Echo of Tomorrow: Book Two (The Drake Chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

  “I’ll explain it later.” Scott smiled.

  “Aye, skipper, flank speed it is.”

  “Nav? ETA to intercept at new speed?” Bingham said. Bill Foster crunched the numbers as they reached their new speed.

  “Four hours and three minutes, skipper,” he answered. This time he came back with the answer to the captain’s question twice as fast as last time. Now they were getting it, Scott thought.

  Three tense hours passed, but nothing could be seen on long-range sensors, and it was nail-biting time. Had the alien vessels speeded up? Another half-hour passed, and the destroyer screen out front picked up the first return as a faint echo at two light seconds, or 372,000 miles.

  “Enemy sighted, Captain,” Tom Henley, the sensor specialist, called out as the destroyer relayed the information back to the flagship.

  “Sound battle stations, yeoman. Helm, slow to half.”

  “Aye-aye sir, battle stations it is,” he answered, and the clamoring of alarm klaxons and bells could be heard all over the ship as she slowed to half speed.

  The moment the alarm sounded, half the bridge crew jumped up and ran for their battle armor, while the second-in-command covered their stations. In less than three minutes they were back, and the other half took off. In less than eight minutes, everyone was in battle gear except the captain and Scott.

  “Your turn, Admiral!” Bingham said.

  “On my way,” Scott answered, and walked quickly to his day cabin.

  Already in armor, Hardwick was there with the hatch to the suit room open. Scott shrugged off the jacket and threw it on the nearest chair, while a quick tug pulled the shorts off. Grabbing the overhead handrail he lifted his legs, and slid them down into the lower half of his suit. He let go and lifted his arms the moment his feet hit the bottom. The top half lowered over the uplifted arms, and he felt the suffocating moment as the soft material inside passed over his face. His head poked through the neck opening, and he heard the magnetic lock snap shut, and the servos whined softly as he brought his arms down, checking the seal. It was good. Chinning the switch on the neck ring, he brought the status board aligned on his wrist, checking the air and power levels. All in the green. Hardwick was also dressed, and together they walked back to the bridge.

  “Your turn, Jack,” Scott called, listening to the cry of “Captain off the bridge” as he left. “Status, Number One?” he asked, resuming his seat and looking at the status board. Every few seconds it updated itself, and as more and more ships added their data to the incoming stream, the clearer the picture became. As he sat, the magnetic locks attached his suit to the seat. In the unlikely event of explosive decompression, there wouldn’t be any danger of anyone getting sucked into space.

  “All stations report ready, Admiral,” the XO, Ali Ben Caza answered.

  “Excellent. Any change in the position of the enemy?”

  “No sir, they don’t appear to have seen us yet,” Ali reported

  “Good,” Scott said absently, his mind analyzing the board and the screen, calculating the different options. It could mean their sensors were better than the aliens, but he wasn’t betting on it. More likely the enemy commander didn’t think it worth changing course. The captain returned in his battle armor and took up a standing position beside Scott.

  “Your orders, sir.”

  “I was just thinking. This time, I don’t want that mother ship getting away. Twice she’s done it.”

  “We need to get a contingent to the warp point.”

  “Right, send a message to Wellington and Auckland that they’re to stay on the mother ship, where she goes, they go. I do not want that ship escaping again.”

  “Aye-aye sir,” Bingham answered. “They are going to be pissed if they miss the battle!”

  “I’d rather have two pissed-off captains than that ship getting away again.”

  “Right, skipper.”

  “Destroyer Blenheim reporting the enemy has sighted us and is turning to engage, sir.”

  “Thank you comm, message received,” Bingham acknowledged. “Operations. Close all hatches and seal the ship.”

  “Aye, sir. Closing all hatches and sealing the ship,” Stuart acknowledged. A moment later the close-hatch warning sounded throughout the ship, followed by the solid thud as they closed and locked. Now, in the event of a hull breach, only a few compartments would lose air, not the whole ship.

  “Launch all ready fighters, Captain,” Scott ordered.

  “Aye skipper, comm, give Group Captain Moore the green light, and order the forward destroyer screen to pull back into Alpha two formation.”

  “Aye-aye sir, fighters confirming launch, destroyer screen acknowledges receipt of message.” The battle tank lit up as wave after wave of SRF73 Star Fighters launched out of the forward bays, deploying around and behind the battle group.

  By now, the fleet had formed into a cone-shaped disk some ten miles across with the battleship New Zealand in the center, and the open end of the cone facing the alien fleet. North, south, east and west and behind, relative to the battleship and the plane of the eclipse as the center point, the four heavy cruisers Christchurch, Brisbane, Los Angeles and Dartmouth took up positions one mile from New Zealand at the major cardinal compass points. The light cruisers covered the gaps between, and so on outward, with the destroyers and corvettes covering a smaller volume of space.

  The Wellington and Auckland, with their gaggle of escort ships, pulled away at a tangent and took off in a looping course to solar north. Hopefully, out of enemy-sensor range. The fighters stood off in four groups at the major compass points, between the New Zealand and the heavy cruisers, pacing the fleet, and waiting for the order to attack. Right behind them, on the port and starboard side came the carriers with their complement of escort vessels. This was a precaution against taking friendly fire when the big guns opened up.

  “Comm!” Scott called.

  “Aye, sir?” Communication Specialist Gunter Haas answered.

  “Inform all ships that we will commence our missile barrage the moment they have a confirmed lock.”

  “Aye, sir, fire order transmitted,” Haas replied.

  “Admiral, you wanted a target to test the main guns on, how about those?” Jack Bingham chuckled, indicating the alien ships.

  “That will do nicely, Jack, thanks for providing them. You may test your weapons once we’re in range. Let’s see what our missiles and fighters can do first.” He still had his doubts about sending the fighters in, since with their lightweight weapons he didn’t know how good they’d be against the cruiser’s shields. If Sergeant Mack and his team were correct, and the ships themselves were tin foil boxes, it would be interesting to see how badly they chewed them up, if and when they penetrated the shields. Scott schooled his face to project an aura of calm confidence, but inside he felt anything but that. Now came the first real test of their firepower. If they’d guessed wrong, a lot of people were going to die, including Kat. That scared him more than the thought of himself dying.

  “Comm. Make to fighter groups. They are to go in on my order after the last wave of missiles, and not before.”

  “Aye-aye, sir. Transmitting message.”

  “Coming into minimum missile envelope now, Admiral,” Tom Henley reported.

  “Hold until you have a lock, then commence firing until the magazines are exhausted. No use taking any home.” Scott expected the aliens to launch a similar attack on him, and much to his surprise, they didn’t, again wondering if their sensor or targeting system wasn’t as good as theirs.

  “We have a confirmed target lock,” Henley said. “Commencing missile launch.”

  The battle board lit up with hundreds of green tracks as all the ships began firing. It gave Scott a satisfying feeling to see that much ordnance going out, and he hoped this time the new stuff would have a greater effect on the enemy warships. With the new database, the weapons teams managed to build pump X-ray warheads as well as conventional nukes.

&n
bsp; “Release the fighters,” Scott ordered, seeing several green blobs detach themselves from the fleet and hurtle toward the enemy.

  How many missiles would get through was an unknown at this point, but hopefully, the mix of ECM and ECCM would spoof the aliens’ tracking and targeting systems, and Scott could hardly sit still waiting for the result. He’d rather be pacing back and forth than sitting in this seat. Minute by minute they hurtled toward each other, the green tracks converging within a circle covering the enemy fleet. The board whitened for a moment as multiple nuclear warheads detonated among, or near their targets, then cleared to show the results. If nothing else, it did slow the enemy fleet, but it was a mixed bag as far as results were concerned. They’d defiantly damaged, or destroyed several of the smaller units, but the larger units and the mother ship kept coming. Then the fighters arrived, and it became impossible for the sensors to sort out which was which.

  “Main battery range in four minutes,” Henley announced. Knife fight in a phone booth time. Something that Scott was loath to do right now.

  “Order all fighters to withdraw in three minutes or less.”

  “Aye-aye, sir. Transmitting message.”

  Scott sweated the three minutes, but his face showed no expression at all. His fear for Kat’s safety wouldn’t stop him from opening up with his big guns.

  “All fighters reporting they are clear of the enemy fleet, sir,” Bingham said.

  “Let’s see how well the main batteries work, Jack.”

  “Aye, sir. Main battery testing commencing,” Bingham replied, laughing nervously.

  Unconsciously Scott braced himself for the main battery to fire, but there was nothing, no sound, no vibration, nothing to indicate anything had happened. He searched the tank but with the present level of magnification, it was impossible to tell if they’d done any damage. What if they hadn’t? What if their weapons were useless against the alien ships? Those thoughts didn’t help loosen the knot of fear in his stomach, or dry the sweaty palms.

  “Can we get a close look at the suckers?” he asked, his voice betraying none of the emotions he felt.

  “Aye, sir,” replied Ali Caza, the XO.

  “Step up the magnification one step at a time until I tell you to stop.”

  “Aye, sir, stepping up magnification.” Step by step, the image jumped closer and closer to the alien battle group until they were identifiable as individual ships.

  “Hold it there, Ali.”

  “Aye sir, holding.” This time he did see something hit the shields of the lead ship as it was impacted, seeing the displaced energy dissipating over the invisible surface.

  “Pulse laser has no effect, switching to particle beam,” Ali said.

  This appeared to have a greater effect, but even after six bursts, the ship itself was undamaged.

  “Enemy fighters making an end run around the flank, permission to engage, New Zealand,” Kat’s voice said over the comm link. Bingham looked at Scott, and he nodded. He wasn’t even sure where the enemy fighters had come from. Obviously, there was a carrier of some sort hidden behind the bulk of the enemy fleet.

  “Permission granted Eagle one, good hunting, and if you get a chance to hit that enemy carrier, take it.”

  “Thanks New Zealand, I’ll try to oblige.” Scott’s heart jumped as it dawned on him that Kat was out there leading her group. His eyes flicked to the flat screen on the arm of his chair, seeing North and West wings break formation and veer off to the west to engage the enemy fighters.

  “Enemy group launching more fighters straight at us, sir,” Stuart reported.

  “Shit! If that’s all the fighters they think we have, they’re in for one hell of a surprise.”

  “Order air command to launch their remaining fighters and fill in the gap between Eagle and Hawk wings,” Scott said softly, understanding the enemy’s early launch of their fighters. They were hoping to draw off his, and have an uncontested run at his fleet. It was something to remember for the future.

  “Aye, sir,” Gunter Haas acknowledged.

  “Auckland and Wellington reporting they have taken up positions between solar north and east, sir,” Stuart said.

  “Where’s the mother ship?” Scott asked.

  “Still on course for Earth, sir,” Stuart replied.

  “Good. If she bugs out, they’ll have her no matter which way she runs.”

  “Firing mass driver,” Ali Caza called.

  “Carriers confirming launch of all fighters,” comm sang out.

  “We have a hit on the lead ship, she’s breaking off and withdrawing,” Ali announced. A small cheer went up on learning they’d severely damaged one of the alien’s cruisers, seeing the alien battle group reform into a globe shape.

  “Keep it up, XO, hit then again,” Bingham almost yelled, his excitement obvious.

  “Can we get a cup of coffee up here, Jack?” Scott asked.

  “Coffee?” the captain repeated, looking around in confusion.

  “Yes, a cup of coffee would be good about now, calm the nerves.” Scott said it softly, hoping Jack would get the point.

  “Do you really think so sir, right now?” Jack came back, his eyes flicking from screen to screen and back to the holotank.

  “Oh yes, I think everyone could do with some, right now!” Scott didn’t really raise his voice, but put enough emphasis on the word “now” to make himself understood. Jack gently pounded the arm of his chair in frustration of an admiral that wanted coffee in the middle of a fucking battle.

  “Yeoman, order up coffee for the bridge crew!” Captain Bingham yelled, obviously upset, but Scott couldn’t say anything directly.

  “Aye sir, coffee coming up—”

  “Alien fighters engaged, sir,” Stuart announced.

  “Slow to quarter, Captain,” Scott ordered. Somewhere in the last few minutes his fear had vanished, his palms no longer sweated, yet this barely occurred to him. His thoughts were now entirely on the fleet and how best to utilize it. By slowing the ‘New Zealand’, it permitted the rest of the fleet to slowly overtake her, and if his plan worked, they would englobe the alien battle group before they realized what was happening.

  “Coffee, Admiral?” CPO Hardwick asked.

  “Thanks, Chief. One for everybody,” he ordered, “especially the captain,” he said in a sotto voice. The CPO looked at him, then the captain, then nodded.

  “Take a seat, Captain and drink this,” Hardwick said handing him the coffee. The captain did, dropping into his seat with a thump and accepting the coffee with ill grace. The containers, called bulbs, were sealed, self-sealing drinking bulbs with a long straw so you could drink it while in a battle suit. This was a precaution against a sudden loss of gravity, and prevented hot liquid floating around the bridge or cabin.

  Gunter called, “Message from Auckland for the admiral, sir.”

  “Read it,” Scott said.

  “From Auckland to New Zealand, from officer commanding, to Admiral Drake. Splitting forces in case MF runs for warp point, that way will have both ends covered. Message ends.”

  “Received and understood, send an acknowledgment, signed Drake, commanding.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Gunter answered, seeing Scott smile at how the name for the enemy ship, from MS, for the mother ship, slipped into MF for “motherfucker,” they’d cursed it so much.

  The lightness ended, and in tense silence, they waited as their battle group closed with the flagship, its main guns hammering away at the enemy. By going to a spherical formation, they had overlapped their shields … absorbing the energy. Within minutes Scott knew he’d have to release the fighters, and it was going to get messy.

  “Comm, order all ships to commence firing as they come within range,” he ordered.

  “Aye, sir. Message relayed.”

  As yet, the alien battle group hadn’t opened fire, and he wondered why, suspecting they wanted to get into their knife-fighting range first. That brought up the question of how effective t
heir main weapons were. That they didn’t fire yet suggested they weren’t much good at long range. It also made him a little nervous about how good they were at short range.

  “Comm! Tell the fighters they’re released, independent action but stay out of our line of fire,” he said.

  “Aye, sir. Releasing the fighters,” comm answered, transmitting the message.

  “Tallyho!” they heard the squadron leader shout, the English accent unmistakable. “Bandit! Bandits! Bandits dead ahead!” The tank showed the yellow blips of their fighters surging ahead to engage.