by Kasch, Andy
The incoming missiles all seemed to be firing from two places under the enemy ship. With the constant barrage, a pilot should be able to get a fix on the batteries and possibly shove one right up the pipe. That ought to give them pause, if nothing else. Maybe a lot more. Of course, they had laser defenses when you got in that close. But Brandon was pretty good at maneuvering.
Did Mip7 just die in this battle?
“Mip7, are you there?”
Nothing.
That was it. Brandon put his hand back on the joystick and spoke to himself.
“Let’s get those bastards where they live.”
Brandon moved off the station to the left, did a quick circle-around, and loosely got into the counter-clockwise rotation with the other circling fighters. Another Reep explosion went up in front of the station. Brandon stayed on the outside to the far right of the formation. He looked like just another ship in the engagement.
When it was time for the ships in his group to dive in on the missiles, however, he made a quick right turn and took a beeline toward the enemy ship.
“Brandon, please tell me that’s not you making a suicide run at the enemy,” the speaker said.
Mip7!
“Can’t talk now,” Brandon happily replied, “busy, glad you’re all right, but you owe me an argim for going silent on me.”
“Brandon—”
Brandon reached over and turned the volume dial all the way down. That was a mistake. Laser fire shot above his head, barely missing the cockpit. Time to dance. Brandon rolled right, then dove and rolled left, then pulled back up. Lasers fired all around him, some of them in spots he had just moved from. These laser beams were bigger than the ones the fighters had. He pulled up. Another beam shot right underneath him. This one stayed on and started tracking him. Brandon pulled out hard right and dove fast. It turned off. This was going to be tricky.
Brandon was now coming in perpendicular to the missile batteries on the large warship. He could see where they were shooting out of. Sideways wasn’t going to cut it, though. He wanted a straight-in shot. He was almost close enough now. He turned on the small joystick control near the front of the console— the one for firing missiles. The targeting screen above it flashed on. He squeezed the bottom trigger twice. Two red lights started blinking on the targeting screen. That’s two birds ready to fly.
Brandon eased up suddenly on the flying control joystick, nearly stopping his ship in its tracks. That was good timing. Three laser beams fired down directly ahead of his path from the ship. He swung out hard left. Lasers fired where he had just been. The opening of the missile shoot became somewhat visible. Quickly now, he aimed the missile control joystick at that spot on the targeting screen and fired. Then he dove down and rolled left, hard and away, at full speed. Lasers chased him the entire way. He headed back toward the circling fighters, coming at them from the wrong direction this time.
Suddenly, Brandon’s entire ship was being bathed in yellow light. He was being hit by an enemy laser, but was now too far out of range for it to be effective, as the beam was widely dispersed. They were probably still keeping it on him out of spite. Brandon didn’t know whether his missiles even scored a hit. He flew out behind the great mass of circling fighters, turned back, slowed up, and turned his radio volume back on. The rotation of fighters was off to his left now, and he was facing the warship again.
“Mip7 what happened?” he asked into the radio.
No answer again, but Brandon could see there was a break in the attack. A gap in the onslaught of enemy missiles had now formed, and behind that space a greatly reduced number of missiles resumed—about half as many as before. He must have scored a hit. One more like that might even end this thing.
But it was just too hairy in there. Too many lasers, too big, too close, and too well-aimed. The fact that they had hit him with a dispersed beam from so far away was a bad sign. They might have his number now over there. Brandon hadn’t been expecting such a heavy defense—and, after all, when he decided to give it a run the first time he thought Mip7 might be dead. There was more to live for now. Maybe he should go back to picking off strays with straight-on shots from the top of the station.
Brandon tried messing with the tuning buttons on the radio. He came across Olut6’s voice on one channel.
“Whoever broke formation and landed that hit on the enemy is up for accommodation, just as soon as I get done wringing his neck!”
Brandon laughed to himself and set the tuner back to three yellow lights. He heard Mip7’s voice now, having caught him in mid-sentence.
“…setting above the station now, there’s plenty of room, pull out and come up here to pick off strays with me.”
“Been there done that,” Brandon answered. “Last time I was up there, I started getting crazy ideas because I thought you were dead.”
There was a pause.
“Extat, that was you, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Is your radio having trouble?”
“No. I’m sorry, I turned over to the command station for a while. Brandon, this has become too dangerous. Maybe we should fly over to Banor and land these ships at the spaceport by Uden. Go back to Derek and Arkan9.”
Brandon looked over at the space station before responding. A Reep blast just took out the remainder of the large group of missiles before the gap, but again one slipped by and exploded on the station.
“Where were you for that one?” Brandon said.
“Too low.”
“Mip7, that station of yours is starting to look like Swiss cheese from here. Do you really want to abandon it?”
“What’s Swiss cheese? Something with holes in it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no,” Mip7’s voice said.
“Yes, it’s getting battered. I’ll come over and help you get strays.”
“What I meant was, you have company again.”
Brandon turned around. Two dozen fighters had fallen into formation behind him and were waiting there.
“They don’t want to me to lead them in another run at the enemy, do they?”
“That’s what it looks like, Brandon. Hold on, let me change over to the command channel.”
The circling fighters below were back on the leftover missiles, diving, shooting, pulling up, and coming back around.
“Command has asked for volunteers for another run at the ship, to try and hit their other missile battery. Looks like you took the first one out. Those must be the volunteers behind you. Here come two more to join them.”
“Well, what are they waiting for? Why are they lining up behind me?”
“I think we both know the answer to that, unfortunately. Look Brandon, you don’t have to go back in there. Just lead them, get them started, then pull up and fire at a different part of the ship, without getting too close. Then come back around and join me over here. You’ve done your part—more than your part, extat, and you aren’t even supposed to be in a fighter. Thank Erob you are, though.”
There were still too many missiles for the fleet of fighters to handle, so what Mip7 said sounded reasonable. Maybe one of the pilots behind him could hit the remaining battery.
Still, Brandon hesitated. Some of these guys would certainly get killed in the attempt. He took another look at Cardinal-4. Innocent Torians were getting killed there, too, no doubt, and if the pilots behind him didn’t act, maybe all of them would. This must be where chivalry comes from. The necessity of sacrifice. It had been happening for thousands of years on Earth, and here he was halfway across the galaxy and he still couldn’t get away from it.
Logic overruled emotion. It had to be done. Brandon fired the engines and started his run. The other ships followed.
Problem was, from what he had seen of the Torian pilots so far, Brandon knew darn well he was the one who had the best chance of taking out the target. Could he really pull out as Mip7 suggested and just leave them in there to their fates? He would have to make a last second judgment call on that.
Or maybe not. The enemy ship stopped firing on the station and turned to face Brandon’s incoming squadron. Apparently, they were now considered a force to contend with. Just as well. A diversion had stopped the attack on the station, and that’s what counted. Brandon figured he could justifiably pull up now and fire at the top portion of the warship.
Nobody got a shot off, however. The big donut around the outside of the ship—what Mip7 called the dag—lit up in bright orange for a moment, and the ship then vanished from sight. Brandon felt turbulence in the space near where it had been, so he slowed up. Some of the fighters behind him zoomed past, and could be seen shaking violently before stopping.
“You scared them off!” Mip7’s voice said. “Incredible. Thank Erob!”
Brandon was still nervous about flying in formation, so he continued straight until the others had all turned back. Finally, he turned back as well, and found he was alone again. A single ship approached him, coming from the direction of the space station. That must be Mip7. Most of the rest of the fighters were now on their way to Banor, where the other enemy warship could still be seen orbiting in the distance. There was some activity around it, perhaps another battle in progress.
The approaching ship made an arc behind Brandon and pulled up alongside him. Mip7 waved to him from the cockpit.
“They’ve all been sent to Banor,” Mip7 said, “except for one squadron. We should probably go, too. I still think we ought to go back to Uden and check on our friends.”
Friends. That was the first time Brandon had heard that word from Mip7. He wondered if whatever word Mip7 had used meant the same thing as what it was translated to.
“Okay,” Brandon said, “but not too fast, all right? I don’t do so well in crowds.”
“Lead the way,” Mip7 said.
Brandon hit the engines and settled into a slow cruising speed. Mip7 pulled up alongside him once the pace was established. They flew by the front side of the space station. It was a mess in places. Holes blasted in it, pieces of it dangling here and there. But then again, it was still mostly intact. It was, after all, big. Brandon estimated less than 20% of it had been damaged, and that was all just on this side, which meant less than 10% of the station was destroyed. It still looked like a long repair project, though.
As they drew closer to Banor, Brandon could make out ships coming up from the planet surface, but they appeared to be saucer-shaped. One end of the enemy warship was distorted as well. Perhaps it had been hit by missiles and damaged. A heavy exchange of laser fire was taking place between the fighters and the enemy ship.
“Do you read me, Brandon?” Mip7’s voice said.
“Loud and clear.”
“I was on the command channel again just now, if you tried to reach me. I let Commander Olut6 know who it was that led the attack back there. Couldn’t resist. May have been a bad idea. I’ve never heard such cursing.”
“Don’t get me in trouble,” Brandon said. “We need him.”
“Don’t worry about that, Brandon. He owes you a big favor, and he isn’t likely to forget you now.”
“I hope you’re right. Hey, do you notice anything strange about the battle over Banor, ahead?”
There was a short pause before Mip7 responded, during which the enemy ship came into better view.
“Yes. The sphere is open on one end. It looks like it is receiving landing craft! Hold on a minute, let me see if I can learn what’s happening there.”
Mip7 was right. Flying saucers, much bigger and bulkier-shaped than the ones he saw at the Torian spaceports, were coming up from the planet and nearing the warship. Brandon saw one go inside the open sphere and four more behind it approaching.
“Brandon. The orders are not to fire on the enemy landing craft. They’ve taken hostages!”
“Hostages? What the extat for?” Brandon said.
“We don’t know. What a dirty trick. Now we can’t attempt to damage their ship. Maybe they want to negotiate something.”
Two more fighters exchanged laser fire with the enemy warship, but then they pulled up and away and all firing ceased. Several fighters then circled around behind the final enemy landing craft. The rest positioned themselves between the warship and the planet, probably so they would be in position to chase down any missiles fired. Brandon and Mip7 arced around to the right and came up beside them, but distanced themselves from the main formation. They watched as the last landing craft drew close to the warship. When it had been received, the sphere closed.
“There’s something eerie about that,” Mip7’s voice said.
“Yeah, like a kidnapping,” Brandon replied. “I know all about that.”
The fighters held their position. Nothing happened for a long moment. Then, the warship turned slightly.
“Oh no,” Mip7 said. “I think you’re right.”
The dag it up and glowed in hot orange for a few seconds. Then the ship was gone.
The first Torian space battle, it seemed, was over.
Chapter Ten
Amulen Chancellor Renal5 closed the door to his office. There was a lobby full of people to see him—governors, his political advisors, military commanders, contractors, astronomers, and several scientists—but they would all have to wait. It was overwhelming, and he needed a little breathing space.
He sat down behind his desk and looked out the window. If he never turned toward the wall in his office, this could be a nice evening, except for one thing. Now that dusk had fallen, the light from Cardinal-4 could be seen in the sky. It was an ominous reminder that all was not well in Tora.
Renal5 turned and looked at the video screens on his wall. One was a static picture of the damaged side of the space station. What a horrible mess. Who could have ever anticipated this kind of thing happening? It didn’t make any sense. There had never been an interstellar war in the Erobian Sphere, and there was no logical reason for this attack. The invaders had accomplished nothing except vandalism and petty abductions, from the looks of it.
The two other screens on the wall were showing live camera feeds of the damage on Banor. The first response crews and reporters were just now beginning to assess the scope of it. That’s where the High Chancellor had gone, to meet with Banorian Chancellor Gormin8 and survey the scene. There’s another thing that made no sense. The abductions didn’t include political leaders or anyone important, as far as they could tell from the early reports. So far, it seemed the damage was limited to two medium-sized cities and one small rural village. The cities were hit with missiles, but the village was attacked with ground troops wielding hand weapons, according to witnesses. There was nothing of appreciable value in the village, just some old religious relics. No sense whatsoever. Thank Erob they hadn’t bothered to attack Amulen.
Two angry voices rose from the lobby and penetrated the wall of Renal5’s office. They grew louder, until they were shouting at each other. Couldn’t he have a few moments of peace? Renal5 reopened his door and saw two military commanders getting in each other’s faces.
“You tell me, General, because I don’t know!” one of them yelled. Renal5 recognized him as Commander Olut6 from Cardinal-4. He had just arrived and was fuming at the High General.
“Comrades, please,” Renal5 said. “Come in. Let’s discuss this calmly.”
Neither of them moved or even acknowledged Renal5. They just stood in place while Olut6 continued his rant.
“Holes blown everywhere, systems failing all over the station, more than twenty civilian casualties and I’ve got four dead pilots. No help. No help at all.”
“You had help, Commander,” the general replied. “Lots of help. We came.”
“You weren’t there! We were alone! The extat battle went on for millennia before we got any help! We were dying up there, and got no response from the fleet!”
“It wasn’t that long. You’re exaggerating again.”
“Comrades!” Renal5 yelled. “In my office!”
Now they turned and looked
at him. Renal5 realized neither of them had ever heard him raise his voice before.
“Please,” he said in a calmer tone.
They followed Renal5 into his office, but the tension between them could still be felt. Renal5 closed the door behind them. The three of them stood for a moment and watched the latest shots of the destruction from Banor on the video screens.
Renal5 removed a small box from one of the shelves and opened it. There was a bottle inside, and four tubes.
“Perhaps we should all settle down and have a drink. This is Blackflower-20, a very rare batch.”
“No, I don’t want an extat drink!” Olut6 said. “I want explanations!”
“You are upset because of the slow response time from the ground,” Renal5 said.
“Slow? You call that slow? We got pulverized, and were left to fend for ourselves, until the extat thing was nearly over. Slow is not the right word. Non-responsive. Why was the fleet non-responsive?”
Renal5 set the box on his desk. “To be clear, Commander, help did arrive. Pilots from the main fleet did scramble and participate, in considerable numbers, and some of them shot down missiles, I understand, which otherwise may have hit the station. The help arrived late, but it did arrive.”
Olut6 grumbled something unintelligible and walked over to the window. This kind of level-headed diplomacy is what kept Renal5 in office. He loved it, truth be known, and began to feel reenergized.
“However,” Renal5 continued, “we must concede that it was quite late in arriving. General, what is the reason for that?”
“When the High Chancellor asks me that question, then I will answer it,” the general replied.
Renal5 chose to ignore the disrespectful comment and said, “There is some flaw in our emergency response procedure, then?”
“No, there is no flaw in our procedures,” the general said, “but we do have our priorities. The security of the planets, and in particular the central Torian government here on Amulen, is top priority. Should it not be so?”