Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight
Page 11
Streams of red plasma balls shot by the transparent cockpit canopy of Justin’s fighter. Dread built up within him as he juked from one side to the other, trying to avoid being blown up. He recalled the words of one of his flight instructors, warning him never to let the enemy penetrate his OODA—Observe, Orient, Decide, and Act—loop. The only thing that would even the odds was to take out one of the pursuing fighters. There’s no way to do that with them locked on my six.
Justin made a quick decision and pulled back hard on the flight stick. His Sabre responded immediately, even with engine damage. G-forces climbed rapidly and brought physical pain as he swiftly turned toward his former pursuers. Combat tactics called for avoiding head-to-head slugging matches at all costs, but it was not the time for timidity.
Justin toggled his heat-seeking missiles to double fire. He only had four in total. This had damn well better work. Unlike LIDAR-tracked missiles, the heat seekers didn’t need a lock. He stroked the firing button. “Alpha One, fox two.”
A bright plume of flame accelerated away from his fighter as Justin held down the trigger for his miniature neutron cannons, sending bolt after bolt of blue energy at the enemy fighter he’d lined up with. Plasma balls found his forward shields and whittled them away, ten percent at a time. He’d briefly questioned the logic of his decision before both warheads impacted on the unlucky Leaguer, who didn’t maneuver away. Rewarded with an orange fireball, he breathed a sigh of relief as the remaining fighter streaked by.
“Alpha Two, splash one! I’m on the way, Spencer. Hang on.”
“Roger, Alpha Two. I got one too. Auto repair unit is online, and I’m reengaging the enemy.”
“I could use some help over here,” Mateus said. “These Leaguer bombers are tough.”
“Got any dumb-fire rockets?” Justin asked.
“Negative, sir.”
“Then switch to neutron cannons and close in. It's not worth wasting your Vultures on them.”
“Wilco.”
The HUD flashed with a message that Justin’s engines had been repaired—as much as they would be by the auto-repair unit. He toggled the thrust up to maximum and set off toward the nearest fighter. The faster he could eliminate them, the faster he could help his fellows in splashing the enemy bombers. As he ran the proper engagement tactics through his mind, he had a thought that seemed out of place: This is fun, in some bizarre way. But another portion of his brain chided him. People are dying out here.
10
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields at sixteen percent,” Bryan called. “Forward deflector generator is overheating and close to failure. Sierra One is taking hull damage.”
While the bridge was a seemingly carefully coordinated level of chaos, Tehrani was the eye of the storm. She stared at the tactical display. It showed the two League heavy cruisers bracketing them and, worse, swarms of bombers attacking them from all vectors. We did our best. But at some point, their best wasn’t enough. Options for retreat ran through her mind. “What else can we get into space, XO?”
“They’re popping so much fire into us, ma’am, that I wouldn’t recommend any launch attempts. If one of those plasma balls got lucky and took out a fully loaded bomber… the Greengold wouldn’t survive,” Wright replied quietly. “Probably need to think about bugging out.”
No! Tehrani pursed her lips. “Communications, put me live on the general distress frequency.”
“You’re on, ma’am.”
“This is Colonel Tehrani, CSV Zvika Greengold, requesting assistance from any friendly vessels. I say again, this is the Zvika Greengold requesting assistance. We are under heavy attack, and if we withdraw, enemy forces will finish off the shipyard we’re protecting.” She turned to Singh and made a cutting gesture across her neck.
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields have failed.”
To underline Bryan’s report, a series of jolts shook the entire bridge crew in their harnesses, including Tehrani. She held on tight as the deck bucked. “Navigation, emergency turn to port. Present our starboard shield to the enemy. Ahead flank!”
Wright’s face betrayed his fear. “Colonel, I again must urge you to consider retreat.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Communications, signal the fast movers to head to within thirty-second combat-landing range of the ship.” Tehrani opened her eyes and stared at Wright. “We wait until the last possible moment.”
* * *
“You heard the Colonel. Everyone back to the Greengold.” Justin’s pulse quickened.
Ominous numbers of red dots appeared on his HUD, signaling another wave of enemy fighters and at least two bombers incoming. Dammit. If we don’t stop those bombers, they’ll destroy the Marcus Luttrell or the Greengold. Both ships were heavily damaged. He wasn’t sure how the Luttrell had stayed in one piece. The little destroyer was shot full of so many holes that it didn’t resemble a ship.
I can’t let that happen. Justin wasn’t entirely sure how he’d reached the conclusion that he had to stop the Leaguers by himself, but when he did, it was with a steadfast resolve. Engaging the afterburner of his Sabre, he performed a loop and headed back toward the enemy.
“Sir, why are you turning around?” Feldstein asked.
“Someone’s gotta stop those bombers, Lieutenant. You and everyone else get back to home plate. I’ll cover you.”
“We’re not leaving you, sir.”
“I’ve no desire to die today, Feldstein. The moment I get those bombers, I’ll push it up and perform a combat landing. In the meantime, make sure the rest of Alpha element gets back safely so that I don’t have to worry about you.”
A pregnant pause came through the commlink connection. “I understand, sir.”
“Bring them home safe. Spencer out.”
“Godspeed, sir.”
The exhortation, from a time gone by in the CDF, didn’t strike home for Justin. The only thing getting him out of the situation he was in, besides his skills, was good luck. Sometimes all we need is for the bad guys to have a run of bad luck.
With grim determination, he adjusted the flight stick and aimed directly for the group of fighters racing at him. I need to change the rules here. Justin pulled up the stores list on his Sabre. Three LIDAR-tracking missiles and four heat seekers remained. He inhaled through his nose.
“You should run back with the rest of your friends, capitalist pig,” someone said over the guard frequency in heavily accented English. “If not, we run you down.”
Justin deftly disabled the launch safeties on his heat-seeking missiles, allowing him to toggle-fire all four at the same time. He stroked the missile-launch button, and the quintuplets of death dropped from his fighter’s internal munitions bay. Each Eagle’s engine ignited, and they blasted off toward the approaching League craft.
“Come on down,” Justin said after changing the commlink frequency. “I’ll be glad to wait.” While his tone was confident, even cocky, he wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Hopefully all four warheads won’t find the same fighter.
Luck, fate, or perhaps something more was on Justin’s side. The four missiles danced around the battlespace, quickly gaining targets and beginning their terminal homing mode. Two picked the first Leaguer, while the other two locked onto his wingman. Both enemy craft exploded in orange flame. “Alpha One, splash two.”
“Spencer, what the hell are you doing out there? Get back to home plate.” The commlink’s squadron command channel erupted with the raspy voice of Major Whatley. “I don’t need any dead heroes.”
As Justin rotated his craft and lined up on the closest Leaguer, his mind was alive with how to respond to his commanding officer. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re breaking up.”
“Spencer! Don’t give me that bull—”
He turned the commlink off and took a deep breath. I’ll deal with the court-martial later. Justin had one task: stop the last two League bombers on a direct attack run toward the Zvika Greengold. Both had already loosed anti-ship miss
iles, which in the carrier’s weakened state—especially if they hit the right spot—could destroy the vessel.
He pressed one finger down on the afterburner initiator while holding his flight stick with the other hand. As his Sabre closed the distance, he realized he was coming in upside down, at least from his perspective. After a barrel roll, Justin was on the same plane of engagement.
Justin switched his designated target to the nearest anti-ship missile headed toward the Greengold and sent a stream of blue neutron-cannon energy at it. Trying to hit an object that small was a great challenge, but one bolt dinged the outer skin of the warhead. It exploded in a bright ball of blue fire. As the second one passed, he fired a continuous burst. Just as it was almost beyond engagement range, the missile blew up. He let out a deep sigh and pulled his fighter around.
The League bombers flashed by quickly, still heading straight for the Greengold. Justin pulled fourteen Gs as he looped around, pulse-firing the afterburner to keep his intercept speed up. The missile-lock-on tone blared, and he squeezed the launch button on a LIDAR-guided anti-fighter weapon, which dropped from the Sabre’s internal weapons bay. A moment later, it barreled off into the blackness of space. Because of the close range, it only took five seconds to slam into the enemy bomber’s aft shield and explode.
Holding down his energy-weapons firing trigger, Justin put shot after shot into the bomber’s tail section and was finally rewarded with it exploding into a million pieces. He didn’t call his kill over the commlink or even mentally acknowledge it. Like a machine, he turned his focus to the last bomber and slid his craft over to line up behind it.
The lock-on tone sounded again, its loud buzzing almost a dagger to the mind. Justin launched another LIDAR-guided anti-fighter missile, leaving him with only one left in onboard stores. He was dangerously low on munitions. If this keeps up, all I’ll have left are my neutron cannons. Despite the League bomber’s attempt to maneuver away, the friendly warhead pressed home its attack and hit the enemy’s protective shields. Again, Justin was ready, firing bolt after bolt of blue energy into its hull. Like the other craft before it, the bomber exploded in a ball of orange flames, burning against the blackness of space for a moment before it consumed all onboard oxygen.
Justin felt utterly amazed he was still alive as he stared at his HUD. Four more kills—and somehow his fighter was operational despite no support. He noted with satisfaction that the rest of Alpha element and the friendly bombers were clustered around the Greengold, ready to land. As he turned his Sabre back toward the carrier, a sixth sense came over him. The hair on the back of his head stood up. It took a moment to realize why: the remaining League fighters were directly behind him.
The inbound-missile alarm went off, filling the cockpit of Justin’s craft with a persistent beeping. Muscle memory leaped into action as he deployed several canisters of LIDAR-spoofing chaff and pulled up hard on the flight stick.
“Capitalist has trouble to fight real pilot,” came the same heavily accented Russian voice over the guard frequency. “Enjoy fake afterlife, kozyol.”
As Justin looped around, he narrowly avoided one of the enemy missiles that didn’t take the bait and go after his chaff canisters. The other one did—exploding violently but harmlessly eight hundred meters away. Too close for comfort. He flashed by the two League fighters and killed his forward thrust, using the speed he’d built up to execute a turn in heading that reversed the Sabre’s course. The g-forces from it nearly caused him to black out. But in combat, nearly was the difference between life and death.
“Where you go, pig? Come back and fight.”
Justin grinned as he kicked his engine thrust back to maximum and engaged the afterburner. It only took him a few seconds to settle into the six o’clock position of the nearby enemy craft. While his onboard LIDAR system locked on the target, he cued the transmitter on the commlink. “Hey, Leaguer. I’ve got a weather report for you.” The missile-lock tone sounded, and Justin immediately pressed the launch button. “A thousand degrees Celsius and fiery.” The weapon raced away and, thanks to the short distance, quickly entered terminal-homing mode and exploded against the fighter’s shields. All the while, he sent bolt after bolt of blue neutron energy into the hapless target. A moment later, the League craft exploded in a ball of orange.
“Just you and me, mudak.”
“What’s a mudak?” Justin asked. His Sabre pawed the vacuum as he tried to line up the last enemy. “I don’t think I’ve heard that insult before. Did you make it up just now?”
Hard laughter filled the commlink. “Russian word for testicle. It mean you, idiot. You cannot fight entire League. We sweep you aside.”
“Yeah, well, I swept your friends aside like they weren’t even there,” Justin replied. He squeezed the firing trigger for his craft’s neutron cannons, sending bolt after bolt of highly charged blue energy into the void.
A few connected with the enemy, but the opposing pilot had skill. He juked to one side and rolled away from the barrage. Then, in a flash, the League fighter pulled a one-hundred-eighty-degree Immelmann change in direction. The distance between the two craft decreased to point-blank range as the Leaguer fired aggressively at Justin’s Sabre.
The missile-lock-on alarm sounded, causing Justin to pull back hard on his flight stick, attempting to match the Immelmann. Simultaneously, he triggered his chaff dispenser, only to find it empty. Oh shit. For a moment, panic threatened to take over inside Justin’s mind. He forced it down and hit the afterburner, trying to gain some distance on the incoming warheads—anything to give him space to work with.
It didn’t work. Both tracked his fighter flawlessly and exploded violently against the Sabre’s shields. They failed in an instant, and the loud buzz of the master alarm filled the cockpit.
“Paka paka, Terran,” the Russian pilot called harshly across the void.
Justin realized as he moved his flight stick to the right that his controls were sluggish. A glance at the internal repair diagnostic showed why: damage to the Sabre’s internal hydraulic systems and a busted thruster. His HUD showed the Leaguer lining up perfectly behind him. I was so close. Part of him demanded to know why he’d had to be a hero, especially when he’d avoided any hint of combat throughout his short military career.
“Bye-bye yourself, Leaguer.” Feldstein’s voice cut through the mental noise.
With shock followed quickly by relief, Justin stared at the sensor display as two active LIDAR-tracked missiles loosed from Feldstein’s fighter and ran into the aft shield of the enemy craft. Just like that, it exploded in a ball of flames, and he went from being dead to saved.
Justin let out a breath. “Lieutenant, thank you.” His voice shook. It took a few seconds for him to realize how close to death he’d come.
“No problem, sir. That was one hell of a show you put on. We were all cheering, but it looked like you could use some help.”
“You arrived just in time,” Justin replied. His voice broke as he spoke.
“Never out of the fight, sir.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He paused for a moment and tried to move his craft from side to side. It was still extraordinarily slow to respond to his inputs. “I think I’ve got a flight-control problem, Lieutenant. Could you come alongside and take a look?”
“Yes, sir. Can you maneuver to head back to the Greengold?”
After fighting with the controls, Justin got his Sabre pointed in the general direction of the carrier. “She’s lined up as best as I can, but fine movements are difficult.”
“Understood, sir. Give me a moment here.”
It didn’t take long for Feldstein to match speeds with him, especially considering that his afterburner was out, and Justin’s fighter was barely moving at half of its speed potential. Her Sabre came in closer, until he could see her through the cockpit window. “Sir, you’ve got some big chunks of wing missing out here, and you’re trailing vapor. Not sure what it is. Could be O2. Might be fuel.”
“Alpha One, this is Major Whatley. What is your status?”
Justin flipped his commlink to the command channel. “Heavily damaged, sir. Probably won’t be able to land. Recommend you recover all pilots and come back for me later.”
“Figure out a safe landing vector, Spencer. There won’t be a later.”
Nothing that didn’t end in a string of curse words came to Justin’s mind. He muttered, “Acknowledged, sir.”
Feldstein cut in. She’d overridden his comms channel with a private commlink. “Sir. I wanted to tell you it’s been an honor serving with you. That was… brilliant, sir.”
Justin looked out of his cockpit toward her craft and saw her hand up in salute. He brought his hand to his brow and returned the gesture. “Likewise. Thanks for saving my rear end. Hopefully I’ll get to repay you someday.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
* * *
Tehrani held on to the CO’s chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The bridge seemed to heave and bend around them. Though the shift was an optical illusion, it still generated concern. Sparks showered from the overhead behind her, and what sounded like a fuse blew. It left parts of the area in darkness, with dark shadows playing across the consoles.
“Hull integrity is at seventy-eight percent, ma’am. The Marcus Luttrell is shot full of holes. It’s time to scoop our pilots and go,” Wright said insistently.
As Tehrani opened her lips to give the order for all craft to perform a combat landing, Bryan interrupted her. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormhole.”