Wi Chen rose to his feet, an excited smile playing across his face.
“Hi, sir,” he said. “I’m ready.”
“You don’t have to call me sir,” Jack said, sighing and stepping in to shut the door behind him. Not only were the subbies awake—that alone was astonishing—but they appeared to be engaged in a training discussion, tablets out and open to multiple references. Jack was impressed… and then he noted Thomas sitting back against the bulkhead.
“The XO doesn’t like us addressing the lieutenants by their first names,” Thomas explained. “He wants us to maintain proper wartime discipline. Sir.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, rolling his eyes, “but I’m a pilot. I don’t count.”
“What’s the usual nickname for the head of the flight department?” Alex Celi asked, looking over at Thomas.
The bull sub thought for a moment.
“‘Wings,’ I think.”
“Can we call you Wings?” Alex asked.
The only people Jack had ever heard called by that nickname were senior commanders of entire fighter squadrons, but if it would make the XO happy…
“Sure.” He jabbed Chen. “But I’m going to be called late if you don’t get your ass in gear.”
Chen strapped on his warbags, and with subbie in tow Jack headed forward to the bridge. Usually he stayed clear of the ship’s command center, as it was there that the line officers really became stress-monsters, but he truly did enjoy stepping onto the transparent deck and into what he sometimes called the sphere of the heavens.
The entire bridge was encased in a spherical, armored shell, and on the inside of that sphere was a permanent projection of the view outside the hull, cluttered with military symbols like the blue friendly that indicated the Hawk currently on patrol. He’d been told it helped the line officers maintain spatial awareness in the three-dimensional battlespace, but to Jack stepping onto the bridge was like stepping among the stars themselves. It was a better view even than what he got in his own Hawk.
These days each ASW mission carried a second qualified crew member, which not only reduced the burden on the pilot but also gave Jack someone to whom he could delegate his part of the briefing. Master Rating Singh was already set up by the command position at the center of the bridge, and she did an admirable enough job detailing the status of the Hawk. John Micah, who would be directing the mission from the bridge, then took over and briefed the rest of the ASW team, the two officers of the watch, and Jack.
It was a routine patrol, the latest in dozens since Bowen had arrived in theater, but Jack was pleased to see that John kept his tone professional, even going so far as to explicitly remind everyone that no mission was ever routine.
Briefing complete, Jack made his way aft to the hangar, followed by Chen and Singh. Upon arrival he conducted his walkaround of the Hawk, pointing out to Chen various critical things he watched out for among the craft’s various engine ports, weapon fittings, and sensor arrays. Chen asked surprisingly intelligent questions—stuff Jack himself might not have thought of when he was a subbie.
As usual everything looked good, and the maintenance team helped them into their full spacesuits. The extra weight made climbing into the Hawk a nuisance, but it was just part of the routine, and soon Jack was strapped into his seat at the front of the cockpit. Master Rating Singh conducted internal flash-ups, and Jack scanned his checklist as he powered up the Hawk and brought his main systems on line. He found the routine almost therapeutic, clearing his mind of anything except the Hawk, and the mission.
As the Hawk rolled into the airlock and waited for decompression, Jack took a moment to study the navigation display and once again familiarize himself with the Valhalla system. It was a binary, but the two stars were so far apart from each other that they each supported full planetary systems with terrestrial and gaseous worlds. The Roman and Greek pantheons had long-since been exhausted by the time this system was explored, so the names from Norse myth had been given new life. The stars themselves were named Asgard and Vanaheim, with their respective planets named for the gods from each of those mystic houses.
Bowen was patrolling high above the ecliptic of the Asgard system, about halfway between the star and the Terran-built jump gate that led back to Sol. The Astral Force and the Army still maintained a presence among Asgard’s worlds, but it was an increasingly perilous one as more rebel forces slipped past the blockade. The Centauris had constructed their own jump gate to Valhalla—indeed, to every colony—but the Fleet had yet to pinpoint the location of any of them outside of Terra. Most rebel incursions came from south of a system’s ecliptic, but part of Bowen’s mission was to actively search for any signs of new jump gates here in the northern sector, as well as tracking for any suspicious vessels.
Once clear of the airlock, Jack felt his stomach churn as the Hawk thrusted clear of Bowen’s artificial gravity field. Zero-g was his least favorite aspect of ASW, but since the enemy hunted for gravity signatures, he had to forego it in the interest of survival.
He pushed his throttles forward and moved with speed to gain separation from his mothership. The view of the stars ahead didn’t budge, nor did his astrographic position relative to Asgard and Vanaheim. The best reference point he had this deep in space was Bowen herself, and he watched as the cruiser tracked quickly astern. At his command Singh projected their patrol sector onto the display, and he adjusted course to aim for a far corner of it.
“Do you have a set pattern for patrol?” Chen asked.
“We have a few standard patterns, but we only use them when multiple Hawks are working in concert. If we were to start flying the same patrol patterns every time, enemy stealth ships would eventually get wise and use them against us.”
“So you make it up for each patrol?”
“Unless I have something interesting I’m investigating, I fly on whim.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
“Only after I’ve received my Terran Medal of Honor.”
An appreciative snort was the only reply.
The tactical display was clear, the previous patrol having detected nothing of interest to hand over to Jack. He noted the inbound symbol of the other Hawk, Spinner-Four, as it left its patrol sector and began to approach Bowen. He watched the bird’s progress for a few moments and, satisfied that all was well, returned his attention to his own patrol.
“So,” he said to Chen. “Any idea what we’re doing out here today?”
“Looking for enemy stealth ships.”
“Always, but the stealth threat is considered low right now, so that actually isn’t our primary concern. What else are we looking for?”
“Rebel ships trying to get close to the jump gate and cause trouble.”
“Rebel warships?”
“Maybe, but lots of the colonies use converted civilian ships to do surprise attacks. Here in Valhalla it’s quite common.”
Smart kid.
“Any idea how we search for ships here on the brane?”
Chen thought for a moment. ASW detection gear was designed primarily to search deep into the Bulk, the fourth spatial dimension where stealth ships lurked, but while Jack knew how to manipulate his sensors for searches on the brane, he’d be very impressed if a line officer subbie knew.
“I heard a rumor in training,” Chen said finally, “that just before the war started one of our pilots spotted a ship by eye, way out in deep Sirian space.”
“Yeah, I heard about that, too. It’s true, but it’s not our standard technique.”
“So… you use your ASW equipment in a different way?”
“Yup.” Jack tapped the panel of hunt controls next to his right hand, then called over his shoulder to Singh. “You got the barbells primed for a brane search?”
“Ready to deploy.”
Jack noted that his Hawk had entered the inner boundary of its search sector. He maintained course for the farthest corner.
“Sow the line.”
Singh tapped
to activate her controls. This was followed by a slow series of gentle thumps as the passive gravimetric sensors known as barbells fired from the Hawk. Within minutes a line of twenty were deployed, after which Jack altered course sharply and accelerated to open the distance. After a short sprint he cut the engines and deployed the Hawk’s own main gravimetric sensor, called the big dipper.
“I’ve got my barbells positioned here,” he explained to Chen, pointing out the features on his 3D hunt display, “and by placing us this far away, we should be able to crossfix anything of interest.”
Chen leaned in to peer at the display. Jack watched patiently. Except for the symbols of the Hawk, the barbells, and the more distant Bowen, the display was completely empty.
“So,” the subbie said finally, “anything interesting?”
“Nope,” Jack said. “Tacs, you got anything?”
Singh, as tactical crew member, used the enhanced processing equipment to study the readings at a much finer resolution.
“Nothing big. I have a slight indication of bending from barbell one-zero, and possibly a complement from zero-niner.”
Jack glanced at Chen. The subbie’s face was blank.
“Our mid-line barbell is reporting a possible bend in spacetime,” he explained, “and the next nearest sensor might be confirming that, but it’s too weak to tell.”
“So…” Chen looked back at Jack. “There might be a mass bending spacetime?”
“Might be.” Jack checked his big dipper readings. “I don’t have anything on our local sensors, but we’re a lot further away. Whatever it is, it’s small.”
“Like a rebel ship?” Excitement was plain in Chen’s voice.
“Or a comet fragment. But worth checking—it’s not like we have anywhere else to be.” He activated his voice link to Bowen’s bridge. “Windmill, this is Spinner-One. Poss-low brane contact, design zero-one, investigating.”
“Windmill roger,” John Micah replied, “nothing held here.”
Jack brought the Hawk up to cruising speed and steered in the general direction of barbell one-zero, near the center of the sown line. He pointed his nose up to ensure adequate separation between his craft and the sensor line, knowing that these new generation barbells were sensitive enough to detect even his own Hawk, despite its tiny size and lack of artificial gravity. If he got too close to the line, his own presence might disrupt the readings.
He cut the engines and let the Hawk sail past the barbell line at a hundred kilometers, activating the big dipper again. After a few moments his hunt display lit up with a possible curvature, low and to starboard.
“Tacs, prep a rapid sow of five.”
“Roger.”
“Sow the line.”
A series of thumps mere seconds apart indicated the new line of five barbells being deployed. Jack already was getting a sense of where in space his quarry might be, and he pushed the Hawk’s nose down for another short, perpendicular sprint, easing closer to his original barbell line.
“Four of five barbells indicating curvature,” Singh reported.
“Give me bearings,” Jack said, even as he activated the big dipper.
His hunt display zoomed in, and four red bearings suddenly extended from the symbols of his new line. Lighter red cones appeared from the two barbells which had originally noticed the curvature, indicating direction based on the weak readings. The big dipper immediately reported curvature, and Jack dropped another line onto the display.
“Windmill, Spinner-One. Reassess zero-one as poss-high brane contact, request permission to go active.”
“Spinner-One, this is Windmill. Go active.” There was excitement in John’s voice.
At Jack’s command, the big dipper fired a directional burst of gravitons at the area of space where the cluster of intersecting lines said an object would lie. If there was indeed something there, the gravitons would interact with it in a tell-tale way.
They did. Jack’s eyes lit up as the report came back of an object matching the mass profile of a mid-sized spaceship. His eyes darted up to check the visual, then down to his flight controls and back to the hunt controls.
“Windmill, Spinner-One. Positive brane contact, assess prob vessel. Request permission to close and challenge.”
There was a slight pause, and when John’s voice came back, Bowen’s general alarm was sounding behind him.
“Spinner-One, this is Windmill. Close target zero-one and challenge.”
The contact had been upgraded to a target, Jack noted. The Astral Force didn’t take chances these days.
“Countermeasures to auto,” he ordered Singh, “I’m retrieving the big dipper.” Jack eased the throttle forward as his main sensor retracted into the hull. With his right hand he flicked off the safeties on the Hawk’s weapons.
“What’s going on, sir?” Chen asked.
“Not now.”
“This is Windmill,” John’s voice reported on the encrypted channel, “I am closing to support, Spinner-Four will launch in two mikes.”
Jack did a quick calculation on his approach. At his current speed he’d intercept in seven minutes. The Hawk just returned from patrol would be ready to assist in two plus transit time… say six minutes. Bowen could easily engage a target from her current position, if required.
All things considered, he was covered. Switching his unencrypted voice circuit to standard civilian navigation, Jack focused the transmitter on his target.
“Unknown vessel, this is Terran warship Spinner-One at six hundred kilometers and closing. Identify yourself immediately, over.”
The distant crackle of solar wind was his only reply. After a few moments he repeated his hail. Again no response. As he closed within five hundred kilometers he switched to his more threatening standard hail.
“Unknown vessel, this is Terran warship Spinner-One. I am targeting you with military weapons. Identify yourself immediately or I will fire upon you, over.”
He listened through the static for even the faintest of voice or beacon response. Nothing.
Spinner-Four had re-launched, he saw, and was rocketing toward him at high speed. The target was now only two hundred kilometers away. The barbells were detecting no accelerations or energy outputs—it was completely unresponsive. He repeated his threatening hail, adding the phrase he hated most.
“Unknown vessel, this is Terran warship Spinner-One. I am targeting you with military weapons. Identify yourself immediately or I will fire upon you. This is my final warning, over.”
The Hawk carried short-range planetary missiles. Not ideal for space combat but effective enough at these ranges, against a soft target. Jack activated their seeker heads and locked onto the unknown vessel.
“Uhh, sir…” Chen said behind him.
“Not now.”
“Sir, look!” Chen tapped Jack’s shoulder and pointed ahead.
Jack’s eyes snapped up to the visual, and immediately spotted a tiny section of blackness dead ahead where once there had been stars. Something was visible against the galactic background. He snapped down his helmet visor and locked on to where his eyes were focused.
“Tacs, ID this object!” The Hawk transferred to Singh’s console the image captured by his helmet-cam. “Windmill, this is Spinner-One,” he snapped. “Missiles locked on target. I have a distant visual—currently assessing.”
“This is Windmill, roger. Stand by to engage target zero-one.”
Spinner-Four was now within five hundred kilometers, low to Jack’s starboard side, and reporting weapons lock on the target.
“Visually assess target as a warship,” Singh said.
Jack activated comms to send the report, but stopped as Singh spoke again.
“Assess as Terran warship!”
Jack slapped his weapons safeties back on.
“All units, Spinner-One. Hold fire, hold fire. Reassess target zero-one as friendly zero-one. I say again, friendly zero-one!”
5
The reflection of yell
ow warning lights flickered off the dark surfaces of the strike team’s armored spacesuits. Thomas completed his quick inspection of their gear. As usual his troopers were suited without error, and he nodded his approval to his second-in-command, Sergeant Bunyasiriphant, before turning to watch one of the Hawks rotating into position. The sergeant turned her attention to the line of eight troopers and began barking the standard pre-mission spiel.
A Terran destroyer had been discovered nearby, dead in space. Thomas and his strike team were going to board and investigate. A second set of warning lights flashed to life at the port-side airlock, and the doors began to slide open as another Hawk returned from the scene.
Bowen’s XO, Lieutenant Perry, approached Thomas across the hangar deck, moving awkwardly in his full spacesuit. The emergency suits worn during battle stations only had a few hours of life support in them, but they were thin enough not to impede regular movement in the close confines of a warship. The full suits were designed for extended excursions into open space, and while much better at keeping their occupants alive for long periods, they were bulky.
The strike team’s armored suits had servo assists to reduce their weight, if not their bulk, but Thomas was so used to wearing his now, he barely even noticed the soft whirrs as he stepped forward to greet the XO.
“It’s Toronto,” Perry said without preamble. “No power emissions, no life signs—but no obvious battle damage, either.” The destroyer Toronto had been reported missing in action some months ago, Thomas recalled, a suspected victim of a lucky stealth attack. Since gravi-torpedoes usually left nothing but a thin cloud of plasma, no one had ever expected to find any wreckage. A fully intact ship, seemingly abandoned, made no sense.
“Did the lifeboats jettison?” Thomas asked.
“No.” The XO, a man three years younger than Thomas, suddenly looked much older as the strain showed on his features. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”
March of War Page 5