The first time he had tried to kill anyone else.
He shot out of the departure tube and into black, starlit space. The firefight had already started, blue and red lasers crisscrossing, ships banking and diving, sleek, black Copperheads and streamlined grey Banshees vying for dominance. The gleam of the Copperheads' “eyes” was the easiest way to spot an enemy fighter.
And there, some distance from the fray: a pair of immense black warships sending out more Copperheads, and more.
A bandit flew at Garner, fangs out. Garner banked to avoid fire, his heart beating too loudly in his ears. He thought he'd escaped, however narrowly, but the Copperhead did a one-eighty and strafed him. A fusillade of red bolts came his way, and he dodged again, but got one wing grazed; the Banshee wobbled, then righted itself. It scared the hell out of him.
“An! On your six!”
Garner looked around at Jaden's warning, then spotted An with a fighter closing in on his tail. “I can't shake him!” An said over the comlink. His voice had gone rough with fear. The idea of An getting wiped out scared Garner as much as his own Banshee getting hit; he loved An like a brother. Without thinking, he burned thrusters in An's direction.
“I'm on it,” he said. “Hang on.” His own voice, already a tenor, had risen a notch. An kept trying to lose the Copperhead, but the alien stuck to him like a wad of bubble gum. Garner got within range, took a deep breath, and fired. The bandit's plane combusted, the flames dying almost as soon as they ignited, bits of plane and pilot scattering in the black. An shouted in triumph. “Woo-hoo! That's the way it's done!”
“Good shooting, Garner,” Jaden said. Garner wanted to celebrate, too, but he couldn't. He had just taken a life, and even though that life hadn't been human, it had been sentient. It had a mind capable of flying a fighter into a combat situation, a mind possibly capable of fear and regret, loneliness and heartache. That mind was gone now; it would never dream, never love again. If he had to do it over, if he had to choose between An and the enemy, he would always choose An. But that didn't make it right.
He forced his thoughts aside and turned to engage the closest Copperhead.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Just outside Enas's atmosphere
Fault flew straight at a pair of oncoming Copperheads, winging one of them but not taking it out; his next shot missed the second fighter entirely.
“Damn!”
The wounded bird struggled for a moment to regain its bearings, but the second one fired, narrowly missing Fault's Banshee. He could have sworn he felt the heat of the laser as it zipped past.
Rather than bank or duck, Fault flew between the two Copperheads, forcing them both to bank to the side to avoid crashing into him. Although more agile than the Copperheads, the Banshees didn't have the maneuverability Fault was used to from the Hydra he'd flown for Osiris—still, he'd had time to train with the Banshee before the war broke out, and he knew he could coax moves from the craft that it wasn't technically supposed to be able to perform, if he pushed it hard enough.
When he got past the bandits, he pulled a sharp one-eighty—much sharper, in fact, than was recommended, keeping the throttle at just above the stall-out speed. Even so, he came out of the move sooner than the aliens could even think to perform an about-face, and he toasted the first one with a hit to the rear thrusters, which took on an unholy glow before consuming the fighter.
He only tagged the second ship, but it spun out of control and into another Copperhead, destroying them both. Fault let out a whoop of victory.
Up ahead, Jaden torched her bandit only to have another grab her by the tail. She banked right, then left, then right again, evading its fire, but she couldn't shake it. And it was gaining on her.
“Hang on, Jaden!” Garner said.
“I got 'im!” Fault flew in, intending to reach Jaden's bandit before Garner could, but Garner obviously had the same idea, because he darted in, too. They blasted the Copperhead from both sides, causing it to explode in a brilliant, if brief, fireball that sent shrapnel drifting aimlessly in all directions.
Only now Garner was headed straight for Fault, and Fault was headed for him—they barely banked in time to save their asses, and neither one of them was happy about it.
“What is your problem, Crewe?!”
“I just nailed a bandit. I got no problem.”
“I said I was going in! You should've left him to me!”
“You shoulda left 'im to me!”
“Boys!” Jaden interrupted. “Put 'em back in your pants and get your heads back in the game!”
“What,” Fault said, the corner of his mouth twisting up, “we don't even get a 'thank you'?”
“Oh. My. God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank the hell outta both of you! Now can we please blow these Copperheads out of our sky?!”
“Incoming!” Fault said as a fresh squadron of enemy fighters appeared.
“Look alive!”
The three of them fell into formation and met the enemy as a team, Jaden banking left, Garner climbing, and Fault banking right, each of them firing. Fault took out one of the enemy fighters, but two more came at him, and he was forced to dive, then perform a displacement roll: turning hard, then rolling the opposite direction out of the turn and inverting. He finished the move with a half-S turn out, throwing the enemy off.
But another Copperhead came in on his right, shooting and peeling away. Fault went into a steep climb to avoid the lasers—and in so doing, he came close enough to the metal underside of another Banshee to have a makeout session with it. His adrenaline spiked, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed down hard on the yoke, sending his fighter down again, missing a collision by a faint breath. Sweat ran liberally down his temples.
“The hell . . . ?” An said over the comlink as Fault all but scraped the paint off his belly. “Watch where you're going, Crewe! You practically disemboweled me just now!”
Pissed, Fault circled back around for a little revenge. He and the offending Copperhead traded a few shots, and then the bandit flew over him, still firing, the lasers falling around him like so much hot rain. “Hey! The aliens' guns got a better downward angle than ours!”
“Damn,” Jaden said. “That's all we need.”
Fault couldn't shoot up at a tight enough angle to hit the Copperhead, so he turned left, letting the lasers sail past him.
There was another Banshee flying below him. It took the hit, blooming into a crackling fireball before blinking into non-existence; it was there, and then it simply wasn't. Fault went cold when he saw the explosion, his skin suddenly clammy, his mouth dry. “I didn't see him . . . ” He barely even heard himself say the words.
“Ohmigod! Wallace!” That was Ness on the comlink, shrieking into his ear. “You did that on purpose, you fucking mech!”
“I didn't see him! I swear I didn't—!”
“Bullshit! You knew he was there, and you let him take the hit!”
“I did not!”
“Ness, come on,” Garner said. “He said he didn't know.”
“He's a liar! He knew, and he did it on purpose!”
“Enough!” Jaden said. “We've got a real enemy to fight, so look alive! We don't turn on each other!”
“Yeah, well, he'd better stay away from me if he knows what's good for him.”
That was fine by Fault. He didn't want to be anywhere near Ness, either. She was right about one thing, though: it was his fault Wallace was dead, and if he could take back the last few moments and take the hit himself, he would. But he couldn't, so he might as well learn to deal with it.
He just wasn't sure how.
CHAPTER NINE
Just outside Enas's atmosphere
Brid sat in her chair and watched an enemy warship approach in the main viewscreen. Between that warship and her own darted hundreds of fighters, diminutive compared to the Takarabune, downright minuscule next to the alien ships.
“My god, those things are enormous,” Kaipo said. He paused his work to gape
at the alien monstrosities.
“What gets under my skin is the fact that they stole a giant M&M and used it for nefarious purposes,” said Reindeer. “M&Ms are my staple food.”
“Pilirani, open up a channel to the Abraham Lincoln,” said Brid. “Put it on the bridge's speaker; let us know what's going on there.”
“Aye, Captain.” And, a moment later, “Abraham Lincoln's bridge is on speaker.”
“How's it going, Aiden?”
The Lincoln's captain came on, a voice that could–and did–melt women's hearts. “We're good, Takarabune. We've taken a few hits, but we're hanging in there.”
Brid smiled, remembering Aiden Yancey's broad, dark face and wide smile. It had been a long time since she'd seen him in person, but every time they exchanged messages or spoke via ship-to-ship comm, he was always the same old Aiden: suck it up and drive on.
She had just opened her mouth to inquire further about the Lincoln's condition when the Takarabune took a hit of her own. “Helm, report!”
“Damage minimal,” said Kaipo. “Five percent decrease in forward shields. No internal issues.”
“Fire back at the bastards.”
Adelard fed information into the ship's weapons, then shot back. “No damage to alien craft.”
“Again.”
He did. “Still no damage.”
“Damn.” She crossed one slender leg over the other. “Fire at will.”
No sooner did she get the words out than the Takarabune took another laser to their forward shields. This time the ship shuddered in response, and Brid knew without asking that they had taken damage.
“How bad is it?”
“Forward shields down to seventy percent.”
“The enemy is advancing,” Reindeer said. “They're locked on–”
Another hit. This one had everyone lurching forward as the ship rocked from the impact. Reindeer hit her head on the console and came back bloody. Pilirani saw it and abandoned her post to fetch the First Aid Kit located in the bridge's small storage closet.
“I'm fine,” Reindeer said, but her voice wavered. Pilirani began cleaning the wound with peroxide, ignoring the other woman's attempts to brush her off.
Kaipo tore his eyes away from Reindeer and looked at his data screen. “That last one hurt us internally. Forward shields gone. Decks Two and Three reporting injuries. Taking casualties: one hundred seventy-five dead so far. Main life support down two percent.”
Shit. “Weapons master, report!”
“Still no damage to the alien vessel, Captain.”
Shit! “Fire two missiles.”
“Firing missiles One and Two.” A pause. Then, “Missile One is a miss. Missile Two did no damage to enemy shields.”
“Damn,” said Kaipo. “What are they made of, adamantium?”
“Nobody but me gets your X-Men references, Kai.” Reindeer had a fresh bandage on her forehead and a dash of color to her cheeks. Pilirani had returned to her station.
“Come around to their port side,” Brid said. “Let's get our bow out of their range of fire. And give me a look at the Abraham Lincoln on main viewscreen.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The Lincoln popped up on the screen, eliciting a collective gasp. She had taken damage, all right: her port side had three massive burn marks, and she had suffered injuries to her fore, as well. There stood a gaping hole in her port midsection.
“Lincoln, what's the situation over there?” Brid heard the fear in her own voice, a voice gone hoarse with emotion. Then, when no answer seemed forthcoming: “Dammit, Aiden, talk to me!”
A shuffling sound. Then Aiden came on the comm, sounding out of breath. “Sorry about that, Takarabune. Bridge took a hit. We've got injured here.”
“We're on our way to offer whatever help we can.” She motioned to the helm, who drove the ship towards their ally.
“Appreciate it. Casualties rising. All shields down. Life support . . . down fifty percent. We penetrated their shields, but damage to the alien craft was minimal. They're hot for us.”
“Hang tight, Lincoln. We're on our way. Full speed, helm.”
“Aye, Captain.”
She heard the thrusters kick in and the engine come to lusty life, and then they were moving, turning away from the alien vessel in front of them, exposing their side to the beast. A shot from the alien ship went wide. They went to starboard view on the main, and the sheer immensity of the warship bearing down on them took her breath away. Adelard fired again, and again; but still the aliens took no notice, and continued to advance upon them. The alien fighters outnumbered their own by half again, a number that had risen somewhat since the start of the battle, as the Copperheads took out human fighter after human fighter.
But the humans were, at least, destroying some of the Copperheads. Brid had particularly high hopes for the 15th Squadron, who had suffered the fewest casualties and who had, in turn, removed the most alien ships from her sky. Intel said the Banshees were more maneuverable than the Copperheads, and that, she knew, could be used to their advantage if their pilots could learn to exploit it. She was aware the Takarabune had recently taken on an Osirian cyborg, an HE-1121 model with hand-eye improvements. If they could get more like him–
Her eye found the main viewscreen. From out of nowhere a wounded bandit came spinning out of control, hurtling towards them, straight for the bridge.
“Hit the deck!” It was Reindeer who shouted, and she who yanked Kaipo to the deck and covered him with her own wiry little body. Everyone else went down, shielding their heads with their arms.
There came a grinding crash, as of metal striking metal, as of metal tearing; Brid had her gaze fixed on the viewscreen, which showed a bright flash of flame, and pieces of black flying away, along with pieces of God-knew-what-else. The screen flared white, then went static, then fluttered to black. The helm's console sparked and buzzed, sending bright, angry bits of fire scattering over Kaipo and Reindeer's faces. One struck Brid's nose, and she flinched, then blushed, glad no one had seen her. Especially the blushing. She looked like such a child when she blushed.
“My god, it flew right into us!” Kaipo sat up, then put his arm around Reindeer. “You okay?”
“Yep. You?”
“Oh, dandy.” He allowed her to help him get to his feet. They all got up, and, Brid noted with relief, none of them had suffered serious injury. She straightened her uniform and reseated herself, trying with–she thought–minimal success to reassert her dignity.
“You just don't like it that I was on top,” Reindeer was saying.
Kaipo leered at her. “Sweetie, you can get on top of me anytime.”
Reindeer responded by sticking her tongue out from between her teeth, grinning. The two kept a running joke that Kaipo lusted after her in spite of the fact that he knew she was gay. Brid didn't know if the joke were based in truth or fiction.
“Main controls are still functional,” said Reindeer after a moment. “Viewscreen is–ah!”
The viewscreen flickered to life, courtesy of Minke Reinder's many-talented hands.
“How did you do that?” asked Kaipo. But Reindeer only blew on her fingertips and sent him a knowing wink.
“Do we need a tech up here?” Brid asked.
“We can handle it,” Kaipo said. “Right, babe?”
“It's fine, Captain.”
Good. She didn't need an extra body taking up room in here and getting under hand and foot unless it was absolutely necessary. Besides, the techs could be put to better use working on the forward shields, and that they could do on Main Deck.
“Any other damage? Casualties?” She dreaded the answer.
“None, Captain.”
Brid leaned back in her chair, able now to breathe slightly easier. “Pilirani, any word on reinforcements?”
“I'm afraid there are no ships closer than the Artemis. She's on her way, but at full speed, she's still thirteen hours' distance.”
Damn. Damn the brass and their
handling of this situation. They had known going in that they'd face two alien warships, had known from the intel the 15th Squadron pilots had collected that the warships were bigger than their own, had even known the alien fighters were faster than Banshees. They could expect more fighters from a warship that big, could expect the warships, being alien, might have technology beyond their own. Yet the brass had sent only two human vessels to fight the aliens. What were they thinking?
Hubris was what it was. The higher-ups couldn't bear to imagine something superior to themselves. Particularly Osiris and their precious technology. She'd bet her right arm the Osirian government had had a say in this.
She shook her head and told herself it did no good to speculate or to point fingers. She expected her people to avoid such behavior; she might as well get used to doing it herself. “Reindeer, put the Abraham Lincoln back on the main viewscreen. Aiden, how are you doing?”
“The Lincoln is tougher than she looks, Takarabune.”
So was its captain, she thought. “It better be,” she said. The enemy had put another hole in the Lincoln, amidships.
“We've closed off Sections Three and Nine of Deck Twelve,” Aiden said. “And Deck Five is off-limits, as well. Life support is holding at fifty percent.”
She didn't dare inquire as to the number of dead.
“Enemy ship is locked on,” Reindeer said.
“Evasive maneuvers.”
Helm took them down; it wasn't enough. Brid felt the strike vibrate beneath her feet, heard a booming thud. Takarabune shivered, and Brid followed suit.
Kaipo delivered the news. “Starboard shields penetrated. Life support down thirty percent.”
She tried not to show her dismay. “Casualties?”
“Deck Seven is reporting several injuries. No deaths.”
“Thank God for that. Reindeer, status report.”
“Still only minimal damage to the enemy warship, Captain.”
Colonies Of Earth: Unity War Book 1 Page 5