Runs In The Family

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Saber Six, Thunder Six. Air support en route. ETA is six minutes. You might want to keep your heads down.”

  Mairin slid down into the hatch. Three minutes to contact and six minutes to air support. Going to be a long three minutes. “Interface, institute high-pressure procedures for all vehicles. Stand by for a nuke.”

  <>

  Mairin looked through the rear vision block and saw the approaching Styrahi warrior. She keyed the intercom. “Be right back.”

  “Helluva time to hit the latrine, ma’am,” Conner smiled.

  Mairin opened the hatch and climbed out on the rear deck at the same time the Styrahi leapt to it. She towered over Mairin by at least a foot and a half. Tally would have been small compared to the woman standing in front of Mairin.

  “I said get off this hill. You are threatening my mission, echessa.”

  Mairin raised her finger and spoke again in lilting Styrah. “And you’re threatening my troops. I’ve got close air support inbound any minute now with nukes.”

  “I am supposed to meet up with Lieutenant Colonel Coffey and his regiment! They will be here any moment.”

  “They are on the other side of that ridge,” Mairin pointed at the craggy peaks to the west. “He’s not coming.”

  The fury on the Styrahi’s face faded. “Are you part of his regiment?”

  “Yes,” Mairin felt a smile coming. “Well, probably not for much longer. I was supposed to be the reserve, sitting behind his line about thirty kilometers. I’m Captain Shields.”

  The Styrahi nodded. “My name is Tillokara. My team was observing a recon element. The Greys are looking for something.”

  “Any idea what?”

  Tillokara shrugged and looked away. “I think they’re drilling for water.”

  Mairin felt a click in her head. “Or something else.”

  Tillokara squinted at her. The lines at the corners of her eyes surprised Mairin. The Styrahi must have been in her fifties, by Earth standards. “What are you suggesting? And how do you speak Styrahi so well?”

  Mairin almost answered, but didn’t.

  “Oh, you’re a keerchaca, then?”

  Keerchaca, a casual fling. A one-night stand. Something like a human whore who played with Styrahi. The word had no real human equivalent. Mairin flushed. “Fuck you, Tillokara.”

  Tillokara said nothing for a moment. Mairin felt the taller woman’s eyes boring through her, taking in every detail until her eyes softened slightly, almost piteous. “Not that.” She looked at Mairin for a long moment but said no more.

  “You better get out of here. Keep your head down when the exos roll in.”

  Tillokara nodded. “There are too many of them. Without assistance, you realize your position is hopeless. Right?”

  “I do. Help is on the way. Then we’re going to haul ass up this valley and give the Greys something to think about.” Mairin said.

  Tillokara smiled, “Valtranya, iruhrer.” Good luck, warrior.

  “And you as well.” Mairin replied in Stryah. She watched Tillokara leap down to the ground and sprint towards her team. For everything that Tally was, Tillokara was clearly not. So very different. Her heart ached as she heard the first sonic boom of the exocraft entering the atmosphere. She climbed up onto the turret and slid into the hatch. Closing it, she felt the tank jerk as the first round went downrange. She heard Lee whooping as a Grey tank disintegrated ten thousand meters away. The countdown timer said thirty seconds.

  “Guidons, Six. Button up and hold fast.” She looked out the vision blocks at the swirling black mass of vehicles heading their direction. “Kill anything that moves!”

  * * * * *

  Twenty-Nine

  In exospheric combat aviation, there were two distinct schools of thought. Exospheric interception should involve light, fast, and highly maneuverable vehicles to patrol the heights, or that vehicles that worked in the lower atmosphere had to be heavily armored, and therefore slower than Christmas. Of the fighter pilots, though, there were some who braved the lower atmosphere of planets more than required of their station. Of that merry few, none had a better reputation with the grunts of the Terran Defense Force than Captain Tony Richards. An imprint, Richards carried with him the experiences and memories of a very distant uncle, who’d survived the Battle of Britain as a decorated Spitfire pilot. Every measure of bravado, survival instinct, and seat-of-the-pants flying ability he brought to the fight amplified his own innate ability to something almost otherworldly. And Richards did it all with the grace and humility expected of an English gentleman.

  Leading a section of four Hurricanes, the swept-wing twin-tailed exospheric interceptors of the Indomitable, Richards swung the sleek vehicle to his right and dove towards the surface of Wolc. “Right, gents. We’ve got interceptors on the way and our close-air needs to get in there. Spread formation, inbound bandits at mark two, ten kilometers.”

  A bright flash of light, the implosion of the frigate Perkins, reflected ever so briefly on the Greys’ dart-like fighters. Three of them. At least we have the advantage.

  Richards licked his lips. “Visual contact. Two, stay on my wing. Three, split for the hunt.”

  Richards spun hard to the right, his wingman hugging close to his left wing as the other two fighters broke up and into a wide circle to the left with the intent of flanking the incoming Greys. Richards shot the departing fighters a glance. The maneuver played out perfectly. The targets swung into his reticle as planned. He smiled grimly and flicked the master arm switch for his weapon systems to active. “Fangs out. Let’s make things interesting, shall we?”

  Richards pivoted the Hurricane and met the approaching Greys in a head-on approach. Immediately, the Greys began to fire. Richards smiled. Neutral passes are for school, he thought, and swung the heavy exocraft into a tight descending turn before pulling hard for the vertical and engaging his main thrusters. The maneuver perfect, he slid into position on the rear of the Grey formation and immediately fingered his weapons release switch.

  “Fox One,” he called, like he was ordering a pint. Assured, calm, and business as usual. The ion-powered Battleaxe missile dropped from its weapons bay and accelerated to Mach Sixteen in the blink of an eye, impacting the far right Grey fighter in a spectacular explosion. “Splash one,” he confirmed the kill and the location of the radioactive debris.

  The Grey fighters hung together, pursuing Jenkins in Lancer Four by the looks of it. The lad had missed the turn timing again, just like in training. Richards nudged the fighter forward and cycled the weapons system. The Greys jinked and matched Jenkins’ every move like they were in the cockpit with the poor lad. He was not shaking them, and Richards nodded in morbid, detached admiration. Staying together made them a more lethal combination. Strength in numbers. Tactically perfect.

  “Two, tighten it up,” Richards said and saw his wingman pull in to within a few meters. “Now stay with me.”

  Richards pushed the throttle forward and targeted the trailing Grey fighter. The weapon system locked on, but before he could squeeze the trigger, the Grey fighters separated in opposite directions. What Delta vee! Richards thought. Bloody hell, they’re fast.

  As he swung the Hurricane to the left instinctively following the trailing Grey fighter, Jenkins’ Hurricane exploded in a blue cloud. “What the hell?”

  Lancer Four destroyed by convergent particle beams fired from both Grey fighters. The words flashed across his heads-up display. Listening to the computer would’ve been easier, but it only served to annoy the rakishly old-fashioned pilot.

  Richards blinked at the visual display. They both shot him, did they? “Three, where the bloody hell are you?”

  “Lead, Three, your six o’clock high at twenty miles. The lead Grey fighter is swinging to your six. I’m on my way.”

  Richards didn’t bother to look behind. “Two, defensive weapon engagement. Fire at will.” Bet you wish you’d had these, Uncl
e Max. Richard grinned as he saw the flashes from his wingman’s rear-mounted missiles and guns begin to fire. The Grey fighter exploded a millisecond later.

  “Splash two,” Richards’ wingman yelped into the radio.

  Richards yanked the Hurricane into a high-scissor engagement as the remaining Grey fighter began to juke away. Thumbing the EM cannon into operation, he waited until the Grey pilot found his rhythm, meaning that he was making the same swinging moves to throw off Richards. The problem was that a good pilot could also time the maneuver. Richards was an exceptional pilot, and by the end of the Grey fighter’s third juke Richard walked sixty electromagnetic kinetic rounds through the middle of his opponent’s aircraft.

  “Splash three,” Richards said with a smile. “Three, join up and scan for incoming fighters.”

  Richards looked to his displays. The Hokkaido is gone, Viraat hurting. “Indomitable, Lancer One vectors to mother.”

  “Be advised, Lancer One, you are clear to mother at mark five, distance three six zero.”

  Richards looked down on the swarming surface of Wolc. He checked his weapons stores and smiled. “Roger, Indomitable. We’ll be along shortly.” Punching the squadron frequency, he said, “Lads, I’ve got a better idea. How about some fish in a barrel?”

  * * * * *

  Thirty

  Don’t over think. Don’t over think. Alex Ulson watched the advancing Grey vehicles as he forced himself to breathe and not get lost in the moment. He looked down the line at the other four vehicles left in their little unit and wondered what Captain Shields was thinking. Stop it! Shaking his head to clear it, he went back to watching the advancing Greys. Think, Alex. What should you be doing?

  “Sir, lead Grey vehicle is ten thousand out, permission to fire?” His gunner asked.

  Beyond the vision blocks, he could see pine-like trees and more pine-like trees. A thin line of fire gave him sight of the valley, but it was at best ten meters wide. Why couldn’t this battle be fought at home? At least on the Llano Estacado of New Mexico he would not need a computer to see the enemy coming for miles and could engage them before they got close enough to use their weapons. The cover and concealment was better up here, though. They’d have a chance. “You heard the boss, Jefferson. She said kill everything that moves.”

  “What about the trees?”

  Ulson looked outside. The worst thing that could happen was they’d lose some of the concealment by knocking the massive conifers down. “Can’t be helped. Shoot what you can.”

  The main gun slewed to the right and Ulson heard Jefferson announce he had a target locked. There was a huge pine tree fifty meters from the end of the main gun. “You’re locked on the tree...”

  “On the way!” Jefferson yelled as he pulled the trigger. The round flung out of the tube, swerved around the trunk of the tree, tore out a cloud of branches, and continued down range to impact one of the lead vehicles about nine thousand meters away.

  “What the fuck?” Ulson asked quietly as he watched Jefferson slew the gun to another tank and fire, only to see the round correct itself slightly in mid-air. “Interface, we’re carrying maneuverable rounds?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. We are combat loaded with T540 sabot rounds. Every round onboard is capable of self-guided movement based on calculations from the targeting computer.”

  Ulson used his chin to select a frequency. “Six, this is One, over.”

  “Go ahead, One.” Captain Shields sounded like she was ordering coffee.

  “Um, ma’am, are we on secure comms?”

  Three seconds later, Shields answered. “Laser comm, Alex. What’s on your mind?”

  “Have your gunner lock on a target with the gun tube behind a tree and fire your main gun.”

  Shields snorted. “That’s the silliest….”

  “Do it, ma’am,” Ulson snapped. “You need to see this.”

  He turned in his seat and looked down the line. Slowly, Six’s main gun slewed behind a tree and fired. The connection was quiet for five seconds before he heard Shields in his ear again. “What in the hell? Did you know about this?”

  “About ten seconds before I called you, ma’am. What do we do now?”

  He looked through the vision blocks and could almost feel her eyes on him a full three hundred meters away. “Find better cover and protect those pathfinders.”

  Ulson looked at the mapping function on his station. “I’ve got a good-sized rock formation at two six three from my position at three hundred meters. It’s good cover.”

  “Stay put, Alex.”

  From the rock formation, he’d have a decent view of a majority of the valley. The protective cover of the rocks, as well as the built-in camouflage of the trees and rocks would break up the outlines of the Slammers and make them more difficult to hit. The downslope rocks would keep the Greys away, too. Ulson saw branches and bark flying through the air now. Their position lay within weapons range of the Grey vehicles.

  PING!

  “What the-”

  PING! PING! The entire vehicle vibrated. More impacts followed and Ulson grabbed at his harness to steady himself. “Interface report.”

  “We have been hit by fourteen rounds so far, Lieutenant. Three of which hit the front slope of the turret and did not penetrate. That was the cause of the harmonic vibrations.”

  “Damage report?”

  “Negligible.”

  In front of his knees, Jefferson sat in the gunner’s position laying down an impressive rate of fire. Slew turret, settle the gun, range the target, and then engage the target. “Jefferson, how many rounds we got left?”

  “Enough for the whole Grey regiment, sir.”

  Doubt that, Ulson thought. The beauty of an electromagnetic rail gun was that the massive quantities of explosive propellant to fling projectiles were not necessary. As such, carrying dart-like penetrators alone made it possible to carry much more ammunition than the Slammers predecessors. “Lay back a little bit. We’re gonna be moving soon.”

  “What?”

  Ulson realized the voice was Private First Class Ashby, his communications specialist who hadn’t said a word since the drop. “I said, we’ll be moving soon, Ashby.”

  “But Captain Shields told you…us to stay put.” Ashby clutched the frame of the communications console so tightly his gloves creaked. “You’re not thinking of moving, sir?”

  Ulson grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking, Ashby. Get me Three on a private channel.”

  “Button two, sir.” Ashby seemed to sink into the comm seat and attempt to become one with the wall of the turret.

  “Three this is One, you read me Sullivan?”

  It took a moment, but Three’s commander answered. “Sir?”

  “We’re going to move in a minute. There’s a rock outcropping about three hundred meters from my position where we can suppress the whole flank of those Greys. When I move, you follow. Got it?”

  “Roger,” Sullivan answered just as Ulson flipped frequencies.

  “Six, this is One.”

  “One, Six, over.” Captain Shields snapped.

  “Six, request covering fire.”

  “You’re not moving, Alex. I told you to stay put.”

  Ulson licked his lips. “Ma’am, I’ve got a position about three hundred meters away that will give me and Three cover and concealment and a view of the whole Grey attack. We can open up their flank.”

  Shields didn’t respond for a moment. He knew she was checking his report, confirming it for herself and weighing the possibilities. “One, Six. Let me know when you get in position. Good hunting.”

  * * * * *

  Thirty-One

  “You’re not coming?”

  Tallenaara looked up from her glass-topped computer desk and waved her light pen to change the orientation of the building elevation she’d been toying with. Teaching brought her immense satisfaction and more than ample time to explore her own creativity. “Is it required?”

  “Not a
t all,” Winston Mathers said. “I thought you might be interested to hear what the Prelate has to say.”

  Tally looked down again. “I’m very busy.”

  “Doodling the afternoon away, yes, you are quite busy.” Mathers’ smile faded. “I don’t want to sound old and jaded, but I remember watching the two of you on campus years ago. There was something about you. Something that transcended everything around us. Like we were watching two cultures finally starting to intersect. That our world was changing right before our very eyes.”

  Tally closed her eyes and felt her teeth pinching her bottom lip. “It was a long time ago, Winston. And I’m not ready to see him.”

  “I understand.” Mathers leaned away from the door frame. “I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes up.” She heard him whistling his same four bars of Jack Benny down the hallway before the surreal quiet of the building gradually surrounded her. Classes were cancelled for the afternoon with the Prelate...Andrew on campus.

  You are ready to see him; you’re just avoiding him. She chided herself as she sipped the strong Earl Grey tea. Why shouldn’t I avoid him? Out of spite, or am I playing hard to get? She shook her head and turned the elevation on her desk to a new angle and began to draw. Melding the lines from idea to reality, her mind in complete control of her hand as the vision took form in her imagination. A vision that she could see made into reality someday.

  “Is that why you’re studying architecture?” Andrew had asked one summer day while sitting on the long green grass of the inner quadrangle. “You’re talented enough to be an artist, Tally. What brought you to architecture?”

  “What I draw can be made into reality.” She’d not even looked up from the paper.