Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (46 page)

In Space, the top speed of the Delta fighter was 200 lutens. However, the exponential ‘planet effect’ – an atmospheric and gravity bias – reduced that considerably. Even in the highly rarefied atmosphere and the reduced gravity of the Moon, it was, by necessity, much less. And each pilot would need to be aware of the exhaust efflux of other fighters, as propulsion was achieved by ejecting a high velocity stream of atomic particles rearwards. Such a matter stream would simply cut a spacecraft in two, like a hot knife through butter.

The cockpit of the Swiftsure was long and narrow. Compared to the Delta, Richard felt it a little tight, but, for a pilot, it was a masterpiece of ergonomics. Involuntarily, but reassuringly, Richard tapped the cowling above the instrument panel with his gloved hand – as a cavalryman would pat his horse in order to steady it before a headlong charge.
There was some melody to the arrangement,
Thomas thought,
but apprehension clearly slurred the rhythm.

The Swiftsure was an ageing model – in fact it was one of the first interplanetary fighters to enter service. Its time, however, had been cut short by the arrival of the Delta Class, which was superior in all quarters, including range, speed, endurance and weapon capacity. Nevertheless, it was a very capable craft and in the right hands it could out-turn the Delta in a one-to-one. Richard felt confident enough, although he was conscious of his raised heart rate and moist palms.

As he neared the Moon, Richard reduced his speed to 150 lutens and then further still to 110, allowing Red Wing the opportunity to take up station in formation slightly behind his. He checked left and right over his shoulders, sighting his Number Two and Three. They both held accurate positions. Rock solid, not a murmur did he hear from his team.

“Sitrep, Thomas!” Richard barked, breaking a period of silence.

“Oceanus Procellarum is on the nose, Commander. Range seventeen thousand kilometres. Descent point in five minutes. I’ll call you to turn right onto one seven zero degrees in another few minutes.”

“Copied. Are you receiving any transmissions from the Humatron forces?”

“I should say! The ether is buzzing – ultra-high-frequency range. It’s like hundreds of facsimile machines trying to connect simultaneously.”

“Can you see Red Wing?”

Thomas twisted his mechanical head through 180 degrees and looked behind. “Yes, Commander; they are in position.”

“Copied.” Richard pressed the radio transmit button on his control column. “Andromeda Operations, this is Black One on combat frequency. How do you read?” Richard glanced at an instrument that gave him a 3D representation of his entry manoeuvre profile. He reached forward and, making a number of selections, manually deleted the orbital phase. Nor would he be adhering to the profiles stepped descent. This would be a dive into hell.

The radio crackled for a few moments and then a voice was heard. “Black One . . . are we glad to hear you. Things are desperate here. We are barely holding out.”

“Give me some specifics, Andromeda. Red Leader is also on frequency.”

“Okay, Commander. The 1
st
Regiment is holding a line forty Ks north of here – close to the Rima Fresnel escarpment; basic coordinates twenty-eight degrees north, four degrees east. They are under extreme pressure and taking heavy casualties – maybe an hour and it will be all over for them. The 2
nd
Regiment have been pushed aside west of the Santos Dumont impact crater. They reported a force of approximately forty robots – horrendous injuries to our people. The Humatrons are not taking prisoners. Our force is in disarray; Colonel Randle is trying to gather who he can and make it back to Andromeda for a final defensive ring.”

From his voice, Richard knew who was on the radio, and conversely, Herbie Smith knew who was coming to their aid. “Give me the space picture!” ordered Richard.

“They have total aerial supremacy, Commander.” As he spoke those words, Smith’s anxiety was clearly apparent. “All our fighters are down and two S2s destroyed on the ground. Two other S2s remaining, but HQ is holding them back for humanitarian evacuation. The Humatrons are using a small agile fighter that we haven’t seen before. The Intelligence Department is trying to calculate some performance criteria from video traces . . . the most we have seen is forty lutens but incredibly high manoeuvrability; no human could stand the g-forces involved.”

“Copied! How many?”

“Difficult to say, Commander – maybe fifty of them. We have downed a few, maybe four or five. Aside from their extreme manoeuvrability, they don’t appear to have a lot of protection. Weaponry appears to be air-to-ground biased rather than air-to-air. Also, they don’t seem to carry a lot of fuel, as we have measured the average theatre time at thirty minutes. We know they have a landing strip to the north, Sector One One Nine; it’s definitely a refuelling facility. HQ is suggesting it as a priority target. Over . . .”

“Understood,” Richard said, and at the same time he acknowledged Thomas’s prompt and pushed the nose of his craft down to initiate a steep dive. Black Formation followed him in a tight, precise, formation. “You still have the 3
rd
Regiment, Andromeda – what about the Third?”

“Half of the 3
rd
Regiment is tracking a platoon of robots who are making hit and run attacks on our eastern boundary – all the sensors are down in that area. The other half are trying to face off a surge from the south-west along the Rima Hadley. We think there is upwards of a hundred and fifty Humatrons – they will burst through for sure. I say again . . . they are not taking prisoners, Commander. They are pulling us apart . . . literally!”

“Listen carefully to this, Andromeda . . . You are to get the Third out of the Rima Hadley Rille. We will strike there first . . . less than twelve minutes from now. I want that valley clear of our forces – do you copy?”

“Yes. The message is being passed on. Command is listening. Over . . .”

“I say again that Red Leader
is
on air,” Richard continued. “He will coordinate the attacks to the north. Black Formation is now suborbital. Andromeda, we are coming in . . . hang on.
Break! Break!
Red One from Black One, we are initiating the attack profile. Once we are down there, we will not fly above three hundred feet – you have the airspace above four hundred feet. Over and out.”

“Thomas!” Richard said over the intercom. “Select transponder code Alpha six six four and scramble it, and ensure the general combat frequency remains open at all times.”

“Combat channel prioritised, Commander.”

“Very good.”

From behind, Richard’s head appeared to roll on his shoulders as he continued his search for enemy spacecraft. Thomas busied himself by monitoring the various sensor displays. Although extremely reliable, training sorties had proved that the electronic sensors of the Swiftsure and Delta Class fighters were not infallible and clever pilots could occasionally penetrate their defensive screen undetected. With this in mind, Richard had no intention of being caught unawares. During a regular instrument scan he confirmed his passing altitude as 100,000 feet, his speed at 120 lutens and his heading as being due south. In response, he eased back on the thrust levers and then commenced a gentle left turn.

“Continue the turn from one seven zero degrees to one two zero degrees, Commander,” said Thomas.

Richard responded. Then, from total darkness, Richard’s surroundings suddenly became dazzlingly bright and glaring. A distant fiery ball appeared to rise from nowhere and flooded his cockpit with brilliant sunshine. He immediately dropped his visor again in response, but his eyes could not help smarting at the Sun’s unexpected intensity and he cursed his forgetfulness. Streaking across the Moon’s surface like missiles, the Formation quickly left the shadowy area between the dark side and the light side and, within minutes, Richard began to see a vast undulating plain that was the Mare Imbrium – the Sea of Imbrium.
Altitude is 40,000 feet, speed 105 lutens,
he noted.

“Okay, Thomas,” responded Richard after another two thoughtful minutes. “I’m beginning to make out the Lambert crater, and the Apennine mountain range is rising on the horizon. We are getting close. Send a message to Red Formation over the data link . . . ‘We are positioning for the initial attack run; all fighters should minimise radio transmission on primary combat frequency.’ When you are done, select our dedicated formation frequency.”

“Yes, Commander, and Channel Six is open.”

“Channel Six open, copied.”
Thomas is very competent,
Richard thought. He was beginning to appreciate the biomachine’s abilities.

As their altitude passed 18,000 feet Richard’s passage over the Moon’s surface appeared to accelerate, despite maintaining a velocity of precisely 100 lutens. It was an optical illusion that Richard was familiar with, but it made him consider the implications of flying the attack run too fast, because it would limit their targeting opportunities. There was a narrow dividing line between speed for survival and effective target allocation and weapon delivery. After a few moments of deliberation he decided to position at 70 lutens and attack at 50 lutens – equivalent to an ‘in gravity’ speed of 1700 kilometres per hour or 1050 miles per hour. It would leave them exposed but would, at the same time, give a better kill rate. He drew a deep breath before passing on this information to his formation.

“Black Formation, this is Black One on Channel Six,” he called over the radio. “We will commence the initial attack run at 70 lutens and decelerate to 50 lutens in the valley. Watch my speed closely; as the rille twists and turns we may need to reduce further. Nine minutes to target. Arm your weapons! I repeat! Black Formation, arm your weapons!” Richard could feel his heart rate increasing. He took another deep breath and thought of home. Rachel’s face flashed through his mind.

Seconds later, Richard led the Formation over the Lambert impact crater. He looked down at its almost circular outer rampart and the terraced inner walls. The fifteen kilometres to its centre took mere seconds to traverse and all the while Richard decelerated. He knew the crater to be approximately two point four kilometres deep and the outer rim to be about 1500 feet high. He passed over its far edge at 6000 feet with the jagged ridgeline of the Apennine Mountains looming up ahead of him.

Almost six hundred and fifty kilometres long and roughly orientated north-south, the Apennine range appeared majestic as it towered upwards and shone in the sunlight. Volcanic in origin and with more than three thousand peaks – Mount Hadley in the north reaching 15,000 feet – the tallest outcrops cast long dark shadows in their lee. From Richard’s altitude and direction, the mountain range appeared similar to the European Alps when flying towards them from Austria, but more serrated, and much more hostile.

The next landmark was the Timocharis crater and, as they sped towards it, Richard could see its twenty kilometre rampart begin to rise towards the high rim, the silhouette of which appeared grey, bleak, fractured and crumbling. This almighty indentation, Richard recalled, was punched in the Moon’s surface by a wayward meteorite a billion years earlier.

The Swiftsure slowly decelerated through 80 lutens, then 75, and back to 70 – making Richard speed-stable and able to prepare his own armament systems. In response, two green lights illuminated on his weapons panel. There was also a schematic representation of his spacecraft on that small, square panel, and part of it, the thin pods beneath the stub wings, also turned green, indicating that the sonic initiators were primed and ready. The short cobalt steel barrel mounted in the nose of the Swiftsure fired ballistic projectiles. Richard was able to select lighter, high-velocity rounds or longer, heavier, armour-piercing shells, as there were two separate magazines. It was an antiquated system in terms of modern aerial combat but for this scenario it might prove very effective –
even an asset
, he considered. Richard pressed a button and in response a small circular panel slid open just below the nosecone of his craft and the barrel motored forward ominously, to protrude by approximately thirty centimetres.

At 2000 feet above the surface of the plain and still descending, Richard steered around the great Timocharis crater, which, now in close proximity, rushed towards him like an ugly carbuncle on an otherwise undulating and monotonous complexion.

Despite his request, pilots of Red Formation were beginning to use the general combat frequency for mutual warnings. “I’m seeing explosions on the surface,” said one American pilot.

“Yeah, copied, and enemy fighter contacts, bearing zero three zero degrees,” said another. Then he heard the stern voice of Doug Winton over the radio.

“Keep the chat down. I say again, minimise RT and prepare for attack run,” Doug called.

Richard, who sensed one of the formations in question to be above and behind his, refocused his thoughts. He checked the chronometer on the instrument panel: it read 08:29:35. The seconds ticked by . . . 36, 37, 38. The rendezvous was planned for 08:35. His navigation computer continuously updated the arrival time; its indication changed periodically, because Richard was following Thomas’s directions. If he was late it would only be by seconds and not enough to make a difference –
better to be stabilised for the attack run
, Richard determined.
Six abreast and within the confines of the narrow Hadley valley, I can’t afford to have my team fighting for their positions – that would divert their attention from the hunt.

Continuing his descent to 400 feet above the insipid, lifeless surface, Richard steered the Formation through a lazy right-hand turn and then similarly to the left, avoiding another, but much smaller, crater – this one Richard knew was the Huxley crater. Now the foot hills of the Apennine Mountains began to rise from the Mare Imbrium plain; their high, jagged peaks occasionally masked the sun. The wall of grey rock thrust upwards with Mons Ampere and Mons Huygens clearly visible ahead of them.