by Chris Hechtl
Valdez sent her a silent query and she nodded. He turned to his implants and opened a communications channel with the ship. “OOD this is DS356R1 requesting take off clearance,” he said in a professional voice. Getting a quick approval, Jen grasped the stick and kicked the drive over from standby to take off.
Umbilicals detached from points around the craft, snaking back into ports on the deck. She flicked through her usual routine of playing with the flaps, then gently pulled up on the stick and signaled power. The AI responded, lifting off the deck and securing the landing gear. Gently, Jen coaxed the ship out the open airlock and into the depth of space.
“This is the CAG; all ships prep for magnum launch,” a gruff voice said over the main channel. Jen flicked her awareness over to the carrier just in time to see the fighters rocket into space in a full-up combat launch. Impressive to see, the drop-ship pilots were still mocking.
“Show offs,” Valdez muttered as Smith felt the left side of her face tug into a half smile. She watched as the fighters organized into squadrons and half peeled off to meet the enemy fighters barreling in. The other half of the fighters split, one group covering the task force, the other forming up loosely around the transports. “This is DS1 to DS group. Go to plan Baker Seven. All DS group, good luck.”
Finally, Jen thought as she flicked the drop-ship through the maneuvers to bring her into squadron formation. The transports arched away; they and a small detachment would take a different orbit to steer clear of the coming combat.
Forty-eight fighters went out to hit the enemy’s fifty fighters and twenty-four drones. Bombers launched from the carriers, half joined the DS group, while others split into squadrons and then moved off to make shipping strikes against the enemy. The bombers moved to the front of DS1; two AWACS joined them at the rear of the formation as they entered atmosphere.
The AWACS used the same platform as the bombers; however, they had deleted most of the offensive arms to triple her ECM and add a fleet sensor array. AWACS level two had a ground attack laser; however, in the rush to launch the fleet, the AWACS hadn’t gotten the refit so would go in as only eyes and ears for the group.
Superheated plasma began to stream past the view port, and Major Smith watched as the bombers began salvoing their loads into the orbital defenses the enemy had set up. Combat chatter started filling the radio net.
“HAWK break to port!”
“They got Smitty!”
“Fire!”
“I got one!”
“SHIT I’M HIT! WHERE DID HE COME FROM! NOOO!”
>---{}---<
Combat chatter filled the radio net the admiral was listening to as he looked at a close-up of the fighter fur ball. The fighters were doing well, but he winced when a drone got too close to a pair of fighters and exploded, shredding them with shrapnel. Their icons bled red on the plot, then faded out and ghostly icons of possible ejections hauntingly floated in their place.
He turned to the staff who were also listening in. Captain Hiro turned and used his implants to bring up the tactical situation on the plot. “Task Force Six point One has managed to get its damaged units underway and out of range of the enemy, sir,” he reported.
The admiral grunted. Resolution's fighters were withdrawing to rearm. Their initial bomber strikes had been savaged by kamikaze drones. They got into his squadrons and ripped them to shreds; obviously, he should have put some fighter cover with them. Wincing, the admiral turned to his fighter ops commander.
“The CAG knows, sir. We spread the formations out so it won't happen with ours, sir.” Lieutenant Commander Waldecke answered his silent query. Turning to the plot, he watched as the bombers crept across the screen to their launch points. Missiles and torpedoes began to salvo as they reached an imaginary line in space, and alien cruisers turned away from the attack to expose their flanks as bow shields flicked and died under the onslaught. One cruiser took a midship hit and visibly jittered; cheers rang out as debris vomited out like a popped pimple.
The cruisers returned fire, and beams meant to rip apart starships swatted the bomber shields down with contemptuous ease and vaporized the fragile craft within. Suddenly one cruiser, savaged by multiple hits, broke apart with pieces spinning off to flame out in the void.
Empty of their lethal cargo the bomber squadrons broke up, each surviving bomber going to full afterburner and evasive action to avoid the incoming fire. Their telemetry feed fed into the fleet's tactical net, and the ship's dispassionate AI digested the reports and then updated the enemy threat profiles accordingly.
The remaining torpedoes hammered another cruiser and two frigates into debris, and the six Terran cruisers and six destroyers coming in behind the bomber strike now had an edge. The cruisers rolled back onto their course, and the frigates rearranged their formation to cover their dead comrades’ positions. Beam weapons began to ignite the space between the opposing forces and shields shimmered and crumpled.
The dreadnaughts were also hammering away at each other The Terran antimatter guns had shattered the shields of both enemy ships; however, they seemed to have some sort of plate-like shield on the large capital ships. And they had already began to regenerate as the Terran tried to follow up their hammering opening shots with knockout punches of the main guns. The shields on the Washington were hit hard. The Zerinoth dreadnaughts, looking like giant bat like creatures were highly maneuverable, and both ships had boxed the Washington as the Moscow hammered into one of them.
Suddenly one of the enemy dreadnaughts began to ripple as her armor took too many hits. Her buckling armor failed and entire compartments vented into space as the port wing was torn and shredded. She turned to flee, and her division mate followed.
Washington’s shields were down, and hot glowing spots of heavy hits were like Dalmatian spots all over her flanks. Half her main guns were out, as were half her engines. “Sir, we've got them on the run, permission to go pursue?” Captain Jarek requested gamely.
“Denied,” the admiral ordered. “Get your damage under control, Captain, then transfer to orbit of the planet and take the orbital defenses. Be prepared to soften up the LZ with orbital bombardments,” he said. “The grunts will need the backup shortly,” he said. “We’ll have more lizards for you to fry shortly,” he said. Captain Jarek nodded as the admiral cut the circuit.
The Zerinoth orbital platforms looked like three-sided stars with sharp crystals and pipes jutting out of the tops. Beam weapons leapt from the tips of the arms and slashed into the Terran bombers and incoming dreadnaughts. Answering fire knocked the orbital defenders into debris. The bombers turned to the carriers to rearm, and the remaining drop shuttles continued reentry.
>---{}---<
Washington’s Captain Jarek looked to his savaged bridge and then turned to the flickering holo. His ship was severely damaged; half her power, weapons, and engines were out. If the fleet was forced to retreat, he shuddered at the thought of trying to evade in her present condition. Debris spray in the orbit of the ship caused him to grimly smile. Some of it was from the colonies orbital industry; the enemy hadn’t even bothered to keep it, just shattered it into splinters. But some of that debris was from the enemy, and he felt savage elation at that. It was a beginning at least as he turned to lend a hand to the medics tending to Ensign Rollins.
Damage control robots and crew members were swarming the ship, doing what they could. Subsystems came alive, taking over for primary or even secondary systems that had been torn apart. Self-repair software and electronics went to work, running diagnostics on their own and making what limited repairs they could. Captain Jarek nodded. She'd need a long stint in drydock to set her right, but until then her crew would do their best to lick her wounds.
>---{}---<
Admiral Walters felt similar feelings as he studied the plot. The Zerinoth had broken contact on all fronts and were reforming outside his range. His surviving bombers had made a quick rearm turn around on the carriers and were vectoring to follow the
DS group in. They would be about twenty minutes behind the flight, so the troops would just have to hack it until then. His troop transports had reshaped their vector to return to orbit, and Rogers was thirty minutes away from joining his command. Still he felt like he was sitting under the sword of Damocles. Turning he watched as the drop-ships completed re-entry and were out of communications blackout.
>---{}---<
Smith turned slightly as the last tendrils of plasma faded from the cockpit windows. The glow of the nose slowly began to fade, and she felt a bit of relief. Flicking a silent thank you to the deck hand that had checked the pitting, she turned her attention to the main plot. She was second in command of the flight, and she had to live up to her responsibilities and keep track of things in case it all went in the crapper.
Flack began to explode in front of them and she grimaced. The enemy was firing when they were still out of range, and it allowed them to know it was a hot LZ. Enemy fighters stooped and dove out of the sky like angry falcons…or if the rumors were right, dragons. Smith tensely watched as most of their fighter cover peeled off to meet them.
A brief sitrep squirt from the fleet let her know the bombers were on their way and that the space battle was turning into a draw. She flicked the file over to the marine lieutenant in her bay and nodded as he acknowledged. The AI painted the safe vector on her eye, and she felt a shiver as the first flash of a missile passed her ship to slam into her wingman. His ship exploded, shredding her precious cargo of engineers and marines to fall below. With a mental shudder, she turned to Valdez and gave him a silent nod.
Seeing the missiles racing up to them, Jen pulled one more trick out of her hat. “Brick in ten seconds boys!”
Valdez grimaced but reached over to the emergency antigrav cut off switch. She started dumping flares and chaff as she counted down; the other shuttles did the same. At two his finger lashed out to launch an ECM drone and then back to the engines as he cut the antigrav, and the ship did a stoop and then dropped like a stone. “Woooweee!” He howled as the missiles roared overhead by meters and exploded into the cloud of chaff. Pings and impacts rattled the ship. The wings extended, and air scoops howled as the jets spooled up. He brought the repulsor field back to standby, as she completed the damage check. “Number two engine is fowled. Shutting her down,” he reported.
She grinned at his sigh of relief. “Piece of cake!” she said. She heard his acknowledging grunt and turned to the tactical plot. The drop shuttles had been hit hard, but the brick strategy had worked. The surviving ships had dropped below the missile horizon and out of long-range fire. Kinetic fire began to shimmer the shields and she grimaced.
“So much for easy,” Valdez muttered and she twitched a shoulder in muted agreement as she jinked the ship.
>---{}---<
Up in the clouds, Lieutenant Warner, call sign Vagrant, watched his wingman Coyote finish off the last enemy fighter. Getting a status report, he grimaced as he found that he and Coyote were one fifty clicks away from the drop-ships. He whistled silently as he noted their altitude…the brick was something he had done only once, and he felt momentary awe as he silently saluted the trash hauler pilots.
With Coyote on his wing he shaped a course to cover the shuttles as he checked his stats. He squirted a quick report to the fleet, as well as the ejection points of two of the fighters, Ghost and Hooper. He tried not to feel the empathy for them and their families. It would be hell in fighter country when he got back to the ship, a lot of empty seats and a lot of ghosts to toast. He had to focus on the here and now though; they were the last of the fighter cover for the drop. Turning they flicked on their afterburners to catch up to the lumbering drop craft.
Down thirty meters off the deck, Jen led the tattered remains of the drop to the LZ; the Colonel had been shot down a few minutes ago, landing the command of the group squarely on her slim shoulders. A countdown cascaded in front of her as her ship braked and dropped to the deck over the LZ. Ships began to explode once more as they took enemy fire, and she jinked as much as she could while maintaining the hover.
“GO! GO! GO! MOVE MOVE MOVE!” the sergeant and drop chief shouted in unison over the squad link as the drop-ship touched down. The ramp dropped in a sudden flash, and the suits flashed into action. Troops rushed off the ship, the first pausing to make sure the perimeter was clear, as the others leapfrogged ahead.
One by one the icons of marines and their gear dropped off her status boards; Valdez counted them down quietly. The drop chief called an all clear, and she spooled up the engines and began the run to orbit. Suddenly a warning flickered through Smith; electric shocks arched through her as a missile in her aft view roared up to her. She felt a brief moment of terror as the missile ripped into her and then she joined her family in death.
>---{}---<
Seeing the shuttle explode, Vagrant felt his jaw tighten as he ground his teeth in frustration. Half the marines were on the ground; the empty shuttles were making a run to clear the area. Coyote dropped to the deck, and he followed. Together they began strafing the drones and enemy they could lock onto, exploding drones and enemy craft to rain onto the burning countryside to mix with the shattered Terrans shuttles.
>---{}---<
Feeling like he was in a taste of hell, Jenkins jogged in formation with his squad. Ahead he watched as mecha dropped from a shuttle taking fire, and elation hit him as one of the mecha opened up and an unseen enemy exploded. Smoke covered the sky-like fog, but his computer compensated with thermal and grav imaging. The thermal was bad; the interference from the hovering shuttles made looking at the sky like looking into the sun. His computers tried to compensate, but visibility was going to be a problem until they left.
“Form perimeter!” the Sarge ordered through their implants, and he dropped into formation to cover the flank as the lieutenant dropped to one knee and called in.
Scanning his assigned sector, he felt relief as the visibility seemed to clear. The surviving shuttles were lumbering away, and his computers finally had something to work with. His audio sensors had little; the sounds of the infantry and mecha were being automatically screened out by his filters. Wind whipped the fires up into twirling pirouettes, and he felt a vague uneasiness as something looked odd.
He sent a silent click over the TAC net to the sergeant, who sent him a quiet word of encouragement. Seeing movement he tried to zero in on it but couldn’t. His computer brushed it away, but he pulled up the brief contact and ran it again. Wind had whipped ashes up to strike something that shouldn’t be there…almost as if it had been cloaked.
As he opened a channel and shouted a warning, a private thirty meters away fountained blood as his chest exploded. He turned in surprise and dropped. Jenkins shouted that a cloaked enemy was among them and chaos erupted.
Death struck unseen, and Marines began to fall in increasingly greater numbers. Suddenly a squad mate broke down in panic and began firing wildly, and his firing triggered others to follow suit. One of them hit something that roared in pain, and then it charged the trooper.
Squad mates zeroed in and fill the area with fire, and a dragon-like creature screamed and fell at their feet, clawing in the ashes and dust in death. Turning Jenkins felt relief as the silent killer was dead. Suddenly his squad mate Athol erupted as her chest exploded, Jenkins saw a shimmering as blood splatter illuminated her killer. Feeling terror he fired through her body to attack the creature, and felt savage glee as it dropped her and tried to run, only to fall in death. The Sarge looked to him and nodded before giving him thumbs-up.
“Foxholes in twenty mark!” the captain called over the tactical net sent Jenkins fumbling for his cratering charges. Setting the charge through his implants, he tossed it away and watched it erupt, blowing a shaped crater out of the ground. Dropping into it he spun when he picked up movement behind him. The Sarge's hand dropped on top of his gun to slap it down before he could fire, and he smiled sheepishly as she silently wangled her finger at him in the a
ncient no-no sign. She tossed her charge between his and another hole, and soon their holes were joined and the beginnings of a trench was formed.
Picking up movement Jenkins zeroed in and silently warned the Sarge. She looked up from her digging and then she pulled up a zoom to view a Katana Blade master mech fighting an alien mech. The mechs seemed evenly matched at a distance, firing and stepping in a dance of death. The Blade Master suddenly pivoted to get inside of the range of the mecha, and its blades unfolded like switchblades. Monomolecular cutting blades glowed slightly as they sliced into the metal and plastics of the enemy. It toppled in death in a groan of tearing materials. Silently she sent a thanks to the Katana pilot, who turned and did a bob, before quick stepping into a patrol of the perimeter.
Looking up Jenkins spotted fireballs arch over the sky, the remaining fighters whirled and danced through the enemy, cutting down flying Zerinoth and disk like drones. Outnumbered and outgunned they were soon forced to retreat however. He saw them burn to orbit in a sudden maneuver that left him in both envy and worry. Without air cover they were sitting ducks.
Jenkins felt relief as the AWACS reported on scene, and an improved visual of the area was brought up on his HUD. With the AWACS on scene the cloaked aliens were suddenly exposed, and quick fire from the squads in the threatened areas cut them down or forced them to retreat out of range.
>---{}---<
On his flag bridge, Walters nodded a thank you to the steward as he accepted a cup of steaming coffee. “Bomber status, sir. The AWACS were on station, the local combat control is working with the ground commanders to targets,” Hiro reported from his station. Quietly he turned to the admiral and continued. “Admiral, I regret to inform you General Benn was shot down in her craft. Drop-ship casualties are higher than projected,” he said.