Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight

by Gibbs, Daniel

  “Acknowledged, sir,” Justin replied. He slid his craft to the heading indicated and toggled the afterburner. “Alpha, keep up. Beta and Gamma, maintain formation. Alpha and Beta will engage hostile bombers. Gamma—your objective is the League fighters. Good hunting!”

  The Sabre rocketed forward, and he slammed back in his seat. Ugh. I think they forgot to fix my inertial dampers. It certainly felt as if there was a bit more weight on his chest than the maneuver would typically cause.

  Flying through the void of space with the battle raging all around him was surreal. Justin almost felt as if he were in a simulator. A friendly destroyer exploded off his port side, sending waves of flame and debris into the path of his fighter. As he juked around it, two League ships blew up simultaneously. Grimly determined to add his own charges to the butcher’s bill, Justin pressed on.

  “Spencer, watch your HUD,” Whatley cautioned. “A squadron of Leaguers is headed straight for you.”

  “Aye, sir,” Justin said. His eyes went to the HUD, and sure enough, a cluster of red dots was inbound. “Red Tails, tally ho. Bandits at twelve o’clock high.”

  The enemy fighters were coming in from above the Z plane his squadron was on, and he pitched up slightly to line them up head-on.

  “Reinforce shields forward, stand by for max range, and engage. We’ll take one pass and break through to our actual target—the bombers.”

  As the range continued to close, Justin reflected on how calm he felt. There he was, flying into the mouth of hell, yet he felt as cool as a cucumber. I wonder if this makes me a veteran.

  With a wry grin, he settled onto the leading League craft. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox three.” Two LIDAR active-tracking missiles dropped from the internal weapons bay and zoomed away from his Sabre. He’d toggled the dual-fire option on, remembering from previous engagements that it took two direct hits to kill one of the fast-moving enemies. A few moments later, he was rewarded with a minor explosion.

  “Alpha element engaged! Press through them, people. Gamma, cover our six. Next stop is those bombers.” He used the HUD’s interface to highlight a group of three craft on an attack run toward the Conqueror, labeled as Sierra Two Hundred Thirty-Six on the display.

  The battle raged around Alpha element but not directly with it. As Justin pressed on with the other three fighters in a tight finger-four formation, his Sabre’s sensors detected multiple anti-ship missiles launched from the bombers they were racing toward. At the range they were at, neither he nor the other pilots could do anything to intervene. All three warheads hit the Conqueror, impacting brightly on its shields and generating an EMP wave.

  Fusion warheads, most likely. He cued his commlink. “Max afterburners. We’ve got to get to intercept range.”

  “Roger. Wilco,” Feldstein replied.

  “Save me a few, Spencer,” Mateus said with a snicker. “I can’t have you running up the kill score on me.”

  Justin couldn’t help but laugh. Her single-minded focus on destroying Leaguers at least put things into perspective. Once his afterburner ran out of charge, he kept pulsing it, pushing the device to its limit. The split second that the targeting reticle turned green, he held down the trigger for his fighter’s neutron cannons. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns!”

  Toggling the ordnance selector, Justin armed the dumb-fire rockets and added them to the fusillade. Several hits later, the enemy bomber exploded. “Alpha One, splash one.” With a slight roll, he slid behind the nearest enemy and opened fire once more.

  “I said to save one for me, Spencer.” Mateus chortled. “Alpha Four, splash one!”

  The bomber directly in front of Justin exploded as he took his finger off the firing trigger, and he pulled up relative to the explosion to avoid a rapidly expanding fireball and debris field. “Alpha One, splash two!”

  He looped his Sabre back around and checked the HUD. More enemy fighters and bombers were already clearing their respective hangar bays, while the dozens of capital ships he could see exchanged directed-energy weapons fire. Blue and red shield effects lit up the void, bathing everything in an eerie glow. The result was almost beautiful. Justin picked a new target and designated the unlucky fighter as a priority intercept for the rest of Alpha element. The four craft turned as one and accelerated into the thick of the fight.

  * * *

  “Conn, TAO. Sierra One Hundred Fifty-Eight destroyed,” Bryan reported. The bridge shook from plasma-ball impacts, as the Leaguers had found them almost as soon as the damaged carrier emerged from its Lawrence drive wormhole. That was also the third friendly vessel blown up in the last sixty seconds.

  Tehrani stared at the tactical plot. She could do precious little to change the outcome of the battle. Her pilots were committed, and the lack of anti-ship weaponry on the Greengold was telling. The nearest enemy ship in range was a small frigate, and it was being pummeled by bombers as well as the Conqueror’s magnetic cannons. Might as well help see those bastards off. “TAO, firing-point procedures, Master Six Hundred Seventy-Three. Forward neutron beams.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am. Firing solutions set.”

  “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Two blue spears shot out of the Zvika Greengold’s bow, crossed the void at the speed of light, and slammed into the hull of the enemy frigate. In one side and out the other, they cut through its brittle hull like a hot knife through butter. Moments later, the vessel exploded in a chain reaction of orange-and-blue flames that quickly vanished in the darkness of space.

  Out of the corner of Tehrani’s eye, a blue dot marked as disabled and very close to the center of the League fleet started moving. At first, she thought it was an optical illusion or a sensor echo. She zoomed in the plot to see the icon labeled as the CSV Salamis. The info box attached to it proclaimed Major Levi Cohen as the commanding officer. A reservist. Lots of those in action today. By Allah, that ship dates back to the Saurian Wars. She realized they must’ve pulled it out of the emergency-reserve mothball fleet. What could the old destroyer possibly accomplish? “TAO, can you ascertain the course for Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight?”

  Bryan turned around after a few seconds. “She’s on a direct collision course with Master One, ma’am.”

  Yes. The flagship. That would make sense. A shiver went down Tehrani’s spine. Irvine had gone after the enemy dreadnought at the center of their formation, but it had decimated her attack force. The destroyer must’ve been disabled in that attack. And now a group of brave men and women plan to finish the job, no matter the cost.

  “Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from General Irvine. She requests any vessels able to provide cover fire for Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight do so immediately.”

  Tehrani made eye contact with Singh. “Send to commander, CSV Salamis… Godspeed, and may Allah take you into paradise.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “Conn, TAO. LIDAR effects… aspect change, new Lawrence drive wormholes opening.” Bryan’s tone changed to one of surprise. “Terran Coalition signature but not CDF. They look like armed merchant vessels, ma’am. New contacts are heading toward the nearest enemy vessels and powering up their weapons.”

  “God help ’em. Freighters, I don’t care how up-gunned they are, aren’t designed for fleet combat,” Wright whispered. “That takes some guts.”

  “Too many heroes,” Tehrani replied softly. “May we remember them.”

  “I’ll settle for God helping us blow these assholes to hell.” Wright crossed his arms. “Apologies for the language, ma’am.”

  For once, Tehrani couldn’t agree more. The battle continued.

  15

  Amid a stream of blue neutron cannon bolts, the League fighter directly ahead of Justin’s craft exploded in a bright-orange ball of flame. Debris no bigger than a standard tablet spread out and, as he zoomed through the cloud, smacked into his Sabre. It sounded like a heavy rain coming down on an alloy roof. Justin scanned his HUD, searching for
his next target. It had been like that the entire battle, one tail-turning dogfight after another. “Alpha One, splash one bandit.”

  “Alpha Two, splash one,” Feldstein called. She’d broken off to engage a flight of League heavy bombers, and all the Alpha-element pilots were using the dumb-fire-rocket trick first discovered by Adeoye—which was great, at least while the pods lasted.

  The personal victories couldn’t mask the overall situation of the fleet, however. Justin kept fighting like a man possessed, but it did little to alter the battle on a large scale. Ship after ship from the CDF side either exploded or was forced to jump out on an emergency basis—a risky proposition even a few minutes inside the Lawrence limit. The unlucky ones blew up anyway during the jump attempts.

  In the distance, a single friendly contact accelerated blindly toward the League fleet—Sierra One Hundred Sixty-Eight. The vessel seemed to be in a sweet spot, too far away from the enemy escorts for them to catch up and too close for the massive battleship at the center of the formation to engage.

  “Now, that takes some balls,” Whatley said.

  “I wouldn’t want to be the commander of that destroyer,” Justin replied quietly. “There has to be a better way. A way to win and get to go home.”

  “Not always, son. If you were watching carefully, you’d know Cohen ordered his crew to abandon ship. Pay attention, because that’s how a real officer deals with things like what we’re facing.”

  The ultimate sacrifice. Justin, in the heat of the moment only a few hours before, had been willing to make it. But something was different about staging a last stand against the enemy and the inevitable death from ramming another warship. At least in his mind, Justin was still in control, even when fighting that last stand against incredible odds. He told himself that to make it feel better.

  Another enemy fighter wandered into range of his forward HUD, and he rocked his Sabre toward it. “Alpha One, engaging hostile LIDAR spike, heading zero-eight-two, range fifty kilometers.”

  As Justin hit his afterburner control and raced forward, Mateus fell into formation off his starboard side. The closer they got, the better resolution his fighter’s onboard sensor suite got, and what had initially appeared to be one fighter turned out to be a group of four. “Alpha Four, watch yourself. We’re outnumbered two to one.”

  “Target-rich environment, Lieutenant,” Mateus crowed. “Just like I like it.”

  “So you keep saying,” Justin mumbled.

  The missile reticule on his HUD changed color, indicating that they were close enough to get a solid lock-on. After a few seconds, the tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox three,” he called while simultaneously pressing the launch button. A Vulture raced away from his Sabre in target-acquisition mode. It took a moment for the warhead to track and explode against the lead enemy’s shields. Following up with a barrage of neutron cannon bolts, he assumed another quick victory was on the horizon.

  But the Leaguer pilots were made of slightly sterner stuff. All four broke sharply, scattering their formation. A few of Justin’s shots hit, but most sailed wide of the target. The first enemy fighter reduced his forward momentum and squeezed off a barrage of red energy bolts, and Justin’s craft overshot.

  Justin rocked his flight stick and accelerated, turning out of the incoming fire and reversing his course with a pitchback maneuver. The other pilot was completely surprised and fell behind. Justin let out a breath and glanced at Mateus’s position on his HUD. Another enemy craft was matching her move for move as she attempted a high-speed scissors attack. The dots exchanged places several times, but the hostile was obviously gaining position on her.

  “Lieutenant, he’s almost got you. Break left and pull out. I’ll swing over and run him down.”

  “Oh no, you don’t, Spencer. I will not be denied this kill,” she replied.

  As she was speaking, the Leaguer matched her turn and cut his speed. He settled behind her six o’clock and fired his energy weapons repeatedly, scoring multiple hits on Mateus’s shields. The pilot followed up with a dual heat-seeking missile launch. Despite her best effort, both warheads exploded near her Sabre.

  “This is Alpha Four declaring an emergency!” Mateus practically shouted. “Master alarm… my reactor is going critical. I’m punching out.” After a burst of static, silence followed.

  On Justin’s HUD, the icon representing Alpha Four blinked out of existence. “Mateus, can you hear me? Mateus?” He paused and sucked in a breath. “Mateus?” Dammit. She’s gone. He hoped against hope that the escape pod had gotten far enough away before the reactor went hypercritical. A moment of sadness was replaced by rage as he rotated his Sabre—just in time to see the enemy pilot performing a barrel roll, presumably in celebration of his kill. We’ll see about that, you son of a bitch. Justin kicked the afterburners up and quickly did the mental geometry required to calculate his course to intercept. He caught the craft as it looped around and loosed a barrage of blue neutron-cannon shots. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.”

  Several bolts connected with their target, creating bright-red shield effects on the enemy fighter before it rolled away. Justin followed the craft, pitching down and slowing his forward speed. In the back of his brain, something reminded him that sacrificing speed in a multi-fighter combat situation was a bad idea. He paid it no heed and pressed on. As Justin veered in and out of his Sabre’s firing arc, he squeezed the trigger, sending more fire toward the Leaguer. The few that hit urged him onward to more. Tighter and tighter he turned, losing more speed as he fought to stay on the aft of the enemy craft, who adopted what a CDF pilot would call a guns-D strategy of wild course changes.

  In the midst of it all, the missile-alert tone sounded. Justin scanned his HUD, and his eyes widened with shock. Two heat-seeking missiles were less than five hundred meters away, and right behind them, three League fighters streaked toward him. Oh shit.

  * * *

  “Conn, TAO. Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six is coming about. She’s locked onto us, ma’am.”

  Tehrani gripped the armrests of the CO’s chair as she pondered Bryan’s report. The League heavy cruiser had taken a firing pass on the Conqueror and broken off presumably to recharge its shields and was in their face, flinging plasma balls at every friendly vessel in range. “Has Sierra Ninety-Six engaged?”

  “Not yet, ma’am,” Bryan replied quickly.

  “Communications, request Sierra Ninety-Six redirect all fire to Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh said. A moment later, he looked over his console at her. “Message delivered. Flash traffic from commander, CSV Conqueror—will launch an alpha strike in thirty seconds.”

  Thirty seconds until all hell rains down on the enemy. Tehrani grinned fiercely. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six. I want you to target their weakest armor points and aim for the hangar bay. We’ll wait to shoot until the Conqueror works her magic. Clear?”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Wright leaned in and whispered into her ear, “You realize CDF CONOPS is the carriers stay out of the fighting, right?” While he delivered the words with a calm smile, he had an edge to his voice.

  “Of course. They also don’t cover a situation like this,” Tehrani replied.

  “Our shields are down to thirty-two percent, skipper.”

  “Ask me what’s really on your mind, Benjamin.” She hoped the use of his first name would defuse any tension.

  “What’s your plan B?”

  “Emergency Lawrence drive jump out, with as many of our fighters as can make it back in sixty seconds.”

  Wright’s face turned pale. “That’s it?”

  “That’s all there is. Just like last time.”

  He nodded and pursed his lips. “I know you’re right. But God…”

  “What’s the old saw, XO? War is hell.” Tehrani turned her attention back to the tactical plot above her head. The CDF ships—those that hadn’t been destroyed already—maint
ained a cohesive battle line and gamely engaged the advancing enemy forces. But they were up against so many League vessels. For every one they neutralized, four more took its place, like an onrushing tsunami. The rate of loss they’re taking… why do they do it? For that matter, why is this so-called League of Sol even here? What has the Terran Coalition possibly done to them to justify an all-out sneak attack? She vaguely recalled bits of information from history lessons in school about communist empires on old Earth that had conquered only for the sake of trying to take over the world. I guess some things never change.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Sierra Ninety-Six. She’s preparing an alpha strike, ma’am. I show all magnetic-cannon turrets ready to fire along with her neutron beams.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Confirm firing solution on Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six.”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am. I’m targeting its hangar bay as instructed.”

  A group of four fast-moving blue dots labeled Delta veered toward the enemy heavy cruiser on Tehrani’s monitor. They were Mauler-class bombers. Martin appeared to be timing his attack to match up with the Conqueror’s. How quickly we’re all turning into veterans. She stole a glance at the icon for the CSV Salamis. It continued to accelerate, its course unchanged—straight at the League flagship.

  “Conn, TAO. Sierra Ninety-Six is prosecuting the target.”

  The Conqueror—battered, with its armor plating burned and melted—was like a prizefighter that didn’t know when to quit. Her weapons blazed defiance as blue neutron beams erupted from her hull and connected with the League vessel. Coupled with a volley of a dozen missiles and thirty magnetic-cannon shells, the impacts rained down on its protective shields. At some point during the bombardment, the shields failed, and hits landed on the armor plating of the cruiser.