskiy will remain in orbit around the large moon, Rah’zen, while Shatterstar and Xiyi Lang will remain as support between Dor’fahn and Widden.”
“They’re all going to hang back by the moons?” Donovan asked, incredulous.
“They want to make sure Lord Ishimoto makes a clean drop,” the XO said, his brow a sheen of sweat. “They’re going to offer support from above and behind, covering our drop ships. If we succeed, then we will pull back to Rah’zen, and the next ship will move forward to drop their loads as we cover them.”
Donovan sighed, and nodded. “They’re hedging their bets already. We’re the canary in the coal mine—if we are destroyed, the rest of them will fall back and come up with another plan.”
“It looks that way, skipper.”
“Mr. Cortez!” Donovan shouted angrily. “Prepare for sublight burn, heading in-system.”
“Preparing for sublight burn, in-system, aye aye, sir.”
“Mr. Nijitajior,” he said, calling to the chief navigator, “if you would please, confer with Diogenes and plot us a course. Miss Shapiro,” he said, calling out to the orbital dynamicist, “get ready to insert us into Widden at LPO.”
“Copy low planetary orbit,” Shapiro replied sharply.
The captain nodded, and tapped a button on his armrest while he looked at the tactical data projected in front of him. “Sensor room, conn.”
“Conn, sensor room,” DeStren replied.
“What is it looking like around the system?” Donovan asked, looking at the three-dimensional model of the Phanes System in front of him. “I’m seeing faint drive signatures around the asteroid belts, they seem spread out and faint.”
“Yes, sir,” DeStren said. “Locking on to the exact frequency of MeV gamma levels now. I can safely say there’s at least four major ships around each of the gas giants. The asteroid belt looks like it’s got company, a pair of cruisers on the far side of the largest sun. As far as Widden goes, there’s at least three…no, four ships. All of them look like small troop carriers.”
“Four? You’re sure? And they’re all just small carriers?”
“If you let me go active with sensors, I can probably get a more exact reading by isolating bremsstrahlung,” DeStren said, referring to the X-ray emissions produced from fusion engines. “Or even tap into the sats around Widden, get a look at their own sensor net and see the exact number of monsters orbiting the planet.”
“Negative, I want passive sensors only for now.”
“Aye, skipper. Staying passive.”
Donovan quickly switched channels. “Comms Room One, conn.”
“Go for Comms One,” said an urgent female voice.
“Have we been able to contact Widden High Command?”
“Negative, skipper. We’re being jammed on all frequencies. An unknown source is painting us. Probably a small stealth craft in the area.”
“Send a tightbeam transmission, then,” he said in aggravation. “And let’s hope it gets there in time for them to begin coordinating.” He commed off, and turned back to helm. “Mr. Cortez, how is that burn coming?”
“Burn-ready in thirty-two seconds, skipper,” the helmsman replied.
“Transmit all nav data to the ships following us: Ramlock, Sikorskiy, Shatterstar, and Xiyi Lang. Let them know the countdown.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Prepare all stations, Mr. Vosen. We’re going in.”
LYOKH SUDDENLY REALIZED he was standing in Lucerne’s spot. The same spot where the lieutenant had been right when the doors had been flung open on the surface of Kennit 184c, where he had raced down the ramp and exploded into paste in a fusillade of gunfire. Only seconds later, Judun had fallen. Egleston just moments later.
The rest of Gold Wing was tense. He saw the smaller units of Devastator Wing and Fire Wing huddled at the back near Heeten and the rest of the warhulks. Coiled around the hulks was Thrallyin, the wyrm’s chest was rising and falling fast, its nostrils flaring in anticipation of the battle it sensed it was on the cusp of.
Lyokh looked in each visor, saw the intent in his people’s eyes. It was that expectant moment. They were lingering in that moment, when one’s whole world was frozen and yet frenzied with thought, locked in an interminable waiting game, wondering which of them would die first, and who would walk off this planet alive.
Would any of them?
In Lyokh’s ear, the drop ship’s pilot’s voice said, “Two minutes to orbital insertion!”
He turned to face the three assembled wings, and called out to them, “Two minutes to orbit! Hoy up!”
“A-HOO!” they screamed.
Lord Ishimoto was still carrying them in-system. Once they emerged over Widden, they would probably establish equilibrium in a low orbit, then make the big plunge down to the surface. If they were not blown out of the sky, they ought to make planetfall in less than five minutes. That had been the assessment readouts he’d received from the Visquain, after all the drop ship pilots had gotten together and considered Widden’s size, gravity, and atmosphere.
“Killhead One to Gold Wing Actual,” a calm voice said into his ear. “Come in, Actual.”
Lyokh eye-flicked his visor menu’s natural-user interface, and the NUI brought up his main comm. “Actual here, go with your message.”
“The War Council has updated ROE,” the voice said. “It should be showing up on your screens now. Your objective is to reach the Dexannonhold and make contact with the High Priestess. Once you’ve done that, secure her and make ready for extraction. We are no longer in a peacekeeping posture, you are free to engage with hostiles as they present themselves.”
Like they needed to tell him that. “Copy that, Killhead One.”
“Your LZ will be as close as we can get you to the Dexannonhold. As soon as you land, secure the streets and make them safe for further drops. Establish a perimeter, hold it, and if possible make contact with the local guard. There should be minimal civilians, as approximately half of Vastill’s population has already evacuated, and the rest have retreated to the city’s sublevels.”
Each city on Widden contained about half a billion people, so that still left about 250 million people inside the huge megalopolis. Two hundred fifty million people scared for their lives, huddling close to one another, clutching their families.
Now imagine the size of the force that planned to occupy it, Lyokh thought. Indeed, an occupying force large enough to cover a city as vast as Vastill had to be huge. But if Lord Ishimoto and the others could harass enough of the Ascendancy’s castleships, then they could prevent too many troop carriers from making landfall.
If all goes well.
“Also, be advised that there are four carrier troop vessels detected in Widden’s vicinity,” the voice in his ear went on, “and we believe the Ascendancy has already launched dozens of their drop pods. Passive sensors show light flares high in Widden’s atmosphere, and heat blooms directly above Vastill. Expect resistance and prepare for engagement immediately upon deployment.”
“Copy, One.”
“Godspeed, Actual.”
The voice commed off.
Just then, they felt a shuddering in the walls. They heard a loud whine. Lord Ishimoto let out a mournful moan like a whale song. They all knew what those noises and the shuddering was about. They had translated in
to normal space. They were above Widden, though none of them could presently see it.
“Translation complete,” the pilot said in Lyokh’s ear. “Preparing for orbital correction…aaaaaand we are solid!”
A few tremors went through the floor, felt in their feet and their chests. Arti-grav failed for a second, then reasserted itself.
“Cargo bays opening,” the pilot said. “Christ above, it looks beautiful down there.” The pilot’s voice was distant, almost dreamy. “Just…look at that.” He must have been looking out the forward viewport, observing what might be his very first garden world. Lyokh had only ever seen one of them before, and had only walked it for a few hours. It was both humbling and infuriating; humbling, in that it gave one new respect for Nature’s toolbox, and infuriating because you saw what luxury some rich pricks got to wallow in while the rest of the galaxy starved.
The pilot eventually retrieved himself from mindless woolgathering and called out, “Vastill coming within view. Five minutes to drop. All wings look alive!”
A few breathless seconds went by.
They felt, more than heard, the juddering sounds of gunfire from Lord Ishimoto’s three huge turrets.
“Lord Ishimoto is encountering hostiles,” the pilot informed them. “Support ships protecting the troop carriers. Lord Ishimoto’s taken out one…make that two bogeys. Get ready to drop from the womb and plummet towards the planet in T-minus fifteen seconds!”
“Hang tight, boys and girls,” Lyokh called to all of them.
“The wall!” someone shouted from the back. It was Paupau, the large man whose armor looked barely big enough to contained him. The call was taken up next by Ziir, then Meiks, then everyone else. Even members of Devastator and Fire Wing took up the call.
Lyokh nodded at them. “The wall,” he said.
INSIDE CIC, CAPTAIN Donovan looked out at the garden world on his viewscreen. He had only ever seen in it vids, in 3D holographic models. Never had he laid eyes on it. He had flown missions over three garden worlds in his time, but had never set foot on them. There had never been any time. Just like he believed there would be no time here.
Seen from space, Widden was a vast blue-and-green marble, with splotches of red-and-brown deserts, and four megalopolises that each spanned half a continent, so vast that one side could know night, while the other side still knew day. Vastill, which was coming into view, was currently split by the terminator line, the dark half of the city lit up like decorative lights in a dark window, the lights forming concentric rings that interconnected in beautiful uniformity.
They now inserted into an orbit around Widden. Shapiro had worked out an approach that worked for them. Lord Ishimoto needed to drop her load of skyrakes, starscreamers, and Nova drop ships above Vastill, but also had to be ready to get the hell away from the planet should they be fired upon. They, and the ships they would be dropping off, would be vulnerable for the few seconds it took to drop everyone off. So Captain Donovan had decided on a parabola orbit, a classic Oberth maneuver that would cut them close to the planet on the backside, helping them to pick up speed without having to flare their engines. The gravity assist would sling them around the planet and back towards Rah’zen, where they could assume a position of cover for the next vessel, either Shatterstar or Xiyi Lang, to drop their loads and pull the same maneuver.
It was a good plan. But everyone in the military had heard the old adage about how even a good plan never survived first contact.
“Conn, sensor room,” DeStren called.
“Sensors, conn,” Donovan replied. “Go ahead.”
“Skipper, we’ve got multiple unknown ships scanning us. Probably stealth ships, small and fast, because I can’t get a lock on them. I think they’re painting us in preparation for an attack.”
XO Vosen looked at the captain. “Sir, maybe we should activate the plasma shield?”
“Not right now,” Doonvan said. “We’re approaching the vertex of our parabola, so we need greater maneuverability to make sure we hit the pocket just right for a full-burn turn around the planet. We need eyes and ears.”
The FLS-10/20r plasma shield generator was terrific for blocking all incoming radar and other sensor scans, as well as deflecting most energy-based weapon attacks, but it also blocked all incoming light, which basically placed Lord Ishimoto in an egg-shaped void, its own small world of darkness, unable to see out of it. The plasma shield also prevented Lord Ishimoto from sending out sensor scans of its own. Activating the shield made Lord Ishimoto nearly undetectable by sensors, and impenetrable by particle-beam weapons, but it also made her blind, deaf, and dumb.
“We’ve got support from Shatterstar and the others right now,” Donovan said. “I think we’re covered enough to drop our people and complete the Oberth. Make ready for drop.”
AN OPERATIONS OFFICER’S voice came over the comm, shouting, “Disembarking from Ishimoto in ten seconds!”
“Ten seconds to drop!” Lyokh called out.
“A-HOO!” they screamed. At the back, Thrallyin uncoiled his tail, and shot a plume of smoke out from his nostrils as he released his unmistakable war-song.
The Nova shuttle trembled in anticipation. The pilot’s voice came over the comm and counted down from three. When he hit one, they all jerked slightly to one side as the docking claw released them. There was a moment while their stomachs went through a washing machine—the Nova’s arti-grav and inertial dampeners were taking over as they left the bubble of Lord Ishimoto’s own. The Nova jumped and jolted, and a few of the guys had to reach overhead to grip the stabilizer bars.
“We’re away!” the pilot reported.
Five seconds later, all went to hell. They felt more than they heard the explosion. The shockwave interacted with the Nova’s hull, and they were all slammed hard to port before the inertial dampeners could adjust to the power flux. Their training and their STACsuits kept them all on their feet. The warhulks’ joints moaned slightly as they shifted. Thrallyin screamed angrily. At the very back, the Ravager tanks did not even move.
Then they heard the bullets panging against the hull. Large-caliber rounds smashed into the Nova’s port side, a few of them punched through and sliced up his people. Lyokh heard screams. People made room for a med bot to rush over to help.
“Taking heavy fire!” the pilot screamed in his ear. “Unknown source! Cueing portside turrets—”
There came another explosion, and there was the sound of metal rending metal, like a banshee’s wail. There came a lurching feeling in Lyokh’s stomach. The inertial dampeners were trying to catch up, but he felt the undendiable sensation of a spin. The dampeners were turning off and on, sometimes losing him, sometimes giving him the gratifying feeling of equilibrium.
Without even having to look at the tac display on his HUD or hearing the pilot’s desperate screams, Lyokh already knew that they were in a death spiral.
DONOVAN WATCHED AS the four Nova shuttles were hammered right out of the gate. Lord Ishimoto’s belly cams caught all of it, relaying the drama from multiple angles. One of the Novas was stippled with gunfire, while two others were slammed by heavy rounds spewed from far-off, and so far hidden, starfighters. Only one of them had gotten cleanly away, but sensors were already showing it was being painted with sensors for targeting.
“Sensors, conn!” shouted Donovan. “Is there a fix on enemy ships?”
“Getting it now, sir! Looks like some kind of Torsol-4 stealth fighters!”
Donovan pulled up LOG and reviewed vids and pics of encounters that other starship captains had had with the Ascendancy ages ago.
Torsol stealth fighters had shells made of microscopic polymers and magnetochromatic microspheres. All it took was an injection of small volts of electricity to change the color and pattern on the hull of a Torsol. Its belly was black and dappled with false pinpoints of stars, so anyone beneath it looking up saw only uninterrupted space. Its top portion would match the colors and contours of the continents and clouds beneath it, so
any ships passing overhead saw nothing but the planet below.
The sensor room finally locked on to a patch of space they believed the stealth ships to be hiding in.
“Mr. Vosen,” Donovan hollered, “are all torpedo teams ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then plot a solution along these coordinates. Remove all safeties and prepare to fire.”
“Aye, sir.”
Seconds later, it was done.
“Drone control, conn,” Donovan said.
A voice came over his tactical station. “Conn, drone control.”
“Are we good to deploy our starscreamers?”
“On your mark, Captain.”
“Good, standby.”
Starscreamers were drones built for space combat, while the skyrakes were for atmospheric engagements. Some of starscreamers had survived the Kennit campaign and been recovered, while others had been built during the weeks-long journey to Phanes. Lord Ishimoto’s masticators had crunched up all the asteroids they had collected during their last stop and fed it to the fab room, who 3D-printed what parts they needed and created dozens of invasion weapons.
“Conn, radar!” came Bingham’s voice.
“Radar, conn,” replied Donovan.
“We’ve got squadrons of UAVs headed our way, sir. Small drones. Their make doesn’t show up in LOG.”
Dozens of dots suddenly materialized on the main tac screen.
“Miss Hawkes,” Donovan called over to the main weapons station. “Dial guns up to three thousand rounds per second. Crossfire chasing. We need to blow those things out of the sky if we want to safely deploy support platforms.”
“Aye, sir!” she shouted.
They heard the grind of servos as the turrets re-aimed. The vibration of gunfire juddered the walls hard, and it was felt in Donovan’s feet, traveling into his knees and chest. The turrets each targeted a group of the drones, and worked together to try and catch them in crossfires, or divide them up the middle to pick off a straggler, or create a wall of superheated rounds that encouraged a retreat along a predictable path, where another turret would catch them.