Runs In The Family
Page 33
“Lead, Two. There’s not too much ya can show me, ya know?”
Richards smiled. Good girl. “Watch and learn, young one.” There were two clicks in his ears. Richards pulled the exocraft into a tighter turn to the right. Airspeed bleeding off slowly, the Hurricane’s nose pointed slightly behind the blinking target of the Grey Darts. Sliding across their contrails about twenty kilometers behind the Darts, Richards snapped the Hurricane into a tight left turn and let the nose of the Hurricane dip towards the planet.
<
“Weapons free. One Streaker per target.” The AIM12-X Streaker got its name during its experimental test phase on Luna. A technician supposedly told the Prelate’s Council the missile packed enough propellant on board to blow someone right out of their clothes. Richards just didn’t get Luna humor. “Fire.”
<
Richards felt nothing as the six missiles fell into the hypersonic slipstream and ignited towards their targets. Swinging the nose of the Hurricane up and to the right, he watched the missiles trailing the six Grey fighters and then three very distinct impacts. The fighters held their tight position. Six more missiles from Boyd were trailing. Another three soundless explosions and the Grey fighters were no more. A bright flash from behind alerted Richards and he leveled the big interceptor’s wings.
<
“Danger from the shockwave?”
<
“EMP?” Richards asked and chided himself. The Hurricane would’ve succumbed to power failure if there had been any danger. The big interceptor was hardened against electromagnetic pulse and a myriad of other potential problems.
“EMP is affecting approximately one hundred thirty-thousand citizens and TDF personnel on the ground. There are approximately fifty thousand unaffected Grey vehicles in those affected areas.>>
“That’s not a good start,” Richards said out loud. The Greys were seemingly unaffected by just about anything save armed resistance. An area of electromagnetic pulse rendering electronic systems useless on Libretto meant a significant hole in the newborn TDF attack.
“Lead, Two. I reported the nudet.”
And just who the hell came up with nudet? Must we shorten everything? Brevity had its place, but remembering a zillion acronyms and shortened sayings was just too much. “Roger, Two. Level out and prepare to descend. Saber Six is in position six hundred kilometers ahead. Take the lead this time.”
“You’re joking, right?” Boyd replied.
“I’m not. Rather nice shooting back there. Take us in.” Richards retarded the throttle slightly, allowing Boyd to slip into the lead off his right shoulder. Watching Boyd’s wing, Richards quieted his mind for a moment and just enjoyed flying again. His imprinted memories of flying ghastly propeller-driven canvas airplanes in the Great War brought a smile to his face. Flying used to be a rather simple thing. None of these computers and gadgets. Just the wind in his face and a stick and throttle. Every little ripple in the air traveled from the wingtips through the fuselage to his hands and feet, not like this inertial-dampening zero gravity environment that made it nearly impossible to get his bearings. Nothing like this at all, Richards thought.
Heading east, the curving horizon of Libretto and the dark starless sky of low orbit began to slowly recede. The sun rose in the distance, and Saber Six and her band of miscreants were already enjoying a warm autumn morning. Richards looked up into the sky above to see the Ticonderoga receding westward. The bright dot shimmered at one edge, and Richards knew Ticonderoga was firing. For a few minutes Ticonderoga and her crew would be fighting for their lives until the Greys passed in the opposite direction above them. Orbital dynamics are quite the bitch, Richards thought with a smirk.
Turning his head back to the nose of his interceptor, Richards stayed locked on Boyd’s wing with barely a thought in his mind except praying Ticonderoga survived the next few minutes.
* * * * *
Sixty
“Class II surface detonation,” one of Garrett’s crew called. Captain Porterman, Garrett remembered. “Sir, I have a Class II surface detonation relayed from Orbital One.”
Orbital One was a micro-satellite dispatched from Ticonderoga at a stationary orbit above Saber Six’s area of operations. Laser burst communications and geospatial intelligence was the primary mission of the device, though having an onboard capability to detect infrared emissions was a distinct benefit. Garrett nodded at Porterman. “I guess that validates your ideas, Porterman.”
The young captain grinned. “I’ll have a spectral analysis on the explosion in a few minutes. There’s a little wind at altitude causing interference. I’ve relayed the explosion’s coordinates to Saber Six. Distance is roughly twenty kilometers north-northwest of their planned drop zone, sir.”
Garrett nodded. “Get me what you can on it. Any speculation?”
“Errant round? Something on the ground? Really don’t have a clue, sir.” Porterman turned back to his screen. “Until I get a spectral, I’ve got nothing but speculation, sir.”
Garrett turned to another operator. “Time to contact with the Jack?”
“Three minutes, sir.”
We’re not going to have time to run this operation from Ticonderoga when that Jack arrives, Garrett thought. If I had to do this again, I’d find a way to command it either closer in or further away. The thought triggered another one Garrett didn’t want to pursue, but found himself scrolling the view to the last known location of the 2nd Armored Regiment. They were taking heavy fire. Sixty-five percent combat effective at the present time. He zoomed in the view and searched for Bullet Six. He found the vehicle. Destroyed? Garrett thought with genuine surprise. Who’s in command? What can we do to give that regiment more support? Or a fighting chance?
“Sir, I’ve got movement north of Bullet Six.”
North? Garrett swung the view to the north. “Where?”
“Sixty kilometers to the north, multiple contacts moving south at…a hundred kilometers per hour…now multiple contacts at seventy-five kilometers per hour,” Porterman reported. “Looks like a counterattack, sir. That explosion triggered something.”
No shit, Garrett thought. “Any birds in the area?”
“Just Lancer Flight, sir.”
Garrett looked at the map. Committing Lancer Flight leaves Captain Shields without air cover. Committing Captain Shields' cavalry to intercept the counterattack is moderately risky. They would be outnumbered at least three to one. Combine them with the exo squadron and it might work. There were no guarantees. He reached for the console and triggered a private line to Shields.
“Saber Six, Looking Glass on private. Sending you a drop order now. Intercept a sizeable Grey counterattack on remnants of Bullet Six’s position from the north. Bullet Six is down. I’m committing air cover to you. Acknowledge.”
“Looking Glass, Saber Six. Drop order confirmed, and Rhinos are at atmospheric interface. Will report on station. Saber Six out.”
Garrett clicked his microphone twice in response. In three minutes they’d be on the ground, and he’d be up here watching. Wishing he could do more. He clicked over to Richards’ frequency. “Lancer One, Looking Glass. Close air mission order on the way. Acknowledge.”
“Roger, Looking Glass, but won’t I be leaving my poor ground-hugging charges behind?”
Garrett couldn’t help but smile. “Tony, I’m a little more than one minute from engaging the Greys myself. They’re coming with you. This is an all or nothing to protect the regiment.”
“Right. Well, good hunting, sir. See you in about ninety-six minutes, then?”
“Count on it, you limey bastard.”
Richards clicked his microphone twice in response.
“Good luck, Tony,” Garrett said to no one.
Turning to his battle captains, he said, “Time to contact?”
“Forty-two seconds, sir. The Greys have commenced
firing.”
Garrett cinched his restraining belt across his lap and cued the admiral’s frequency. “Sir, cavalry is one minute from the ground and the CAS is converging on Grey counterattack. Greys appear to be converging on that Class II detonation site. We’re going to defend it and the regiment’s position with Task Force Six Two.”
“Let me know what you find out,” Nather growled. Garrett heard him issuing firing orders before the connection terminated. His console flared again with an inbound transmission from Richards. “Go, Lancer One.”
“I’ve got BVR locks.”
“What?” Garrett blinked. “You got locks on Grey aircraft? Beyond visual range? Those fighters are usually stealthed.”
“Not their bombers.”
Garrett felt a cold sweat stream down his back. Nukes. “Fire on all targets. Be prepared for fighter escorts.”
“Way ahead of you, Looking Glass,” Richards chirped. “Lancer Flight commencing fire.”
Porterman looked over. “Sir, we have no way of knowing from this range if those targets are real bombers or drones.”
Another operator looked up. “Oh please, Porterman. The Greys don’t have drones in their order of battle. If they do, then why haven’t they used them in this entire war? Why now?” The operator looked at Garrett. She was young, blonde, and wore pilot’s wings on her chest. “Sir, Captain Young. They’re not drones, but they might not be bombers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Lambs,” Young said.
Garrett was about to respond when the 1-MC rang.
<
The first impacts were little more than a ripple. Every surface of the Ticonderoga rippled as her massive ion cannons returned fire alongside her conventional twelve-inch naval guns. Every impact meant a potential breach in the hull of the Ticonderoga. One blast door not secured and the whole damn platform could go up in a heartbeat. Garrett thumbed over to the command net and heard Connelly screaming orders at the fighter and interceptor squadrons to attack.
Let them go, he thought. Keep your head in your fight. Connelly was fighting the Greys as best he could. Garrett listened painfully to reports of his men being blown out of the sky through the persistent impacts of Grey rounds on the Ticonderoga. Her shields wavered only slightly towards the end of the passing engagement. The fighters and exo suffered badly. As the rate of fire being received by the Ticonderoga wavered and then fell to nothing at the end of the four-minute engagement, Garrett realized his hands were cramped against the console. “Damage report,” he said automatically, then chastised himself. He wasn’t on the command bridge now.
Porterman replied, “All systems are functional. Saber Six is on the ground. I have a preliminary spectral report from the microsat, sir. You’re not going to believe it.”
Garrett stood up from the console, aware that Nather’s eyes were on him from the command bridge. He walked over to Porterman and Young and leaned over the console.
“Try me.”
* * * * *
Sixty-One
At the first sign of a breathable atmosphere, Mairin swung open the commander’s hatch on the Slammer and stood. Falling at terminal velocity and stabilized by repulsors on the bottom of the massive tank, the sensation was like floating. She engaged her neurals into the command system of the Slammer by standard operating procedure and then cued a map in her helmet. Additional datamarks pinged, and she blinked them away until she realized what they were.
The big tree she and Tally lunched under every time they hiked. Where they made love. Another site cued from the south shore of the lake where they’d camped one night under the stars. Mairin wanted to blink them away, but she kept them and filed them. They might serve as some tactically important point. She’d have to call artillery on them. Another dagger to her heart that would leave a reeking stench of damnation smeared on her relationship with Tallenaara. Of course, now the prelate was dead, and there was no news about his consort-to-be. Assuming the worst was easy, yet Mairin didn’t want to think about it. Now or ever. More data points blinked in her helmet visor, but the terrain below was obscured by a heavy band of mist.
As the Slammer began to track forward and leave the screen of the mists, Mairin saw another marker blink into life exactly where a dark smear of smoke boiled up from the thick forests. The pumping station, she thought. That’s the place to start.
“Guidons, this is Six, rally point is that fire up ahead. Form up in platoon coils approximately three thousand meters to the south east, behind the rolling terrain. We’ll group there and see if we can’t determine what hit that target. Acknowledge.”
One by one her platoon leaders checked in, followed by Ulson in his role as Executive Officer. He sounded as resilient as ever, and Mairin was glad he’d shaken off the Ashland fiasco. She knew he would make an excellent commander one day. Scanning the terrain, Mairin saw no indications of Grey vehicles or assault and all friendly vehicles, and positions were well displayed to her southwest. The regiments there were being hammered. Is this a CSAR location? She cued the command frequency. “Looking Glass, this is Saber Six. Identify all CSAR missions in my AO, over.”
Fifteen agonizing seconds passed. “Negative on all, Six.” The transmission was filled with static and shouting voices in the background. How badly had the Ticonderoga been hit?
“Ma’am, I’ve got an infrared signature. Lone biped leaving that fire to the north-northwest. Interface confirms. I think we’ve identified the culprit.”
Mairin looked at the slowly moving figure for several moments and then backed the tactical view out to a much broader field. The Greys were moving towards the fire. “Interface, analysis of Grey movement.”
<
Why would the Greys want the pumping station? It’s just an oil station. Mairin felt her mouth open. They want the oil. Tally said that, didn’t she? For what? Oh shit. What if that is the target? “Interface on private.”
The private connection clicked. <
“I need a combat intelligence query. Flash priority. Do you have substantial connection to the Ticonderoga?”
<
Mairin chewed her lower lip for a moment. What the hell? “Known fossil fuel deposits on planets that have been attacked by the Greys in the last five years.”
<
Holy shit. “Relay that to Thunder Six. The Greys are likely targeting petroleum and fossil fuel deposits. Libretto has a significant oil resource.” Mairin punched another few buttons. “Trace all of the known pumping stations connected to the burning one in front of us.”
<
“Overlay all of the known Grey positions to this image.” Immediately, Mairin could see that the Greys had good intelligence, but were misplaced around the planet in areas. Or were they? What if they were waiting for something to cue their attacks? She looked up at the smoldering fire and grinned. “They need the oil and they’re waiting for something to catch fire to track it down.”
<
“Relay everything we’ve talked about.” Mairin watched the tops of the trees reaching up to the Slammer as they hovered in mid-air. “Location of our lone target?”
<
Mairin dispatched First Platoon to close with and identify the target. As they did she drew up a hasty plan to defend the destroyed pumping station. Scrolling the map, she noticed for the first time how close the cabin was, merely ten kilometers away
across the lake. She looked up in the direction of the cabin and directed Booker to bring the Slammer to treetop level. The lone white dot on the distant shore made her eyes well with tears. What if the Greys destroy it?
That’s not going to happen, Mairin.
She blinked. What’s that supposed to mean?
You’re not going to let that happen. Are you?
No, Mairin said silently and wiped her screen. They’d assault across the lake and take up a defensive position on the far side in the craggy hills to the north. Where Tally said she’d seen a stag as big as an autocar. Tally. Mairin blinked away the tear.
“Black Six, this is White One, over?”
The transmission brought Mairin back to reality. “Go ahead, White One.”
“Um, ma’am, you’re going to want to come up here.”
“You’ve got that lone target?” No response.
“Ma’am, get up here. Please.”
Shit! Mairin chinned to the Ulson’s private channel. “You hold everyone here. I’ll go up there and see what’s the problem.”
“Roger, ma’am.”
Mairin leaned down into the tank. “Booker, get us to ground level and navigate to White One. Gunner, index sabot.”
“Sabot indexed and loaded.”
The Slammer settled through the tree limbs to the moist floor and began to slide forward through the trees. Mairin stood in the hatch and could see the Slammers of First Platoon in the distance. As her tank approached, Mairin was aware of screaming coming from the vehicles ahead. They were arranged in a tight coil with their guntubes out on the perimeter. Looking into the space between the Slammers, Mairin saw the dirty and torn coveralls of a Terran Defense Force officer. His slick bald skull gleamed in a stream of morning sunlight.
What in the hell is he doing here? Mairin climbed up out of the hatch. “Conner, alert command that I have sighting on Colonel Coffey at this location and he appears to be either lost or injured. Call for immediate retrieval.”