Colonies Of Earth: Unity War Book 1

by C. G. Michaels

  He performed a quarter loop, letting that take him into a vertical climb. The scary part here was that as his altitude increased, his speed decreased, leaving him more vulnerable to the Copperhead's superior speed. Then the flat turn over the top, and for this he said a silent prayer; from there he dove to complete a quarter loop, now at his original altitude, but going in the opposite direction.

  His victory, however, was brief. An's voice came over the comlink: “Uh, guys, I think we have a problem.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Fault. “We're winning, here.”

  “That was before reinforcements arrived. Look up and behind you.”

  Garner didn't have to look behind; he was facing what was coming.

  More Copperheads. Scores more of them.

  And right alongside them, an enemy warship.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Just inside Osiris's atmosphere

  Brid chewed her lower lip anxiously. The Snappers had duped them but good, and now Osiris was paying the price—things looked bad down there, and they weren't much better in the air.

  “Pilirani,” she asked, “have you heard anything more on the aliens' end?”

  The young woman shook her head, the lock of hair she'd dyed blue falling over her dark face. “I haven't picked up any of the Snappers' chatter since we intercepted that last transmission, ma'am.”

  That last transmission. The one that said the Turtles were going to attack Regem. And now nothing, because the aliens didn't need for them to pick up any more chatter. God, how had they been so stupid? So gullible? How had they not seen what the aliens were doing?

  She shook herself, angrily getting her head back in the game; she would not let the human race go out like this. “How much longer until one of those sons of bitches is in range?”

  “Twenty-nine minutes, fifteen seconds,” Reindeer said.

  Too long. She wanted a piece of them now. But she had other things to do. “Pilirani, see if you can pick up any friendly chatter. I want to know what's going on out there.”

  “I'm getting something from the Queenstown, Captain. They've been hit, and have suffered damage to their outer hull. Life support is down to eighty percent.”

  The Queenstown—that was the Regem ship that had accompanied them here. This marked the first of the human warships to suffer more than minimal damage in this battle. “Casualties?”

  “None, ma'am.”

  “We can be grateful for that, at least. What about Osiris? Is there any word from them?”

  “They're in bad shape, Captain. Timaru City is in flames.”

  Timaru City was Osiris's capital, and it was by far the biggest and most influential city on the planet. Not only did it represent the hub of the government, but the bulk of the planet's goods passed through Timaru, even if they weren't produced there, plus the stock exchange lived there—not to mention the fact that the planet's largest military force and its accompanying technological facilities, labs, and manufacturing plants were situated in Timaru. If Timaru had gone down, Osiris was in bad shape, indeed. They all were. Damn!

  Brid saw several Osirian shuttles breaking atmosphere well away from the heart of the fighting, trying to flee. “ Captain Emmerich is asking to talk to you, ma'am,” Pilirani said.

  “Put him on.”

  Pilirani did, and the main viewscreen went to the image of a bedraggled man with a nasty cut on his face and haunted blue eyes. Behind him, men, women, and children crowded into the shuttle's seats and in the aisle, far outnumbering the vessel's maximum capacity. Many of them wept, some appeared to be unconscious, and they were all bleeding. Someone had taken down the shuttle's First Aid kit and was passing it around; it ran out of supplies as Brid watched.

  “Captain,” Emmerich said, panting. He had the look of death about him. “Request permission to board.”

  “Permission granted, of course.” They were war refugees and Earth's allies—how could she refuse them? Where to put them once on board was a different story, but she had to take them in, as many as the docking bay would hold. A shuttle wouldn't make it all the way to one of the other Colonies; they didn't have FTL, and were not equipped for long journeys in any wise. “Captain, are you well enough to pilot?” She worried he'd miscalculate or pass out coming in, and they'd all die.

  A crooked smile drifted half-heartedly across Emmerich's lips. “Believe it or not, I'm in better shape than the rest of them except maybe Hartford, and she's not qualified to fly.”

  Brid nodded. “Our doors are open, Captain. Godspeed.”

  He inclined his head, and for a moment she was sure he wouldn't lift it again, but he did, and signed off without another word.

  She opened a channel to the Infirmary. “Carey, I want a med team in the docking bay immediately. We have incoming.”

  “Any idea what to expect?”

  “War victims from Osiris. I haven't got the details, but it's going to be bad.”

  “I'll be there myself.”

  Brid switched off the comm, proud of her team. The Osirians might be used to a higher grade of tech than the Takarabune packed, but they'd get good treatment here, and from people who genuinely cared. She wasn't as sure about Osirian doctors, who in her estimation concerned themselves more with clinical study than the emotions of the patient—fine if you wanted physicians with the personality of robots looking after your well-being; not so good if you preferred real human contact.

  The main viewscreen had winked off Emmerich's image and replaced it with a distance shot of the shuttles as they corrected their course towards the Takarabune. “Helm, get us closer to those shuttles. Let's make it as easy for them as possible.”

  A squadron of Copperheads came abruptly into view. They shot at the shuttles, hitting most of them dead-on. The Osirians returned fire, but their weapons systems lacked the tracking ability of a fighter, and a shuttle didn't have the speed or maneuverability the Copperheads had. Even if their passengers were fit for a dogfight, the shuttles were simply not cut out for it. The sole thing preventing them from irreparable damage was their shields—and those would give out soon enough if the Copperheads kept this up.

  Brid stabbed the intership comm. “Lange! I need a squadron of Banshees out there protecting those shuttles! Now!”

  “I'll do my best.”

  She punched the comm off, made an angry fist. Samson's best was damn good, but in truth, he wouldn't be able to do much under the circumstances. What fighters could be spared, would be spared, but they were currently all deployed and hotly engaging the enemy—they couldn't very well peel away and expect the Copperheads not to follow; and even if they could, they might not get there in time. She wished the Takarabune could take out the aliens that were attacking the shuttles, but a warship's guns were made for striking much larger targets. If she shot at the Copperheads, she'd most likely destroy the shuttles along with them.

  On the main viewscreen, three of the five shuttles took hits that obliterated them.

  One of them was Emmerich's ship.

  Brid's fist trembled. She didn't know how the warring Colonies had managed all this time, witnessing the carnage to their own people and at times unable to do a damn thing about it. She'd never felt hate before, but she felt it now, for the inhuman monsters that wouldn't so much as allow them to gather their wounded in a safer place where they could be treated.

  As she watched, the remaining two shuttles were shot to bits.

  Goddamn them, she thought. Goddamn them! “Helm! I want those bastards in range!”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  A deep thoom! resounded, and the Takarabune shuddered. “Damn! How'd he get close enough to hit us, Reindeer?”

  “Sorry. Their range is greater than ours, and I'm still determining by how much.”

  “Well, determine faster! If we're in their range, I want them in our range, too. Make it happen!”

  “Aye!”

  “How much damage with that one?”

  “None, Captain.”
r />   “Give me a broad view. I want to see what they're up to out there.”

  The screen showed three of the alien vessels moving into position around a fourth, as if trying to protect it from the human warships . . , but why?

  “What the hell are they doing?” Kaipo echoed her unspoken question.

  “I don't know, but I don't like it. Get us over there.”

  The Takarabune sailed closer, but not before the protected enemy ship led its fellows closer to Osiris's surface. The warships lowered themselves into the planet's atmosphere, and the one that was being guarded began attacking the city while its companions continued to hover close by, fending off any human warships that got too near. Brid couldn't see the damage the great ship was doing to Osiris, but she could see the red lasers the craft expelled, could see the horrid flashes of light that meant explosions, silent to the crew of the Takarabune.

  “We're in the enemy's range and sights, Captain.”

  “Get us up to the closest one. Now.”

  “Aye.”

  The Takarabune quaked from a glancing blow, but it amounted to little more than a tremor; she knew it hadn't penetrated the shields, and she didn't ask for details.

  “Got them in my sights, Captain,” Adelard said.

  “Fire!”

  “No discernible damage, Captain.”

  “Fire!”

  The Takarabune rocked as the enemy scored another hit. Brid's teeth rattled. “Damage.”

  “That one took our forward shields down fifteen percent.”

  Meanwhile, Osiris was getting a beating. “The hell with it,” Brid said under her breath. Then, louder: “Full speed, helm!”

  Kaipo looked questioningly at her. “Full speed, ma'am? Towards the enemy craft?”

  Brid narrowed her eyes and leaned forward in her chair. “I want you to mow that fucker down.”

  Kaipo and Reindeer exchanged a glance, but no one argued. “Aye, Captain!”

  The engines revved up, then roared as they reached top speed, thrusting the Takarabune forward, straight at the Snappers' warship. They barrelled down on it, firing and taking fire, and the enemy ship filled the screen. Brid held her breath; the whole bridge did.

  Just as she grew certain they would die in a massive, fiery collision, the other vessel pulled up sharply, a sluggish movement in such an enormous craft, and one that very nearly came too late.

  “Full stop!”

  The whole of the Takarabune creaked with the effort, and everyone was flung forward, into consoles or out of chairs; Brid ended up in an undignified position on the floor, her knees and the heels of her hands smarting with rug burn. Then, just as quickly, they were all thrown back again as the Takarabune kissed the bow of the alien warship. The hulls scraped, mutually wrecking each other's shields. Sparks lit the viewscreen, blinding them all. Brid covered her eyes with one arm and gritted her teeth against the feel of the ships grating together.

  Finally the alien ship cleared, and the Takarabune was left in its place, with the protected warship floating at shooting distance below her, an invisible target on its ass.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Inside Osiris's atmosphere

  The bastard had gone deeper into Osiris's atmosphere, bringing God-knew-how-many bloody Copperheads with it, some flanking the ship, others likely still docked inside, waiting to deploy. Brid already knew what the first line of Snappers had done to Timaru City; the Osirian capital had informed the Colonial fleet of the damage up until a moment ago, when their radio went out. Why it had gone out, and what that meant for Osiris, Brid could guess.

  And now an enemy warship was getting in on the mayhem.

  Well, she'd give them mayhem. She'd give it to them in spades.

  “Helm,” she said. “Follow that warship. Get so close we can see right up their assholes.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  They had cleared atmosphere already, but other alien warships stood far closer than the one they hunted. For the moment, those vessels had not attacked Osiris; instead, they hovered far above, level with the Takarabune, ready to deter any Colonial ships trying to stop the strafing. One of the Snapper warships saw what the Takarabune intended and moved to block them, firing as it did so. A couple of the lasers went wide; the last did not.

  Brid felt the shock of it thrum beneath her boots, a tremor that surged from one end of the ship to the other. At the same time, a white flash ran through the ship's insides, something they could all see as it rippled from the helm, up and down the bulkheads, through the overhead, and across the deck. For an instant, everything went white, then black; all systems stopped, and so did Brid's heart. She couldn't hear the hum of the ship's engine; couldn't hear the faint whisper of canned air emitting from the air vents; couldn't hear the minute blips and bleeps of the consoles as the computer alerted the crew of this or that development. They were blind and deaf, airless and helpless.

  “My God.” Kaipo's voice, as hushed as Death.

  Then with a stutter the lights came back on, and the engine rumbled to life, a vibration she felt through her boots, through her seat. It evened out, settling back into its usual drone, a comforting background noise. The air whirred on: she felt it, a tiny drift caressing her face, stirring the strands of her hair that had come loose. All the lights on the consoles glowed at once, then shut off, then came back on again, then resumed normal operation, some blinking as they would, others dimming until some new piece of information lit them once more. Five very scared people started breathing again.

  “Status.”

  A moment passed while everyone checked and compared their read-outs. “Arms at one hundred percent, ma'am,” said Adelard.

  “Communications ninety-eight percent.”

  “Helm ninety percent,” Reindeer said. “Forward starboard shields penetrated. Life support ninety-five percent. The main computer looks like it's lost some data, but that may be retrievable. Temperature control is off-kilter; we may be feeling the heat for a while.”

  Better than the heat shutting off, leaving them to freeze to death. “Adelard.”

  “Ma'am?”

  “Shove a missile up the enemy's ass.”

  “Will do, ma'am.” He calculated. Then, “Firing Missile One.”

  “Direct hit,” Reindeer said. And, to everyone's dismay, “No damage.”

  “Dammit! Go around them. Go over them. Go through them. Do whatever it takes, but get us down to the surface so we can stop that ship from massacring any more people!”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  “Which Colonial ships are close enough to give us a little help?”

  “The Dronning and the Montauk, ma'am.”

  “Pilirani?”

  “I'm contacting them now, Captain.”

  She had a good team on her ship, thought Brid. Pilirani could all but read her thoughts and often took the initiative when it came to deciding what to do in a crisis. Kaipo kept up morale, and she respected that even though his bright-as-the-Sun smile drove her batshit in the mornings. Reindeer . . . Reindeer could do anything she set her mind to, and she had a keen mind, at that. And she couldn't ask for better than Adelard when it came to arms. She sincerely hoped she wouldn't lose any of them to this war.

  “Captain, Dronning and Montauk are happy to lend a hand. In fact, the captain of the Dronning says, quote, 'I send my kindest regards and the hopes that you will grace my personal mess with your unrivaled beauty at the earliest convenience. After we blast the hell out of these bastards, of course,' end quote.”

  It brought a smile to Brid's lips. Dae-jung Cho, the tiny Korean dictator of the Dronning (she couldn't bring herself to call him a mere captain with the way he handled his crew), had always harbored a strange kind of crush on her despite his being gay. “Tell him I'll bring the bottle of Chianti Classico I've been saving.”

  “The Dronning is in position and opening fire,” said Reindeer. “Two direct hits. No damage.”

  “Adelard, fire at will.”

 
“Aye, ma'am.”

  “Pilirani, link our arms to the arms on Dronning and Montauk. Let's see if there's a spot we can all hit at once.”

  Pilirani got busy. In a few minutes, all three arms began firing at the enemy's forward port shields. Laser after laser and missile after missile went into the attack, so quickly that Reindeer had to hustle to keep up.

  “Direct hit from Dronning. Direct hit from Takarabune. Enemy shields down twenty percent . . . down thirty. Direct hit from Montauk. Enemy shields down fifty percent. Direct hit–enemy shields penetrated. Damage to craft estimated fifteen percent. Direct hit . . . ”

  They took their lumps, as well. Life support went down to eighty percent, and Dronning lost thirty people. Montauk had no more shields to speak of other than aft, but she, at least, had suffered no casualties of crew other than her fighter pilots. As yet, at any rate. Then again, her fighter pilot casualty rate was exceedingly high.

  “Damage to enemy craft estimated twenty-five percent. Ma'am, they're backing off.”

  At last. Brid wiped her brow, which had grown damp. The damage to temperature control had left the ship sweltering at around ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. Kaipo and Reindeer had already removed their jackets, and Kaipo had further rolled up the long sleeves he wore underneath. Reindeer had on a tank top that revealed her shoulder tattoo, an emerald and azure Chinese dragon weaving in and out of cherry blossoms. Everything in their collective wardrobes was black or–in the case of underwear–sometimes grey, the Star Force standard.

  The Dronning and the Montauk stayed behind to engage the remaining three Snapper warships while the Takarabune moved down to the planet's surface, down to where they could view Timaru City and the destruction there. Black smoke curled up from demolished buildings, and grey dust coated the ground, the people, the air. People ran from the ships, tried fighting back, died in the streets. It was Lotan all over again.

  Bastards. Bastards! And why? Did they intend to conquer the human race? Make them into slaves? Or did they just enjoy killing things that weren't like them?