Feldstein set her fork down on the table and the napkin in her lap. “I’m going to head down to the shul.” The Zvika Greengold had several worship areas, including a Jewish shul, a Christian church, and a mosque for the Muslims aboard.
“Why?” Mateus asked.
“To pray.”
“Ah.”
“It seems like a good time to ask God for help.” Feldstein shrugged. “I’ll confess I’m usually lax about going to the shul. But…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Justin interjected. “Can’t hurt.” He flashed a grin. “I’m going to head back to my stateroom and lie down. Hoping to get an hour of shuteye.”
As they all stood, the alarm klaxon sounded, and a voice boomed through the ship’s intercom. “Attention all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters! General quarters! Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations. This is not a drill.”
“So much for the best-laid plans.” Mateus wiggled her eyebrows. “I suppose we’ll be heading down to the ready room now?”
Justin closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to focus. “Yup. Let’s go get suited up.”
“No rest for the weary,” Adeoye said.
The group walked out and made its way down the passageways of the Zvika Greengold. All the while, Justin thought about the last twenty-four hours, including the loss of three of their people and the enemy craft he’d destroyed. And those I’ve killed. There was no escaping it. He longed to hear his wife’s voice and see his daughter. He took solace in hoping that if he survived, he would see them after the battle.
8
Justin and his pilots donned their flight suits in record time—less than five minutes for the entire group to get their softsuits on and complete a pressure check with helmets attached. In the event of decompression, the suit kept its wearer alive until rescue and had a built-in homing beacon to aid recovery.
When they strode into the Red Tails squadron ready room, Major Whatley was waiting. The group stood at attention as one.
“As you were,” Whatley said in his gravelly voice. “I’ll make this brief.” He touched a button on the controller tablet, and the holoprojector morphed into an image of a large shipyard complex. “Our communist-bastard friends are attacking an installation that has twenty percent of our drydock space. We have one objective: stop them at any cost.”
“Sir, do we have projections for what we’ll be facing?” Justin asked.
Whatley turned and glowered at him. “Multiple destroyers with a space-superiority fighter escort. We should expect more. Capital ships, bombers… you name it. This is a priority target for them.”
“If it’s such a priority target, why not send a fleet?” Feldstein asked from one row behind Justin. “It seems silly to send in just a few destroyers.”
“Would you like me to contact the League fleet commander and ask him for you, Lieutenant?” Whatley asked mockingly. “Maybe I could get him on a vidlink so you could talk to him. How about that?”
Feldstein turned bright red. “I’m sorry sir. It just makes little sense—”
“Lieutenant, it doesn’t matter whether the enemy makes sense to us or not. They simply are. We don’t ask why. We show up and kill them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Feldstein replied crisply.
“Good. Moving on. A flight of four Mauler bombers will launch with you—Epsilon element. Alpha will engage targets of opportunity, provide close escort, and eradicate the enemy presence. Questions?”
“When do we launch?” Justin asked.
“The Greengold is spinning up her Lawrence drive now. You launch the moment we clear the wormhole. Man your craft!”
Pilots sprang up from their chairs and headed quickly toward the exit. Justin, however, stayed behind. He marched up to Whatley. “Major, permission to speak freely.”
“Oh, this oughta be good. Did I offend you, Spencer? Care for a hurt-feelings form to fill out?” Whatley’s lips curled into a smirk.
Justin’s heart beat faster, and his face grew warm. He’s just pushing my buttons. Determined not to give the man the pleasure of an emotional response, Justin set his jaw instead. “Major, with all due respect, I am the commanding officer of Alpha element and the Red Tails squadron. You will not discipline one of my pilots outside of the chain of command or shame them publicly. If you have an issue with one of my pilots, it goes through me.” He gulped. “Sir.”
Silence descended across the ready room. Whatley stared at him, his brow furrowed as if he were deep in thought or perhaps surprise. “That sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a backbone, Lieutenant.” He pursed his lips. “Okay. Done, dobber. I’ll just come down on you twice as hard.”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have a war to fight.” Justin turned on his heel and marched off. That felt good. Really good.
Whatley gave no response, for once.
* * *
For the third time in a day, blue light bathed the bridge of the Zvika Greengold. A dozen additional enlisted personnel stood watch. Battle stations were manned and ready across the vessel.
Tehrani was adjusting to the new normal of combat every few hours. While she still felt a rush of adrenaline, it wasn’t the same as it had been the last time. Am I getting used to it? She briefly recalled taking part in the Valiant Shield exercises, but they didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
The other major difference was that simulated losses in a fleet exercise held no emotional weight. Everyone went home to their families, and the absence of friends and colleagues in the mess wasn’t an ever-present reminder of the cost of war. How does one get used to that?
“All systems ready, ma’am,” Wright said. “Damage-control parties standing by, and our fighters are ready to launch.”
“Good,” Tehrani replied as she nodded. “Give us another week. We’ll be veterans.”
Wright snorted. “If we’re still alive.”
“Touché.”
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive charge completed,” Mitzner called. “Ready to jump at your command.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Tehrani said. “TAO, weapons and shields status?”
“Shields fully charged. Energy-weapons capacitor at one hundred percent, ma’am,” Bryan replied.
Once more unto the breach. “Communications, order the battle group to follow us in.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Tehrani stared at her tactical plot. It’s time to go. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive, all ahead full.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Space erupted in a spectacular display of colors as a vortex formed in front of the ship. The Greengold slid through. The view changed briefly to the inside of the wormhole, directly followed by the blackness of space—albeit with a new set of stars visible.
“Conn, TAO. Sensors online… showing three League of Sol destroyers, designated Master One, Two, and Three.” Bryan turned around. “Master One and Three are pretty banged up. It appears as if they took damage from automated defenses.”
“Prioritize those ships for our fast movers,” Tehrani replied. “Launch ready fighters and bombers.”
“All ready craft launching now, ma’am,” Wright said. “I show four Sabres and four Maulers in space and forming up.”
“TAO, firing point procedures,” Tehrani began, not missing a beat. “Master Three, forward neutron beams.”
“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”
“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
* * *
Justin was filled with wonder and amazement as his Sabre rocketed out of the Greengold’s hangar bay, pawing the vacuum. It was difficult not to be. Bright-blue beams erupted from the carrier’s bow and slammed into the shields of one of the enemy destroyers. Red energy radiated around the strike. If he weren’t in the middle of a fight for his life and the continued existence of the Terran Coalition, it might’ve been a beautiful displ
ay.
“Alpha One, I’m showing a bunch of debris out here,” Feldstein said. “Guessing it’s what’s left of the defense emplacements.”
That deep inside of Canaan’s system-defense grid, there would be point-defense and anti-ship batteries, but most of the protection would come from other ships. At least that was what Justin remembered reading. “In other words, we’re on our own?”
“Exactly, sir.”
A group of four enemy fighters lit up on Justin’s HUD. They headed directly for the Epsilon bomber formation. “Alpha, break and attack inbound enemies. Weapons-free status. I say again, weapons-free status. Splash ’em.”
“Well, what else did you expect us to do?” Mateus asked in a goofy voice. “Shake hands and offer them a bowl of feijoada?”
Feldstein laughed. “It might give them indigestion.”
As they bantered back and forth, Justin watched the range to target close rapidly. He lined up with the lead fighter and waited for the missile-lock-on tone. Checking his weapon stores, he was happy to see that besides the normal Vulture LIDAR-active-tracking antifighter missiles, he had a pod of dumb-fire rockets. Those will come in handy if League bombers appear. Heh, when they appear. A harsh buzzing filled the cockpit. Justin depressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”
The weapon dropped smoothly out of the internal weapons bay, ignited its engine, and sped away rapidly. A moment later, a blue icon appeared on Justin’s HUD, representing the Vulture. He lined up the targeting reticule for his miniature neutron cannons and squeezed the firing trigger the second he was in range.
Between the missile and numerous streaks of blue neutron energy, the target exploded in short order. The orange blast quickly ended, as the available oxygen supply from the fighter’s life-support system was consumed almost immediately.
But the remaining League craft weren’t sitting ducks. They gamely returned fire from their plasma cannons while sending anti-fighter warheads from their internal weapons stores into the fray.
Justin’s HUD came alive with competing alerts, missile icons, and threat indicators. Like every other encounter so far, the engagement quickly degenerated into a quick-turning dogfight, with him chasing enemies’ aft sections to score another kill—with the added challenge of avoiding death himself. “Alpha One, splash one. Engaged with hostile fighters.” He rocked the flight stick to the left, avoiding a stream of plasma balls as they sailed past his craft. “Epsilon, you’re clear for an attack run.”
“Right, mate, we’re on it. Going after Master Three. Keep those buggers off us, Alpha,” Martin said. “Extra beer for all of you if my old girl doesn’t get shot up again.”
“You’re on, Martin.” Justin laughed softly. Even in the heat of battle, the colorful pilot brought a smile to Justin’s face. He sent another volley of neutron energy at a League fighter, which dodged most of the incoming fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mateus eradicate another enemy.
“Alpha Four, splash one.”
Taking advantage of the momentary lull in fighter combat, the four Mauler bombers lined up for their attack runs. Martin took the lead, and two anti-ship missiles streaked away from his craft. The others followed in short order, leaving a total of eight fusion warheads headed for the League destroyer. Following them in, the bombers added streams of miniature neutron-cannon energy to the mix, causing red impact effects all over the shields of the enemy vessel.
A Lawrence-drive-generated wormhole opened within a few kilometers of Jason’s craft. It took a few seconds for the onboard combat computer to classify its IFF as the CSV Marcus Luttrell. Justin breathed a sigh of relief as the friendly destroyer opened up with all its might, sending neutron beams and magnetic-cannon rounds into Master Three. The Leaguer ship took a beating, and eventually, its protective screens blinked out. Instead of red shield effects, minor explosions blossomed across its armor plating and hull.
“Right on, mates. That’s how you do it!” Martin exclaimed. “Can you do something about the bloody wanker trying to lock me up, Alpha? I’d much rather stick a Javelin up this commie’s tailpipe than have to veer off to avoid another missile heading for my old girl.”
Justin had to stare at the HUD and its augmented-reality display for several seconds before he picked out the offending fighter Martin was talking about. Once he located it, Justin tagged the target as his primary and engaged full afterburner. The Sabre rocketed forward, quickly reaching maximum thrust. He allowed the g-forces to build to an almost unbearable level, mentally calculating the time to intercept. Come on. Come on. The Greengold couldn’t handle an extended capital-ship engagement, and the bombers needed time to lock on properly and fire their large, poorly maneuvering anti-ship missiles. But the League pilot seemed to have an almost myopic focus on Martin’s craft and didn’t react to his approach.
The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and Justin pressed the launch button. An active LIDAR-tracking warhead dropped out of the internal stores bay. A moment later, its engine engaged, and it rocketed away. “Alpha One, fox three!” he called.
As his fighter entered energy-weapons range, Justin lined up as best as he could and held down the firing trigger. Streaks of blue energy erupted from his craft and zoomed through the void. Several hit, followed closely by the missile. The enemy craft exploded in bright-orange flame. “Alpha One, splash one. You’re clear, Epsilon leader.”
“Thanks, mate. Now, enjoy the show.”
Four Javelin missiles blasted away from the flight of Mauler bombers. With no fighter cover remaining, all the enemy vessel had for protection was its point-defense emplacements, and they weren’t up to the task. Three out of the four warheads impacted the hull of the League destroyer, turning the armor molten and exposing the innards of the ship to the vacuum of space. A few seconds later, secondary explosions erupted from the stricken vessel. It blew up before Justin’s eyes, reduced to one-meter chunks that posed no threat except to an unshielded shuttle. It didn’t quite register mentally that besides erasing the ship, hundreds of souls had been erased from the universe at the same time.
“Pleasure doing business with ya, buggers,” Martin said.
It took Justin a moment to realize Martin was transmitting on the guard frequency.
“Now, how about you bugger off, or we’ll do the same thing to your other ships here, yeah?”
To Justin’s immense surprise, someone with a Russian accent spoke, also on the guard frequency. “You capitalist pigs will die. League conquers all, and death of comrades only inspires us further!”
“What are you? Off your face, mate?”
“My face is on, capitalist dog!”
By that point, every CDF pilot in space was snickering at the exchange. Justin could barely contain his laughter as he aimed his Sabre toward the next group of enemy fighters. “These guys fly about as well as they speak English,” he said.
“All right, wanker. We’ll see you off presently,” Martin replied. “Tally ho, boys. Giant target at one o’clock!”
Still laughing, Justin down-selected to the lead fighter of the next group of bandits headed toward the Mauler flight. He patiently waited for the distance to close enough for a solid missile lock while Martin continued his comedic activities. Justin felt glad for the brash pilot—the running stream of jokes allowed him to forget for a moment that they were in a life-or-death battle.
9
Long shadows ran across the bridge. The area was bathed in dim blue lights as the Zvika Greengold maintained condition one. Tehrani monitored the battle from her tactical plot, noting with satisfaction that Alpha element had cleared a path for the bombers once again. Icons representing anti-ship missiles blossomed from each Mauler and raced into the side of a League destroyer right as the Marcus Luttrell opened fire with magnetic cannons and neutron beams.
“Conn, TAO. Master One neutralized,” Bryan said. “Its engine pods sheared off during the attack run by Sierra One. I’m detecting escape pods launching.”
/> “Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington,” Tehrani began. Two down, one to go. Shocked by their performance so far, she marveled at how they were dispatching the enemy vessels with ease.
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Wright intoned.
Tehrani turned toward him. “Get out of my head,” she replied with a grin. “I just thought this was a bit too easy.”
“Yeah, I’m not jinxing us. We can save that for the after-party.”
“Party?”
Wright raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, when this series of battles is over, this ship’s gonna rock like you’ve never seen. You might want to take shore leave.”
“I can put my liquor down just the same as you, XO.” She winked. “Just because I’m a Muslim doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.”
“Point taken, ma’am.”
“Conn, TAO. Master Two entering weapons range.”
“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master Two, forward neutron beams.”
“Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan said.
“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
Twin spears of blue neutrons shot out of the Greengold and crossed the void at the speed of light. They slammed into the shields of the remaining League destroyer, and the impact point crackled with blue and red hues as the deflector generator pushed back against the solid-energy weapon. The enemy’s protective screens held, but from Tehrani’s readout, they’d weakened considerably from the full power blast. Red plasma balls and anti-ship missiles erupted from the League warship and lashed the Greengold along with the Marcus Luttrell.
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 9