Hawk Genesis: War (Flight of the Hawk)

by Robert Little

  At the last second, Chamberlin issued an order for a maneuver they’d practiced but had never before used in battle, and his thirty fighters began accelerating into a tight globular formation called a Waldeck Weave. Many of the missiles lost lock and wandered off but the majority arced in on his few remaining craft. His fighters flew past each other at very close distances and the huge number of missiles became confused, lost lock and tried to change course at the last moment.

  Chamberlin was a voracious reader, and had discovered this maneuver in a study of ancient, air breathing aircraft battles, but he had never actually seen it nor talked to anyone else who had either. Nevertheless he’d programmed the maneuver on the ship tactical computer and analyzed its effectiveness before his crews practiced. He fervently hoped it never would have to be attempted again because that would mean he would once again be severely outnumbered.

  As extreme G forces greyed his eyesight his fighter flashed past his brother at a distance of less than a kilometer. Thirteen missiles were locked on to just these two craft, but all lost their lock, and never regained it – fighters could pull tighter G’s than missiles.

  The maneuver was wildly successful, yet nine fighters were still destroyed. It was rare that a crew could survive such a hit, although it sometimes did occur. At the moment, there was no way to rescue a crew if they did manage to safely eject.

  The DeKlerk plodded up to meet his crews. He had so few fighters left that he decided not to leave any out, and all twenty-one craft docked in the echoing loneliness of his carriers flight decks. He had twenty anti-ship missiles and loaded up ten of his fighters with them. They flew out a few kilometers and launched. Twenty missiles were too few to do much damage, but they were what he had left, and would force the enemy to respond.

  By now his crews had been in their fighters for over fourteen hours and were nearly ready to pass out. He ordered stimulants and took one himself. It would help, but not for long. He knew that they didn’t have long, so time was a moot point.

  He put his fighters out on station and sent what he supposed would be his last message to his superiors. He was down to only twenty-one operational fighters and had no more anti-ship missiles and only the few light missiles on his fighters. He asked for help, expecting none. He still had no idea of the general course of the battle, but he was encouraged by the fact that the federal lines had apparently held. He hadn’t seen any sign of continued attacks on the other carriers of his group, and although they were now nearly two million kilometers distant, his sensors were able to see that they retained control of their immediate vicinity. He’d sent them a query about missiles, but hadn’t heard back, and didn’t even know if they’d received the message. Communications were really jammed. In fact, it appeared that the forces that initially attacked his neighbors had been moved to help in the effort to push through him. Normally, John could expect to be supported by the other three carriers in his group, but communications had virtually ceased, and it was obvious that the other CAG’s were being cautious, although if John thought about it, he could find other terms to describe their actions.

  As he waited, Chamberlin talked to his crews, telling them what he knew and supposed about the course of the battle. He took the time to go over tactics for the next attack.

  Both he and his brother had survived what were fairly long odds. Both assumed that the next attack would roll over their defenses, but neither spoke of their deep fear that the other would die.

  By now, few of his electronic aids remained on station, but he kept them running for as long as they were able, hoping the enemy would be unaware of just how many fighters he had left.

  Two Years, Nine Months Earlier

  One by one, the newly christened fighter pilots lined up to receive their assignments. James and John had scored third and seventh out of a class of seventy-five, very good considering neither had seen the inside of a cockpit prior to their induction. They opened their paper envelope, apparently yet another ancient Edward’s tradition, and after glancing at their assignment, looked at each other. John grinned, “So, stuck with you again.” James laughed, “Shut up! What do you know about the DeKlerk?” John said, “I’ve heard it’s so old it has two rows of oars, one on each side.” James looked suspiciously at his brother, “When you say ‘oars’, do you mean, ‘oar’ oars, as in rowing oars?” John nodded solemnly, “I get first choice of port or starboard.” James laughed, “Do they chain us up?” John sighed deeply, “You are entirely too enthusiastic. Don’t you ever get depressed?” James grinned, “What’s to be depressed about? Our government has seen fit to give into our hands two flying flashlights. What could go wrong?” John groaned, “Let me count the ways.”

  Chapter 4

  After two hours his plots began to show another attack.

  He faced thirty-eight incoming fighters, two destroyers and ten missiles boats. He instructed his crews to target the destroyers and missile boats, which had lots of missiles, while the fighters had only four.

  As the enemy crossed under one hundred thousand kilometers he ordered the launch of three missiles each. A very tightly grouped flight of sixty-three missiles raced away from his fighters. All the missiles were targeted on the two destroyers and he watched in fascination as the enemy fighters began launching their own missiles to counter his.

  Blossoms of light lit up space as his missiles bored in on the two destroyers. The enemy fighters were accelerating frantically to put themselves between the destroyers and the incoming threats, with partial success. Only one ship was destroyed, but the other was damaged sufficiently to take it out of action. Four fighters managed to get destroyed as well, but he now had “only” ten missile boats and thirty-four fighters coming at him.

  He talked briefly to his pilots, telling them to go for the missile boats and get them at all cost. He ordered the launch of his final missiles at thirty thousand kilometers, and twenty-one light missiles streaked away at the enemy, which had yet to launch at him. Their tactics confused him: they seemed to be fighting very stupidly. That was fine with him.

  The missile boats, actually converted shuttles - were very big targets for his missiles, and they did not have laser defenses like the late unlamented destroyers possessed. Rather than firing their missiles, they began maneuvering, but despite their best efforts an amazing eight were hit. None of those survived. Now, there were two missile boats and thirty-four fighters.

  As soon as they came within energy weapons range his crews began targeting the two remaining missile boats with their lasers. One was hit numerous times, and it began tumbling.

  The other went into a tight turn and continued until it was heading the other way. Some of the escorting fighters faltered and then their attack dissolved into chaos. Chamberlin immediately ordered his fighters forward and they took off after the mostly retreating craft.

  Their lasers fired nearly continuously until their capacitors failed. Chamberlin’s pilot told him calmly, “We’ve overheated,” while continuing to accelerate after the enemy craft. The few remaining enemy that had not retreated had been struck multiple times by his fighters and destroyed.

  Chamberlin ordered his crews to turn back and only then did he realize that this last attack had been blunted with no losses to his crews, as well as virtually no remaining weapons of any kind. They had destroyed or damaged both destroyers, nine of the ten missile boats and seven additional fighters. If his enemies hadn’t lost their nerve, they could have simply waved at him as they passed by on the way to the inner federal lines.

  Chamberlin felt that the enemy was done, and his plot showed him the same message – the remaining carriers were moving back from the battle line, although some of them were being towed.

  Chamberlin messaged his superiors that they had stopped the last attack and the enemy seemed to have called a halt to things. His last words were, “We’re holding position, but we have no countermeasures or missiles left. What are your orders?”

  His crews docked and he fi
nally allowed them down out of their equally tired craft. Crews swarmed over them, replacing capacitors and installing the handful of missiles left on board. He ordered his carriers to fall back with his fighters on board. He arbitrarily assigned four crews to Alpha status and they uncomplainingly climbed back up into their craft – the only ones with missiles, and those had only two each. They were asleep moments later.

  Chamberlin’s brother walked up to him with a huge and exhausted smile on his face. They embraced beneath the empty missile pylons of Chamberlin’s fighter, which was radiating large amounts of heat, while the other thirty-four crew gathered in a circle around them. Chamberlin let his brother go and turned to face his surviving comrades.

  He looked at them silently while his exhausted mind tried to come up with something to say. Finally, he said, “We’ve stopped their attack, and you can be proud for all the rest of your life at what we accomplished this day.”

  He could see that they needed more than the few, pallid words he’d scrounged up. Their dead comrades absolutely deserved more. He added, “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be never so vile. This day shall gentle his condition. And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.” After a moment of silence, he explained, “Shakespeare’s Henry V, written in 1599, almost a thousand years ago.” His crews were almost overly familiar with his “first career” as a history professor, but this evening they were receptive. Either that, or they were too exhausted to object.

  His men and women began applauding and soon the gathering maintenance and missile crews joined in. The applause swelled to a crescendo of noise. It wasn’t joyous – they had lost seventy five percent of their fighters – but they had accomplished two miracles: survived and won a huge victory.

  As the noise began to diminish he received a flash message that he immediately passed on to his men and women. A group of carriers, along with a full complement of destroyers, were within thirty minutes of his position. He was ordered to pull back to a rear area and take on new munitions. At the moment, he only had three fighters with working energy weapons – all the others needed new capacitors. In despair, he asked, speaking only to himself, “Munitions for what?”

  They had survived to see another day.

  Two Years, Nine Months Earlier

  They were shuttled out to the main federal fleet and dropped off on a converted freighter. After standing for two hours in a small clump of exhausted and thoroughly miserable replacements, they had to run to an old and dirty shuttle. Inside, they found heaps of containers, boxes, and a few sacks of what may have been food of some sort. After four intervening stops they crawled over the heaped boxes and stepped out onto an echoing flight deck. The two brothers looked around at their new home. John said, “This thing is older than our planet.” James asked, “Can we get a refund? I want a refund.” As they stood uncertainly, a heavy missile carrier approached the shuttle. Instead of missiles, it carried a tall stack of battered aluminum canisters. John looked, glanced away, and looked back: they were caskets. James said, very quietly, “Welcome to the DeKlerk.”

  Chapter 5

  His carrier remained on station until the last moment, but it was already becoming clear that there was no imminent danger from further attacks. He finally spoke to the captain, who ordered his ship to pull back. A large swarm of fresh fighters flashed past on their way to attack the retreating enemy carriers. Typical. Attack after the enemy has left the field.

  It took over four hours for his ship to rendezvous with the three others and pull back far enough to allow colliers to come alongside and begin passing over fresh supplies of missiles. He was informed that later that day he would receive a small number of replacement fighters. Chamberlin’s experience with similar promises led him to doubt the accuracy of that report. His brother snorted, “Based on their track record, they’ll send the replacements to the wrong solar system, and the pallets will contain parts for industrial tractors.” John grinned at his brother. It was a weak joke, but any joke was better than being dead.

  As the colliers pulled away, the already tired maintenance crews worked feverishly to unload the missiles and store them. As they did so, their four battered carriers accelerated toward the center of the enormous wall of battle while half of the fighter crews slept. They stayed well back from the front, but Chamberlin took no chances, and had ten fighters on alert, with the crews strapped in and their systems hot. The other fighters were being serviced, but even there, he ordered his maintenance crews not to initiate any work that would take a fighter down for longer than ten minutes. He had so few fighters left that at least two and sometimes three full crews were working on each one. All of the tiny ships urgently required at least some maintenance – fighting a war is hard on equipment.

  As they approached their newly assigned sector, Chamberlin could see signs of heavy fighting, but none of the panic and disorganization that had so often characterized federal fleets. The plot showed numerous large areas marked in blood red, denoting areas full of debris, most certainly including many dead. He’d just left one of those, filled with the drifting remains of rebel and federal ships and their crews. His stomach muscles tensed and he almost threw up. It had been a very, very long day, one of hundreds of long days.

  His orders were to proceed to a rear area where he was supposed to take on new fighters. Before they arrived, he received new orders, sending the carriers back up to a support position just behind the front. His cynicism was turning out to be justified - again.

  Chamberlin stood in Combat, a large area just off the flight deck, and looked at the main plot, the only one that was able to give him any sense of the huge array of forces shooting at each other. He puzzled over the units he was supposed to support and finally opened a line to his opposite number in a brand new, purpose-built carrier with a strange name, Apache. He looked at the other carriers in the formation and realized that all of them had similar names, Arapaho, Cheyenne, Comanche, Sioux, Bannock, Kiowa, Shoshone, Osage, Navaho and Cree. He wondered at the odd number, but came to the probably correct conclusion – they’d lost one or more.

  Communications were a mess but he was finally able to establish a link with a full admiral, another surprise. As soon as the screen lit up he said, “Sir, my name is Cdr. Chamberlin, the CAG aboard the DeKlerk, a carrier that has been ordered to screen your forces. I’m calling to find out how best to support you.” Admiral Chu was looking off to the side, but he turned to face his own screen and nodded, “Good to see you commander, how many fighters do you have available?”

  Well so much for idle chitchat. “Sir, within the hour I will have a total of twenty four operational fighters.” Admiral Chu looked sharply at him and asked, “How many?” Chamberlin said, “Sir we’ve just been relieved and brought here from the front. We have a total of twenty-four fighters on board, including three being uncrated from stores. I have ten fighters with crews ready for immediate launch, and the other fourteen will be up within the hour. Sir.”

  If the admiral couldn’t figure out why he had so few fighters, Chamberlin would be delighted to tell him. Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. Admiral Chu asked, “I take it you’ve been in combat. Tell me.”

  Chamberlin grimaced and said, “We got bounced with repeated flights of fighters, then finally, fighters, missile boats and destroyers. I started the engagement with eighty fighters, and lost sixty-one. We destroyed nine missile boats, two destroyers, and approximately two hundred fighters. We also destroyed five carriers and damaged at least three others.”

  The admiral stared at him for a moment before replying, “I see. You are fortunate to be here commander, and I am fortunate to have you here. I am sorry for your losses, and I know your crews need to rest, but unfortunately, the enemy doesn’t seem to care. We’ve had our own losses so I truly empathize. I’m
sending you a file with information on our ships. Please study it immediately, as there may be little time left before we get hit again. Briefly, your crews will be backstopping our Ferrets, which constitute a brand new defensive system. We expect a major push within the hour, so get your crews suited up and ready for launch within, say, thirty minutes. Questions?”

  Chamberlin could not think of any, and said so. The admiral nodded his head and cut the link. Moments later the file he’d been promised arrived and he forwarded it to his own office. He wondered what kind of weapon that required carriers was considered to be defensive only?

  He got a cup of coffee and tiredly sat down to read the information. This was his first exposure to this technology. He took a moment from his reading to send a message to his crews, warning them they had to be ready for launch in fifteen minutes. Almost silently, he verbally added, “Sorry.”

  He scanned the data again, made a quick trip to the head and went back to the flight deck. He had been suited up for over sixteen hours, and was bone tired, but the break had given him and his crews a chance to eat and get some rest, if not enough of either.