“Roger, Leader,” Montgomery replied. “We've got your back.”
“Moretti to Kani,” a harsh voice said. “Commencing launch sequence. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” he replied, as the kick of the magnetic catapult burst into life, the acceleration fierce enough to push him back into his couch as his fighter raced into the void, engines firing to swing his ship around onto an intercept trajectory. On either side, Voronova and Nguyen moved into position, forming a classic arrowhead formation.
“Voronova to Kani.”
“I'm here, Lieutenant. What's wrong?”
“Are you sure about leaving Monty in charge of the reserve formation? There's a good chance at least one of those bastards is going to get through our screen.”
“Maybe, but they're going to have to be blooded sometime, and we're going to have to take the brunt of the attack ourselves. I can't risk a rookie in the forward section, and I can't spare one of us to take rear guard.”
“Understood,” she replied, her voice still doubtful. “Warbook has this squadron listed as the Loose Cannons, the One-Twenty-Ninth Reserve. Probably why they're flying such old ships. No recent combat experience listed, no kills in the squadron.”
“We're going to do our best to keep it that way.” He glanced up at his sensor display, and added, “Contact in three and a half minutes. Hold formation until we have thirty seconds to go. I want this nice and clean.”
“Roger. Voronova out.”
The channel clicked off, and he was alone with his thoughts once again. They were a long way from home, from the Commonwealth border. Originally, his mission had been to capture Polaris for his people, but his mission had failed when their local agent, Saxon, had switched sides, ultimately joining the rebellion. There hadn't been a chance for him to return home, and until one appeared, he'd agreed to lead Polaris' fighters into battle.
Deep down inside, that thought did not displease him. The Commonwealth had been waiting for fifty years for a chance to reclaim its lost territory, to retake Earth and the Colonies, but they'd yet to actually do anything about it more than launching a handful of border raids. Twenty years ago, the Uprising might have given them an opportunity, but the leaders of the day had refused to take it. Somehow, he knew that the current revolt would be no different. They'd sit back and wait, rather than commit their limited resources to the fight.
Even if he had a chance to get back to his people right away, he wasn't certain that he would take it. As it stood, he was fighting for something important, and something that he knew was in the best interests of his people. He glanced back towards Polaris, sighed, then turned back to the display, focusing on the battle.
The enemy formation was moving towards him in textbook fashion, setting up for a classic attack run. His opponent had to know that Polaris would launch against them, but Kani had made certain to match the attack according to the manual, a standard double-arrowhead formation. If he could convince the enemy squadron commander that he was fighting somebody on his own level, then the bulk of the battle would already be won.
On paper, warfare in space was a matter of raw statistics. In reality, a cunning commander could find ways to make his force more effective, to use guile and deceit to draw the enemy into a trap. Even perfect sensor resolution couldn't reveal the intentions of a good pilot, the reason why human beings still sat in these cockpits, centuries after the introduction of space fighters.
“Thirty seconds, people,” he said. “Forward formation, break and attack.”
He hit his thruster controls, cutting his acceleration marginally as he slewed to the right, his thumb flicking his firing stub, permitting the computer to unleash bolts from his particle cannons if they found an effective target. With his other hand, he worked the targeting computers, preparing his missiles for launch, while the enemy squadron continued to race towards him, not altering their approach pattern by a millimeter despite the incoming formation.
“Hey, Win, they're sitting ducks!” Nguyen said, but Kani frowned, shaking his head.
“I don't like this,” he replied. “Sunburst formation, right now!”
He slammed on his lateral thrusters, sending his fighter diving to the right, an evasive pattern that would send the first wave of the formation racing out of contact with the enemy. A half-second later, Nguyen and Voronova matched his move, just as the enemy squadron launched their missiles, six warheads racing towards their position, sweeping through the area of space they had just been occupying.
“Already?” Voronova said. “They'll need those for Polaris!”
“Not if we're the target,” Kani replied. “They were never after her. Just us. Take down the fighter screen and they know we're vulnerable to attack. And they're willing to sacrifice Montevideo if it means bringing us down.” Tapping a control, he said, “Kani to Montgomery. Continue to advance towards the enemy, and stand by for salvo fire of all missiles as soon as you get within range. We'll take them from the rear.”
The young pilot's voice radiated overconfidence, and he replied, “We're on it, Leader.”
“Forward flight, go red-line on your engines and kick your acceleration as high as possible. We're going to have to make out a lot of relative velocity.”
“Win,” Nguyen replied, “My figures show us running out of fuel before we can make it back to the base, especially if we have to take any evasive action.”
“And we will,” he said, “but we can worry about that later. As long as we sweep the sky clean, our tankers can come and pick us up. Locking on target.” He worked his controls, entering in the new command sequence and throwing one override after another into position, inwardly cursing himself for his arrogance. The enemy commander had played him, lured him into a false sense of security. Likely only a recent arrival, the Federation dispersing experienced pilots to the frontier squadrons to stiffen their resolve.
“Monty,” he said, “Make sure you bring down the squadron leader. He's the brains of the operation, and if my guess is right, taking him out of the picture will do a lot of damage.”
“On it,” Montgomery replied, as the acceleration on Kani's fighter kicked in, slamming him back into his seat. His ship was far too small for artificial gravity, had no way of compensating for the boost, and his vision was starting to gray at the edges, warning lights winking on to alert him that he was pushing both himself and his fighter too far.
Not that there was anything he could do about that. He had to reach the enemy squadron before they could seriously engage the rear formation, or he'd be bringing about the very outcome he had hoped to avoid by leaving them out of the fight in the first place. All three of the rookies were competent enough, but until they'd fought a few battles, they wouldn't have the experience that would keep them alive in the firing line.
“Polaris Actual to Grey Leader,” Curtis' voice said, echoing through the cockpit. “We've managed to get one turret operational. Try and draw them in towards the forward sensor array. If you can get them close enough, we might be able to knock at least a few of them out of the sky.”
“Roger,” he replied, every breath an agony under the near-unbearable acceleration. He glanced down at the trajectory plot, grimacing as he read the readouts. He'd just be able to make it to the target in time, but it would be far closer than he liked, the margin of error too low. And he'd be running on fumes by the time he completed the maneuver.
The enemy formation had regrouped, and he had a few quick seconds to look over the Hammerhead fighters. No obvious modifications, but they were faster than he had expected. A quick glance revealed why, tiny burn marks on the side of each ship. Spots where explosive bolts had recently detonated, tossing away reserve fuel tanks. The Hammerheads were capable of reaching orbit on an airless world, but by dropping the bulk of their reserve after reaching space, they'd significantly increase their acceleration.
There wasn't
any doubt that they had a smart squadron leader, not any more, but that didn't automatically mean that the rest of the pilots had inherited his skills. They were all following the leader, move for move, taking their orders as precisely as a robot. Doubtless he'd told his green pilots to do what he told them, was running the battle from his cockpit.
And that was a mistake, displaying as much arrogance as Kani had, moments ago. Riding herd on a single fighter was a daunting enough job, but trying to handle five planes in a firefight was an order of magnitude tougher. That was the weak spot. He reached across to the trajectory plot, tapping a control to engage the reserve fuel tank.
“Leader to all fighters,” he gasped. “Break formation. Attack from multiple vectors, and don't, repeat, don't execute time-on-target. I want to keep the bastards guessing.”
His fighter swung out onto a new vector, diving to the side, as the rest of his pilots altered course to match. They were breaking all the usual rules of close-quarters fighter combat, but it was confusing the enemy squadron leader, his ships brought into a tighter formation, ranging in towards Polaris.
Finally, he could crank down the acceleration, bringing it down to an acceptable level, and he could work on his course more precisely, tweaking his trajectory to herd the enemy towards the waiting turret. The hunters had become the hunted. A series of lights flashed on his screen as Montgomery and his pilots launched their missiles, six tracks locked onto the incoming interceptors, and a few seconds later, six more joined them, a loose ball of death racing towards the fighters.
Kani leveled his ship towards the enemy interceptors, knowing that he was the least of their worries now. All five of his targets swung around, firing their remaining missiles, keeping their thrust slow in a bid to knock down multiple targets, while ranging their particle beams to provide a makeshift shield, point adjustments to their formation as they attempted to knock down the incoming missiles. Ultimately, he expected that they'd pull it off, but it was going to cost them time and power, and both of them were commodities that no fighter pilot would willingly expend.
As he plotted his approach, he ducked to the side, careful to stay out of the enemy's defensive fire, pulling back on his throttle still further, content to allow the enemy to spend their precious energy on knocking down his missiles while he moved in for the kill. Belatedly, the enemy formation broke in two, a pair of fighters moving around to engage him, but before he could even release his firing controls, a burst of energy sweeping in from the side swept into the nearest enemy fighter, ripping angry black marks down its side and sending it spiraling out of control.
“Onto the scoreboard!” Montgomery yelled, triumphantly, and Kani quickly followed up, taking out the second fighter, catching him before he could escape. One of the two had obviously been the squadron leader, and with him out of the picture, the rest of the pilots panicked, breaking their defensive formation with two missiles still in the air. Two of them turned for home, and Kani tapped a control to lock the missiles onto them, one apiece, trusting that they'd catch up with the fleeing fighters before they could find a place to touch down.
That just left one bold pilot, pressing his attack on Polaris, with just enough of a head-start to present a real problem. Kani looked across at his trajectory plot, knowing that he'd run out of fuel before he could get a clear shot. Not that the enemy would know that, and a rookie pilot might not know enough to run a proper fuel computation. Reaching down for the throttle, he threw one last burst of acceleration into his course, hurling him forward, sending the enemy fighter weaving off in a bid to evade him.
Right into the path of Polaris' one operational turret.
It took the last of Kani's fuel to evade the burst of kinetic projectiles that lashed through space, the enemy fighter pilot bailing out of his fighter seconds before impact, just clear of the wave of destruction. He frowned, then reached across to his communication controls as his engine died, hunting for the Federation combat frequency.
“Midshipman Jones...”
“Don't bother,” Kani replied. “They won't reach you before our shuttle. This is Squadron Leader Winston Kani, currently commanding the Polaris fighter wing. That was some pretty nice flying.” Two blips popped up on the sensors, announcing the destruction of the retreating enemy pilots. “Smarter than your friends, anyway. You might actually have promise.”
“We lost,” she replied, sullenly.
“Maybe, but there always comes another day. And no, that doesn't mean I intend to release you, but if you fancy flying for us, I think I can offer you a job. No need for you to send me your references. Think about it. Kani out.” Tapping another control, he said, “Grey Leader to Polaris Actual. Enemy threats neutralized. Assault shuttle is clear for launch. Request pickup.”
As his fighter soared past Polaris, no longer able to alter its course, he glanced down at his watch. It would be a while before anyone could reach him, more than an hour. Sliding his hand down his console, he pulled up his personal files and threw a control. At least he could listen to some music while he waited.
Chapter 3
Cordova waited at the airlock while the shuttle slowly made its way across to Montevideo. Polaris was swooping into position behind them, ready to provide at least implicit support, even if only one of its turrets was currently manned. A single burst of fire could do massive damage, though, and Captain Hammond would know that, even if the creature of the Political Directorate didn't.
Saxon walked forward, datapad in hand, and said, “I've got a listing on the watchdog. Ken Sherman. Recent graduate, third-generation Blackshirt. His father's stationed out at Sentinel, grandfather died in uniform during the Uprising. Which means he doesn't have any particular reason to love the idea of a rebellion. He won't go down without a fight.” She grinned, then said, “Though he really needs to work on his anti-intrusion training. It only took me a few minutes to smash low-level access through the firewall.”
“The crew?” she asked.
“Nothing that stands out at first inspection. Though that doesn't mean a damned thing. You can expect sleeper agents on board, almost certainly.” She paused, then added, “No transfers indicated for the last four months. Which means that they haven't had a chance to make any special preparations, not yet. Though this is a low-priority target.”
“That didn't stop them strengthening the fighters.”
Raising an eyebrow, Saxon replied, “When was the last time the Political Directorate and the Federation Fleet talked to each other on friendly terms? And don't forget that Colonial Security has a dog in this hunt, as well. Lots of nice little pocket empires smashing into each other. That should make our lives a lot easier.”
Turning to her, Cordova said, “Our lives?”
“You might want to get used to the idea that I'm on your side, Major. Just how many times am I going to have to save your life before you accept that I've joined your noble cause.”
“You joined us to save your own skin. Don't think I don't know it.”
“Ah, but I am an honest crook. One who stays bought. Once I have given my loyalties, I don't withdraw them easily or quickly. Bitter experience has taught me that changing allegiances too often is a good way to get yourself killed.”
“You betrayed the Federation.”
“So did you.”
Their argument was brought to a premature halt as a red light flashed on, warning that they were only seconds away from docking. She hefted her sonic shotgun in her hands, glancing back at the hastily assembled strike team, none of them filling her with confidence. They'd only been able to take on a few engineers and pilots at their hidden base, and she was still left with the group she'd had from Hanoi. With the exception of Joe Dixon, the only one of them who even remotely looked the part, a menacing scowl permanently displayed on his face.
“Thirty seconds,” she said. “Dixon, you take two people and head down to Engineering. We've go
t to have Montevideo's Tau Drive disabled but not damaged. Commander Curtis was extremely clear on that. The rest of us will head right for the bridge. If anyone tries to stop us, use non-lethal force unless you don't have any other choice. But if you have to shoot, shoot to kill. We can't afford any mistakes.”
“Hey, Major,” Kenyon, one of the drive technicians pressed into service as a commando, asked, “What's this all about anyway? What's so special about this ship?”
“As soon as I find that out, Spaceman, I promise that you'll be the first to know. Get ready.”
She looked up at the display, watching as the shuttle slid into position, Montevideo playing back and forth on her thrusters in a desperate attempt to prevent contact. Curtis hadn't told anyone about his plans, and while she could understand the need for security, not knowing what was going on nagged at her. For years, she'd been in complete control of her own destiny, and she didn't like the idea of conceding that control to anyone.
And Saxon was providing a constant source of irritation. She knew, deep down, that the only way they were going to win would be by converting people, bringing them from the service of the Federation to the side of the angels, but that a senior figure in ColSec would switch sides still seemed impossible. She might have saved them twice, first at Sinaloa Station and later during the fighting on board Hanoi at the Cinnamon Belt, but that didn't mean that she liked her, and it certainly didn't mean that she trusted her.
A series of green lights raced up the side of the airlock, and the doors slid open to allow her team on board, heavy boots ringing on the decks as they raced into the corridor beyond, sprinting to find cover against an anticipated attack. None came. The deck was deserted, all blast doors opened. Cordova glanced at Dixon, and with a curt nod, he raced down towards Engineering, taking two of the others with him, while she made her way in the other direction, all the way along the long lateral corridor to the bridge.
Starcruiser Polaris: Nothing Left To Lose Page 2