Dark Space (3 page)

   With the
Duchess
quickly falling behind him
by a mile, Shawn reached for the control stick and brought the fighter to bear
on the rendezvous point for his squadron. A minute later he spotted them. Raven
was in the lead position, with Jerry “Nova” Santorum and Drok “Drake” I’rondus
trailing closely behind her.  Behind them was Clarissa “Bagpipes”
McAllister—the apparent love of Trent’s life—and Walter “Weasel” Gunderson.

   Shawn was glad to have Raven and Nova back under
his command. For the last few weeks, the two had been temporarily assigned to
the Kafaran flagship, the
Saa’krular
, under the watchful gaze of
Commodore Savath and Colonel Tausan. The two pilots were tasked with teaching
the Kafaran pilots the basic combat tactics of Sector Command in order to make
them more efficient during combined operations with their new allies. Now, with
their assignment complete, they would be returning to the
Duchess
after
this engagement.  While Shawn was grateful for it, he wasn’t looking forward to
a conversation he knew he’d have to have with Nova over his past performance.
Pushing the upcoming uncomfortable conversation from his mind, Shawn refocused
on the current mission.

   As he approached the squadron from the stern, it re-formed
into an inverted V, with the commander’s craft in the lead. Kestrel did one
final check on the navigation sensor array and then requested the computer
bring the missile systems online. After a series of beeps, the computer had all
twelve missiles online. “Do you wish to automate the firing controls,
Commander?” the computer asked.

   “Negative. Keep them in manual mode.”

   “Not even the forward lasers?” the computer argued,
which was something new. Obviously Trent
had
made more than a few “minor”
adjustments to the vocal processors.

   “No means no.”

   Shawn could almost swear the computer let out an
exasperated sigh. “Understood,” it all but pouted.

   A series of beeps came through his headset, letting
Shawn know that the control officer on board the
Duchess of York
was
calling to update his squadron on the position of the Meltranian vessels. Shawn
tapped the comm button on his console. “This is Kestrel. Go ahead,
Duchess
.”

   The bass voice of Commander Weberity came across
his headset. “Commander, the Meltranians are coming in hot and fast. ETA: five
minutes. Stand by to engage the enemy.”

   “Did our primary target change?” Shawn asked
hesitantly. Based on their previous heading, the combined Unified fleet wasn’t
scheduled to engage the Meltranians for another ten minutes. In hindsight,
however, he should have expected such an overly aggressive move by the enemy.
Once the Meltranians had located the fleet, the enemy had three choices: turn
back, continue on course, or rush in and fight. It seemed that they had chosen
the latter.

   “Negative, Commander. Your primary target is still
the centermost carrier. Admiral Hansen is still convinced that the Meltranian
fleet coordinator is on that vessel. However, the enemy has increased to flank
speed. They’ve released a massive protective screen of small craft.”

   “That doesn’t seem much like a Meltranian leader,”
Raven spoke up, her face automatically appearing on Shawn’s side console.

   “On the contrary, that sounds
exactly
like a
Meltranian commander: send in the cannon fodder first, followed by the heavy
guns. Keep back while the grunts take the blows.”

   Roslyn let out a small “humph” and nodded her head
slowly.

   There was a long silence between all the fighters
in the wing. It seemed everyone was poised for what was about to come next.
Three minutes later, the yellow light began to flash once more on Shawn’s
control panel.  “Kestrel here. Go ahead,
Duchess
.”

   “The Meltranians’ vessels are in visual range.
Short-range sensors are picking up a massive buildup in their forward weapons
arrays, Commander. The Kafarans are advancing to the head of the fleet for our
protection. Prepare for battle.” 

   Shawn tapped in the command that would link his
comm to his tactical officer. “Drake, what do you have?”

   The lieutenant’s highly modified sensors, which had
been further enhanced with specifications provided by the Kafarans, reached out
far ahead of the Sector Command forces. “Confirmed, sir. All intruder vessels
appear to be arming their forward batteries.”

   “
Duchess
, what does their formation look
like?” Shawn asked, knowing that the carrier’s much more powerful sensors
would, by now, be able to discern the composition of the entire Meltranian
fleet.

   “Not as loose as we’d have liked, Commander. We’re
counting fifty-two vessels. They’re in a staggered formation, roughly ten
vessels high and about twenty wide. Sensors confirm that there are three collectors
in the lead, flanked by cruisers and destroyers. The larger carriers are in the
middle of the formation, which should give you some time before they’re clear
enough to launch fighters of their own. Recommend you cut in from the Z-axis.
There seems to be less resistance that way.”

   “Roger,
Duchess
. Just give me the word,”
Shawn said, gripping the shuttle’s control handle with one hand and the index
finger on the other poised above the thrust control switch.

   “Stand by,” Weberity replied distractedly, probably
conferring with Admiral Hansen, who would very likely be in the
Duchess
’s
combat information center.

   Shawn brought up Roslyn’s channel.  “Raven, signal
the rest of the squadron. We’re getting ready to go.”

   “Yes, sir,” the seasoned lieutenant commander
responded.

   Commander Weberity’s voice came back over the
headset a moment later. “Engage thrusters in five … four … three … two … one.
Mark.”

   “Time to light the fire,” Shawn said, pressing the
thruster igniter. The blue-white glow of the engines sprang to life, rocketing
the tiny craft farther away from the
Duchess of York
. The rest of the
Rippers were tight on Shawn’s tail; their engines lighting off in a computer-controlled
sequence directly after their commanding officer.

   When the Meltranian ships became discernable out
their forward view ports, Shawn heard someone—probably Bagpipes—let out a gasp.
There were easily a hundred skeleton-like vessels, perhaps more, nearly twice
as many as the
Duchess
’s sensors were reporting. How they had managed to
hide so many of their numbers was beyond Shawn’s comprehension. But one thing
was certain: the combined Unified fleet was decidedly outmatched. Based on
detailed sensor information provided earlier by the Kafarans, Shawn’s computer
quickly went to work identifying the targets. There were light and heavy
cruisers, destroyers of three different hull types, two fleet carriers, troop
and equipment transports, and a few types that the computer was completely at a
loss to identify. He quickly turned on his sensor recorder. The information his
computer was now obtaining would be invaluable to the tacticians at Sector
Command headquarters—if they made it back from this mission alive at all.

   Before Shawn was within a hundred miles, the lead
Meltranian collector opened fire, its powerful isotonic burst streaking below
the Rippers’ nimble fighters. A half second later, from nearly every ship on
the front line of the Unified Collaboration of Systems combined forces, long
lances of blue and yellow laser blasts sprang out in an attempt to perforate
the front line of the Meltranian forces.  These were quickly followed by the
heavy, puncturing rounds from the Rugorian battle cruisers’ heavy cannons.
While the blasts from Sector Command and the Kafarans did only superficial
damage, the powerful bolts of the Rugorians scored direct hits on the lead
collector, blowing off building-sized chunks from the enemy vessel.

  
One down, ninety-nine to go. 

   As soon as a damaged Meltranian ship moved out of
formation, another collector rushed in to take its place.

   Seconds later, the Rippers, Red Skulls, Hunters,
and a dozen other Sector Command squadrons were winding their way perilously
through the maze of Meltranian warships, themselves continuing to fire on the
combined fleet. Shawn was doing a masterful job at dodging and jinking around
the lumbering capital ships until an enemy frigate made an abrupt turn to
starboard, putting its bulk directly in line with his fighter. With cat-like
reflexes, Shawn slammed the fighter hard forward, narrowly avoiding the seemingly
massive Meltranian warship, only to find his fighter rushing toward the top of
a cruiser only a few hundred yards away.

   “Pull up,” his computer replied calmly. “Collision imminent.
Pull up, or I will be forced to take control.”

   “Not today, sister.” He pushed the stick forward,
inverting his fighter. The momentum brought his Maelstrom closer to the spine
back of the Meltranian than he’d have liked, and a small jolt he felt a moment
later told him that a collision had indeed occurred. 
Not only will I never
live this one down,
but
Trent’s going to kill me.
“Damage
report!”

   “Port stabilizer damaged. Rudder control is not
responding.”

  
Not too bad. That’s for atmospheric operations
only. It has nothing to do with in-space combat.

  
“Port
thruster nozzle is obstructed,” the computer continued after a pause. “Output
is thirty percent of normal.”

  
I take it all back. That’s not good. If I get
into a pinch, I’ll need all the thrust this puppy has.

   Shawn switched the communications channel to address
his entire squadron. “Attack pattern Beta-Two!” Slipping his fighter to port,
he barely missed another warship by a matter of yards, then ducked under the
bow of a destroyer before coming to a clearing in the Meltranians’ battle
formation. Allowing himself a moment to breathe, he looked at the short-range
sensors. His entire squadron was right there with him.
Thank God.

   “Drake?” Shawn asked.

   Drake’s image came up on the screen. Although the
tactical officer was sweating, he managed a smile. “Amazingly, sensors are
showing that we’re right where we need to be.”

   “Now
that's
a stroke of luck I wasn’t
counting on,” Raven said. “No offense, Commander.”

   “None taken,” Shawn almost laughed. “Where is the
primary target?”

   “Just to our stern, sir,” Drake said. “Looks like
the capital ships are too involved with fighting our fleet to worry about
little old us.”

   Shawn nodded to the image. “All right, everyone.
Let’s do it just like we went over in the briefing. Target all concussive and
phillium missiles at the center mass of the flagship.”

   “Locked and loaded,” Nova’s West Texas drawl came
over the headset. “Let’s go put a burr under their saddle.”

   Shawn’s couldn’t agree more. “Swing around,
commence attack, run!”

“Apparently, if you’ve convinced
the powers that be that flying is all you’re ever going to be good at, that’s
when they ground you. And … if you’re
really
good at flying, they ground you with a promotion.”

-Shawn
Kestrel

Modern
Military Tactics During the Meltranian Invasion

   With his squadron in a
staggered formation, the intended target—an enormous Meltranian
flagship—quickly filled the view beyond Shawn’s cockpit. Like all other vessels
in their fleet, this one looked like an enormous desiccated skull, the discarded
and picked-apart remnants of a galactic-scale beast. At over three thousand
feet long, it dwarfed not only the
Duchess of York
, but many of the
nearby Meltranian vessels. Large, spine-like protrusions came out at irregular
angles along the dull gray surface, each concealing sensors and weapons
batteries. Along the ventral side, near the large, gaping mouth-like orifice
that served as the opening of the ship’s hangar, two large eye-shaped clusters
sat side by side, adding to the inkling that the entire vessel was—at one
time—a living thing. However, in past briefings, the Kafarans had mentioned
that the resemblance was just that, and had no basis in fact. The “eyes” that
Shawn was referring to were in fact the housings for enormous sensor clusters,
and were his primary target.

   When the target was locked
into his weapons computer, Shawn ordered his people to fire.

   The phillium missiles were,
by their very nature, a concussive ordnance, and not very useful in
fighter-on-fighter engagements. They were simply too easy to outrun. The beauty
of their destructive power—if one could call such a thing beautiful—was in
their ability to destabilize the hulls of nearby vessels. The explosion would
create an enormous shockwave that would ripple and tear the space around them,
causing massive hull breaches and wanton destructive power. They were
definitely something a pilot wanted to fire, and then beat a hasty retreat
before they detonated. As the ten missiles streaked away from the Rippers,
Shawn and his people peeled away at odd angles to the flagship, engaging their
thrusters at full military power.

   On his sensor screen, Shawn
watched as the missiles exploded a microsecond before reaching the Meltranians’
hull. The overlapping wave of so many warheads tore a gash in the large
sensor-eye, and he watched in delight as the entire assembly crumbled and
exploded. 

   One down, one to go.

   “Wowee,” Lieutenant
Santorum screamed. “That’s sure gonna ruffle their feathers!”

   Shawn silently agreed.
However, now was not the time for elation. His people needed to stay focused.
“Keep it cool over there, Nova,” he said, trying hard not to chide the junior
officer. “We’ve still got problems to handle before we can throw a party.”

   “Yes, sir,” came the
dejected voice of the young lieutenant.

   Shawn was about to say
something in response, but knew that anything he could utter would mean very
little until they got back to the carrier. Deciding to save it for later, he
turned his attention to his executive officer. “Raven, we need to swing around
and take out that other sensor cluster.”

   “Understood,” Roslyn said
as her image appeared on his screen. “Suggest we take vector Beta-2 … come at
them from their stern.”

   “That’s going to give us a
very narrow target,” Shawn replied. He glanced up and saw three Meltranian
fighters closing in on a pair of Kafaran fighters, themselves destroyed a
moment later by three Sector Command interceptors.
Good job, people.
“Drake?”

   The Rippers’ tactical
officer’s image appeared next to Raven’s on Shawn’s screen. “It’s getting
pretty crowded out here, sir. The plan is definitely doable, but we’ll have to
be in an even tighter formation than before. The flagship has less batteries
pointing in that direction, but what they do have is more than enough to take
us all out. Timing will be critical. Regardless, whatever we do, we won’t have
enough missiles to make a third run.”

   Shawn nodded. “Computer,
activate navigation coordination.”

   “Activated, dear.”

   Apparently the ship’s audio
system was also connected to the intercom. The computer’s inflection and cooing
elicited a snicker from both Raven and Bagpipes.

   “You bring somebody up here
with you, Skipper?” Lieutenant Gunderson asked with a chuckle.

   “Stow it, Weasel,” Roslyn
piped in, her tone a curious mixture of authority and mirthfulness.

   “Everyone lock your
computers onto my nav signal. It’s going to be too tight for individual
maneuvers, and I want you people more than just comfortably close to my
fighter. I’ll take control of our position and overall weapons control, but
you’ll be able to override if something unexpected happens. Understood?” When
everyone had affirmed the plan, Shawn nodded. There was a brilliant flash of
light to his port, and Shawn watched as a Rugorian battle cruiser, one of three
in their fleet, took a direct hit from an enemy isotonic cannon. The vessel was
sheared directly in half, with both sections exploding a moment later. His thoughts
went to the Rugorian Captain Voula, and their quickly budding friendship, and
Shawn silently prayed that it wasn’t his ship that had been destroyed. “All right,
people. Let’s do this and get out of this mess.”

   The sleek Maelstroms of the
Rippers were in extremely tight formation as they rounded the stern of the
Meltranian flagship. Wingtip to wingtip, they were separated by mere inches as
they screamed down the length of the long, irregular hull. Even though they
were engaged with other targets, the Meltranian turrets found time enough to
take more than a few potshots at Shawn and his people. With expert flying,
Shawn guided his team as close to the flagship as possible as he set them up
for their attack run.

   “Everyone, get ready. I’m
about to fire.”

   The target was coming up
quickly. As the spikes and spires dotting the hull passed under and around his
fighter, Shawn could see the soft glow of the sensor cluster just on the
horizon. With both clusters out of commission, the Meltranian flagship would be
hard-pressed to coordinate the battle orders for their fleet. All Shawn had to
do was take it out.

   “Standby to fire,” the
computer, reading the targeting and sensor information, informed him.

   Shawn’s index finger poised
over the firing switch on his control stick, and on his HUD he could see the
distance quickly tick down to optimal firing range.
Just a few more seconds.

   To the right of his screen,
an audible alarm sounded, and Shawn looked down in time to see one of his
fighters had manually activate their weapons system. Before Shawn could issue
the command to abort the launch, the plume of a missile afterburner rocketed
past his ship.
Too soon!
They were about to be engulfed in a concussive
wave that, considering their tight formation, was going to blow them all apart.
With just enough time to react, Shawn immediately disconnected the squadron’s
navigation systems from his own. “Abort! All craft pull away! Abort!”

   Shawn pulled back, with
Raven and Drake soaring off to port and starboard. Just as the hull of the
flagship disappeared from his view, Shawn felt the expanding blast wave from
the ill-fired missile. The jolt pushed his craft around in an end-over, which
he was able to recover after a simple roll.

   “Damage report?” Shawn barked
at the computer.

   “Stabilizer damaged. Thrust
nozzle restricted. Auxiliary power generator down. Fusion cannons offline.”

  
At least I still have
life support.

  
“Life support systems at sixty percent
efficiency and dropping.”

  
Perfect
. Looking
beyond the canopy, there was very little action going on. Glancing at his
sensors, Shawn noted that, blessedly, the explosion seemed to have pushed his
craft well outside the main battlefield. “Open a channel to the rest of the
squadron.”

   “Of course, dear.”

   Shawn paid the crooning
computer little mind. “Rippers, report status.”

   “Raven here.”

   “Go ahead.”

   “Sir, we lost Weasel in
that blast,” Roslyn said, her breathing labored.

   Shawn let out a shallow
breath.
Damn. Gunderson was a good pilot.
“Are you okay?”

   “My main oxygen circulation
pump is out, but I’ll manage. Just don’t ask me to run a marathon.”

   “Anyone else?” Shawn asked,
hoping for more positive results from the rest of his squadron mates.
Unfortunately, most everyone was just as bad. Like Shawn, Bagpipes’ weapons
were down. So was her rudder control. Drake’s tactical computer was offline,
but at least he could still fire his weapons manually. The only who was still
at a hundred percent combat efficiency was Nova, but the underbelly of his
fighter looked as if it it’d just survived one hell of a hailstorm.

   “Anyone care to wager a
guess as to what the hell happened back there?” Raven asked, her breathing
still labored. 

   Shawn didn’t need to guess.
Remembering what he’d seen on his tactical computer, he knew they were all very
lucky to be alive at all to talk about it: Nova had disconnected his weapons
computer from Shawn’s craft and fired his weapons too soon. The fighters had
been too far away from their target, and an early deployment meant the missile
had very likely impacted with one of the many bone-like spires jutting from the
Meltranians’ hull. However, with one man down and the rest of his people
limping on borrowed time, this was not the moment to speculate or question why
it’d happened.  

  
But
there’s sure
as hell going to be time later to discuss it.

  
“Drake, my transmitter is going in and
out. Send a coded communication to the
Duchess of York
. We’re in need of
repairs and we’re coming home.”

   “Sir, I’m receiving a
signal from the carrier,” Drake replied almost instantly. “They’re requesting
all squadrons return to base. We’re pulling out.”

   “A retreat?” Clarissa
McAllister’s squeaky voice asked in derision.

   “That’s confirmed,” Drake
said. “We’re sustaining heavy casualties, and Admiral Hansen has ordered an
evacuation of the system. We’ll be jumping as soon as the last fighter is on board.”

   Beyond the canopy, Shawn
could see the fire-covered planet of Griffin a few hundred thousand miles ahead
of his ship. Completely unsuitable for life, it was nonetheless one more
stepping stone the Meltranians would win in this war—one taking them even
closer to Unified space.
Damn.

  
“All right, people. You heard the man.
Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

%%%

   As soon as Shawn’s fighter
touched the deck, he popped open the canopy before the gantry had even drawn up
to the side of his fuselage. Quickly unstrapping his helmet, he tossed it on
the seat as he all but leapt from the fighter, thankful that the small ladder
had attached itself only a half second before. Roslyn’s fighter was being
parked alongside his, and Nova and Bagpipes were already being moved from the
upper hangar to the lower decks for maintenance and repair. There was just as
much action during fighter retrieval as there was during combat operations, and
everyone was on high alert as the
Duchess
and the rest of the fleet
prepared for their upcoming jump out of the system.

   Frustrated over their
defeat, and intent on flagging down Lieutenant Santorum over his performance
during the mission, Shawn was sidetracked when the
Duchess
’s executive
officer, Commander Jeannie Bates, waved him down before he’d made ten steps
from his fighter.

   “Shawn,” the tall blonde
yelled from across the busy hangar.

   He turned to see Commander
Bates leap over several containers strewn about the deck, then zigzag around
several crewman as she bounded like a gazelle toward his position. There was a
worried look on the woman’s usually good-humored face. “What’s going on,
Jeannie?”

   “Glad I caught you,” she
said as she caught her breath. “Captain Ramos needs you in CIC right away.”

   “What for?” he replied far
more defensively than he intended. The fact that she leaned away when he
snapped at her made him feel even more dreadful than he already did. She was a
good friend, and someone both he and Melissa had become close to in their time
on board the
Duchess
. Even though he’d lost a man out there today, there
was undoubtedly a number of people that hadn’t made it back. It certainly
wasn’t her fault. “Sorry, Jeannie. I’m just … tired.”

   “I don’t doubt it,” she
said kindly. “And I’m sure there’s a much more attractive face that you’d
rather see than mine right now.”