by T. D. Wilson
Toronaga didn’t hesitate. “Best I’ve seen in three companies, sir, and I’ve been teamed up with some real crack shots.”
“I see,” Sanchez mused and walked down the line of MACE units in the shelter. Several open crates next to the power armor contained some of their modular weapon systems. Sanchez peeked inside a few to get a better view. Being on the front lines in combat was what he’d wanted—not exactly on the ground, but if he had his choice, it would definitely be in one of these babies. If only there was more time, he could figure it out. He noticed Toronaga prepping one of the MACE units at the far end of the row and walked over to watch. “How long have you trained on one of these?”
Toronaga thought about it for a second. “I’d have to say about eight months. I was in one of the advanced fielding squads during their final phase of testing. They’re pretty rock solid if you ask me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t strike me as one of the typical family generation Marines,” Sanchez said. “Am I wrong?”
“Nope, but I know a lot in this unit who are,” Toronaga said. “Lots of tradition here, sir. Just trying to make my own mark.”
“So what made you join up?”
“Well, my parents were both from a small village outside of Yokohama. When I was about six months old, they moved the family to Kodiak, Alaska.”
“Kodiak,” Sanchez said, surprised. “Why?”
“They’re both marine biologists, prominent ones too in the analysis of humpback and killer whales. Kodiak was a prime location for their research,” Toronaga explained.
“How long were you there?”
“My parents are still there, but I left right out of high school.” Toronaga laughed as he slapped a feed magazine into the MACE’s M420. “I never liked the ocean much and unless you went to the mainland, there wasn’t much else to do. Our sports team got to travel for competition, and I was thankful for any moment I could get away from there.”
“So you traded a life of whale chasing in the big ocean for being a gun jockey in outer space,” Sanchez said with a wry smile. “I think it was good choice.”
Toronaga stepped inside his MACE unit, started the activation sequence and the armor closed around him. The MACE’s arms grasped the M420 rifle, and Toronaga held it up to examine the weapon. Confident the weapon was in order, Toronaga had the menacing armor look down at Sanchez. “I do too, Commander,” his voice echoed out of the MACE speakers.
* * *
The main view screens over the Command Station displayed the three approaching Cilik’ti vessels. Hood’s eyes were fixed on the largest vessel and the stream of tactical information flowing along the side of the screen. The Chi’tan had brought out the big guns. A Cilik’ti mother ship was now on approach, flanked by two heavy cruisers. Hood was nervous and fidgeted in his seat as his brain digested the information about the mother ship. There has to be a weakness to exploit.
During the previous Cilik’ti conflict, the large, almost conical-shaped cruisers were a common foe in fleet engagements. Compared to the mother ship, its escorts were just over half the size of the Armstrong and covered in jagged armor plating and weapon arrays. Hood had beaten these types of vessels time and time again during the war. He was sure the Chi’tan planned to use the cruisers just to keep him busy.
The mother ship was the real threat to the colony. The huge Cilik’ti capital ship was at least three times the size of the Armstrong, fashioned in a wide oval, almost resembling a gigantic clam. Large bulbous areas covered its smooth, armored surface, each with a spacious launch bay that were sure to house hundreds of drones and, if Hood was right, assault landing craft. Point defense weapons extended outward from around each of the small pods on the ship’s surface like tiny needles protruding from a pincushion, ensuring that any attempt to get close would come at a heavy price.
A Cilik’ti mother ship had shown itself on the field one time during the Mars invasion, but it had never involved itself in combat. Nor were there any EDF ships available to even attempt an attack on the vessel. The tactical reports showed a few cruiser-sized particle cannons, but Hood was confident the ship held far more powerful weapons that still hadn’t been detected.
The defensive first move was simple to make. Hood had positioned the Armstrong into a synchronous orbit above the Magellan. If he could hold this position, the Cilik’ti would have to go through a hail of defensive fire to reach the surface, and the odds to win the battle on the ground would be in McGregor’s favor. He had to give him any possible edge. The man was going to need it.
“Captain, the cruisers have accelerated, approaching on attack vectors,” Aldridge called out.
Hood saw the same change she did and opened a channel to communications. “I want an open channel to the Chi’tan vessels.”
“Sir?” Wells replied a little uncertain.
“Just do it,” he ordered. He knew from Kree that the Cilik’ti had learned to understand human communication, probably before the first invasion began, but they’d never exhibited any interest in talking back. He only needed them to listen.
Wells nodded to Hood as the channel opened.
“Attention Cilik’ti vessels. This is Captain James Hood aboard the EDF Armstrong. The conflict between our two people is over and has been for several of our solar cycles. We came here to find out what happened to a ship our people had sent here years before our conflict. They are innocents who know nothing of war or the horrors both our races endured so long ago. I ask that you let us evacuate them from this world and we’ll leave the system in peace.” He paused, hoping to see a change in the approaching Cilik’ti ships. There wasn’t any. “There’s no need to renew hostilities between us. There are lives at stake here on both sides. Don’t waste them.”
Hood gave a signal for Wells to kill the channel. He had thrown his card to the Cilik’ti, an open opportunity to end this before it got nasty.
“Sir, the mother ship is on the move,” Aldridge said, breaking the silence on the Command Deck. “She’s headed right for us.”
Hood lowered his head then turned back toward Aldridge. The tactical officer peered over her terminal and shook her head. It was time. “Launch all remaining fighters and separate the gunships.”
Chapter Ten
The two Chi’tan heavy cruisers grew larger on the main Command Station screens. There was nothing subtle in their approach. The cruisers intended to force the Armstrong out of its orbital position and provide a clear path for their landing craft.
Hood matched the distances and speeds in his head. He touched a button on his terminal. A timer displayed on his screen and started to count up. To him, planned battles started in a rhythm, much like a grand classical music piece, and it was the crescendos and fast-moving stanzas that would push the contest to its inevitable climax. But sometimes the uniqueness of the rhythm was lost behind the thunderous booms of explosions, raised voices shouting commands and the screams of the dying. And it was there that ship captains like Hood relied on prepared reactions to bring the rest of the orchestra back into rhythm for the remainder of the score.
When the timer reached fifty, all the fighters and gunships reached their positions. Not wanting to leave or take his eyes of the screens, he opened a comm channel to Aldridge. “Lieutenant, send Delta eleven and twelve planet-side and have them hold in high atmosphere away from the colony. Our good major’s going to need some air cover.”
“Aye, sir. I already had them on standby.”
On count sixty-five, the two Raptor fighter bombers left the aft docking bay of the Armstrong and headed down into the waiting atmosphere. The Raptors, the only available atmosphere-capable fighters, were still inside the Armstrong. Hood needed the squadron to be available for both bombing runs on the Cilik’ti vessels and support for the surface. Committing the bulk of the squadron too early would be costly. The
Cilik’ti cruisers responded to the move by launching drones on count seventy-five.
Hood tagged the cruiser on the more direct course as primary. The second cruiser, in an obvious pincer move, had diverted its course and was now approaching the Armstrong’s lower port side, just above the atmosphere.
The field was set. All the pawns were arrayed and the major pieces began to move. He liked playing chess at a fast pace. Quick, planned actions and reactions were similar in both the board game and in a tactical contest on the battlefield.
At count one hundred on the timer, Aldridge called out, “Captain, primary cruiser is locking weapons.”
Hood didn’t panic. His opponent had made the first challenge: Knight to E4. “Get me firing solutions on both cruisers.” He tapped another button on his terminal and opened a channel to Engineering. “Mr. Whitaker, are you ready with that shield?”
“Just give the word,” the Armstrong’s chief engineer replied.
Countermove, Bishop to C7. “Fire it up!” Hood ordered. It took a few moments, but the translucent bubble appeared around the Armstrong, rippling into place as the ship turned to face the first cruiser head-to-head.
“Shield is up and at full strength,” Whitaker said. “I don’t know how it’ll hold under sustained fire, but it’s yours.”
Whitaker’s question was about to answered. Hood had little time to thank the chief engineer and close the channel when the first Cilik’ti cruiser opened fire. Knight to F6 takes pawn, check.
* * *
Tactical Officer Lieutenant Aldridge monitored Lieutenant Krieg and his squadron of Stingrays as they accelerated toward the oncoming Cilik’ti ships. Rook Squadron had been positioned above the Armstrong and in-between two of the Armistead gunships. It was a perfect vantage point to intercept enemy craft and still support the gunships. The large Cilik’ti cruiser weapons impacted the shield around the Armstrong, and the resulting light show illuminated the hundreds of Cilik’ti drones approaching at high speed.
Krieg’s squadron followed the gunship in front of them toward one of the larger groups of drones. “Keep it tight, boys!” she heard Krieg yell over the comms. “Quick bursts and fly through. There’s too many to worry about a lock.”
The cloud of drones in front of them consisted of the elusive and deadly fighter drones, but it was the two groupings of larger bombers that were the Rook’s real targets.
Hood’s defensive strategy hinged on eliminating the bombers early in the engagement, before they could launch their payloads. Their needle-shaped bombs, code-named “stingers,” contained a powerful pidium-grade explosive and their jet-black coating made them difficult to see once they were launched. It was imperative that Krieg’s squadron get through the enemy fighter screen and reach the slower bombers.
Several flak rounds from the Armstrong streaked past the gunships and exploded deep into the heart of the enemy drone formations. Hot metal scattered outward from the explosions, decimating several of the craft, but more moved in to fill their places.
The gunships opened fire on the approaching fighter drones, forcing them to scatter. The Armistead gunship’s systems were well suited for tracking the fast-moving drones. Explosions filled the space in front of Krieg’s squadron as the nearest gunship vaporized scores of fighters.
Just as Hood had planned, Krieg’s squadron burst through the hole created in the confusion, with each of the pilots scoring at least two kills on the way through. The drones weren’t easy to overwhelm, and several of the Cilik’ti fighters changed course to harass the Rooks.
The bombers were dead ahead and already trying to evade the oncoming EDF fighters. Each Rook locked a pair of missiles on the bombers as they approached and fired. The missiles sped away from the Stingrays, closed the distance and struck home. Aldridge heard Krieg shout in triumph over the comms, but the Rooks’ early success was dwarfed by the sheer number of bombers that still remained. Her enthusiasm started to wane. More drones were coming from the mother ship, and enemy fire from the pursuing drones danced past his fighter.
“Rooks, break by wings!” Krieg called out.
The squadron separated in pairs and engaged. Moments later, Aldridge heard a frantic voice over the comms. “Lead this is twelve. I’m hit! Engine failing!”
“Punch out, Merlin!” Merlin’s wingman cried out over the squadron’s comm channel.
Aldridge could feel the force of the fighter exploding in her heart. She remembered what Hood had told her about the battlefield and those in it. People were going to get hurt, even die. A leader’s job was to keep the battle under control. Only then could she keep her people alive.
She hoped Merlin was okay, but he was going to be EVA for a long time before Search and Rescue could reach him. Losing one of the fighters this early in the fight was tough, but it made her focus harder.
She heard Krieg’s wingman call out to him, “Lead, break right.” On her screen, she could see the drones closing in. Krieg rolled his fighter just in time to avoid them. He squared his fighter and pushed it down under the two drones. The Cilik’ti fighters screamed past, missing his fighter’s tail by a few meters. He cut left to complete his countermove when both drones exploded.
“Thanks, Ivy,” he praised his wingman.
“No problem, lead.” Ivy laughed.
Both Stingrays formed up and vectored toward another group of bombers already on approach. The group of six bombers was already closing fast on the Armstrong, which was also on the move. The huge Dreadnaught had assumed a circular course around its previous position, and the powerful rail guns from her starboard side were stripping off chunks of armor from the first Cilik’ti cruiser.
Aldridge watched a feed from an external camera as the bombers on the far left of the group disintegrated and the resulting debris slammed into another. Disabled, the bomber careened out of control among the growing wreckage between the cruiser and the Armstrong.
The three remaining bombers released their payload just before Krieg and his wingman tore them to pieces. Aldridge saw the threat alert on her screen. The bombs were too far away for the fighters to get to them in time.
“Watchtower, this is Rook Leader. I count three stingers coming in on your starboard quarter.”
Aldridge was already on it. The Armstrong’s point defense cannons opened up with a hail of fire. The first bomb exploded under fire from the pulse cannons, followed by the second a few seconds later. Neither warhead detonated since the bombs weren’t close enough to the target. The final bomb continued to close until the guns managed to destroy it in a blinding mammoth explosion.
“Watchtower, any damage?” Krieg yelled into the comms.
Aldridge turned her head toward Wells at the Communications Station and shook it. Relief washed over Wells’s face. “No damage, Wolfhound. We were outside of its kill radius, but thanks for the heads-up.”
Aldridge checked her screen again. The squadron had finished off the last of the large group of bombers and, other than some minor damage, hadn’t suffered any more losses.
She ordered the Rooks to fall back and cover the nearby gunship, which was under fire from a swarm of fighter drones. The gunship was holding its own, but a larger problem loomed on the horizon. Aldridge found herself staring at the Cilik’ti mother ship that filled over a quarter of one of her screens. It was getting closer and would be in range to launch its attack craft at any minute. The battle was going well, but it had only just begun.
* * *
Particle cannon explosions showered the shield along the Armstrong’s starboard side. Despite the increasing damage to its hull, the Cilik’ti cruiser continued to press its attack. The shield’s performance was brilliant against the cruiser’s weapons. The physical nature of the particle blasts provided the shield gradual regeneration, but Hood could see its strength waning. He knew it couldn’t hold forever; it just
needed to give him an edge.
The Cilik’ti cruiser didn’t have that luxury. The huge rail guns from the Armstrong had decimated the vessel’s armor along its front quarter and shells now penetrated the less-protected superstructure. The cruiser was forced to move off to protect its exposed areas, but that limited the ship’s ability to attack. The Chi’tan had planned to damage the larger Dreadnaught while she was pressed against the planet, force it out of orbit to engage them and then be caught between the two cruisers. It was the Armstrong’s effective shield that had surprised the aliens and thwarted their attack plan.
On the Command Deck of the Armstrong, Hood continued to monitor the battle, but often his attention was drawn to the mother ship. He needed to hold this position. Even if the Cilik’ti could launch now, their assault craft would face a longer path to the surface and his fighters could harass them well before they reached atmosphere. If they changed course to go around him, it would cost them precious time.
Rook to H5. His terminal flashed a new warning. The second Cilik’ti cruiser had closed within firing range. The cruiser opened fire, and now the Armstrong’s shield was stressed from attacks on two fronts. The second salvo from the new attack bled through the shield and struck the Armstrong on the front quarter. The armor held, but the ship shuddered under the assault. The new attack proved to be the first change to Hood’s rhythm of the battle.
Hood selected a new heading on his terminal. “Helm, change course. All ahead three-quarters.” He looked back at Aldridge. “Prepare port torpedoes to fire on secondary cruiser and load high explosive rounds in the rails. Give me a solution for the torpedoes, but hold rail guns to my mark.” Knight to G3. Check.
“Aye, sir,” she replied while she worked to assign the new target to the weapon’s stations.
Even with the inertial dampeners, the crew on the Command Deck could feel the huge ship turn and accelerate. Her new course reversed her circular one and cut across the path of the second cruiser. As she began to turn, the port side torpedo launch tubes began to open.