Siege Protocol: The Separatist Wars: Book 3

by Thomas Webb

Hale and Zombie spent the next half hour catching the newly arrived operators up on what Lima had passed along in the broader briefing, as well as expanding on some of the finer details for the ground forces gathered in the room. It was a lot to take in during a short period, but the ability to quickly absorb information was inherent to everyone in the special operations community.

  “Questions?” Hale asked when he and Zombie were done. “Especially any of you guys who got here late.” The room laughed at that.

  “Speaking for the latecomers I think we’re good,” Johnny Chin said. “Op seems pretty straightforward. Even if it is a bit off the holo radar.”

  “We’ve been all about off the holo radar here lately,” Zombie deadpanned. “Okay, people. Dismissed. Gear up. We drop within the hour.”

  As the room began to break up, Chin sought Hale and Zombie out. “How is it Hale?” Chin asked. “Being a civilian contractor, I mean?”

  “It’s . . . different,” Hale said, struggling with the words. Behind them, the other operators were pulling their pulse mags from charging units, checking armor, and prepping their equipment.

  Zombie nodded in agreement. “Not gonna lie, man—it’s weird as shit first, being out and working for the private sector. But you kind of get used to it.”

  “I’ve served since I was eighteen years old,” Johnny Chin said. “Hard to imagine what life might be like after being in for so long.”

  “The end of your career happens fast,” Hale said. “Faster than you think.” He looked away. “And not always by choice.”

  “Attention on the ship.” Commander Vladovic’s voice came over the intership comm system. “All pilots report to the flight deck. All ground teams prep for drop. We are sixty minutes out.”

  Memories of operations past flew through Hale’s mind. He gripped the pulse pistol in his holster and smiled.

  “Listen up, people!” he announced. “You all heard the lady. Gear up! We drop in one hour.”

  -23-

  Shane stepped onto the flight deck of the UNS Libertas. The smell of the hydrogen fuel hit her like a smack in the face, bringing her right back to a place she never thought she’d go again. The feel of her flight armor wrapped around her, reenforcing the sensation that she was indestructible. The sound of the deck crew rushing back and forth, prepping the birds for launch. The whine of the anti-grav lifts loading. The frenzied tecs scrambling to complete the final checks of the ordnance packages. She closed her eyes and breathed it all in, deep.

  Christ in the Stars, she thought. I missed this.

  “Like being home again, Valkyrie?” Captain Hal Jackson, callsign ‘Jackal,’ said. Jackal was one of the pilots on loan from Air & Space Command. He’d been her wingman on lots of sorties back int the day. Jackal was one of the pilots she’d requested specifically by name.

  “Yeah,” Shane replied. “Something like that.”

  Shane had asked for Jackal, Pyro, and a few others personally. Military operational tempo was down right now. That was probably due to the impending talks, so she didn’t feel like she was pulling valuable aviation resources away from troops in the field. She’d gotten every one of the active duty pilots she’d asked for, plus a few more. Some she didn’t know personally, but knew either by their service and flight records or their reputations. All real flyers, to the last one.

  “I swear,” Jackal said. “I don’t know how you ever gave this up.”

  Shane thought of her last years of active duty. How the war had ground her spirit down, how it seemed as though it would never end. Then she thought of the impact she’d had since joining ASI. Last of all she thought of Gina.

  “Some things are more important,” Shane answered.

  Jackal, still single and with no children, shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Shane laughed. Some things were more important than this feeling. If she repeated that often enough to herself, she might even begin to believe it.

  The ship’s warning klaxons blared twice. Shane looked up. “That’s our cue.”

  Jackal gripped his helmet and flight packet tight. “Good hunting, Valkyrie.”

  Shane nodded. “You too, Jackal. We’ll see you on the other side.”

  Shane parted ways with her old wingman and hurried to her ship. There was a sharp intake of breath when she saw it. It was a beautiful, sleek, dark beast.

  A fresh off the line SFA-25 Habu.

  The space designated fighter attack craft went by the deceptively simple name of ‘the snake.’ The Habu was manufactured on Japan’s famed Funayaki moon-based shipyards. Its shape was reminiscent of the venomous jungle reptile that was its namesake. The craft was all sleek curves and a flat, hooded surface and back. The Habu was capable of a sizeable armament package, and for this mission Shane and all her pilots carried two mark 62’s for planetary surface targets, two mark-twenty cluster bombs for enemy armor, and, since she was task force flight leader, Shane herself carried and a Mark 75 GPP under her Habu’s belly. The big GPP, or general-purpose plasma ‘dumb bomb,’ possessed a mass of two-hundred twenty-seven kilograms and could, in theory, cripple a warship under just the right conditions. It was a weapon of last resort. She also boasted twin pulse cannons, and two of the new space-to-space or air-to-air AIM 7 hellfires the UN fleet had begun fielding.

  But all that firepower would be useless to the ground troops if Shane’s squadron couldn’t break through whatever it was that ULS was about to throw at them.

  Shane gripped the ladder leading to the cockpit, already feeling the powerful thrum of the engines firing around her. Anticipation rippled across the flight deck like a sonic wave.

  Shane mounted the craft and dropped into the cockpit, donned her helmet, and connected to the Habu’s AI. An AI that was also a close friend, as it turned out.

  “Hello Captain Mallory,” X37’s chipper voice greeted her. “How are you today?”

  “I’m great, X37. “How’s my favorite AI?”

  “I am well, Captain. And my thanks to you for you saying that about me.”

  Shane activated the Habu’s auxiliary power unit. The bird’s systems flared to holographic life. She gave them a moment to sync with her armor’s HUD. “How are our preflight checks looking?” Shane asked.

  “All checks are showing in the green, Captain.”

  “Outstanding. Fire us up, then.”

  The cockpit vibrated slightly as the hydrogen engines lit. Shane closed her eyes, reveling in the raw power at her fingertips. She engaged her maneuvering anti-grav and felt the smooth thump as the landing gear retracted into the hull.

  Soon the ship hovered above the flight deck. She grasped the throttle assembly, waiting for the deck personnel to taxi her out. At the motion of the deck crew, Shane goaded the Habu forward, slowly gliding up to the launch gates. Pyro aligned to Shane’s left, with Jackal to her right. The reminder of the first launch wave aligned to their flanks.

  “How are we looking, X37?”

  “All engine readings are within normal parameters, Captain. Weapons checks are all optimal as well. We are ready for launch. The strike force is currently awaiting your command.”

  Shane nodded once. “Patch me in to the squadron feed, please.”

  “Right away, Captain.”

  Shane waited a beat for the comm wave to link up. “Attention strike force,” she began. “This is Valkyrie. All fighters prep for launch. Good hunting, pilots. Stand by, first wave.”

  Shane taxied forward, entering the dark confines of the launch gate. Lines of amber lights glowed along the sides of the tube, giving the illusion of convergence in the distance.

  Shane took a deep breath. “Squadron first wave—on my command, ready for launch. Stand by. In three-two-one-Launch.”

  Shane slammed the throttle forward. The launch gate transformed into a blur. The amber lights bled into one long, glowing line as she shot from the warship, hurtling into the deep dark of space.

  “We are clear the warship, Captain,” X37 said a mo
ment later. “Please engage thrusters at your discretion.”

  Shane nodded. “Engaging thrusters.”

  The hydrogen engines flared. Shane felt the thrust as she pushed the throttle forward. The small brown planet they’d been briefed on loomed off to the lower left sector of her HUD. It consisted of several continent-sized land masses, and a series of interconnected blue oceans. The view was not unlike many others she’d seen from her cockpit window.

  A warning tone grabbed her attention. Her eyes darted to the holo screen.

  “Proximity alarm, Captain,” X37 said. “We have incoming.”

  “Roger that.”

  Shane checked her screens. The ULS fighters appeared on her HUD, the mass of ships looking like a swarm of Andarian hornets leaving the nest. She called up the specs on the fighters. Late-model Baanite cross fighters. Capable enough in the right hands, and probably equipped with a few extra bells and whistles. God knew United Les Space had the credits for those kinds of upgrades.

  Shane keyed up her comms. “All fighters,” she said, addressing the entire squadron, “we have bogies inbound. Check your HUD’s for enemy fighter stats. Approximately sixty seconds out. Remember, we’re here to clear the way for the grunts, soften up any ground defenses, and wipe out ULS’ illegal fleet. Watch your sixes and keep an eye on your wingmen. Standby for weapons free.”

  Another five seconds passed before she gave the order.

  “Weapons free,” Shane growled.

  Shane banked hard, diving nose-first into the midst of the oncoming swarm. Pulse fire raced past her cockpit, a fireworks show in space. A deftly executed corkscrew and she passed within meters of an oncoming cross fighter. Shane yanked the stick and turned in pursuit of it.

  “What’s your count, X37?” Shane asked.

  “Forty enemy fighters, Captain Mallory.”

  “More than we thought,” Shane said.

  She did the math in her head. Forty fighters to her squadron of twenty-four. Almost a two-to-one disadvantage. They had the numbers, but her pilots were highly trained by the best Earth had to offer.

  Poor ULS bastards. . . they’d never know what hit them.

  Shane lined up on the cross fighter that she’d chased out of its formation. When it shifted into her holographic crosshairs, she squeezed off a burst of pulse rounds. Shane watched it disappear in a flash of debris.

  “Splash one bogey,” Jackal said. “Nice shooting, Valkyrie.”

  “Stay frosty, Jackal. One down, thirty-nine to go.”

  Shane studied the battlefield. What most people who didn’t fly did not realize was that space was a four-dimensional battleground. That meant three-hundred sixty-degree combat at all times. The only way to address that type of battlefield was to split it into sectors.

  “Flight leader to Squad Leader One,” Shane said to Pyro. “Take half your squad and split off. Upper sector is yours. Jackal-lower sector belongs to you and half your squad. Give me whoever’s left, and I’ll own the middle.”

  “Good copy, Flight Leader,” Pyro replied.

  “Solid copy, Valkyrie,” Jackal said.

  Shane watched the fighters split off from their squads, each pair of wingmen in a nice, tight formation. She checked her screen, counting three more bogeys down with all hers still intact. Her mouth set in a grim smile. At this rate they’d be back by dinner.

  A blip on her battle screen demanded her attention. Then another. And another.

  More bogeys?

  “What the hell’s going on, X37? Report.”

  “I am reading multiple enemy fighters on the squadron’s six, Captain.”

  “More ships?!” Shane swore. “Give me everything you can on those new fighters, X37. And transmit it out to the squadron.”

  “Accessing, Captain.”

  Shane sped through the new data. Multiple ships, unknown specs. Then, as one, the enemy ships vanished.

  “What just happened, X37?”

  “Unsure captain. The enemy ships seem to have dropped from my holo HUD.”

  Ship didn’t just disappear like that. Not unless they were cloaked. Or cloaked and untraceable.

  That was it. ULS had somehow acquired ghost ships. Outlawed under both Planetary Alliance and United Nations military law. The ships were illegal as hell, and twice as dangerous.

  “Valkyrie to squadron—we got ghost ships, people. Looks like those cross fighters were just the JV squad. Now it’s the varsity team’s turn. We saw fifteen of ‘em before they flashed out.”

  “Flight leader!” someone shouted. “They’re on me! Can’t shake em’!”

  Suddenly the unknown pilot’s wave went dead. One of Shane’s twenty-four green indicators turned red.

  “We lost one, Valkyrie,” Pyro said.

  “Copy,” Shane said through gritted teeth. She switched to the squadron wave. “All fighters to the rear. We’ll go back to back. Try to converge on those bastards. Make ‘em pay.”

  Shane yanked the stick back, cutting a hard loop before thrusting the throttle forward, nose cone towards the squadron. The new ships were state of the art hitters, cloaked from targeting systems and most likely moving in fast.

  “We can’t shoot what we can’t see, X37. Anyway you and your AI buddies can put your heads together and get us something on these bogeys?”

  “Working on it, Captain Mallory.”

  Another green icon flashed red and disappeared. Shane slammed a fist against the bulkhead. “Work faster, dammit!”

  “I can’t get a shot!” someone shouted.

  “Maintain comms discipline,” Shane said. “Pop chaff and flare. Over.”

  “I’m out, Flight Leader!

  She could hear the strain in the other pilot’s voice. There were a few newer flyers on her request list, ones she didn’t know personally. They possessed stellar records, but not quite as much experience as her first choices. It must have been one of them.

  “Hang tight,” Shane said. “Help’s on the way.’

  She spotted the errant Habu and powered toward it. Without a clear view of the bogey, Shane dropped in between her pilot and where she thought the bogey should be. Shane expended her entire arsenal of countermeasures in a single shot. Both Shane and the pilot she’d been protecting split in opposite directions. When neither of them exploded in a hail of pulse rounds, she assumed the ghost ship had taken the bait.

  “Thanks, Valkyrie,” the pilot said.

  “Thank me when we get back to the Libertas,” Shane replied.

  They all knew full well that countermeasures were a one-trick pony. When they were gone, they were gone. And now Shane’s were.

  Shane frowned. “I need something on these enemy fighters, X37. Fast.”

  “Captain—one of the enemy fighters seems to be emitting some sort of faint signal.”

  “Yes!” Shane shouted. “Thank you. Lock on to that signal, X37. And give me direct comms with Pyro.”

  “Executing,” X37 replied. “I have Captain Weiss on comms.”

  “Go for Pyro,” Pyro said. Shane could almost feel the tension stretch over the wave. “Please tell me you’ve got a plan.”

  “I do,” Shane said. “I need you to stick close to the edge of the fight, but keep me in your sights. When I give you the signal, come running.”

  “What are you thinking, boss?”

  “No time for questions, Pyro. Just gonna need you to follow my lead, here.”

  “Roger that, ma’am.”

  “I have the signal, Captain,” X37 said.

  “Send it,” Shane said.

  The indicator on Shane’s HUD blinked.

  “Got it.”

  Shane smashed the throttle and streaked in above the ship’s emitted signal, to the point in space that she hoped would be too close for the enemy ship’s holo HUD to pick her up. She checked her own holo HUD as she matched the faint signal’s course and speed. Just as she thought, she saw nothing. The proximity rendered her HUD useless as well.

  “X37—give me imm
ersive visual, please.”

  “Yes, Captain. Turning over imagers now.”

  The Habu, Shane’s HUD, the cockpit around her—everything dissolved. With the imagers showing the view around the Habu, it was as if Shane were sitting in empty space, nothing but blackness and the stars all around her. She peered down between her feet. There it was. The ship was as black as the void, but this close the vessel was visible to her naked human eye.

  “Gotcha,” Shane whispered.

  She gave her Habu throttle, plunging the nose down. A disorienting sensation washed over her, as if she were dropping through outer space. She vectored in front of the enemy ship. The trick was to make them think she didn’t know they were there. To get in close enough to entice, but not close enough to let them know she was on to them.

  “Captain Mallory,” X37 said, sounding worried. “I feel I must warn you-“

  “Noted, X37. You’ve got a backup AI somewhere, don’t you? This isn’t your only brain?”

  “I do, Captain. But you do not.”

  “Understood.”

  Shane moved her ship in a random search pattern, as if she’s exited the battle and was looking for something.

  C’mon you sonofabitch,” she goaded the enemy silently. Just take the bait.

  She hoped X37’s warning about her not having a backup brain didn’t turn out to be prescient.

  The enemy ship wavered, only for a millisecond, as if making up its mind whether or not to take the easy kill.

  A trickle of sweat snaked down Shane’s head along her ear.

  Come on! she pleaded.

  The transmitting ghost ship drifted quietly behind her, lining up for the shot.

  “Yes!” Shane said. “X37—rotate the plasma cannons and get those rear guns working! Random spread pattern! Now!”

  The rear guns popped and opened up, spraying the enemy ship. Warning tones went wild. The cockpit rematerialized around Shane, the holo HUD going bright red.

  “We’ve been targeted, Captain. The enemy ship has a lock on us.”

  “Copy, X37. Keep those rear guns going. Executing evasive maneuvers.”

  Shane twisted the Habu into another nauseating corkscrew, firing her guns as she spun.