by D. E. Kinney
Tommy sighed, glad to finally be spaceborne, and eased his Rapier toward the squadron’s formation. The Lasercats of FS-1720 were just coming together, although already well below the battle group.
“What was that?” Rahagin blurted out over the intercom.
Tommy’s polarized visor went instantly dark, shielding his eyes from a huge fireball that erupted from somewhere thousands of feet below.
“It was the Thunder-Jack!” an excited voice yelled over the comm.
Tommy, in spite of the growing confusion, kept his fighter snugged up with Cat Lead. Mean-looking streaks of energy, originating from the planet below, were now slamming into a nearby frigate as it struggled to get to the Renegade and the relative safety of the higher-orbiting battle group.
“The Thunder-Jack is gone!” another Cat pilot shouted.
“There goes the Scimitar!” Another Lasercat Pilot shouted as the aft end of the frigate separated and spiraled towards the planet, spewing flaming chunks of debris and screaming crewmen.
“Lead to all Cats, stay off the comm,” Wagner commanded in a calm, steady voice.
The assault ships of the battle group were now in the process of putting as much distance between them and the planet’s surface guns as possible. Frigates, annihilators, and corvettes, some burning, almost all damaged, clawed out of the now-chaotic low orbits to the safety of the cruisers.
How can the skipper stay so calm? Tommy thought as his squadron weaved their way past the fleeing starships.
“Cat Lead from Werewolf,” Commander Wolfe, the transport barge’s squadron CO, transmitted.
“Go ahead Wolf, this is Cat Lead.”
“Change of plans, Wags. Looks like the Vargins got some guns the intel boys overlooked. We need your Rapiers to cover the drop.”
Each transport barge, currently carrying five hundred fully armed and armored-up warriors, was fairly quick but lightly armed and not well shielded—definitely not designed to fight their way into a hot LZ.
“Getting pretty lonely up here, Wolfe,” Wagner said as his squadron flashed past another burning frigate hightailing it to safety.”
“Copy that, Wags, but orders is orders.”
“Roger that, but it’s just us till they get Cabit’s T-darts launched, and they’re still pushing barges off the top,” Wagner said, easing his formation under Werewolf Flight’s trailing barge.
“Understood, just keep the Venoms off our backs long enough to get boots on the ground,” Commander Wolfe responded just as an errant flash of blue-green light shot between him and the number two ship in the formation.
Wagner, who had now pulled up alongside Commander Wolfe’s transport, raised his faceplate and looked over at his longtime friend.
“Situation normal, eh, Wags,” Wolfe said looking over at Wagner.
“Yea, it’s a total cluster, Wolfe ol’ buddy,” Wagner said.
“Let’s push it, Wags. I want to expedite getting into the atmo and away from these damn guns.”
Wagner nodded. He had known Wolfe since the Slate; got drunk with him when he got orders to fly barges—hell of a pilot though, thought Wagner.
The fourteen transport barges were spread out in a trailing formation, giving them room to maneuver, but they would be hard to cover. The big guns on the ground posed little or no threat to either his Rapiers or the barges as long as they kept moving, but once the group hit the atmosphere—well, the Venoms would be another matter.
“Push it up, Cats. Section leaders spread out, stay close to the transports,” Wagner commanded.
Wolf Flight held seven thousand warriors, Wagner thought while casually watching another burning gunner spiral into the atmosphere. Even if we get them on the ground, how long can they last without fire support? Not a good day to be flying barges, but then again, when is it ever a good day to be flying barges? The thought brought a smile. But then as the formation began to slice down through thin white wisps of clouds, swarms of enemy fighters becoming visible, Wagner had another, more desperate thought. Who in the hell came up with this plan?
Admiral Kada had stood to get a better look at the destruction being displayed in the area around the projected globe, when his hatch chime sounded.
“Enter.”
Kada’s aide rushed in, breathless. “Sir, their guns.” He took a moment, putting his hand to his chest. “The planetary batteries…”
The Imperial admiral did not look at Colonel Franza, but instead continued to stare at the nightmarish scene unfolding on the slowly rotating holographic display.
“We must withdraw the fleet, sir!” Franza continued.
Kada stared, unblinking, and said nothing.
“Sir,” Franza pleaded.
Suddenly the admiral regained a measure of alertness. “Wait for all transport barges to get underway, then rally the fleet.”
“But sir, without the gunners—“
“We’ll support the landings with Firestorms and fighters!”
“But, sir—”
The admiral cut the colonel short, putting a long bony finger against his aide’s chest. “Listen to me, Colonel.” Kada then turned and waved his hand at the projected flashes of light coming from dozens of locations on the planet. “These guns are too slow to target the fighters. I have already ordered the barges to press on to their assigned landing sites—now get my fighters launched!”
Franza straightened and waited for a couple heartbeats before unconsciously smoothing out his uniform jacket. “Admiral…the fighter launch will be delayed until all of the barges are underway. We haven’t neutralized their shielding, and with their underground—“
The admiral’s large pale head began to turn a shade of purple, with tiny veins appearing around his temples. “The Corps will open up the shields with disrupters, Colonel—it’s the only way to get to those damn guns. And when we do, I will flatten their cities. They will kneel before me, Colonel Franza,” Kada said while clenching his fist in uncontrolled rage.
The colonel raised a hand, began to say something, then thought better of it.
“I will have this wretched planet, Colonel, if I have to lose half our squadrons and dozens of gunners. I will have this victory!”
Colonel Franza bowed his head slightly, turned smartly, and moved out of the ready room, only to pause by the closed hatch. Muffled sounds of explosions, coming from the admiral’s tactical projection, filled the hallway. This is madness, he thought before shaking his head and moving hurriedly down the corridor.
Sloan edged up over a rock and centered his targeting sight on a mammoth hover tank flanked by a half dozen giant walkers, which were leading, he guessed, maybe three thousand troops into the LZ. Plus, in the far distance, more enemy assault transports could be seen heading toward Phang.
“LT, I still can’t raise fire control. I think we lost ’em,” Decker said.
“What do ya mean, Deck, lost fire control?”
“Just that, sir—the beam is dead.”
“Okay, Deck, how about the Hammer-Blow.”
“Sir, I can’t make contact with any of our annihilators—nobody is responding…”
Sloan took another peek at the advancing horde of troops. “Well, try Strike Control. We had better find a way to rain some destruction down on these guys, Deck—and I mean soon!”
“Raider, from Werewolf. Come in, Raider.” Commander Wolfe came up on Sloan’s comm.
“This is Raider actual, go ahead Werewolf,” Sloan answered, continuing to focus on the advancing force.
“I’ve got fourteen big uglies inbound for Phang.”
“Negative, Werewolf, the LZ is not open, and we are unable to call in fire support. I say again—Phang is closed!”
“I copy ya, Raider, but no can do. We’re coming in—over.”
Commander Wolfe pulled back on the stick, his transport straining a bit in the thick Vargus air. “Okay, Wolves, on me but keep it loose.” He then glanced over at his young copilot. “Easy, kid, they can kill us, but I
don’t think they can eat us.” He paused. “Wait a minute, I think intel said that Vargins just might, given a chance, chow down on us.”
The copilot laughed and nodded, some of the tension leaving his face.
“Don’t sweat it, kid, I’ll get us in,” Wolfe continued.
Far below, the sky was filling up with small black dots that the copilot knew would soon grow into squadrons of vicious Venoms. Getting in didn’t concern him as much as getting out at this point.
Wolfe reached up and tapped a switch on the overhead panel. “Captain, you better get your warriors tucked in—it’s gonna get a bit bumpy.”
“Roger, Cap’n—the sooner we’re engaged with the Vargins the better, so how about a little chop, chop.”
Wolfe looked over at the smiling copilot. “Warriors…”
Tommy’s Rapier sliced through the clear blue Vargus atmosphere while heading toward the southern seaboard at over 35,000 feet. Before him lay the heavily defended cities of the southern hemisphere. Stretching out between the mountains and the beautiful turquoise-colored sea, they included hundreds of densely populated artificial islands, all covered with towering bright white buildings and tall, gracefully curved palm trees.
“Cat Five, stay with the heavies. I’ll take my division and cover the Firestorms working over the city,” Wagner commanded, then added, “Maybe we can draw some fire.”
“Copy,” was the XO’s crisp reply.
Great, Tommy thought, draw some fire…
With the Rapiers still descending, transports below and slightly left, Tommy glanced over at Gary’s ship, making eye contact as the formation flashed over the embattled landing zone.
“What a nightmare,” Rahagin said, peering out the small square window of the rear cockpit. Several of the Firestorms pounding Phang were already in trouble—many in flames.
Wagner, his Rapier raked hard right, looked up past his wing panel at Tommy. “Okay, Thorn, close it up and stay with me.”
Tommy did not respond, nor was he aware of the large, angry burst of energy filling the sky in front of them. Stay with Wags, he thought and kept his eyes glued on his leader’s fighter.
“Bandits, level at two seven zero,” Rahagin announced nonchalantly. “All blasters charged, fins are armed and chattering—shield at max. Then he added, “And it looks like you should have been careful about what you wished for…”
Tommy took a second, looked away from Wagner, and glanced down into an eight-inch monitor installed in his aging instrument panel. There, clearly displayed, was the face of his tacnav—his eyes, just visible behind his faceplate, were smiling.
“Looks like you get to tangle with some Venoms after all,” Rahagin continued.
Tommy only nodded, used the thumb on his left hand to select blasters, and refocused his attention on Wagner, already jinking wildly to avoid the ground fire and heading directly into the oncoming enemy fighters.
The Venoms were everywhere, bolts of green energy slamming into the forward shields. Wagner calmly waited for the merge before veering violently left, then rolling back hard right and pulling into a steep climb, lining up on a formation of the fleeing camouflaged fighters as they went vertical.
Tommy stayed with his lead, not even aware that they were passing 43,000 feet, or that they were now pointing straight up. His focus was totally on staying with his lead and the enemy fighters growing larger as the four Rapiers closed on their position—but he needed to get a clear shot!
“In range,” Tommy’s computer announced. The yellow diamond symbol on his helmet visor pulsed bright red as he held the targeting pipper over a Venom and squeezed the trigger.
Bright orange streaks of light reached out and slammed into the right wing root of one of the nimble Venom, whose shields held for a moment but then, under the relentless barrage of focused energy, broke apart and exploded. One of the two spinning chunks of flaming debris crashed into its wingman, who vaporized. Must have hit the fuel tank, Tommy thought
“We’ve got a pair of bandits closing fast, Tommy,” Rahagin reported, his hands a blur of movement in the backseat.
Instinctively, Tommy yanked the stick to the right and pulled. His Rapier rolled ninety degrees, the nose snapping back toward his pursuers, just as several balls of green energy flashed over his left wing panel. He craned his neck, working to get the targeting information now moving across his visor to steady up on his prey as it flashed past the top of his canopy. The other Venom, which had abruptly broken off, twisted down and out of sight. “Keep pulling,” he said out loud, working the fighter’s controls to keep his eyes on the spiraling Venom!
“Target acquired,” the computer confirmed. The designation diamond jumped to the Venom, but would not give a locked indication. “COME ON,” Tommy yelled, rolling his bird into a steeper angle, now chasing the Vargus jet in an ever tightening circle. If I can just…pull the nose…a little bit…
“Tommy, select a missile,” Rahagin said, almost casually.
Sure enough, he still had the blasters selected, but not being able to get the Rapier’s nose pointed at the maneuvering target, he needed something that could track—a fin. Without taking his eyes off the Venom, Tommy slid his gloved thumb over and toggled missile select.
“In range,” the computer announced as the diamond symbol began to flash red, and Tommy let loose with two missiles.
The weapons leaped from the Rapier’s center-line weapons bay, and darted abruptly to the right, pulling into the Venom’s exhaust ports—two hits. “Scratch another Venom!” Tommy yelled.
“Six is clear, Tommy, but we got trouble, bearing zero ninner zero,” his tacnav said, totally immersed in his display—a 360 degree holographic projection of the area around their Rapier.
Tommy rolled his fighter over, wings level, and tried to control his breathing. He was no longer in contact with Wagner, lost in the confusion. The sky was full of Venoms and dead or dying Storms. Comm had become unusable, full of useless chatter, screams for help, and shouts of target info. Emergency beacon signals wailed, and potentially deadly ground fire was beginning to bracket his ship.
“Now would be a good time to do some fancy flying, Tommy,” his tacnav mused.
As if being doused with cold water, Tommy snapped out of his momentary fog and yanked the Rapier up into a vertical roll, narrowly missing a transport. Already burning, the badly damaged ship was evidently heading for the relative safety of the sea in an attempt to escape the relentless ground fire, and a pair of very persistent Venoms.
Tommy got a quick lock on the trailing Venom, and fired two more missiles!
The enemy fighter’s shields partially deflected the first missile’s warhead, but it had nothing left for the second. BOOM! Tommy flew right though the ensuing fireball. His only thought was to kill the remaining fighter, which was still tormenting the crippled transport with lethal doses of blaster fire.
“Steady,” he said to himself, lining up the Venom and switching to blasters. He wanted to gun this SOB, but then he remembered that he was only shooting metal.
Blaster bolts were soon slamming into the fleeing Venom’s left wing, which quickly folded into a tangled mess before breaking off and tumbling past Tommy’s canopy as he continued to poor blaster bolts into the flaming wreckage. What was left of the unmanned fighter finally broke up and plummeted out of sight, trailing a long thick tail of black smoke—but his efforts were too late to save the battered transporter.
Flying high over the Star Force ship, Tommy could only watch as the barge began to spin, the gyrations becoming so violent that it was soon tossing its passengers out of the damaged and partially opened rear hatch. The doomed infantry solders screamed as they tumbled hundreds of feet, only to be impaled or crushed on the city’s pristine white buildings before the transport barge, mercifully, impacted with a long, magnificently arched bridge and exploded, killing any that were left still clinging to the tattered seating.
“Picking up two more, Tommy—they’re trackin
g,” Rahagin said even as blaster rounds began to ricochet off their Rapier’s rear shields.
Somewhere deep under Stone Wood, Vecta-Bah popped the canopy of a Venom’s virtual cockpit, pulled off the massive interface helmet, and wiped away large amounts of sweat.
“What is that, three?” a Vargus air ops tech seated next to the bulky device asked while making entries into his control console.
Vecta-Bah reluctantly smiled and held up all four of her fingers.
“Well, you’re all set on number five. Try not to get this one shot down.”
Vecta-Bah gave a half grin, pulled her fleshy ear flaps back under the helmet, and closed the cockpit. Somewhere in an underground hanger bay, her fifth Venom of the day spooled up and headed out into the fray.
Wolfe put as much back pressure on the control stick as he could before letting go and trying to adjust the throttles with his same right hand. This difficult task made necessary because what remained of his left arm hung uselessly at his side and his now-headless copilot, body flapping awkwardly as wind poured in from a gaping blaster hole, would be of no further help.
“Captain, it’s going to be rough,” Wolfe announced to the warrior commander in the back of the barge.
He wasn’t at all sure that the captain was still alive, or indeed if any of the five hundred or so warriors were still living. But he had to try and get on the LZ. It was, after all, what he had trained for and devoted his life to.
“Come on, Wolfe,” he yelled between clenched teeth as the barge’s nose closed in on Phang. Too steep, TOO DAMN STEEP, he thought and desperately pulled on the stick.
Sloan continued to look on the scene below with a mixed sense of horror and disbelief.
“LT, it’s time to move…”
As if in slow motion, another transport barge hit the ground nose first, bounced, then slammed into a hover tank before bursting into flames. It then started to roll, the flaming hulk crushing hundreds of Vargus troops while at the same time throwing its cargo of burning and mangled Tarchein Warrior Corps out onto the landing zone, now littered with men and machines. Phang had become a deadly killing ground.