“I didn't do it!” he said, bewildered.
With questioning eyes, Steven spun to look at the lieutenant.
“It wasn’t me, sir!”
“The shot came from a Sharkfin,” said Casey whose face was buried in the viewfinder of her monitor. “It was probably one of the units assigned to the ground-side laser detail. Somehow, the pilot must have made it through the debris.”
Within his mind, the face of Ashlyn came to the fore. Though she was a new pilot and had done little more than simulator training, he was certain she had shot the missile.
***
Stratton threw his fist into the air, cheering along with those beside him as Ashlyn nailed the missile and held his breath as a weak, static filled call came in from her.
“Dog—se, thi—is Lady Fox—I’m pretty badly banged u—Gena’s systems are disabl—, I’ve got—heavy vibration. Flight controls are bare—resp—ding—guess this dog is going—need a new set—paws. I can’t read—altimete—or radar.—been blinded,” she said with the unbelievable coolness that typically only a veteran fighter pilot was capable of displaying. “—in a slow descen—lower altitu-”
“Foxy Lady,” Stratton said with a proud yet controlled concern, “I’ll scramble Briggs and Hanks to tow you in.”
“No need, Dog House! The Watchdogs have sprouted wings.
We have you on radar, Foxy Lady! ETA is 3 minutes and 10 seconds. Ease your descent down 5 degrees and slowly swing her 25-degrees to port. It’ll bring you back inside the protective grid,” said Briggs.
“—ger that. Thanks guys,” she said as a residual shockwave from the missile jostled her Sharkfin.
“Good job Foxy Lady—good job!” said Stratton.
Stratton’s well-intentioned words were lost to the sadness that welled in her heart, for she had lost a friend who had stood by her.
Chapter 5
“Sir! I’m monitoring an enormous shockwave from the missile’s explosion!” said Science Officer Casey with a raised voice. “Its magnitude is off the scale.”
“Helm, evasive. Turn us around,” ordered Steven. “Casey, how long?”
“At full impulse, it will catch us in four minutes and twenty-two seconds.”
“Casey, give me a full update.”
“The Harrison drive will be off-line for twelve to fifteen hours. We are currently at 56 percent power after our engagement with the flagship. The shields are too weak to withstand the shockwave. The wave also has a series of strong radiation swells behind it. Even with the ramjet deflecting the radiation, it’s going to tax our systems beyond lethal limits.”
“Ok, people. Give me some options!”
Spawned by the remounting pressure, Brooks gave a deep sigh. “I hope you’ve got another miracle up those long sleeves?”
“Miracles come from God, Brooks. If he does exist, he’s no friend of ours! We’ve walked this trail by ourselves, sacrificing our friends and families with each step.” Steven’s anger over the billions of dead and the resulting hardships that they had all been forced to endure over the last years, had left no room in his heart for believing that God might choose today to come to their rescue.
“Admiral, if I take the lasers off-line, I can use the generator to squeak an extra 4 or 5 percent power to the shields.”
“Thanks Chief, anything will be a help.
Casey, put the wave on the main viewer. Plug in the data, and have Gena run sims to see if a reconfiguration of the shields might help.”
On the monitor, a great, red circle was gaining on them. All objects behind it were lost to the convulsing cloud that led the wave.
“Sims complete, sir. The best scenario shows that a reconfiguration of the shields can theoretically improve the probability of them holding by 34 percent. We need to create a pointed wedge around the ship with the point extending about 300 meters off our stern. The highest concentration of energy needs to be focused on the point and decreasing as it sweeps backward. Essentially splitting the wave above and below us, but sir, even doing so, the wave is still too strong,” said Casey.
“Just tell me if you have the time to do it?” inquired Steven.
“I think so, but I’ll need the Chief’s help and the alteration of the computer needs to be done at the mainframe in Section 2.”
“Do it!”
“Permission to accompany them?” asked Brooks.
“Granted.”
***
“Ease back on your thrusters a bit Foxy Lady, we’re pulling up alongside you. In a moment, you are going to feel a jolt as I extend my shields around you and bring you inside the bubble. I’m getting a read on your ship’s atmospheric pressure now, so we can do a match.
Time to sit back and enjoy the ride, you’ve earned it! And let me tell you, it’s time you changed your call-sign from Lady Fox, to Lady Luck.”
“That bad, huh?”
“And then some!” Briggs studied her fighter, wondering what divine power had kept it in the air. The craft’s fuselage had been pummeled ‘til it resembled the dimpled skin of a golf ball. Large portions of her fighter’s heat shielding had fallen away to be lost in the ocean below. Even the underlying coats of thermal paint had been sandblasted away, revealing much of the polished steel alloy layering beneath.
Exposed circuitry sparked and crackled in half-a-dozen places.
The fighter’s wing-flaps were rattling like the doors of an old barn during a winter storm and the rear-rudder was no more useful than the ragged tail of a homemade kite.
Add the fact that she had held her craft steady with two of her three engines destroyed, “They say Jesus walked on water but you Foxy Lady—have the wings of an angel.”
It was then that he noticed an expanding crack in her cockpit’s canopy. “Ash, your canopy is about to blow!”
Knowing he had to roll the dice, his computer not yet having gotten a final read on her cabin’s internal pressure, he took his shot. “Gena extend shields around Ashlyn’s fighter!” shouted Briggs.
In the fraction-of-a-second that it had taken him to give the order, Ashlyn’s craft exploded in a thousand pieces.
***
“Reduce all ship’s functions to minimum, including life support. Evacuate and darken crew’s quarters. Shut down all non-essentials,” said Steven.
“Aye, sir,” said Mr. O’Brien. “Sounding evac on decks three through five. Reducing life support to minimum on all remaining decks. Sir? How about if we divert the Sharkfin energy cores? It isn’t much, but combined, they may add two or three million terra-watts to our available supply.”
Steven gave Mr. O’Brien a half-smile of acknowledgment. “Damage control; get all available teams down to the Sharkfin launch bays. Divert the power from the Sharkfin energy cores into Avenger’s supply. I also want you to clamp the Sharkfins down. The concussion might be too much for the magnetics alone.”
“Aye, sir. On our way. We’ll get it done.”
“Jenkins, send two waves of three Intercepts at the nearest point of the wave directly behind us, thirty second separation, 4 degree spread. Perhaps we can punch a few holes in it.”
“Aye, sir. Loading intercepts. I’ll have to detonate them manually!”
“Give it your best shot, lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.—Launching.”
“Sir, when the shields go off-line for reconfiguration, we’ll be vulnerable to a hull breach. I recommend using the forward laser array to clear a path,” said Mr. O’Brien.
“Negative, we can’t spare the energy for the shields or the laser. You ever play chess Mr. O’Brien?”
“Don’t you mean poker, sir?”
“Not at all. A great poker player is nothing more than a lucky liar. Chess however, is a game for gentlemen. It is a game of skill and calculated maneuverings. We will not breach, Mr. O’Brien; you have my word on it.
Helm, ETA?”
“Count is three minutes and two seconds.”
“Comm, open the ship wide address.”
“Channel open, sir.”
“To all hands, this is the Admiral. We have successfully destroyed the enemy fleet and the missile launched at Earth, but the missile’s shockwave is now chasing us. I need you to shut down all energy sources that are not critical to Avenger’s survival. A final warning alert will sound thirty seconds before impact. Batten yourselves down. It’s going to be a rough ride. May God watch over you my friends; you have performed beyond all of my expectations. Sherrah out.”
Steven felt hypocritical speaking of God and yet he knew that for those who still had faith, the words were appropriate.
“The shields are off‑line,” said Mr. O’Brien looking up from his science monitor. “And the laser’s generator is now tied in with the main power supply.”
With the shields down, dust and debris began grating against the hull. Shrill screeches reverberated throughout the ship like an angry banshee’s scream. Driven by anxiety and fear, everyone on the bridge turned to look at Steven wherein his calm demeanor instantly assuaged much of their concern.
“Time to impact, one minute and thirty seconds,” said Mr. O’Brien.
***
“Sea Base, this is Briggs. We lost Ashlyn. Her ship-” his tortured voice failed him. His head dropped. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the balls. It seemed an eternity before he spoke again, “We’re returning to Sea Base. Requesting permission to have the 2nd team take our watch on laser detail.”
“Permission granted,” said Stratton. His heart was heavy, his voice as dead and tortured as Briggs’. His thoughts went to Steven, wondering if even now, Steven could sense that Ashlyn had died.
***
“Intercepts arriving in 3—2—,” said Jenkins, his finger pushing the button that detonated the missiles. Through the rearward view monitor a series of tiny bright flashes erupted, only to be instantly swallowed. “The first volley detonated 120 meters in front of the wave.”
Jenkins turned to look at Steven, almost as if he expected to see an affirming smile of well done. Instead, he saw that Steven was white as a ghost, his eyes closed, his brow ferociously tensed, his clawing fingers gripping the armrests.
“The section of the wave behind us has weakened by 4.7 percent,” said Mr. O’Brien peering into his monitor.
“Sir? Admiral? What is it?” said Jenkins.
“Something’s wrong!” said Steven. “It’s Ashlyn. She’s-”
***
“Warning, you are under attack,” announced Gena.
“What the hell?” Briggs quickly studied his scanners and saw nothing. “That’s impossible! We’re the only ones up here!” Then, as it dawned on him, “Gena, activate my underside hull camera. Highlight the area where the attack came from.” Briggs began to search the region Gena had highlighted. It was a mess. Sea Base’s lasers were systematically targeting the largest pieces of streaking meteoric debris.
Suddenly, Gena zoomed in, locking onto a small, red fireball. “Target located.”
It was smaller, slimmer, than Briggs had expected. It reminded him of—a soldier during a dropping exercise.
“God-damned, she’s alive!” he yelled, over the open comm. Hitting the turbo, he raced after her. Her speed was already intense and he was unsure whether he could catch her in time.
His team was hailing him, telling him he was wrong, that it was impossible. He knew they were right; it was contrary to all logic. Sea Bases’ pilots wore no armor, no official uniform, and out of all of them, Ashlyn wore even less. The team as they did each morning attended a short briefing before heading out. Each member of the team had made a point of engaging her in conversation, lingering around her, stretching out the moment so they could ogle her. That day, like every other, Ashlyn wasn’t wearing any under garments and her tight, thin, black exercise stretch was completely see-thru, in all the right places. As always, she left them panting.
It was hard to fault the teams’ logic, she couldn’t be alive. There wasn’t a single reason to believe what his eyes were telling him—only his gut instinct, declaring that it was a controlled flight.
He tried the comm, hoping against hope that she could hear him.
Briggs had narrowed the gap to two kilometers when he realized he was running out of room to catch her. Not forgetting that she had been blinded, he knew there was little she could do to help herself. It was up to him.
Dropping the limiters on his craft, he pushed hard. His craft was glowing red; the nose of his ship was in flames as it super-heated the air before him. To the members of his team who were watching, he appeared as little more than another fireball shooting through the sky. An alarm started to sound, warning him that the heat shielding on the nose of his craft was beginning to disintegrate.
Within moments, he was beside her. He tried to extend his shield around her, bringing her inside.
“Unable to comply. Material composition is unknown.”
Unknown. “Gena, time until impact?”
“Twenty three seconds.”
“Gena, disarm warhead and fire Intercept—now.” Briggs saw the Intercept race ahead of him. “Gena, detonate launched Intercept!” As he rocketed through the area of the explosion, he grunted, pulling hard and fast on the controls to bring his nose up.
“Good luck, Foxy lady. It’s up to you now.” As his ship swooped low, pulling up just twenty-eight meters above the surface. “Gena, track the unidentified object, and note the object’s point of entry into the ocean.”
***
Ashlyn had hoped that someone had seen her signal. She’d taken a few dozen random shots with her armor’s laser, hoping to draw attention. All she could do now was wait. She focused her senses, trying to take the path of least resistance, trying to create as little heat-buildup as possible.
She had never expected to have reason to use the locket Tynabo had given her on her 24th birthday. Now, she was thankful for his insight. The locket held a technology, banned for more than a century. Tynabo had said little when giving it to her, starting the conversation with, ‘Don’t ask questions.’ He then explained that it was designed to work exclusively with her brain’s wave-pattern and that it was for emergency use only.
When she had pushed its center blue stone, activating it—she’d figuratively, crossed her fingers. The speed of the device surprised her. The adaptive nanotech built a slender, form-fitting, armored suit around her just a fraction of second before her craft exploded.
With her blindness making it impossible to see what abilities her armor offered her—upon realizing that there wasn’t a transmitter, Ashlyn rattled off several more voice commands. She soon stumbled onto one to which the minimalistic AI responded. A powerful, but simple laser.
Ashlyn could sense the nanotechnology fighting to replicate and replace the armor’s shedding, outer layers. It was a race, which so far, the armor was winning.
***
“Is everything all right, sir?” asked Jenkins.
“For the moment.” Steven smiled at the young man.
Returning to his monitor, Jenkins’ gave the update, “Second volley arriving.” A moment later, “A bit better, 109 meters this time. The wave has weakened another—6.2 percent.”
“Engineering, how is the shield configuration coming?”
“We’re working on it, sir,” replied Brooks.
“We have little more than a minute, Commander!”
“Aye, sir.” The fact that Brooks was under pressure from the time constraint was hugely evident in his voice.
“Sharkfin generators are on‑line. Reserves are at 59 percent and rising. Sir, even with the ramjet particle-accelerators at maximum, radiation is beginning to seep through the outer hull,” said Mr. O’Brien.
“Understood. Comm, open ship’s channel. All personnel are instructed to move away from the outer bulkhead. External radiation is reaching critical levels. Close channel.”
The final warning alert sounded, followed by Mr. O’Brien’s announcement, “Thirty seconds
until collision, all hands brace for impact.”
Those who had not already done so, including Steven, fastened their harnesses. “Commander?” said Steven with growing concern to Brooks in Section 2.
“We’re trying, sir.
Gena’s damned safety protocols won’t validate the design.”
"Gena, implement Admiral’s Executive Priority One Protocols to remove all ship’s safety limiters. Password, Zechariah Sitchin,” said Steven aloud. “Try it now Commander."
“Radiation is still increasing,” said Jenkins with anxious concern.
“Strengthen the ramjet and shields by twenty percent,” ordered Steven.
“Sir, ramjet heat tolerance is already six percent over critical! And the shields are at maximum.”
“The safety limiters have been removed. Follow your orders, Jenkins. Now!”
“Aye, sir.”
“Shutting down main drives. Routing all available power to the mainframe auxiliary control in Section 2. Wave impacting in 7 seconds, 6—5—,” called Robbie on the helm.
Steven’s perceptions suddenly sped and time itself seemed to slow. He saw everything around him as if it were in slow motion.
It was then that he noticed that Jenkins was staring at him. The fear in the young man’s eyes was total and complete. Jenkins had been the childhood friend of the President’s son, and he’d been traveling with the family when the transport picked them up in Rome, fifteen years ago.
Initially, the Challenger Deep Sea Base was to be the staging area from which the Avenger could be launched, but over time, it became a town, a city. After the attack, they all came to think of it as home. Families were now the norm, not the exception.
As for Avenger, her original designation, Columbus, she was to be a planetary exploration vessel—and while she was certainly capable of defending herself; her basic design was for that of scientific research.
EARTH'S LAST WAR (CHILDREN OF DESTINY Book 1) Page 10