Crashing down through the trees was no more gentle than what he had endured so far. With the parachute having lost lift, he fell straight down, bouncing off tree limbs and breaking branches. There was a final violent jolt as the parachute snagged on a tree limb, and he came to a stop ten meters off the ground. The parachute computer, still active, calculated the distance, and the nanofabric of the parachute cords stretched to lower Derek almost gently to the ground. Satisfied that it had done all it could for the pilot, the parachute computer released the cords, and the pilot’s bruised and battered body lay alone on the forest floor.
Saily was not so lucky as Derek. The engine fan blade that struck the cockpit as they were separating penetrated the armor and a piece punctured the seat, damaging its release mechanism. When Derek pulled the handle to eject them from the cockpit, Saily’s seat should have ejected first. Because the cockpit computer knew her seat was damaged, it delayed Saily’s ejection until after Derek was clear. But as the then-empty cockpit tumbled violently, components broke off in the airstream, and several pieces flew toward Saily. Right after she was released from the seat and the nanofabric began to blossom into a protective bubble around her, two sharp pieces of composite ripped through the still-forming bubble and into her.
The ejection computer compensated as best it could, pulling the bubble tighter and attempting to seal the holes. It was partially successful; although the smaller bubble was not able to slow the pilot’s uncontrolled rush through the air. Sensing the ground was coming up quickly, the computer judged that the least risky of several very bad options was to retract the bubble and reform the nanofabric as a parachute. At first it was a small drogue parachute, used only to slow the pilot’s speed through the air. When the computer decided it was safe, it spread the nanofabric out to its full extent. That was the only way to prevent the pilot from hitting the tree tops at full speed. Unfortunately, the excessive speed and prior damage to the nanofabric meant the parachute immediately began to rip from the edge to the center. The computer attempted to compensate, and it was still working on knitting together the rip when Saily hit the tree tops. The computer knew from talking with the medical status computer implanted in Saily that the pilot was seriously injured and bleeding, but the ejection computer could do nothing to assist the nano-based medical systems inside Saily’s body.
Saily crashed down through the trees, nearly breaking her back on a thick tree limb. She came to rest tangled in branches and parachute cords a dozen meters off the ground. Acting on the medical computer’s advice, the ejection computer decided not to try untangling the cords. It would be best, according to the medical computer, if the pilot did not move again while medical nanobots were working furiously to save her life.
She hung upside down from a tree, unconscious, as machines too small to see tried their best to keep her life from slipping away.
For Derek, coming back to consciousness was not a single event, but a lengthy process. He awakened four or five times before realizing that he was awake, that he was Derek, and that he hurt like hell all over. Then he remembered what had happened. Considering that he had been in a supersonic aircraft when it exploded around him, he decided that he shouldn’t complain about some aches and pains. Assuming that was all he had to worry about. Moving very slowly, he first tried to wiggle his toes, which was successful. Moving upward, he determined he was able to sit up, but when he tried to push himself up with his left hand his shoulder flared in a white-hot shock of pain. Oh, yeah, he thought. That arm had been out of position when the cockpit separated. If his arm was broken, that could be a big problem
He was able to stand, and painful testing by raising his left arm gave him confidence that nothing was broken. There might be a sprain, or torn cartilage. Nothing the Ruhar couldn’t fix, if he could get to a hamster medical facility. And if they would consent to treat a human. And if they had equipment modified for human biology. Satisfied that he was mobile, he searched the pockets of his flightsuit. He had a knife, a light, and a zPhone. No sidearm, because humans were not allowed to have weapons. No food. Damn it, he was on a planet where he couldn’t eat any of the native life, or any of the crops the Ruhar grew on the continent of Tenturo. And his zPhone wasn’t working, it couldn’t connect to the network. The network appeared to be down entirely. The Kristang could be jamming it, or they had knocked out the base infrastructure. Or the Ruhar had simply cut off network access for humans once the fighting started. So he couldn’t call for help.
The map function did work. Where the hell was he? Not good. He was in the middle of nowhere. The closest Ruhar settlement was four or five days of hard walking, at least. Four days of walking through the wilderness, without food, to a Ruhar village that would not have any human food and likely would not welcome a human wandering into their homes. They especially would not welcome a human while the Ruhar on Paradise were engaged in a war with the patrons of humanity. Derek, he said to himself, you are totally screwed.
Before he started walking, he needed to see if he could find Saily. Her locator beacon would not be active until air search and rescue pinged it, so he couldn’t use it to find her. Which direction to start? It didn’t matter, the Ruhar pilot could be anywhere, although she should be within a kilometer. Or two. The paraglider should have steered her toward a safe landing zone, although according to the map, there weren’t any. He would need to walk in one direction for a kilometer, then begin a grid search. He decided to begin by walking uphill, that way the return would be easier.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Irene ran the sensor data back on the main display between the pilot and copilot seats, and ran through it forward again quickly, with the four others looking over her shoulder. Thanks to Emby, they had a nearly-complete view of the massive air battle that had now dissolved into desperate duels between individual aircraft.
“Daaaaamn,” Dave exhaled quietly. This was the third time they’d watched the replay. The first time, everyone had been talking excitedly as they watched the symbols engage in a deadly dance across the screen. The second time, Irene narrated the action from a pilot’s viewpoint.
The third time, they all simply sat and watched in shocked silence. Modern air combat was incredibly intense and high-tempo. By Emby’s count, 88% of the combat aircraft on Paradise had been destroyed during the first ninety minutes of fighting. And the actual fighting had lasted perhaps twenty minutes, with the rest of the time taken by aircraft flying toward their targets, maneuvering into attack position, and flying back to their bases. If those airbases still existed. Most aircraft had set down in remote areas, relying on fuel, weapons and spare parts being brought to them. Many of the surviving aircraft were crippled in one way or another. By the end of two hours, neither side had an effective air combat force left.
“Now it’s up to you guys,” Irene looked at Dave and Jesse.
“What do you mean, ma’am?” Dave asked, confused. What did she expect him to do?
“Not you two specifically. I meant infantry,” Irene explained. “Without enough air power to do anything useful, this becomes a ground war. Infantry. The Ruhar and the Kristang will have to rely on infantry.”
“To do?” Jesse raced to guess what their pilot meant. “To do what?”
“How you do defeat an integrated air defense system?” Perkins asked.
“You make it unintegrated,” Dave answered immediately. This was easy training manual stuff. “Don’t attack the whole system, that’s suicide. You take it apart piece by piece.”
“Precisely,” Perkins nodded. “Destroy one piece of the system, at the edge. A radar, a launcher, one piece. That creates a gap in the integration. A blind spot, a weakness. Take out a few more pieces, and you’ve created a safe passage corridor for your aircraft. Once you have that, you can send in a pure strike package, instead of loading up the sorties with electronic countermeasure aircraft.”
“Until the enemy moves their pieces around,” Irene added, “radars and launchers are mobile.”
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“They are,” Perkins agreed. “But these projectors are not mobile. The Kristang know that. They don’t have sufficient air power left, so they will send in ground troops to destroy a projector, or take it offline, or take control of it. Once they know that particular projector is inactive, they know a part of the sky is not covered, and they can send in a ship. When enough projectors are confirmed offline, the Kristang can take back control of the sky.”
“Got it,” Jesse said as the reality dawned on him. “It’s going to be a race between the hamsters and the lizards. The Ruhar will try to defend active projector sites and bring new ones online, and the Kristang will try to destroy them or take control.”
“The Ruhar should have an advantage, right?” Shauna asked. “Emby will tell them where the other projectors are, but the Kristang will have to guess.”
“I need to ask Emby what we do next, because this is a whole new ballgame,” Perkins said, pulling out her zPhone to type a new message. As she typed, she looked at Jesse and Dave. “If we get involved in any ground action, I need you two, because I have no infantry experience. I handled intel for UNEF. Before that, I was in communications. I used a keyboard, not a rifle.”
Ski was surprised. “Not even in basic training, ma’am?”
She shook her head ruefully. “Not a whole lot, I was commissioned in the Air Force.”
“Air Force, ma’am?” Jesse asked with a quick glance at the US Army insignia on her uniform. He was glad that he hadn’t said anything bad about the other service in her presence.
“There was a ‘Blue to Green’ initiative a while back,” she explained. The US military had needed more people in the Army and Marine Corps, more boots on the ground. Personnel in the Navy and Air Force were encouraged to transfer to green uniforms. Strongly encouraged. “They let me know that if I wanted to stay in as a career, I needed to switch services.”
“Oh,” Jesse didn’t know what else to say.
“Glad to have you with us, ma’am,” Dave also didn’t know what else to say.
Emby’s reply came swiftly. Proceed to the attached coordinates and activate the projector there as soon as possible. It was followed by a shorter message. Thank you. Good work.
“Yes!” Skippy exulted two days later. “They did it! The fifth projector is now online. Joe, I will send a message of congratulations to Major Perkins and her team. Also a message to get the hell out of there ASAP, in case we need to use that projector real quick.”
“Agreed. Hey, Skippy, we can now shoot at Kristang ships with this new projector?”
“That was the idea, Joe. Why?”
“Because now I’m thinking we don’t do that. Not right away.”
“Once again, I’m not following your logic, Joe.”
“What I’m thinking is that when the Kristang jump a ship in to test us-”
“Joe, I must caution you that the Kristang are likely to test our projectors with more than one ship. That is standard Kristang fleet doctrine when attacking a planet equipped with ground-based defenses.”
“That won’t make any difference to what I want to do. In fact, that’s even better. We let the Kristang get comfortable in orbit, they will at first stick to areas not covered by the four projectors they know about. When they think we only have those four projectors active, the first thing they will do is try hitting those projectors with a railgun strike, right?”
“That is sound tactics, yes. The projectors do have shields, although two of the projectors have very little power left for either shields or the maser.”
“Got it. Here’s what we do, depending where the ships jump in-”
“Team, Emby says we need to haul ass out of here, pronto,” Perkins declared. “I think the Kristang are sure to come back to test whether we have more than those four projectors active,” she didn’t know two of those projectors were nearly depleted. “If Emby has to shoot soon, we don’t want to be anywhere near this thing.”
“Do we have a new target, ma’am?” Irene asked wearily. After parking her Buzzard, she had helped the team set up the drill and punch down to the projector’s control chamber. It had been Jesse’s turn to go down the hole; the holes were now larger in diameter but Irene still shook when she thought about it. Mercifully, Major Perkins had declared they could not risk their only pilot, so Irene was relieved of having to slide down into the ground again.
“Yeah, of course,” Perkins’ voice reflected her own weariness. After the frantic scramble to get the first four projectors activated, they had all been dead tired. Then Emby had acted early for some reason, and blasted the Kristang battlegroup from the sky. That had given the team a shot of energy they used to get the fifth projector dug out and online. Now they were all running on empty. “Another projector. We’ll need to go back to the truck to refuel first. Let’s get moving, people.”
Tired fingers fumbled and tired legs wobbled, but the task of breaking down the drill rig and tying it back in the sling was well known to them by now. By the time Irene came back with the Buzzard and Shauna lowered the cable, the sling was ready. Major Perkins was swaying on her feet, fighting creeping sleepiness. They needed a break. According to Emby, they couldn’t afford to stop now. Regardless of Emby’s instructions, she was going to give the team eight full hours of sleep after they got back to the truck and the Buzzard was refueled. The pilot absolutely had to rest, and while Irene was sleeping, the rest of the team could get rest also.
Paradise was going to have to get along without them for a few hours.
We didn’t have to wait long for the Kristang to test whether the four projectors we’d used in our sneak attack were all we had. “They’re heeeeeere!” Skippy announced. A mere two and a half hours after Perkins and her crew got the fifth projector working and cleared out of the area, three Kristang destroyers jumped in above the far side of the planet. Knowing the weak shields of their frigates did not stand a chance against our projectors, the Kristang had wisely left their little ships out of this action. The Kristang commander wasn’t stupid; at first he kept his ships out of the targeting cones of the four projectors that he knew about. When his ships were not hit, he must have figured we only had four projectors, which is exactly what I wanted the lizards to think.
Next, he had to test the four known projectors, to see if they were still active. After his surviving ships had jumped away, they must have examined all the sensor data from our sneak attack, and realized that the last shots of two particular projectors were at a much lower power level. Logically, they correctly concluded that those projectors were almost drained of power, so they really only needed to worry about two of the known projectors.
“They’re lining up railgun shots on the projectors,” Skippy warned. “Even with five projectors, I can’t hit those ships where they are now. They’re going to fire railguns at an extremely shallow angle, to keep the ships out of our targeting cones. That will decrease the impact of the railgun darts because they will be traveling through more of the atmosphere.”
“Do your thing, Skippy.”
Two of the destroyers fired their railguns at our two healthy projectors. They knew those projectors couldn’t hit the ships from where they were, and they also knew the other two projectors didn’t have enough power to penetrate a destroyer’s shields. What they didn’t know about was the incredible awesomeness of Skippy the Magnificent.
As the railgun darts streaked in at twenty two percent of lightspeed, they passed through the targeting cone of a mostly-depleted projector. That projector couldn’t harm a shielded starship, but its maser did have enough power to deflect the darts from their targets and break the darts into bite-sized pieces. By itself, a projector couldn’t have hit a speeding dart, but our projectors were controlled by Skippy, so hitting two objects travelling at almost a quarter of lightspeed was not a problem. He simply fired the maser ahead of the ballistic flight path of a dart, and let the dart fly into it. “Oh my God those freakin’ darts were slow as molasses in January,�
� Skippy complained, using an expression I hadn’t heard since my grandmother said it. “Did the Kristang actually use a railgun, or did they just toss those darts out a window? I got so bored waiting for them that I did a hundred crossword puzzles. Anyway, it worked.”
The dart pieces impacted the surface around the projectors and threw up two enormous clouds of dust and debris, but only one piece the size of a fingernail did hit a projector. That piece was easily deflected by the projector’s shield, leaving the maser cannon unharmed. And the Kristang, whose crappy sensors entirely missed our maser firing, saw two plumes of dust surrounding the two healthy projectors, and concluded their strike had been successful. They congratulated themselves on knocking out two multi-terawatt projectors, bragging on ship-to-ship transmissions about how bad-ass they were. Skippy almost puked listening to them. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, you’re bad-asses all right. Give me a minute and we’ll salute you great warriors properly.”
Skippy’s idea of a salute came in the form of maser beams. With the Kristang semi-confident there were no active projectors on the surface, they sent one, then all three destroyers into the targeting cones. Each destroyer, brave but not stupid, would only briefly flit through the targeting cone. That was all Skippy needed. As soon as there were two destroyers within range at the same time, he told me to press the Big Red Button on my zPhone to fire the weapons.
Two destroyers against three projectors. Two of those projectors had only one shot each left, and the shields of a Kristang destroyer could deflect the full power of a projector long enough for the ship to perform an emergency jump away. The odds were not in our favor.
Skippy, of course, didn’t see any point in playing fair.
Both of the projectors the Kristang thought they had knocked out fired, two milliseconds apart. Each of those projectors fired at a different ship, and by themselves they could not have penetrated a destroyer’s shields. Our secret fifth projector also fired, first at one ship and then at the second, each shot two milliseconds apart so that each ship was struck by the full power of two projectors at once. The combined maser power punched right though the destroyers’ shields. The ship’s hulls were armored, made of layers of tough ceramic composites and heat-dissipating foam. If the maser beams had a sense of humor, they would have laughed at the Kristang ship designers’ attempts to protect their vessels. The maser beams cut through the hulls as if they were tissue paper, slicing the ships apart. Thick, armored interior bulkheads melted under the intense heat, exploding and becoming projectiles inside their own ships. Power conduits ruptured and missiles spontaneously exploded in their launch tubes, turning the ships into spinning hulks. The lucky third destroyer immediately jumped away.
Paradise (Expeditionary Force Book 3) Page 38