Into the Black: Odyssey One (21 page)

“No good! It’s too big; we’ll have to try hitting it, en mass!” Stephanus yelled over the screaming warning alarms that jangled in his cockpit.

The Archangels who had been covering ‘team one’ broke from the dogfight and accelerated suicidal fast, toward the enemy capital ship. They knew that there was no point in holding back now.

Lose this fight and there was no going home.

“We’re with you Lead, call the shot!” The anticipation in Flare’s voice brought a wide grin to Stephanus’ face; she was always the first in and the last out.
Stupid girl.

“Target the center of that energy disturbance; give it everything you’ve got!” He snapped, flipping up all the remaining safeties from his firing studs.

No holds barred, the eight remaining Archangels swept in on the enemy energy weapon, all guns firing with desperate fervor. Behind them the enemy fighters were hot in pursuit, trying to destroy the ’Angels, before they could accomplish their task. As the Terran fighters swept away from the target it, became painfully obvious that they had failed.

Despite their best efforts, the energy maelstrom still connected the Odyssey with the Drasin mother ship.

The silence on the tacnet was broken a long moment later. “Cover me, boss man. I have an idea.”

Stephanus snapped his head around in time to see Flare’s fighter peel off from the rest, plunging back through the enemy fighters and towards the Drasin vessel. “Flare! What are you doing?”

Not receiving a reply, Stephanus cursed to himself and reluctantly backed the brash woman’s play. “All right everyone. Cover her!”

The remaining Archangel’s fell into a loose formation and plowed after the errant flyer, letting loose with their few remaining missiles to clear the small fighters from her path. The lone fighter was well ahead of them, by the time Stephanus realized her intentions and if it had been anyone else he would have ordered her back again. He knew that any such order would go unheeded by the hotheaded, young woman.

So, gritting his teeth at the sudden feeling of impotence, he watched his fellow ’Angel, accelerate into the jaws of the lion and wished her luck, as he followed his own instructions and started haloing enemy fighters and opening up with everything his fighter had.

The rogue fighter broke through the enemy’s defences, its cam-plate’s shimmering with iridescent ripples as the onboard computer tried valiantly to reflect the incoming fire. Stephanus didn’t know what was keeping the armor active, he’d have expected it to have been long overwhelmed by this point, but Flare seemed to have a higher power flying on her wing. Fighting the damaged thrusters on her plane, Flare kept the reeling aircraft on a direct course for the alien weapon emitter that was holding the Odyssey, in its clutching grasp.

Samantha Marie Clarke, call sign ‘Flare’, second generation Archangel, and general pain in her superior’s posterior, overrode the safety systems and threw full power to the Cee-Emm field, even as she slammed her throttle full up.

The fighter accelerated from just under .1c, relative velocity, to almost .85c in about a second and a half.

Flare died before the first quarter second passed, even the Cee-Emm field being unable to keep her from being crushed by the sudden acceleration, but her fighter continued on, slamming into the enemy’s capital vessel at relativistic speed.

The explosion that followed tore through the enemy ship, ripping its weapon mount from the hull in a single instant, and terminating the attack on the Odyssey.

*****

Groans echoed across the bridge of the Odyssey, as they did across the entire ship, as the crew began to struggle up from their fallen positions and retook their stations.

“Put the alien vessel on screen,” Weston was having trouble swallowing, his mouth felt like it had been packed in cotton and his lips were dry and chapped.

“Aye sir.”

Weston heard the dry rasp from Lt Daniels and assumed that his symptoms were far from unique. The screen flickered and showed the alien ship, a tall plume of flame marking a gaping wound in the ship’s hull.

“Sir, we have a signal coming in from the Archangels!”

“Tell them to hold on that for a moment and clear away from the alien ship. Target that ship with all weapons, fire at will.”

The barrage of cover fire the Archangels had provided for Flare had deteriorated into a vengeful blaze of fire that swept alien fighter craft from existence. A blaze that Stephanus found himself angrily reluctant to end, but finally, he signalled the others.

“All Archangels break off. Full burn. We have to get clear so the Odyssey can use the Pulse Torpedoes,” Stephanus was angry but he was still a military man and the best path to victory was following orders.

Not extracting revenge.

And the Archangels, in turn, were all soldiers.

They broke off.

Not happily, nor enthusiastically, but they broke off.

As the Archangels swept past the Drasin vessel, putting the enemy between them and the Odyssey, the big guns of the Earth vessel opened up. Blindingly fast bursts of pure white light marked the passage of the Odyssey’s pulse torpedoes, almost impossible to follow with the human eye. Yet, even before those lethal pulses left their firing tubes, white hot holes were already appearing in the alien hull as invisible radiation from the Odyssey primary laser array poured a hellish heat into the Drasin vessel.

Milla stared in shock at the screen, as the Drasin ship was dismantled in a manner of seconds, its hull reduced to a handful of fused slices of unrecognizable material. The remaining fighters were mopped up by a combination of the Archangels precision maneuvers and the judicious application of the Odyssey’s pinpoint defence systems.

In one furious moment, the Odyssey had managed what her own people had failed to do in hours of battle.

Ithan Chans of the Colonial Navy felt a numb shock spread through her, as she looked to the screens and just slumped into the seat she had been given.

And then it was over.

Captain Weston thumbed a command when it became obvious that the battle had ended, “Shuttle’s three and four, prep for SAR and salvage operations. Shuttle one will prep for planetary SAR,” Weston turned to look at his first officer, “Mr. Roberts, have Major Brinks prepare the planetary expedition. Inform him that I want him to take a full Special Forces contingent and whatever else he thinks he might need.”

Roberts snapped to attention, “Yes Sir.”

On his way out he noticed Milla out of the corner of his eye, “Sir, permission to bring our guest along? She could be helpful, if they find any survivors.”

Weston looked at Milla, judging the look in her face and the tense nod she sent in his direction. “Granted. Be careful.”

“Yes Sir,” Roberts motioned Milla off the bridge, “this way, Miss.”

“Commander,” Weston said quietly, but it brought the Commander up short.

“Yes Sir?”

“Have two Carnivore drones included in the shuttle payload,” Weston ordered.

Roberts nodded, “Aye Sir.”

Roberts led Milla off the Bridge as Weston turned back to the bridge staff, “Someone dig out those sensor records and get the labs to figure out what the HELL we just got hit with!”

Roberts followed Milla off the bridge and led her down the corridors to the lift, calling for the flight deck when they were standing in the small pod. Tapping his induction mic, Roberts began giving orders as the lift sped to its destination.

“Major Brinks, gather your men and report to the flight deck for a SAR mission. Standard equipment, plus full environmental gear. Tell Lieutenant Savoy that his team has been activated and have them report with you.”

Milla never heard the confirmation that apparently satisfied the tall, black man that she found herself with. Commander Roberts was an enigma to her, her ship didn’t have his equivalent. Oh, they certainly had a first officer on board, that was a given, but Roberts’ entire manner was alien to her. She had never seen anyone quite as disciplined as this man who stood beside her, his entire manner spoke of control. Control of himself, his environment, and everyone around him.

They remained silent as the lift arrived at its destination. Milla shifted uncomfortably under the Commander’s scrutiny. The lift doors opened to reveal the shuttle bay, and the chaotic flurry of activity around the three large trans-atmospheric craft, Milla had seen earlier. For a moment she found herself looking around for the sleek craft that Stephanus had shown her before, and she realized that they had been outside fighting the Drasin.

The Commander led her across the huge room, veering toward a shuttle that seemed to have attracted more than its fair share of the attention. Gathered around its base there was a large group of men in addition to the technicians she saw mulling around, men whose uniforms didn’t match any that she had seen on board so far.

As they approached one of the men broke from the group, marching out to meet them. “Commander,” the man snapped a salute to Roberts. “My team is good to go. Lieutenant Savoy and his geek squad are packed up and already on board.”

Roberts looked at the man in surprise. “That was fast Major.”

“Not really, Sir. It was anticipation,” Major Wilhelm Brinks, formerly of the United States Air Force, smiled dryly. “Rumors trickled down to us after we arrived in-system; we knew there was a good chance of another SAR. Savoy’s equipment was already down here, so when you called for his team, we just packed their gear, while Savoy assembled his squad.”

Roberts nodded approvingly, “All right, inform your men that you’ve drawn ground duty. We don’t have much data on the planet, so do a few orbits of the planet. We’ve been informed that it is supposed to have some people living on it.”

The three of them had begun to walk toward the shuttle, “Supposed to have?”

Roberts’s expression became grim, “sensors didn’t pick up anything except some residual energy readings that happen to match our playmates weapons fire. We might get something when we get in closer…”

“Any chance of Tangos?” Brinks asked softly, voice pitched low as he considered the situation.

“If it’s like the last one?” Roberts just shrugged with a slight nod.

Brinks nodded silently as the trio marched toward the shuttle and the waiting people. As they arrived, Milla saw the row of men with the odd uniforms snap into a rigid stance, their hands snapping up into a salute, like Brinks had given to Roberts. A moment later, Roberts returned the salute and they dropped their hands to their sides, standing at attention.

Commander Jason Alvarez Roberts looked over the rather motley crew he was faced with. He was aware that each of them was handpicked, the best of the best, of the various Special Forces Groups that had cropped up by the start of the third World War. Army Rangers, Marine Force Recon, Navy Seals, Joint Task Force Two, et cetera et cetera.

Each man chosen for being the best his unit could field.

Only one problem, Roberts thought with a carefully hidden frown. They weren’t, yet, more than the sum of their parts. They weren’t the well-oiled teams that each man had been plucked from, and it showed even in how they stood at attention.

He took a breath, stepped forward and nodded to the men.

“I’m certain that the Major has informed you of the situation, so I’m not going to add anything that you don’t already know. You’re going to do a SAR recon of the planet…, if you pick up any signs of survivors, you’re going to do your best for them. If you kiss dirt, watch each other’s backs and you’ll all come back alive. Hear me!?”

There was an interspersed return from the soldiers that varied from a ‘we hear you, Sir!’ to a roughly uttered, ‘Huah!’ Roberts sighed as quietly as he could, not because of any lack of enthusiasm, nor because their replies were wrong, but simply because he would have preferred if they had all replied as one.

*****

Milla and Brinks held back while Roberts spoke to the men briefly, then finally stepped back and nodding to Brinks.

Brinks nodded back, and turned to address his team, “you heard the man! Double check that your gear is all accounted for, then strap in. We’re going for a little ride.”

Brinks watched with satisfaction as his team smoothly broke up, heading to the equipment they had just packed up to make certain it was all intact. He turned to Milla and looked her up and down appraisingly.

“It was hard to find a fit for you and we don’t carry a lot of this stuff in your size. If you’d follow me,” he said, politely but firmly.

Milla followed the man to a locker on the far side of the bay, where he pulled out an armored suit, similar to the one he wore. She looked at it warily, “do I have to wear this?”

Brinks smiled, “You’ll be glad of it, soon enough. It is standard issue for entering hazardous areas. It’s what we call a ‘Firm Suit’, completely sealed environmental gear that can withstand pressures from near vacuum to fifteen standard atmospheres, without endangering the wearer. It also has a few other gadgets packed tightly into it that could save your life.”

Brinks looked her over for a second while Milla looked back, she was surprised to see the rather rugged looking man flush slightly and turn away, “one moment, Miss… I’ll have a female officer help you get suited up.”

Milla watched in confusion as the Colonel cleared the locker room, and stepped out himself. She looked down at the armor in hand, puzzling over the hard material it was constructed out of. Unless she was missing her guess, it was made of some sort of ceramic material, though she couldn’t be certain.

“Ma’am?”

Milla looked up, slightly surprised to see a female dressed in the same hard armor, looking at her from the door. “Yes?”

The woman smiled slightly, “I’m here to help you suit up.”

“Oh,” Milla nodded, “All right…”

The woman looked at her and she looked back for a moment, before she saw the armored woman roll her eyes and let out a soft chuff of amusement, “oh for… Look, I’m Jaime…”

Milla looked down at her extended hand before she slowly took it, “Milla.”

“All right, Milla,” the woman smiled, then waved her hand. “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to lose the clothes.”