Book Read Free

Test of Magnitude (The Torian Reclamation)

Page 15

by Kasch, Andy


  “Keep going,” Mip7’s voice said over the speaker. “I’m right behind you.”

  Further breaks in the steam—along with Mip7’s words—gave Brandon more confidence, so he increased his speed and took the craft up to the vertical center of the hangar. In another moment, he cleared the hangar entrance, almost as if this were routine—and in a way, it almost was. Brandon reached down to the joystick, pulled the trigger to loosen it, and pressed the top button to fire the engines. Off he went, up and away. He was out and above the station quickly, and could now see Mip7’s fighter clearing the hangar as well. He flew back behind Cardinal-4 and away from the battle.

  These fighters were fast. Every bit as fast the simulators made them feel, only flying one for real was exhilarating. For a moment, Brandon felt completely natural and totally within his element. Then the reality of his predicament dawned on him.

  Brandon made a U-turn and flew back towards the station. He could see beyond it and found he now had a good vantage point of the entire situation. The enemy warship was still in the same position, but had begun firing missiles at the station intermittently, in depth patterns as the commander had feared. Thirty or forty fighters were hovering above and below the station, in position to try and pick off missiles that slipped by the Reep-3 defense efforts.

  The other enemy warship was approaching Banor off in the distance, followed by at least a dozen Torian fighters—but nobody was firing on that front at the moment.

  Mip7 followed Brandon’s turn-back and pulled his ship up alongside him. They both slowed down to a crawl and waved to each other.

  “Great job, Brandon,” the speaker crackled. “That was getting scary back there.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Brandon replied. “But what do we do now?”

  Chapter Nine

  “No,” Mip7’s voice said over the speaker. “Leave the Torian fight to the Torians.”

  “Your pilots aren’t good enough,” Brandon said. “They all must be level-four players. Look at them down there. Missiles are getting through! We can stop them! If we don’t help, your station might be destroyed.”

  “You have your own mission here, remember?” Mip7 said in response. “If we get killed in a space battle, who’s going to help get the rest of the Earthlings freed?”

  “Picking off missiles is easy—not even that dangerous, really. Besides, we need the help of your governor down there, right? And that commander, he said he might be able to help us, too. We can’t just sit here and watch this. I’ve gotta go in and help.”

  “All right, all right, you had me at help the governor. Move in slowly and let’s take up positions above on the far left, where there appears to be room for us.”

  “That’s a good idea. Follow me.” The reason Brandon thought it was a good idea, however, wasn’t because of the opening in the formation. But Mip7 didn’t need to know that right this second.

  The fighters hovering above and below Cardinal-4 were now stationary. As Olut6 had explained, they needed to hang back so the bunker could fire the Reep-3 device. But that weapon had to be timed. By firing missiles in depth patterns, the enemy could get some through in between the repulsion blasts. The job of the fighters now was to connect a laser on the ones that got past, and keep the laser on the approaching missile as it sped forward. The laser beams needed several moments of direct contact before building enough heat to detonate them in flight. This was a difficult task, but Brandon had become quite skillful at it in the simulator games. Some of the pilots were getting a few of the stray missiles, but several had gotten through and the station was no doubt beginning to incur serious damage from direct hits.

  Brandon eased his ship down over the station on the very far end of the left side, directly above the hangar that served as the public spaceport—ironically, where he was actually supposed to be parking the shuttle right now. Nuts to that idea. Those regular shuttle pilots were smart, refusing to fly during a battle. No sense being out here without being properly armed. Then again, if the fighter pilots failed stop the missiles, the space station ultimately might become the worst place to be.

  Brandon was the end of the line. Mip7 took a position on his immediate right. They could still see each other’s heads in the cockpit windows, but barely.

  There was a new missile barrage in the distance. They were coming in groups of five now, released every 10 seconds or so. A Reep-3 explosion took out the lead group quite far out, probably near the end of its range. The second bunch was also taken out by a repulsion blast, but much closer to the station. Brandon could already tell it was that third cluster which was going to be a problem. There was only one missile far enough on the left to possibly be a target for Brandon.

  When the second Reep-3 blast cleared, lasers from all the fighters about the station started firing and moving about, seeking to connect with a target. Several of the fighters also fired their own missiles, which were white in color and much shorter than the incoming enemy missiles. Brandon shook his head. What a waste. Trying to hit an incoming missile head on with another missile was a futile, desperate act. Save that ammo for a possible close-up fight with the warship.

  The far left missile was a little too far for Brandon to reach. He shot a laser beam out in that direction anyway, just to get a feel for the firing controls. Again, everything was exactly like the simulator.

  A laser came out of Mip7’s ship and connected with the far left missile. So did one from another fighter. The other one lost its connection, however, probably due to a bad angle from being directly in front of it. Mip7’s laser managed to stay connected from the side and the missile detonated. So did two others in the group.

  “Good shot, Mip7!” Brandon said.

  Mip7 waved at him from his cockpit.

  But two missiles in that group got through. Explosions could be seen coming off the front side of the station. Brandon knew that was no good. They must be blowing gaping holes in it. At this rate, Cardinal-4 could eventually be destroyed two missiles at a time. Brandon felt he could stop it.

  He had to stop it.

  It would be dangerous, because he would risk taking friendly fire. But he knew what to do. He got ready. He could already see what was going to happen next.

  The next group of missiles would probably be taken out by a Reep-3 hit at a medium range. Brandon anticipated it happening right between where the last two blasts had been, due to the timing of the blasts. Then, it would be open season for the fighters on the cluster behind it.

  Apparently, the enemy had figured that out as well. The next group consisted of another five missiles, too many to ignore considering the dismal success rate the fighters were having with their current strategy. The following cluster looked to be about eight—yes, eight missiles. Those were trouble.

  Brandon grabbed the joystick and fired his main engines. Up and out he went.

  “Brandon!” Mip7’s voice crackled on the speaker. “Don’t do anything stupid! The Reep-3 is firing.”

  Brandon ignored the radio and concentrated on his flying. He went up and out to the left, away from the station, then arced his way back toward the field of battle at an intercept point he figured would be about right. This wasn’t that hard. It was like level seven he figured, maybe level eight with that Reep device thrown into the mix. You just had to time for it.

  Brandon’s timing was good. The front group of missiles all exploded in a Reep blast, and then Brandon swooped in on the cluster of eight behind it, just after the wavy space cleared. There were some after-effects from the Reep device he didn’t count on, however, because his ship shuddered for a moment or two. Then he got a fix on his first missile, the second one over from the end. He connected a laser on it. This one was an easy hold from his angle of approach. It detonated—and the explosion took out the two adjacent missiles on either side of it as well. First shot was a triple. Things were starting off well. Five left.

  Now he was more to the side of the remaining missiles in the cluster, but still slightly
above them. He eased up on the throttle to get behind them more and veered left. As he did, Brandon noticed they were beginning to spread out. Need to get them quick. Laser on the top dog, hold, hold, boom—there she goes.

  Now lasers were firing from the fighters above and below the station. Some were coming very close to Brandon’s ship, from both directions. These guys didn’t have great aim. Mip7’s voice was yelling something on the speaker.

  Take aim, got the top dog again, hold, hold, hold, boom. Three to go.

  Nope, two to go. One of the boys from underneath got one. Piece of cake. Aim, adjust damn it, got it, hold, hold, boom. One left. Getting close now. Those damn lasers, get them off me boys, and learn to shoot for crying out loud. Got it. Hold, hold, hold, boom. Up and away.

  Brandon got seven of the eight. Maybe he could have gotten them all, but he welcomed the help, as long as the help didn’t shoot him down. Yeah, he scored a three-for-one deal on the first, but that was part of the game—happened all the time on the simulator. Brandon assessed himself as being only a little rusty, and the turbulence from the Reep gun was a new element, plus those stupid lasers coming at him from everywhere didn’t help either. But he was getting in the groove. Back for around for another go at it.

  Brandon circled across behind the station, and came out from the right side of it this time. More of Mip7’s frenzied voice on the radio which he mentally tuned out. He needed to concentrate. Brandon saw the next barrage now. Something different this time; two groups of three then a third large cluster of twelve. Interesting. The enemy must figure the big cluster to be the one that gets through, based on the prior patterns. If Brandon were in command of this battle, he would put the lasers on the first two small groups and then use the Reep gun for the large cluster in the rear. Yep. That’s what he would do. That Olut6 commander seemed pretty sharp. There’s no way he would leave the large group to the lasers. No way. Hopefully.

  Brandon came around hard and started diving towards the three missiles in middle group. That should give him a little room for error in case he was wrong about the reaction from the bunker. And if he was wrong, and he died up here, well, so what? Earth was halfway across the galaxy and his life had been stolen from him anyway. Yes, he felt duty-bound to help the other human prisoners on the ground, but maybe they wouldn’t like being woken up in this place after all. Besides, what he was doing now might just be the best thing he could to try and help them.

  He came in on the middle three and picked the first two off in short order. These were spread out more so he had to get them one at a time. Lasers from around the station began firing, so his analysis had been correct. He got the third missile, and then accelerated to try and catch the first group ahead. There they were, in range now. Connect, 1-2-3 boom. Connect, 1-2-3 boom. Connect, 1-2-3 boom. He got them all. Couldn’t those guys hit anything? Up and away.

  As he lifted, a laser connected on the hull of his ship. The dash lit up, and the temperature in the cockpit became quite hot for just a second. Then it stopped. Yes, they could hit something—the guy who was saving them. Idiots.

  Brandon got up and away fast, to clear a path for the Reep gun. His ship seemed undamaged, but he didn’t know how many more laser hits it could take. When he was back above the station, he swung around to his left and circled out on the right side of it again, just in time to witness the spectacular explosion of all twelve missiles detonating from the Reep blast. Brandon slowed down and waited for the next barrage.

  Nothing happened, so he got himself into position and cut the engines. If this was anything like level seven on the missile defense simulator, a massive, disorganized onslaught would come next.

  “Brandon, are you all right?” Mip7 said on the speaker.

  “Yes—fine. Sorry I haven’t responded. Been concentrating. I wonder what they’ll throw at us next.”

  “Whatever it is, you’ll have company on your next run.”

  “What’s that?” Brandon looked behind him. Six fighters were following his path and approaching his position. They pulled up on both sides of him.

  “Look to your left,” the speaker said. Brandon looked over and saw Mip7 waving at him. He looked to his right and saw another lizard-pilot waving at him from that cockpit.

  “Your method is working better,” Mip7 said. “Consider yourself an honorary squadron leader.”

  Brandon started laughing to himself. He hoped these guys weren’t going to get in the way. Picking off missiles is one thing, being cognizant of a bunch of other ships around you was something else—something he had no experience with.

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea, Mip7.”

  But it was too late. Missiles started coming from the warship again. No groups or patterns this time, as Brandon suspected. Just a straight blanket barrage of missiles upon missiles upon missiles upon missiles. No way to pick all those off.

  “Let the Reep gun get them,” Brandon said to the radio. “We’ll have to swoop in and pick off the front strays afterwards, and then clear out to let them fire again.”

  “Looks like we’ll have even more help,” Mip7’s voice said .

  Brandon turned his head in the cockpit and saw a large group of additional fighters, perhaps three dozen, coming in behind them from the direction of the planets. Even farther in the distance, more squadrons could be seen approaching from Amulen. Help was finally arriving. The additional fighters eased in behind Brandon’s group, probably ordered so by the commander. But who was in charge, now? Were they all going to follow Brandon’s lead? He was only an escaped science project. Maybe he and Mip7 should tune their radios to the command station.

  Too late. The space became wavy and distorted in front of the space station. Time to approach. Brandon took off, slowly at first, and looked behind him. The others were all following. They stayed up above battle range waiting for the Reep detonation, ready to swoop down for some missile hunting.

  It came. It was huge. There were so many missiles in the air that the repulsion explosion caused a chain reaction. For a moment, the entire area was one bright red fireball. Then smaller fireballs made their way back along the lines of missiles, like so many strings of firecrackers going off. The detonating missiles were taking each other out.

  Still, some made it through. Brandon dove on them. He locked on his first target and then saw lasers all around him everywhere. Another laser locked on to Brandon’s missile just as it exploded. As he was about to fire on another target, another laser beat him to it. He let that one be and found another. Connect, 1-2-3 boom.

  Lasers everywhere. Hard to see the strays. Other fighters were flying close to Brandon now. He didn’t like that, and he had no idea where Mip7 was. Brandon pulled up and out of the fray, carefully, and circled back over the station. Most of the fighters that had previously been there were gone, probably out in front of the station involved in the hunt now. Brandon settled over a spot near the center of Cardinal-4, next to the tower. He would try his luck the old fashioned way.

  The fighters suddenly pulled out, except for three which still had lasers on missiles. There must have been an order to get out of the way. The space went wavy. The three missiles locked on by the remaining three fighters all detonated. Only one of the ships was then able to clear out in time. The repulsion blast detonated in another massive explosion, but it also took out two fighter craft—which were simply blown to pieces. Brandon felt nauseous. Two Torian fighter pilots just lost their lives from friendly fire. Why didn’t they pull out? Couldn’t they hear the order to clear? Oh, no.

  “Mip7, do you read me?”

  Silence.

  “Mip7, you all right?”

  No response.

  More stray missiles were coming. The fleet out in front of the station began diving in on them again, many of the fighters having circled back around after pulling out before the last Reep blast. The squadrons from the planets had arrived and were now in the mix. The battle had become one giant circular motion of fighters diving o
n a never-ending blanket barrage of missiles. They were getting better at hitting them, though. Brandon managed to get one stray from a straight-on shot, the only one within his range. Then all the fighters cleared out and the scene repeated.

  “Mip7, are you there?”

  The speaker crackled faintly this time, but there was no voice. Brandon then nailed two strays with straight-on shots. It was definitely more challenging this way, but he could still get them.

  Not that it mattered all that much if Mip7 was gone. Brandon had no idea what he would do if one of those destroyed ships was his. That big bronze lizard-man was his friend. Brandon didn’t even know what he was supposed to do with this fighter when/if the battle ended. The military hangar was too damaged to go back into. He wasn’t sure how much fuel, oxygen, or ammunition one of these things held. Also, an occasional missile was still getting through. During the last go-around, one missile scored a direct hit on the station, off on the right side. They could still destroy it, methodically and painstakingly, assuming the enemy didn’t run out of missiles first.

  Around and around the Torian fighter pilots flew. Bugging out for the big explosion and then diving back in for the residual shoot-out. There must have been a hundred fighters in the rotation now. Brandon was picking off occasional strays from head-on shots that the other pilots didn’t get to, but he couldn’t be everywhere at once. On average, one missile was still hitting the station for every Reep detonation. This was ultimately a losing proposition.

  Brandon looked down at his instruments and pondered over his own missile supply. He had ten of them. He looked up to the enemy warship. No fighters were harassing it. They were all engaged in a purely defensive action. The enemy must love that.

 

‹ Prev