Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight

by Gibbs, Daniel

  Adeoye’s voice filled the commlink. “Alpha Three, splash one.”

  Justin didn’t even bother to call out his latest kill. “We’re clear.”

  “For now,” Feldstein replied. “They seem to have a never-ending supply of these things.”

  As if on cue, another blob of red dots appeared on Justin’s HUD. He groaned. “Quit jinxing us.” Justin paused. “Stores check?”

  “I’m out except energy weapons,” Feldstein replied.

  “Same for me,” Adeoye said.

  Justin despaired. Tail-turning dogfights, even against inferior technology, would eventually end up with him and the rest of Alpha dead or ejected. He cued the commlink and set it to the squadron commander’s channel. “CAG, this is Alpha One. We’re all Winchester, sir. Recommend we pull back to the carrier and attempt to resupply.”

  “Negative, Alpha,” Whatley barked. “We hold.”

  “Sir—”

  “Son, listen. There’s no time to get a new load of missiles. We’re going to stand and fight until we can’t fight anymore.”

  Again, the ultimate sacrifice. Who am I to consider stepping aside? Cohen and the crew on that destroyer didn’t. Justin set his jaw. Even though he could make peace with the notion of dying, sacrificing those under him felt like a bridge too far. “Sir, can I at least order my wingmen back?”

  A pregnant pause came through the commlink. “Lieutenant, I respect your desire to take care of those under your command. It’s an excellent trait. But not today… today we’re all in. We hold the line or die trying. You get me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Carry on. CAG out.”

  Justin resolutely stared at the HUD and calculated his course. The Leaguers might overwhelm them in time, but he was determined to take as many of the enemy out as possible—to make the sacrifice worth it. Maybe if we kill enough of them, they’ll stop coming.

  * * *

  “Colonel, it’s time to pull our fighters back,” Wright whispered. He’d leaned in close to her to avoid having his words carry throughout the bridge. “Everyone is Winchester, and it’s suicide for them to go into wave after wave of enemies with full missile loads.”

  Tehrani grimaced, as the words stung. He was right, but she couldn’t bear to admit defeat. I suspect most of our ship commanders feel the same way as I do. “Not yet. We wait until the last possible moment.”

  “Ma’am,” Wright said, his voice rising, “it’s my duty to insist on proper procedure. Canaan’s defense system is operational. We should get what’s left of our air wing, bug out, and make another stand there—after rearming our pilots so they’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell!”

  “As you were,” Tehrani replied forcefully. “Order each squadron to continue engagement until each craft is under fifty percent hull integrity. At that point, they are to bug out to home plate. Clear, XO?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  While Wright’s words were respectful, his tone was anything but. Tehrani made a mental note to address it later—if they had a later. Meanwhile, the battle raged around them. While the CDF battle line had slowly but stubbornly given way earlier, the loss of every ship had become more and more devastating. It allowed the League forces to concentrate their firepower on an ever-dwindling number of targets, to horrific effect. Escorts endured the enemy assault, with destroyer after destroyer exploding as waves of the deadly plasma balls overloaded their shields, melted away armor, and seared them from the universe. The fight was quickly becoming a rout.

  “Conn, TAO. We’ve got a heavy cruiser on a direct approach, ma’am. Designated Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine, it’s focusing on the Conqueror.”

  Inwardly, Tehrani groaned. They just don’t stop coming. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine, forward neutron beams.” She studied her tactical plot. “Do any of our bombers have anti-ship missiles left?”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am.” Bryan turned his head. “No, ma’am. All munitions expended. Our beams can’t get through their shields at full strength.”

  Tehrani already knew that, but it didn’t change that they had to try. “Request fire support from the Conqueror,” she replied quietly.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan said as he faced forward.

  Seconds passed without a response from the CDF battleship. According to Tehrani’s readout, the Conqueror was in worse shape than the Greengold. Her shields had collapsed, and her forward armor was nearly depleted. Still, her magnetic cannons blazed defiance into the void. Missiles erupted from her Vertical Rail Launch System, and neutron beams far more potent than those the Greengold mounted reached out and burned the enemy heavy cruiser’s shields.

  The moment the League vessel’s shields dropped below fifteen percent, Tehrani made her move. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Two blue spears of energy shot out of the Greengold and slammed into the enemy ship as it closed with the CDF formation. After a few moments, the beams penetrated the cruiser’s defensive screens and impacted its hull. But unlike the last few times, there was no series of secondary explosions and no last-second destruction of the target. Plasma balls zoomed out of the Leaguer’s forward turrets along with red energy beams and a brace of missiles. Against the weakened shields of the Greengold and her degraded point-defense systems, the barrage scored many hits.

  “Conn, TAO. Forward and port shields failed, ma’am!” Bryan’s normally professional voice went up an octave, and his volume rose. “We’re taking hull damage, concentrated in the hangar decks and ventral armor.”

  His words stoked fear in Tehrani’s heart. She pulled up a hull-integrity readout. The forward portion of the ship had already turned yellow. “Navigation, emergency turn to port, flank speed. Come to heading two-seven-zero, thirty-degree up bubble.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

  As the Greengold labored to get out of the way of incoming fire, more and more hits registered against the ship’s light-armor skin. Tehrani suddenly pitched forward and was only held back from flying out of her chair by the restraint straps. “Damage report, XO,” she barked.

  “That last impact got us good, ma’am,” Wright replied. He pointed at a blinking red indicator on the screen built into the XO’s chair. “Multiple power conduits lost amidships.”

  He didn’t have to tell Tehrani the rest of the story—enough were disabled that the secondary conduits and bypasses wouldn’t be able to route power to all systems. Eventually, something significant would quit functioning… like shields or their engines. She bit her lip. “Communications, order our fighters and bombers to return to home plate. Priority-one tasker.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied immediately. “Order transmitted.”

  “I take it we’re leaving,” Wright said quietly.

  She nodded. “Dead heroes don’t help anyone.”

  Another wave of plasma balls slammed into the Greengold, and Tehrani realized she’d waited too long as the lights on the bridge flickered and went out. It only took a moment for the emergency lights to turn on, bathing the area in red light. The CO’s chair and its integrated panel bank were nonfunctional. “Does anyone have power to their consoles?”

  “Conn, TAO. Negative.”

  “Conn, Navigation. Negative.”

  “Conn, Communications. Negative.”

  Well, that’s all the major systems. Tehrani brought her small hand comm up to her lips. “Conn, Engineering. Hodges, can you hear me?”

  “Aye, Colonel!” Hodges’s grainy shouts came through the speaker. “No power is getting forward of section fifteen. We’re working on it.”

  “Work faster, Major,” Tehrani replied. “Do you have engine control?”

  “No, ma’am. Most of our electronics are fried.”

  Yelling came from the background, but she couldn’t make it out.

  “Emergency power coming on now, ma’am.”

  Right on cue, computers and consoles came
alive across the bridge. “Conn, TAO. I’ve got sensors back online.” Another series of weapons impacts jostled the crew. “Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine continues to engage.”

  “TAO, do we have any weapons left?” Tehrani asked, her voice taut with tension.

  Bryan turned his head around. “No, ma’am. Neutron beams are offline, as is point defense.”

  Tehrani made eye contact with Wright. “Abandon ship?”

  “I’m sorry, skipper,” he said. “It’s time. A few more hits will probably see us off.”

  As Tehrani opened her mouth to give the order, Bryan spoke. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change… inbound Lawrence drive wormholes!” He paused. “They’re CDF signature, ma’am.”

  “How many?”

  “A lot, ma’am. It looks to be the balance of our reinforcements.”

  The tactical plot populated with dozens of new blue icons, many of them in close proximity to the Zvika Greengold. Hundreds of additional dots appeared as fighters and bombers streamed out of launch bays on the American carriers. Tehrani hummed a cheerful tune.

  “Conn, Communications. Inbound vidlink from the USS Saratoga.” The American-built carriers had reverted to nation-state control several years prior.

  “Put it through to my viewer, Lieutenant.”

  A few seconds later, her monitor came to life with the image of the Saratoga’s bridge, focused on a man in a khaki service uniform. He furrowed his brow. “Colonel Kevin Reynolds, commanding officer, USS Saratoga, at your service. We’ve extended our shields around you, Zvika Greengold.”

  Tehrani let out a breath. “It is a great relief to see you, Colonel Reynolds. We were getting worried.”

  “Better late than never,” Reynolds said. “Maneuver behind us, and our battlegroup will protect you, Colonel.”

  “I’m afraid our engines are down at the moment,” Tehrani replied. She looked at Wright. “ETA, XO?”

  Wright shook his head. “Damage control is reporting it’ll be hours before we’re able to move with more than station-keeping thrusters.”

  She turned back to her viewer. “I’m afraid the Greengold isn’t going anywhere for a while.”

  “Roger that. Hold position as best as you can. We’ve got the watch, Colonel. Saratoga out.”

  After the vidlink blinked out, Tehrani pulled up the tactical plot once more. The mass of blue icons continued to spread out, like a mighty rushing wind. Magnetic-cannon turrets fired, while bright-blue neutron beams crisscrossed space and lit up the blackness. Orange flame dotted the view in the Greengold’s windows, the telltale signature of an exploding warship. Meanwhile, the red dots representing the League vessels disappeared one by one.

  As it sank in, she bowed her head and whispered a prayer in Arabic, thanking Allah for His help.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, all enemy contacts. They’re retreating, ma’am… straight toward the Lawrence limit at flank speed.”

  “It’s over,” Wright said. “Dear God, that was too close.”

  “More aptly, it’s just begun,” Tehrani replied.

  Across the board, the League ships streamed away from Canaan’s beleaguered defenders, pursued by swarms of bombers and every available capital-class vessel. They were still full of fight, though. The newcomers took losses, as did the remaining CDF vessels. One group of enemies seemed to focus their firepower square on the Victory. Her shields had taken a beating for a while and were close to collapse. One burst of plasma balls finished the deflector power off, and hits landed on her hull.

  Dozens of additional plasma balls slammed into the Victory. Tehrani glanced down at her tactical plot, hoping against hope that other friendly vessels were within range—anything that could shield the stricken flagship. A group of anti-ship missiles bobbed and weaved through multiple layers of integrated point defense, and while most were destroyed, one made it. It sailed through the shredded front armor of the mighty battleship and exploded within with a fiery blast of orange-and-blue flame. Secondary explosions blossomed across the forward hull and into the bridge tower. Tehrani could only watch in horror.

  Silence filled the bridge, and a feeling of dread so dense that one could cut it with a knife descended across the room.

  “Conn, TAO,” Bryan finally said. “Sierra One disabled.” He glanced back at her. “CSV Victory is transmitting a general distress call, and command of the fleet has transferred to General Saurez on the CSV Fernando Frontin.” A heavy cruiser, the Frontin was far less capable a warship than the Victory. “The fleet continues to advance.”

  While his last words were superfluous, Tehrani was thankful her young tactical officer had uttered them. Almost instantly, a wave of relief swept the bridge. At the current stage of the fight, morale was incredibly powerful. The outcome still teetered on a knife’s edge, and a perception that without Irvine, all hope was lost would quickly become fatal. Still, being unable to contribute anything further was galling. If only we had our engines and working weapons. “How long until the enemy can jump out, Lieutenant?”

  “We engaged them close to the limit, ma’am. No more than ten minutes, max.”

  So they sat, unable to affect the ongoing battle and watching as the Greengold’s remaining fighters and bombers attacked targets of opportunity and provided cover fire for the new fast movers from the American and British carriers. They destroyed hundreds of League vessels in quick succession, and eventually the enemy broke. First in pairs then in groups, the Leaguers abandoned their formations with their carefully crafted lanes of fire and ran. At that point, the battle was truly over. Mop-up continued, and the new arrivals made the most of their limited engagement time.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change… enemy contacts are charging Lawrence drives. Wormholes opening, ma’am. They’re jumping out.”

  Waves of red dots disappeared from Tehrani’s tactical plot. A few, with serious battle damage and nonfunctional FTL drives, remained. “XO, I want a bow-to-stern damage report in fifteen minutes.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “Conn, Communications. Remaining League ships are requesting surrender terms.”

  Tehrani snorted. “Let the generals deal with that.”

  “Three hots and a cot for them, while we have a war to fight,” Wright groused.

  “According to the Canaan Alliance charter,” Tehrani replied. “We don’t have to like it.”

  “Just enforce it.”

  “Touché.”

  Wright shook his head and buried himself in his console, while Tehrani felt shocked to be alive. A few stray red icons representing enemy fast movers remained on her screen, but they dwindled by the moment as the overwhelming superiority of the nation-state reinforcements saw them off. “Recover our pilots as soon as practical, XO. Launch search and rescue… and may Allah have mercy on our lost and wounded.”

  “Amen,” Wright replied, looking up from his screen. “I’m still working on the damage report, ma’am, but it’s safe to say we won’t be moving for a few hours.”

  “Thank you, XO.”

  17

  In nearly stunned amazement, Justin watched as hundreds of friendly fighters swept the skies clear of enemy vessels. Mostly American and British designs, they were all variations on the Sabre he flew. For a moment, it felt as if the hand of God had reached down and exacted a price from the League. I remember my mother saying a miss is as good as a mile. But as the feeling of amazement faded, Justin examined the cost. Four of his squadron’s pilots showed red on his overview display—ejected or dead. Of the three squadrons from the Zvika Greengold, they had at least a thirty percent rate of loss. The statistic was sobering in the extreme.

  “CAG to all friendly craft,” Whatley said. “Return to home plate. We’re done here. The Americans can have their glory. I won’t risk any more of you in mop-up.”

  “Acknowledged, sir. Alpha is RTB.”

  Feldstein and Adeoye came up from behind him, falling into formation. Justin took notice and cued his commlink to the private Alpha chan
nel. “Let’s do the missing man. To honor Mateus.”

  “Yes, sir,” Feldstein replied quickly. She sounded pained. “I’m going to miss her.”

  As the two other Sabres slid into a finger-four formation, the number-three position was empty. Honoring a comrade fallen in battle was a time-honored tradition, and the weight of losing Mateus hit Justin like a ton of bricks. I lost someone under my command. Combat produced a high unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But the certain knowledge that someone’s daughter wasn’t going home overwhelmed him.

  “Lieutenant Mateus was a fine pilot and a good friend,” Adeoye said. “I suppose on the bright side, she’ll stop cleaning us out at cards.”

  The joke, delivered in his rich timbre, was just enough to shake loose even more emotions.

  Justin blinked as a tear slid down his cheek. “I don’t know where we’re going from here, but it’s been an honor to serve with you.”

  “Same here, Spencer.” Feldstein’s voice almost broke. “Damn, what a day.”

  “And here you all are, carrying on.”

  For a moment, Justin’s heart felt like it had quit beating. “Mateus? Is that you?”

  “Of course it’s me,” she replied. “What? You think I’m coming to you live from the afterlife?”

  Silence reigned for more than a few seconds before Feldstein finally spoke. “What happened? We thought you’d bought the farm.”

  “Lowest-bidder tech again. Comms were down on my escape pod. I just rewired it myself.”

  Relief washed over Justin, and for a second, he felt guilty in his happiness that his friend wasn’t dead and he didn’t have to face losing someone close to him—at least not yet. “Well, I think this calls for a celebration.”

  “Drinks in the mess. Lots of drinks!” Mateus replied.

  “Hear! Hear!” Feldstein said with a chuckle.

  As the Zvika Greengold came into view, Justin felt stunned once more. The proud carrier had more holes in her than he could count. Vapor was escaping from several wounds, while half the ship’s point-defense turrets were simply gone, mangled metal in their places. He wondered how she was still in one piece after the visible beating taken. I guess they build those things to last.