Call to Arms (Black Fleet Trilogy, Book 2)

by Joshua Dalzelle

  “Missiles one and two are away, time to impact… one hundred and sixty-three minutes,” Barrett said. “Auto-mag is online, and power-bank is fully charged. Twenty-five round burst will be available in two minutes.”

  “OPS, tell the Artemis and Hyperion to bear starboard and shallow out their insertion angle,” Jackson said. “I also want them cutting their velocity by a third, and to be ready to hit Alpha-Two’s flank if needed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Davis said.

  “What’s worrying you, sir?” Celesta asked quietly, once he’d forced himself to walk back to his seat and sit down.

  “Something’s wrong,” Jackson whispered. “I don’t think this thing is as defenseless as our analysis indicates. A lot of our assumptions are based on what CENTCOM’s scientific staff was able to glean from the pieces of that first Alpha… but we’ve had no independent verification of that. I think we could be looking at an entirely different class of Alpha. Their rough dimensions are the only method we’ve used to classify them up to this point.”

  “And the speed reduction and formation change?”

  “I’m trying to keep us from overextending and being unable to withdraw,” Jackson explained. “With the other four ships dispersed, we also aren’t so bunched up and presenting such an easy target.”

  “Missiles are past the halfway mark, sending the final arming command,” Barrett said, a little over an hour later as their missiles continued to streak toward the now fully stopped Alpha-Two.

  The new generation Shrike tactical missiles, now sporting nuclear warheads, were designed specifically as Alpha-busters. They had considerably higher yield than the typical tactical nuke, almost as much as a strategic weapon, but it was designed with a unique delivery system that would maximize the payload’s destructive potential.

  Nuclear weapons in space were a dicey proposition due to the characteristics of the blast. The nasty stuff, like gamma and neutron radiation, was still there and propagated from the detonation unimpeded, but the lack of an atmosphere meant the pressure wave and thermal radiation were nullified. The Shrike was therefore given an ultradense, extended nosecone that would pierce the organic hull of an Alpha before a final rocket stage would blast the warhead as deep as it could into the monster, where the pressure wave and thermal radiation would be devastating.

  “Still no response from the target?” Jackson asked.

  “No, sir,” Davis said. “No thermal buildup on the leading edges or on the nose.”

  They waited tensely for another thirty minutes for the Alpha to make a move so they could counter it. That it just sat there motionless in space, waiting for the two missiles, was unnerving. Jackson couldn’t even be sure the damn thing could see the projectiles. The first Alpha he’d tangled with had no problems finding the Blue Jacket, no matter where he was, but it had never seemed able to detect their expendable munitions unless they were fired at extreme close range.

  “Movement!” Davis called. “Alpha-Two is now accelerating toward us… wait… It’s changing course and climbing above our missiles.”

  “Birds are correcting course,” Barrett said. “No joy. Target has closed the range too quickly, they won’t be able to pitch up steeply enough and maintain velocity for penetration.”

  “Send the abort signal.” Jackson gripped his armrests as the Alpha came at him on the main display. “Put them in orbit over Xi’an, and we’ll recover or repurpose them later. Start tracking for an auto-mag shot, and prep two more Shrikes and a full spread of Hornets.”

  “Yes, sir.” Barrett’s hands flew competently over his controls. “Auto-mag firing solution in ten seconds, targeting the nose—”

  “Incoming flash message from the Atlas!” Lieutenant Keller, the Ares’s coms officer called out. “Alpha-One opened fire on them before they could come fully around Xi’an and acquire a target lock. Unknown weapon. Atlas has degraded hull armor on the prow.”

  “What about the Icarus?” Jackson said.

  “Unclear,” Keller said. “I believe they’re saying she’s withdrawing.”

  “What?” Jackson nearly shouted. “Lieutenant Keller, you get a hold of that ship, and you find out what’s going on. Now!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Captain! The hull of Alpha-Two is opening on the leading edges,” Davis called out.

  “Explain.” Jackson turned away from the coms station and refocused on the main display.

  “Six openings, four port, two starboard, irising open along the centerline.” Davis put the enhanced image up for him to see. “Helm! Pitch down thirty-five degrees, full emergency acceleration!” Jackson called out as he realized what he was looking at.

  “Sir, what—”

  “Incoming fire from Alpha-Two!” Davis shouted, cutting off Celesta. “Thirteen projectiles accelerating toward us at over eight hundred Gs. They seem to be unguided.”

  “Helm, pitch us down another five degrees,” Jackson said as the bridge began to shake from the Ares’s powerful main engines running past their accepted limits. “Are the enemy missiles tracking?”

  “Correction, missiles are now angling down toward us, but it looks like they’ll still overfly us,” Davis said.

  “We’re going to pass almost directly under Alpha-Two,” Celesta reminded them. “OPS, watch for any weapons deployment on their ventral surface.”

  “Nothing yet, ma’am,” Davis said.

  “Coms! Tell the Artemis and Hyperion to attack from the flank,” Jackson ordered. “Wait until we’re out of range before they lob any nukes in. We don’t want to get caught up in the blast if they manage a direct hit. OPS, how long until we pass underneath?”

  “We’ll be directly under the target in thirty-six minutes at a range of five thousand two hundred kilometers,” Davis said.

  “Tactical, update your auto-mag solution,” Jackson said. “I want to stitch all twenty shells along the target’s ventral surface. Helm, prepare to go to zero-thrust and surrender attitude control to the tactical computer.”

  “Yes, sir.” Barrett drowned out whatever affirmation the helmsman offered.

  The auto-mag, a single barreled mag-cannon capable of rapidly firing fifteen hundred millimeter shells like a machine gun, was a hasty addition to the Starwolf-class ships. As such, it was hard-mounted in the belly of the ship with the muzzle of the gun coming out just under the pointed nose of the ship.

  Since it wasn’t installed in an articulated turret, the entire ship had to be precisely aimed to fire the weapon. It was far from optimal, but it was better than nothing, and it had been a hard-fought battle on Jackson’s part to even have the weapon installed at all.

  “The Artemis and Hyperion are on their way in,” Lieutenant Keller reported. “They’re asking for permission to go to active sensors.”

  “Granted!” Jackson barked, mildly annoyed. Apparently both captains had forgotten that standard operating procedure cleared them for all tactical systems when actively engaging an enemy target. “What’s the status on the Icarus?”

  “They’re clearing the engagement area,” Keller said. “There appears to be some confusion on the bridge, sir. I’m unable to get confirmation that they’ve been damaged or had any malfunction.”

  “OPS, get me a position on our wayward destroyer, if you can,” Jackson said. “Coms, tell the Atlas that we’ll be coming around the planet shortly after passing Alpha-Two… What is the status of Alpha-One?”

  “Firing solution is locked in, Captain,” Barrett said. “We’ll be within range in under five minutes.”

  “Helm! Zero-thrust,” Jackson ordered.

  “Engines answering zero-thrust,” the helmsman confirmed.

  “Tactical, you’re clear to assume attitude control.”

  “Yes, sir.” Barrett began his targeting scripts that would pitch the Ares back up so her nose was leading the target as the two ships screamed past each other at almost thirty thousand kilometers per second. “Pitching up and authorizing fire control computer to engage
the weapon. Waiting on command authority.”

  “Authorized.” Jackson pressed his thumb against the display of his terminal to give the final go-ahead for the computers to assume control of the ship’s offensive systems.

  “We’ve got five more ports opening up on the ventral surface,” Davis warned.

  “Five seconds,” Barrett called out. “And… firing!” The auto-mag was an enormous, powerful machine, and when it began firing, it was not a subtle thing. Capable of one hundred and fifty rounds a minute, the cannon began belching out high-explosive shells at a rate of five every two seconds. The deck shook violently as the ship continued to pitch up, the attitude thrusters struggling to walk the line of fire down the line Barrett had programmed.

  The auto-mag pulled so much power from the main bus that the lights on the bridge dimmed slightly as the power plant struggled to keep engines and weapons fully operational. “All shells away! Cannon clear and safe, releasing helm control,” Barrett called out.

  “Helm, pitch us back down on our original course, and bring the mains back up, ahead one half,” Jackson said. “OPS, track our hits.”

  “Recording impacts now, sir—Whoa!” Davis exclaimed. “Two shells hit one of the open ports. Secondary explosions visible along with multiple hull breeches, sir. Target is now moving off and no longer turning to pursue.”

  “Tell the Artemis and Hyperion to try and finish it off. They may attack at Captain Forrest’s discretion,” Jackson said. “Coms! Where’s my update on Alpha-One?”

  “The Atlas is no longer answering requests for updates, Captain,” Keller said.

  “I’m trying to reinitialize their Link remotely, sir,” Davis reported, sounding harried.

  “As quick as you can, Lieutenant,” Jackson said, completely unsympathetic. “We’ll be coming around the terminator blind if the Atlas can’t get us a good position for the enemy ship.”

  Xi’an loomed large in the main display, her ravaged atmosphere swirling with angry stripes of brown and red, but Jackson was only paying attention to the overlaid tracks of all the ships on the two dimensional representation of the star system. Next to each ship was a number that denoted the ships “altitude” in relation to the ecliptic so that, with practice, one could almost visualize the scene in three dimensions.

  The data for Alpha-One was flashing red, telling him that it was old and unverified. The fact both ships he’d sent around the planet had yet to either report back or update their status weighed heavily on his mind, but not as much as the fact the enemy ship hadn’t come back around Xi’an. Even at a leisurely orbital velocity, it should have reappeared before the Ares had opened fire on its twin.

  “Link connection re-established with the Icarus,” Davis said. “Atlas is still unresponsive. Data coming up now.”

  Jackson leaned forward. The position for Alpha-One changed very little. It had drifted up to a higher altitude, but it was still hanging over Xi’an and looked for all the universe like it was waiting on them.

  “Can the Icarus verify the target’s orientation for us?” Jackson asked, not directing his comment at anyone in particular.

  “Icarus is still not answering coms, Captain,” Lieutenant Keller said.

  “Link connection just dropped again,” Davis said. “I can’t get it back, but from the last radar image, I’m able to determine the target’s orientation in relation to the planet. Putting it on the main now.”

  Jackson studied the rough representation of the target, his fears confirmed. “Helm! Roll ninety-six degrees to starboard and pitch down thirty-two degrees,” he ordered. “Standby for throttle up.”

  “Sir—”

  “I’m overriding the safety locks,” Jackson said. “Carry out the order.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the helmsman said, hesitation still evident in his voice. “Rolling over and diving toward the planet.”

  Jackson continued to look over the calculations he’d been working out on his own terminal, ignoring the concerned looks around him.

  “OPS, retract forward optics and antennas, and secure outer hatches,” he ordered. “Helm, continue your dive, and level out at twenty-five thousand, three hundred meters above the surface of Xi’an.”

  “Captain, that will—”

  “In a moment, Commander.” Jackson cut off his XO. “Nav, verify my numbers.” He bracketed his calculations with his two hands on the display and sent them over to the nav station where the chief on duty plugged them into his system.

  “Course verified, Captain,” the chief said. “We are currently flying too slow for it to work.”

  “Thank you, Chief.” Jackson’s eyes were glued to the outside view on the main display until it disappeared once the optical sensors had been retracted. “Helm, ahead full. We need at least twelve thousand, five hundred and seventeen meters per second forward velocity.”

  “Ahead full, aye,” the helmsman said, sounding confident with the more specific command.

  The Ares rolled and descended rapidly toward the opaque atmosphere, her two main engines spewing white hot plasma at full power. Once the ship began to rub up against the thermosphere-mesosphere transition, it began to shudder as the hull temperature rose.

  “OPS, keep an eye on our hull temp,” Jackson said. “Helm, when I give the order, I want you to pull us up into a climb, fifteen degrees nose-up. Lieutenant Davis, as soon as the hull temps begin to drop again, redeploy the sensors and get me a fix on Alpha-One. Tactical, be ready to snap fire three Shrikes. You’ll have to be ready to acquire the target and fire very quickly.”

  There was a chorus of affirmations as the Ares really began to rock and buck deeper she flew into Xi’an’s atmosphere.

  “Sir?”

  “I have a hunch, Commander,” Jackson said to Celesta. “It looks like the pair are talking to each other, as we’d suspect, and this one is waiting for us to appear over the horizon at any moment.”

  “Agreed.” Celesta raised her voice over the harsh rumbling now that the ship was pushing even deeper into a place it was never meant to go.

  “At the altitude it’s sitting at, I think we have a good chance of coming up underneath it while its concentrating on where we should be from what they’ve observed of our normal orbital flight profiles,” Jackson said.

  “I feel I must point out that if it isn’t fooled, and we take a serious hit while so low in the planet’s atmosphere…” she left her sentence unfinished.

  “I’m well aware of the risks,” Jackson assured her. Any faltering in either main engine meant the ship would decelerate and simply fall to the surface of the planet. “But I’m confident in the strategy. They learn quickly by observation, but no other Terran starship is capable of this maneuver, so I doubt they’ll be expecting it.”

  “Commander Singh will not be happy.” She pointed to the spiking hull temperatures now displayed on the main in flashing red.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” Jackson agreed. “Helm, standby!”

  “Standing by, sir!” the helmsman said.

  Jackson would have chuckled at the young man’s high-pitched voice if he wasn’t feeling the same fear himself. He said a silent prayer that the Ares’s internal sensors were as accurate as he needed them to be before giving his next order. “Helm, pitch up! OPS, Tactical… get ready!”

  If anything, the violent buffeting increased as the attitude jets struggled mightily against the slipstream to raise the Ares’s nose. The computers took note of this and angled the “nozzles” of the main engines up ten degrees to compensate. After that short, ass-clenching moment, during which Jackson thought he may have killed his entire crew and lost his ship without taking a single shot from the enemy, the destroyer pulled her nose up and began to climb rapidly out of Xi’an’s upper atmosphere.

  The hull temperature started to drop just as quickly as the warship was gaining altitude, the advanced material shedding off the heat now that the friction was removed. Once it dropped below seven hundred and fifty degrees Centigrade, h
e knew they were out of immediate danger… and flying into a worse one.

  “Outer hatches opening, sensors redeploying,” Davis called out. “Radar and optics searching for target.”

  “Target acquired!” Barrett nearly shouted.

  “Fire at will!” Jackson was equally excited as the image of the Alpha appeared above them and slightly to starboard… still diligently pointed toward the horizon where it expected them to appear.

  “Birds one, two, and three are away,” Barrett said, after he fired off three tactical nukes. “Flying hot and clean. Time to impact, four minutes.”

  “We rarely get a shot this close,” Jackson said. “Helm, shallow out our climb. Two hundred and fifty kilometer altitude, maintain inclination.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Ares flattened out in her climb, passing rapidly under the Alpha and continuing along toward the far horizon and the battle against the Alpha-Two.

  “We’ve been spotted,” Davis said. “Alpha-One is rotating around, bringing its nose to bear. Weapon ports opening along the leading edge.”

  “Range?”

  “Thirty-four thousand kilometers and increasing.”

  “First missile impact in fifteen seconds,” Barrett said, silencing all conversation on the bridge as everyone held their breath. They were so close, they didn’t need to wait for the light to reach them before they knew the first missile had found its mark. The Ares’s optical sensors were attenuated enough that Jackson could actually see the distortion ripples as a nuclear shockwave propagated across the Alpha’s organic hull.

  “Impact!” Barrett broke the silence with the unnecessary update.

  The next two missiles hit in quick succession, burying their warheads deep as they flew unimpeded through the gashes opened up in the hull from the first missile. The detonations of the last two warheads shredded the insides of the Alpha. The tough organic hull undulated and bulged as the waves of energy bounced around, completely destroying the inner workings of the massive ship until it could no longer hold and burst open like a seedpod, sending the smoking ruins of the Alpha’s guts streaking off into space.