by Ryk Brown
“Ready on the broadside cannons.”
“We’ll have a solution in five seconds,” Lieutenant Commander Kessel replied.
“Broadsides when ready…”
“Both targets are trying to raise shields and bring their guns on us,” the sensor operator warned. “They’re deploying missile launchers as well…”
“I have a solution,” the tactical officer reported. “Firing port broadside cannons.”
Captain Roselle watched the port camera view screen as red-orange balls of plasma energy streaked away from his ship.
“Massive energy signature in the estimated location of the Jung battleship, sir,” Ensign Marka reported from the sensor station.
“Firing starboard broadside cannons,” the tactical officer reported.
“…Detecting debris consistent with a Jung battleship… Believe the target is destroyed, sir,” Ensign Marka continued. “Direct hits on the port target. She’s lost her starboard shields, all of them aft of midship.”
“Flash, target her back half,” Commander Ellison instructed his port weapons controller. “Continue firing, Lieutenant Commander.”
“Starboard target is bringing her missile launchers onto us. Her shields are… Oh! Direct hits! Midship, walking forward! She didn’t get her shields up fast enough, Commander! Starboard target is breaking apart!”
“Helm, wide circle to port to keep our broadside cannons on the port target,” Commander Ellison ordered.
“Incoming message from the Celestia,” Ensign Jullen reported from the Jar-Benakh’s comm station. “Relay from Cobra One. All Jung frigates destroyed.”
“That was fast,” Captain Roselle commented, as he sat in his command chair and watched his crew continue the attack. “I guess Nash trained them well.”
“Direct hits to port target’s main propulsion!” Ensign Marka reported. “Her mains are down, and she’s venting propellant. She’s trying to bring her aft missile launcher onto us…”
“I don’t think so,” Sergeant Garza muttered as he retargeted two of his thirteen guns onto the enemy cruiser’s aft missile launcher and pressed the firing button.
“Nice shot, Flash!” Ensign Marka reported from the sensor station. “Aft missile launcher is destroyed.”
“What about her forward launcher?” Commander Ellison inquired.
“I think it’s damaged, sir,” Ensign Marka replied. “It’s half deployed and it doesn’t appear to… Wait… Port target’s last shields are down! She’s taking all incoming dir… She’s coming apart as well!” Ensign Marka leaned back in his seat, turning to look at his commander, a big grin on his face. “Port target is destroyed, sir.”
“Any word on the battle platform?” Commander Ellison asked his communications officer.
“No, sir,” Ensign Jullen replied, “not yet.”
“Jump in, fire missiles, jump out. Repeat,” Loki said in a disinterested tone.
“So?”
“I think I’d rather be dogfighting.”
“Not me,” Loki replied. “This is far less risky.”
“And far less exciting.” Josh sighed. “What exciting mission did you fly today, Ensign Hayes?” he began in mocking fashion. “Well, I pressed a button that caused my ship to automatically jump into the atmosphere of an enemy-held planet. Then my partner pressed some more buttons, which destroyed four surface-to-orbit missile sites about a hundred kilometers away. Oh, but I did get to see the Aurora blow the crap out of a few bases from orbit,” he added, pointing ahead and to their right, as two columns of yellow-orange super-heated rail gun rounds streamed down from the sky, slamming into their targets on the surface and sending columns of smoke and dust rising into the air. “Yup, all very exciting.”
Loki sighed. “Stop complaining and jump us to the next group of targets.”
“Confirmation from Jumper Three,” Naralena reported. “The battle platform has been destroyed.”
“First two surface targets have been destroyed,” Jessica announced from the Aurora’s tactical station.
“Multiple jump flashes at low altitude over the surface of Lindera,” Mister Navashee reported from the sensor station. “Combat Jumpers have started the Ghatazhak insertion.”
“That’s everyone,” Jessica surmised.
“Time to CNS completion?” Nathan inquired.
“Two minutes,” Naralena replied.
“Very well,” Nathan said. “Report the destruction of all Jung space borne assets to Commander Telles on Combat One, and let him know when the CNS-sats will be online.”
“Aye, sir.” Naralena replied.
“Next target in two minutes,” Jessica reported.
“Picking up Jung fighters in the area of the next target group. Flight of six,” Mister Navashee reported.
“Relay the tracks to flight ops and launch fighters.”
“Aye, sir,” Mister Navashee replied.
“Eagle One, ready in starboard one.” Commander Goodreau reported over his helmet comms.
“Eagle Two, ready in starboard two,” the commander’s wingman reported.
Commander Goodreau scanned his displays one last time as the rest of his flight of four Super Eagles reported their ready status to the fighter launch controller.
“Eagles One through Four, stand by to launch in sequence, starboard tubes,” the fighter launch controller replied.
Commander Goodreau armed his maneuvering systems. The doors in front of his Super Eagle split down the middle and swung open away from the nose of his ship.
“In five…” the launch controller began.
The lights inside the launch tube that stretched out before him began to glow softly, increasing slowly in their intensity.
“…Four…”
He selected a jump range of four hundred kilometers.
“…Three…”
The commander then pushed the jump range to the other three fighters in his group, so that they would select the same altitude at which to come out of their jump down to the atmosphere of Lindera.
“…Two…”
Finally, the commander armed his main propulsion system…
“…One…”
…and tugged at his restraint harness.
“…Launch.”
The commander’s Super Eagle shot out of the launch airlock and down the launch tube toward the exit, pushing the commander against his seat. The lights inside the tunnel slid past him in a blur, and two seconds later his fighter was clear of the tube. “Eagle One, away,” he reported as he pushed his flight control stick to the left and fired his main drive.
“Eagle Two, away,” the voice of his wingman, Ensign Giortone announced as his ship shot out the number two starboard launch tube.
“Eagle Three, away,” the commander heard as he angled his ship downward toward the gray and brown moon below them.
“Eagle Four, away.”
“Tango flight, departing,” the commander announced over the comm-channel. The announcement signified that the group of four fighters was now operating as a single element, under the command of Commander Goodreau. “Join up.”
“Two up.”
“Three up.”
“Four up.”
Commander Goodreau checked his approach. His auto-flight system had locked onto the descent path for their intercept jump. He pressed the auto-flight button and released his grip on the flight control stick. After glancing at his tactical data link display to verify his formation, he keyed his mic. “Auto-flight engaged. First jump in three.”
Seconds later, his canopy turned opaque. One second after that, his ship began to buffet mildly from the sudden impact with the relatively thin atmosphere of Lindera.
The commander paid no attention to the view outside his canopy as it cleared, his attention focused on his displays. His auto-flight had already zeroed his throttle and was pulling him level. “Six targets. One thousand kilometers. Four two closure,” he announced as his speed brakes engaged. “Odds target left, evens
right.” He rolled his jump range selector. “High-low breaks, alternating. Eight-hundred-click jump to intercept in three,” he said as he pressed the jump button to engage the group auto-jump sequencer.
Three seconds later, all four Super Eagles disappeared in four blue-white flashes of light.
When the commander’s canopy cleared a second later, he was still too far away to see his approaching targets. “Tango flight, engage,” he ordered as he took control of his Super Eagle and banked slightly left. He pressed the firing button on his flight control stick, sending two bolts of red-orange plasma streaking forward from either side of his fighter’s nose. He fired two more times, sending a total of six plasma bolts toward the first target. Shots from his wingman streaked past him from behind and below him to his right. As he turned his ship further left to engage the third target, his first few shots struck the approaching Jung fighter more than fifty kilometers ahead of him, engulfing the enemy craft in plasma energy that caused it to break apart and explode.
He never saw it. All the commander saw was two of the three icons on his threat display disappear. “One, splash one,” he reported.
“Three, splash one.”
“I’ve got the third,” the commander announced, as Eagles Two and Four reported their kills over the comms. Two seconds later, he fired again…three times, and the third icon disappeared from his threat display. “One, splash two,” he reported as he pulled back on his flight control stick to start climbing. “One and Three, disengaging and climbing.”
“Two and four, disengaging and climbing,” the leader of the second element, Lieutenant Jarso reported.
“One, turning to one four seven, climbing to ten five. Tango flight join up on me.”
“Three, on your wing.”
“Two and four, on our way.”
A few seconds later, Eagles Two and Four appeared to the commander’s left in a pair of blue-white jump flashes. The commander keyed his mic again to report to flight control on the Aurora, high above them in orbit over Lindera. “Aurora Flight, Tango Leader. Splash six. Requesting new targets.”
“Tango Leader, Aurora Flight. No more contacts in your operating area. Climb to two zero and assume perimeter patrol. Provide air support as needed. Ghatazhak are on the ground and marines are inbound.”
“Aurora Flight, Tango Leader. Climbing to two zero and assuming overhead cover patrol until advised.” The commander unkeyed his mic so that he could talk on the ship-to-ship intercom to the rest of his flight. “Well, that wasn’t much of a challenge, was it?”
“It was sort of fun, though,” Lieutenant Jarso commented. “I must admit, these ships are rather nice.”
“Please, don’t tell Major Prechitt that,” Commander Goodreau said. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
* * *
“With each mission, we gain new insights into our own abilities,” Admiral Dumar explained to President Scott on the view screen on the admiral’s office wall. “At Beta Hydri, we learned that a battleship can take down a damaged battle platform. At Alula Australis, we learned that it can simultaneously engage and destroy two Jung cruisers, and by Captain Roselle’s accounts, perhaps more. In fact, he believes that his ship would prevail in a slug-out with another battleship. We have tested the Super Falcons, our new marines, our Super Eagles, even our use of boxcars to quickly insert Kalibri gunships into the atmosphere of the target world. On Logan, those gunships were indispensable.”
“Congratulations on 61 Virginis,” President Scott said. “Logan’s industrial and labor base is going to be a great asset to the Alliance.”
“Then they have petitioned to join?”
“We received their request less than an hour ago.”
“I will arrange for a regular jump-comm link between Earth and Sol, as soon as the next drone is completed.”
“Thank you,” the president replied. “Speaking of petitions, I’m afraid I have bad news.”
“Galiardi?”
“Indeed. It seems his Strength Now party is growing at a much faster rate than expected. People are easily buying into the fear and distrust that Galiardi is spreading.”
“Even after all that we have accomplished, and in such a short time,” the admiral commented with disappointment.
“Things are still pretty rough down here, Admiral. Galiardi is feeding their anger and molding it into a call for action, a call for strength.”
“I believe our campaigns have demonstrated strength beyond reasonable doubt,” Admiral Dumar insisted.
“But people are dying in the process,” President Scott reminded him. “Certainly not in the numbers experienced previously, but Galiardi has convinced them that no one needs to die while we build up a strong defense.”
Admiral Dumar shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe that a man with as much military training and experience as Mister Galiardi could possibly disagree with what we are doing. Does he not realize that in order to build a strong defense, he needs time? We are giving him that time.”
“He knows damn well,” President Scott insisted. “I still believe he is using this as a stepping stone to something. Exactly what, I have yet to determine.”
Admiral Dumar sighed. “How long do we have?”
“I’m afraid his people submitted the petition this morning. Verification and review should take no more than a week, after which the merits of the petition will be debated in the Coalition Congress.”
“And how long will that take?”
“Days, weeks, months… There’s no way to know for sure,” President Scott admitted. “A lot depends on the arguments raised. My staff has done some back channel checking, and we believe Congress is evenly split.”
“Your best guess?”
“I think this one will go quickly, ten days to a few weeks at the most. It is a hot topic, one that no one will want left undecided for long.”
Dumar thought for a moment. “It takes two years to build a Jung frigate in the Tau Ceti shipyards. That would require a forty-light-year Jung-free buffer zone, just to get four frigates. Battleships would take twice as long. Even if we doubled up our labor force and were able to produce them in half the time, that’s still only eight frigates, along with the five ships we have. Thirteen ships, against a fleet of possibly hundreds.”
“I am aware.”
“Not to mention that the Jung could be working on their own jump drive as we speak.”
“I will argue your points in Congress when the time comes, Admiral,” the president promised. “Of that you can be certain.”
“Thank you, Mister President.”
“How many more systems are left before you reach your next goal of thirty light years?”
“41 Arae and Kappa Ceti,” the admiral replied.
“I’m familiar with Kappa Ceti,” the president said. “Another big industrial base with a large and highly skilled population who are less than pleased with Jung occupation. However, I am not familiar with 41 Arae.”
“A binary system twenty-eight and a half light years from Sol. No planets, just a lot of asteroids. One rather large one has some Jung facilities on it. It’s basically another logistical point, much like Mu Cassiopeiae. We plan to strike in similar fashion, taking out the entire asteroid with jump KKVs. Kappa Ceti will be a different story, however. There are a few more ships, and a significant Jung presence on the surface of Terravine.”
“Well, good luck to you, Admiral,” the president said.
“To you as well, sir,” the Admiral replied. “I believe you will need it more than I.”
* * *
“Current marine force strength is at six thousand seven hundred and fifty-two,” Master Sergeant Jahal told his commander.
Commander Telles sat in his office chair, looking across the desk at his master sergeant. “I thought class eight was graduating in two days?”
“They are, at which point their force strength will be seven thousand seven hundred and forty-five.”
“Only
seven washouts?”
“Six and a failure.”
“Who?” the commander wondered.
“Recruit Daymon,” Master Sergeant Jahal replied. “The one you promoted to advanced training.”
Commander Telles raised an eyebrow, noting his friend’s jab. “What did he fail?”
“Both written and psych press.”
“Did you offer him a retest?” the commander asked.
“Of course. He passed the psych test the second time, but he still failed the written.”
“How is that possible?” the commander wondered. “He passed the entrance exam, did he not?”
“I can only assume so. However, we do not administer them. The local recruiters on their homeworlds do.”
“You think he cheated?”
“Or a recruiter changed the score for him,” the master sergeant said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Commander Telles picked up his data pad and called up Recruit Daymon’s test scores. “Did you look at his test answers?”
“Failing is failing,” the master sergeant insisted. “I don’t care which answers he got wrong. All I care about is that he’s not smart enough for the job.”
“You’re probably correct about that,” the commander agreed. “After all, he wasn’t smart enough to answer incorrectly on the same questions on both tests.”
“What do you mean?”
Commander Telles handed him the data pad. “Either he is incredibly stupid, or he wanted to wash out.”
“Why?” the master sergeant wondered. “He was two days from graduating.”
“Maybe he lost his nerve,” the commander suggested.
Master Sergeant Jahal thought for a moment. “He was one of the recruits helping to unload the wounded from Logan. You think that spooked him?”
“Possibly,” the commander said. “It does not matter. He was a volunteer. If he no longer wishes to be a marine, that is his choice. Better his change of heart was discovered now, than in the middle of battle. See to it that he is provided transport back to his world.”
“It will take a few days to cycle him out. Meanwhile, he will be moved to off-base barracks for civilian personnel.”