Archangel One

by Evan Currie

  “We’ve been targeted!”

  He glared over at the tactical control section. “Well, target them back! Fire when we have a secure lock!”

  “Yes, Commander!”

  Archangel One

  “Well, that makes their position clear,” Steph said as the lock-on alarm sounded. “Range to enemy . . . thirty light-seconds and closing fast. We’re in the knife zone, boys and girls, best start evasive actions. Weapons free, engage at will.”

  Steph felt a bit of a shift in the deck of the fighter as Tyke followed orders, peeling away from the formation with Alex following close behind. He could see the others on the screen, wheeling away from their position in unpredictable patterns. In his old fighter, he’d have been slammed all around by the maneuvers they were pulling.

  Steph couldn’t really decide if he preferred the old way or the new. There were definite advantages to being able to casually walk around while the fighter was pulling insanely high-G maneuvers, but damn it, he missed the connection to the craft.

  It’s like a muscle car with an automatic transmission—sure, it’s better in every measurable way, but it just ain’t right.

  He knew he would always miss that visceral connection to the fighter he got in the old school, but Steph was a realist as much as he was anything else.

  He’d get used to the new.

  He just wouldn’t like it.

  Hell, Steph had zero doubts that he would grow to love the new. It was an amazing system, and it checked every box a pilot could want.

  He just felt an odd melancholy, thinking about what used to be.

  “Targeting the lead destroyer,” Tyke said, shaking him from his reverie. “Cover me on the way in, Noire.”

  Steph castigated himself for the distraction that had occupied his brain for those few seconds and focused on the action as it unfolded before him.

  “You got it, Tyke.”

  Archangel One rolled hard over, swinging sharply back onto an attack vector as the gunboat’s sensors screamed at them, a laser cutting through the space where they had been.

  Steph made a couple quick adjustments based on the scans he’d taken. “Lasers only, Tyke. We want to hold back our capabilities.”

  “Roger. Lasers only. Target is locked, I have tone. Archangel Lead, beams beams beams.”

  Twin lasers lanced out from the fighter as they flashed past the destroyer, raking the flank of the warship viciously from stem to stern. Vapor exploded out from the ship, chunks of armor blowing away from the destroyer where the hull was weakened by the beams.

  Tyke twisted the fighter hard about as they passed the stern of the destroyer, angling in on the next as he noted that Alex had a bit of a trajectory edge on him due to the course shift.

  “Next one is yours, Noire,” he said. “I’ll follow you in.”

  “Roger, Lead, Two has tone . . . beams beams beams.”

  Berkan Fal

  Hirik grabbed a nearby console to steady himself as shudders ran through the ship, shock running through him even as it did through the Fal itself.

  “Destroy them!” he ordered as the unknown ships ripped past his destroyer squadron at high speed, twisting through space faster than anything he’d ever seen.

  It wasn’t their closing rates that were so impressive, he realized quickly, but the shifts in acceleration as they made evasive actions. The smaller vessels were proving damn near impossible for his defense grid to lock onto and, even worse, when they did get a lock, the damn things moved out of position before lasers could travel the intervening space.

  They aren’t Imperials, that’s certain, he thought grimly as another shudder tore through his ship. Imperials weren’t this fast. They didn’t need to be. They had the power and armor to just slug it out at close range if anyone was stupid enough to engage them there.

  “Break formation! Change course,” he ordered. “Scatter the enemy ships, hunt them down individually! As small as they are, they won’t be able to take much punishment.”

  The destroyer squadron broke formation on orders, each twisting in pursuit of one of the fighters they’d been assaulted by.

  Hirik pointed to the lead ship, the one from which the original signal had come. “That one, follow that one.”

  “The Selka is already assigned—”

  “I don’t care. Two ships on him is fine; that one is the leader,” Hirik snapped.

  “As you command.”

  The destroyer twisted in space, warping the fabric of the universe violently to change directions as swiftly as possible. All lasers were firing, trying to bracket the speeding target that was staying out ahead of them.

  “The enemy ships are holding in pairs,” his second observed. “Interesting doctrine.”

  “We’ll salvage their computer systems to determine why once they’ve been defeated,” Hirik growled. “Worry about the present in the present, leave the future to care for itself.”

  “Yes my commander.”

  The whine of laser capacitors discharging managed to filter in through the armor and insulation surrounding the crew as dozens of powerful beams erupted from the Fal and lanced through space toward their targets.

  Archangel One

  “We’ve got three on our tail,” Tyke said, grinning. “And man they’re pissed!”

  “Two on us,” Steph corrected from behind him. “One chasing Noire. They’ve split the squadron individually. We just drew the short straw and got the attention of the enemy commander.”

  “You think that had something to do with your little speech?” Tyke asked as he guided the fighter through space, glancing over his shoulder to keep track of the enemy ships.

  “Who knows?” Steph asked. “Teach them why you don’t chase an Archangel.”

  Tyke nodded. “You might catch him. Hold on! Archangel Two, turn the tables!”

  Steph pushed himself back into the bolstered seat in the rear of the flight deck, pulling restraints down around himself, as he knew what was coming. Tyke threw the acceleration hard in direct reverse of their course, bleeding velocity viciously fast. That didn’t have any effect on those inside the ship, thankfully, as he did so by warping space, which neatly counteracted any effects of inertia that might have otherwise splattered them across the deck.

  When he abruptly flipped the vessel end for end a hundred and eighty degrees to wind up pointing right back where they came from, however, a very real effect was felt. Steph’s stomach lurched and he saw red as the gyroscopic motion pushed all the blood into his head and made his eyes feel like they were about to pop.

  He tightened his muscles, clenching hard to keep the blood as low in his body as he could manage until, a moment later, it was over and everything returned to normal.

  The abrupt flip had been within the already existing space-warping of their drive system, which meant that they were, once again, pointing in the direction of travel as the distance between them and the pursuing destroyers began to vanish at high speed. In the computer-enhanced display that was wrapped around the pilot of the fighter-gunboat, the gleaming white hull of the enemy destroyer loomed massively as Tyke once more called out the signal that he was firing.

  The powerful beams of the fighter-gunboat again raked the underside of the destroyer as they ducked low and sped through the beams, their combined closing velocity far exceeding the capacity of any imaginable guidance system to track.

  Archangel One and Two ripped past, already twisting in space as they did so in order to prep for the next pass.

  In the back of the flight deck, Steph kept half his attention on the fight Tyke was managing while he split the rest with the remains of the squadron.

  The enemy destroyers were considerably less powerful than the Imperial cruisers they were used to tangling with, but his gunboats were intentionally fighting well below their maximum capacity as well. He was annoyed that the fight had dragged on as long as it had, mostly because he was well aware that his team could have ended it in the opening barrage if the
y’d truly wanted to.

  That would have exposed their technology, however, and done so in such a way that an Imperial analyst might be able to connect the mysterious new squadron in their space with the Terran fleet they’d just ended a war with months earlier.

  That left him with beams at two hundred light-seconds or less, unfortunately, as those were the sorts of weapons that the locals knew and understood and wouldn’t be overly curious about.

  He’d even been forced to forgo the best aspects of Terran multispectral lasers, though they’d done a few tweaks there before the battle based on hyperspectral scans of the enemy destroyers.

  It wouldn’t be as effective as real time adaptation of the beams, but it would do the job.

  “Archangel Three,” he signalled Samuels. “Advise split right, engage enemy flanks when they chase.”

  “Roger, Lead,” Cardsharp responded instantly. “Archangel Three, Four, split right, engage on return loop.”

  Steph watched the maneuver as Cardsharp and her wingman abruptly split formation, arcing away from one another. The two destroyers in pursuit did the same, predictably, not recognizing the trap that had been laid.

  The Archangel fighter-gunboats maneuvered in tight arcs, completely unnecessary by the laws of physics of space travel, specifically to draw the enemy destroyers away from one another as they arced back around.

  Cardsharp took the destroyer chasing her wingman, as did her wingman in turn, as they crossed the enemy’s lateral hulls on a perpendicular course.

  In ancient wet Navy combat, it was a maneuver called crossing the enemy’s T, though in reverse. Originally, when dealing with sailing ships, being able to catch the enemy when their broadsides were pointed away from you was an advantage. In modern design, however, that was drastically less important. What mattered was exposing the enemy ships where they had far weaker armor by necessity of design while maximizing your own weapons’ impact.

  The two fighters opened fire from dagger range, striking midships of both targets and holding their fire for several seconds.

  Explosions of flame erupted from the destroyers, blowing out what had to be several decks as Steph watched.

  “Enemy ships are no longer turning to pursue, weapons are not tracking,” Cardsharp reported. “Do we finish them off?”

  “Negative. Let them go,” Steph ordered. “We’re not here for a body count, and the more people to spread our legend, the better.”

  “Roger, Lead. Three and Four, moving to reinforce One and Two.”

  Berkan Fal

  Smoke filled the air of the bridge as Hirik stumbled forward, peering through the gray to where the weapons station screamed alarms that managed to pierce the sounds caused by every other alarm.

  “Destroy them!” he snapped.

  “We cannot! They’re too fast and too close to track!”

  Hirik snarled, baring his teeth at that response, but there was nothing more to be said.

  “Commander! We’ve lost the Caf and the Jarran!”

  Hirik turned, eyes falling on the squadron status report, scanning it in an instant. The two ships in question were still intact, more or less, but they’d suffered extreme damage and were breaking off the fight. He bit down on an urge to signal the commanders back, noting that both were currently fighting just to keep their drives from collapsing and could hardly spare anyone to repair weapons.

  He glared at the screens for a few more seconds, flinching as the ship shuddered again, then turned back.

  “Fine! All vessels, break off contact!” he ordered. “We’ve undoubtedly accomplished our primary mission anyway. Cease tracking and make for the outer system at best speed!”

  A few tense moments later, it became clear that whoever the enemy was, they were not interested in pursuing their targets once the fighting was over. Hirik glared at the signals of the enemy vessels as they receded from his ships’ scanners.

  I do not know who you are, but I will not forget this. I have your profiles now. We will find out who you are, and you’ll regret crossing the Belj Empire.

  Berine Gael

  Auran stared numbly at the displays as the Belj destroyers broke contact and began to climb out of stellar gravity, heading out on clear escape courses that would give them reasonably direct courses back to the Belj Empire. They were not his primary interest, however, and his eyes kept focusing on the glittering hulls of the small ships that had routed the Belj squadron.

  “Do we have anything on them?” he asked, looking over to where his second in command was working furiously.

  “Nothing,” the man said, shaking his head. “They’re not like anything on record, not in the Free Stars, not in the Empire, nowhere. I’ve even scanned the unconfirmed records with no results.”

  Auran shot his second an amused look, though it passed quickly. Checking the unconfirmed records was something only Tarman would have thought of. Most of those were reports by crackpots and other less than trustworthy sorts. Still, if a match had come up, it would have been something at least.

  “They speak Imperial, but with an accent I’m unfamiliar with,” he murmured. “Their ships don’t present with a particularly strong power curve, yet they outfight a squadron of far more massive vessels with little to no damage to themselves—and we’ve never heard of them before.”

  He straightened, looking around.

  “Does this seem as crazy to everyone else as it does to myself?”

  No one bothered to answer the question, not that he’d expected a reply.

  Auran didn’t know what to think about what had just occurred, and worse, he wasn’t sure what he could do if it turned out that this was some type of trap. The unknown ships had just flown into the teeth of the Belj—not the greatest force in the Free Stars, but certainly no slouches either—and come out unscathed.

  If they turned out to be hostile, he was under no illusions, or delusions, of just how long he and the Gael would last.

  Still, he had to be ready to try.

  “Maintain combat positions,” he ordered. “We don’t know who these people are, but we can’t trust that they’re not hostile either. Have every weapon primed, just in—”

  “Commander,” the communications officer cut him off. “Open signal on the same channel they used before. They’re contacting us.”

  Auran stared intently for a moment before he gestured. “Open the frequency. Let me hear it.”

  “Inbound destroyer, this is Captain Teach of the Emissary squadron,” the voice said in that same accented Imperial. “We are standing down our weapons and awaiting contact.”

  Auran looked around, his thoughts clearly echoed on the faces and in the minds of everyone in earshot.

  What just happened?

  Chapter 12

  Archangel One

  “Really? Captain Teach? That’s the best you could come up with?”

  Steph chuckled at the look he received from Tyke, shrugging. “What can I say? I always wanted to be a pirate. In all seriousness, though, we know that the Empire captured Priminae and Terran ships, likely with their computers intact. They might have personnel files on some of our people, including myself.”

  “I suppose that makes this the Revenge instead of the oh-so-proper Archangel One?” Tyke asked.

  Steph considered that. “I think I like it. Not Queen Anne’s, mind you, but we can work the details out later.”

  Tyke nodded. “I suppose we can. What’s the plan now?”

  “Offer our services to the locals, for a time and a price,” Steph said. “Then we fly under their flag for a while and work our way closer toward the Empire.”

  Tyke nodded as he stepped out of the control circle of the flight deck, pulling the NICS sensor off his neck. “You think we can trust the locals?”

  “No more than I’d have trusted any of the various groups we had to throw in with during the war,” Steph admitted. “Or than they could trust us, I suppose, if I’m honest.”

  Steph pulled his own NICS in
terface from a mount on the wall and slipped it over his neck as Tyke stepped away to secure his own gear. He’d take tactical command of the Revenge, as it were, while they were negotiating the status of the squadron within this system.

  “Grab some coffee,” he told Tyke. “and let Milla know to do the same. She gets tied up with her machines and systems.”

  Tyke nodded. “Wilco. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” Steph said as Tyke walked to the back of the flight deck and pushed the access door open.

  Tyke pulled back, surprised by a figure in the door.

  “Mind if I enter?” Seamus Gordon asked.

  “No skin off my nose,” Tyke said, slipping past him.

  Gordon looked in without crossing the door. “Commander? Permission to enter?”

  “Come on in, Mr. Gordon,” Steph called as he worked at the holographic interface.

  “Thank you,” Gordon said, stepping in and letting the door slide shut behind him.

  The intelligence agent looked around at the interior of the flight deck as he walked in, nodding in appreciation.

  “First time I’ve been in here with all the systems up,” Gordon admitted. “Very impressive.”

  “I’ll give your compliments to Milla,” Steph said, not looking around. “Do you have something specific to bring up, or just here to sightsee?”

  “Well, you are about to enter into my territory, Commander,” Gordon said with an inoffensive smile that somehow managed to send a shiver down Steph’s spine. “I’d like to sit in, if you don’t mind.”

  Steph gestured warily to one of the seats at the back of the room. “Feel free. I’ll be broadcasting both sides here, but transmitting only from my own induction mic. Anything you say won’t reach the locals, but it will distract me, so think before you speak.”

  “I’ve done this dance a few times in the past, Commander,” Gordon promised. “I’ll keep quiet unless I have something to offer.”

  Steph nodded, eyes tracing the telemetry of the destroyer as it surreptitiously placed itself between the squadron and the planet.