Second Earth (28 page)

  
Soon the entire
wing, the remaining fifty-two fighters and attack craft representing seventeen
squadrons, along with the drone craft, were in a tight formation between the
Rhea
and the Kafaran carrier, waiting
for the final order to attack.

  
Commander Shawn
Kestrel, with Raven and Commander Saltori close on his tail, swooped in from
behind the
Rhea
to take their place
at the forefront of the attack.

  
Saltori’s
stone-etched face appeared on Shawn’s HUD. “Admiral Graves has informed the
Rhea
that once our fighters are
committed to the attack, the Kafarans will send out their own wave of
reinforcements, should we need them.”

  
“I’m not overly
anxious to fly alongside a Kafaran, regardless of whether it’s helping us or
not,” Shawn replied.

  
“I hear that,”
Saltori sighed heavily. “Where do you need me, Shawn?”

  
What am I doing up here? I’m not qualified
for this.
Looking down at his short-range sensor display, Shawn could see
icons representing every fighter in the assembled formation. He quickly started
moving the icons around, reordering them into attack wings that would be easier
to manage than the entire lot. He then opened another communications channel
with Raven. With the two lead pilots now side by side on his display, he
dispensed his orders. “Saltori, take up a position with the rest of the Red
Skulls. You’ll form the pinnacle of the right flank. Raven, you’ll be taking
command of the Black Lions and forming the left side of the offensive. I’ll
take the Rippers and a few others. I’ve put a few squadrons together under each
of your commands, so I’ll transmit the assignments to your flight computers and
the rest of the fighter squadrons as well. Form into your wings and prepare to
assault the Meltranian vessel.”

  
“Yes, sir,” both
Raven and Saltori confirmed, then peeled away from Shawn to assume their
positions.

  
Shawn moved his
fighter to the tip of the wedge that formed the frontlines of the USC forces.
When the attack indicator—fed by a signal sent from the
Rhea
—illuminated green a moment later, he ordered the entirety of
the Sector Command combat wing to attack—some of them for the first time, some
for their very last.

  
As the Sector
Command fighters peeled out from behind the Kafaran carrier and headed toward
the Meltranian vessel, the enemy vessel’s port and starboard sides once again
flashed with the now-familiar pinpoints of light that signaled to Shawn that it
was launching its own fighters. Within seconds, the entire area was littered
with a swarm of craft from the enemy ship. The two forces met head-on directly
between the opposing capital ships chaotically, with small numbers of fighters
from both sides colliding with one another when they quickly ran out of
maneuvering room. The Kafaran carrier and the Meltranian ship were still closing
in on one another—albeit more slowly—making the small combat space even tighter
by the second.

  
Shawn opened his
communications channel to all the fighters simultaneously. “Last I’d heard,
space was pretty infinite. Let’s move the fighting away from the Meltranian
ship. I don’t like the idea of staring down the barrel of that gun while we’re
all preoccupied out here.”

  
He had little time
to see if the rest of the pilots acknowledged the command or not. A pair of
Alphas, and something that looked similar to a Beta with a slightly more gaping
mouth hanging below it, jumped into close pursuit behind him.
That must be the Charlie
, he thought,
just as his computer confirmed the same.

  
One of the Alphas
was immediately pounced on by one of the Cobras from the Devil Dogs, and it
exploded into a mass of tiny fragments.

  
Just as quickly,
the Charlie unleashed a spread of missiles, followed by a rapid spread of
plasma fire. Shawn was instantly made aware that this was much more than a
light-missile attacker like the Beta; this was some kind of gunship. He quickly
dodged the missiles, performing a loose barrel roll and allowing the
projectiles to stream past him harmlessly. He wasn’t as lucky against the
plasma bursts. Three rounds had penetrated his auxiliary power generator at the
aft end of his fuselage. The damage wouldn’t take him out of the fight, but he
no longer had any backup power if his main generator went out.
  

  
He quickly ducked
his fighter, then brought the nose around, hoping he could lose the bandit in
the swarm of fighters teeming around one another just a few hundred yards away.
The tactic partially worked when he noticed the Alpha had been distracted by a
Seminole from one of the UCS squadrons.

  
Perfect, now all I have to destroy is the
gunship that is hot on my six.
Shawn threw the craft into a quick snap roll
to starboard, then applied reverse thrust, causing the enemy fighter to slip
past his craft and give him just enough room to open fire with his short-range
guns. The Charlie sped right into Shawn’s reticle, and with a few quick pulls
on the trigger the enemy craft was neatly incinerated.

  
“Nice shooting,
sir,” came the Texas drawl of Jerry Santorum. Nova had somehow slipped beside
Shawn’s fighter without him realizing it. Seeing that their position was now
outside the main attacking forces, Shawn took the brief respite to catch up
with his squadron mate.

  
“Thanks, Nova. How
are you holding up?”

  
“As well as could
be expected,” he said with his signature West-Texan accent. “I’ve bagged a few
fighters, but I’ve been mostly preoccupied with keeping my tail clear. These
little bastards are
quick!
”

  
“You can say that
again. The Kafarans are supposed to be sending in reinforcements if things get
too heavy out here.”

  
“With all due
respect, Skipper, I don’t think things could get any heavier. It’d be nice to
have some help, even if it’s from some two-faced, no-good polecats like the
Kafarans.”

  
Shawn smirked. “I’d
rather take out as many of these Meltranians as we can, and leave those
Kafarans right inside their carrier where they belong.”

  
“I’ll second that!”

  
“Stay on my wing
and we’ll swing around for another pass. Keep to your lasers; avoid firing
missiles that might impact one of our own in there. It’s gonna be tight, so
stay close, okay?”

  
Jerry nodded
curtly. “Roger, Skipper. Ready when you are.”

  
Shawn pulled his
fighter around in a large semicircle with Nova right behind. In seconds they
were instantly back in the fight. Shawn and Nova locked onto the same fighter
and fired at the same instant, blowing the moderately sized Beta to bits. There
were two more gunships coming in toward them now, with Shawn’s computer
registering the class as Echoes. That told him something else new was out here
as well—something that someone’s computer had already classified as a Delta.
That makes for five different types of
attackers.

  
Shawn watched on
his sensor display as one of the Echoes, smaller and sleeker than the Alphas,
launched a pair of missiles at Jerry’s fighter, which prompted him to bank to
starboard and pitch up his nose abruptly to avoid them. The projectiles sailed
past his fighter in an instant, continued onward for another few hundred yards,
then turned abruptly and returned for their target.

  
“Homing missiles,
Nova!” Shawn yelled. “Take evasive action!”

  
“Time to see what
this ol’ heifer can do,” Jerry replied. He snapped his fighter right, pivoting
on the fighter’s axis with lighting speed, then pulled back on the stick hard
to bring the nose around one hundred eighty degrees. He tried slaloming around
the swarm of fighters, hoping the missile would lock onto something else, but
it kept right on his tail. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of one
of the Kafaran destroyers coming in slowly to fire on the Meltranian warship.
He pitched his fighter toward the bulky, cigar-shaped green monolith and kicked
his engines into full thrust.

  
The force instantly
pushed him back into the soft padding of his seat. He had to grip the control
stick with all his strength to keep the craft under control. Jerry continued to
slip from side to side, trying in vain to shake the missile, but with no
success. He pointed his nose at the destroyer, then at the very last minute
pulled back on the stick and sailed over the beast by a fraction of an inch.
One of the homing missiles struck the barrier shield of the destroyer, doing no
damage. The other was still on his tail.

  
With a quick pull
of his stick, Jerry sent his fighter into another tight turn. He pulled around
to the stern of the lumbering Kafaran, pointing his fighter as close to the
rear of the vessel as he could. With one final nudge to starboard, he shot his
fighter right over the center of the destroyer’s immense thruster wash. The
heat singed the bottom of his fighter, peeling off a layer of paint and
deforming the armor plating beneath it. The homing missile wasn’t so lucky,
evaporating in a plume of dust the second it entered the heat of the engines.

  
Shawn had fared
slightly better, destroying one of the Echoes with a burst of laser fire and
the other with an ill-advised missile shot. As he swung around to see if he
could locate Nova visually, he saw two Devastators from the Rough Riders launch
a missile barrage against no less than six enemy fighters, the white smoke
trail forming a type of funnel-shaped spider’s web in space. They converged on
their targets and blanked the area in a large explosion. Only one of the
Meltranian Alphas managed to get through, but it was enough. It fired a pair of
its own missiles at nearly point-blank range, destroying itself, one of the
Marines, and causing the debris of those two to shred the tail section of the
other Devastator.

  
Shawn pitched his
nose down and was suddenly in a clearing. He had time enough to look around for
a fraction of a second before the entire area of space was lit by a blinding
light, as if a sun had just gone nova. The heavily tinted face shield of his
helmet automatically slapped down over his eyes to protect his face from the
incoming fireball-like explosion that was about to overtake his position.

  
T
he
bow of the Kafaran destroyer buckled under the onslaught of the immensely
powerful isotonic cannon of the Meltranian warship. The destroyer’s shielding,
far less potent than the Kafaran carriers, could only take the full force of
one hit before its protective power was halved. As it was, that single impact
gave the Kafarans a severe pummeling, so much so that it knocked the destroyer
off course by nearly three hundred yards. The bow of the vessel was now
swinging slowly, but inexorably, toward the bulk of the space fighters that
were battling one another.

  
Lieutenant Brian
‘The Brain’ Jefferies didn’t see the incoming mass until it was too late. In a
panic, he tried to close the protective shield that would cover his face from
any flying debris that might enter the cockpit. Jefferies swung at his helmet
wildly, and by the time he had managed to secure it in place, he realized with
horror that he had run out of time to maneuver. The destroyer was now filling
his entire canopy from top to bottom. The unforgiving, enormous hull of the
Kafaran destroyer smacked against the nose of his fighter, pulverizing the
fragile vessel and its lone occupant in an instant.

  
Raven’s voice
echoed into Shawn’s ear. “Commander, we just lost Brain!”

  
Shawn was trying
desperately to filter all the incoming communications he was receiving. He’d
heard Raven’s transmission, as well as the transmissions of five other squadron
leaders making similar statements about their own comrades. He simply didn’t
have the time to acknowledge them all at once. He angled his fighter out of the
combat zone—or as nearly out as he could get without wasting too much power—and
sent out an emergency broadcast to the
Rhea
.

  
There were no two
ways about it; they were in trouble.

  
“Sir, incoming
communication from Lieutenant Commander Kestrel. He’s requesting immediate
assistance,” communications officer Clifton called out.

  
Krif walked down to
the communications station and signaled the dark-skinned officer to raise the
Kafaran carrier. With far less fanfare than before, Admiral William Graves’
image appeared on the large screen instantly. Still unsure of seeing a Sector
Command Flag officer standing almost proudly on the bridge of a Kafaran
warship, Krif hesitantly began relaying reports.

  
“Admiral, our
forces are getting pounded out there. Remember that help you mentioned? Well,
we could sure use it.”

  
“How bad is it,
Captain?” Graves asked, his face suddenly long and drawn.

  
“Find out for
yourself, sir.” Krif turned to Lieutenant Clifton and ordered him to patch
Commander Kestrel’s communication into their conversation. Shawn was in the
middle of a sentence when the channel was finally patched in a moment later.

  
“…we are sustaining
heavy casualties out here. We need support, and I don’t give a
damn
what flag they fly under at this
point.”

  
Krif was about to
respond when Graves held up a hand to stay the captain. William cleared his
throat and spoke loud enough for the far-off pilot to hear. “Kestrel, this is
Admiral Graves.”

  
There was a pause,
punctuated by a burst of static before Shawn came back online. “It’s good to
hear your voice, sir, but I’m a little busy getting my butt kicked out here to
chat about the weather. Where’s that backup of yours?”

  
William looked off
to the side of the screen and gave a heavy nod, then turned back to Krif.
“We’re launching now. Hold on for just a few more minutes.”

  
“This little party
might be over before that,” Shawn said. He let out a loud enough grunt to be heard
over the channel by both Krif and Graves, and then the channel went eerily
silent. No static. No response.

  
Graves leaned in
toward the screen, hoping that the mere movement could bridge the huge gap
between himself and his old friend. “Shawn! Are you okay? Answer me!”

  
After an
agonizingly long moment of silence, Shawn’s voice came back online. “—and your
mother, too!” the commander belted. “Sorry, sir. Got into a little disagreement
over who had the right to live out here. Now, how about that assistance?”

  
“They’re on their
way, son.” William cast his gaze to the deck, not really knowing what to say.
“I’ll see you soon.”

  
But Shawn didn’t
have the time for pleasantries, not when so many were dead or dying. “Roger.
Kestrel out.”

  
The injured Kafaran
destroyer continued to swing lazily out of the combat zone, only to be replaced
by its nearly identical twin. Large, dual-barreled plasma cannons on either
side of the vessel began firing alternating salvoes, each one scoring hit after
hit against the Meltranians’ vessel. Graves had been right—the hull of that
thing must have been made of something no one had ever encountered before.
Shawn could see that it was taking the blows, but the damage was miniscule
compared to the weapons that were being deployed against it. Shawn had once
seen these same cannons used to lethal efficiency when they pulverized a Sector
Command frigate into oblivion with only a few well-placed shots. Now, round
after round were barely scratching the surface of the large Meltranian warship,
and Shawn couldn’t help but wonder how they were all going to live through the
day.

  
Just then, on the
edge of his radar, Shawn watched as a lone Unified droid fighter singled out
two Meltranian Alphas. With a haphazard spray of pulse cannons, the
computer-controlled craft incinerated its two foes before flying off and firing
at one of the Sector Command fighters, to no avail. In then quickly pivoted and
found another Meltranian to target.

  
Shawn opened a
secure channel to the
Rhea
. “Commander
Hayes, one of your droid fighters is doing an admirable job of harassing friend
and foe alike out here. Think you could do something about that?”

  
“Specify which
fighter, Commander Kestrel.”

  
Shawn brought the
scanner information into his main display. “DF-309,” he said, watching as the
manta-shaped craft eliminated yet another Alpha.

  
Just then, another
voice—one Shawn wasn’t entirely displeased to hear—came over his headset.

  
“Sorry about that,
Skipper.” The new voice belonged to none other than Trent Maddox.

  
“What the hell are
you doing on this frequency, Sergeant Maddox?” Caitlin Hayes asked furiously.

  
Shawn was wondering
the exact same thing.

  
“Sorry, uh
ma’am...Commander Hayes…sir,” Trent stammered, obviously nervous being behind
the controls of a fighter for the first time in his life. “See, the thing is,
this droid’s computer was acting a little wonky, so I’m trying to compensate by
helping out its targeting computer.”

  
“You’re doing a
questionable job,” Shawn said with a smile.

  
“Oh, hey there, old
buddy,” Trent said, sounding relieved. “I’m doing my best, but this thing is a
little freaky.”

  
Shawn shook his
head. “Commander Hayes, if it’s all the same to you, let’s forgo any
disciplinary action until this is all over and done with. Sergeant Maddox has
complete control of his craft.”

  
“I wouldn’t make
that assumption,” Trent murmured.

  
“What was that?”
Caitlin asked, not sounding the least bit assured.

  
“He said ‘thanks
for the support’,” Shawn replied quickly. “And that he promises not to make an
ass out of me. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

  
“Yeah, sure. I
mean, yes, sir.” Trent’s voice snapped.

  
Signing off the
channel, Shawn watched outside his canopy as the Meltranian vessel pivoted
again, but not toward the incoming, undamaged destroyer. Instead it continued
to take aim at the stricken Kafaran vessel that was now well beyond the point
of interfering with any of the fighters. Across the forward skin of the
Meltranian vessel, small turrets emerged from behind pocket hatches, took aim,
and fired on the limping vessel as it tried to escape. What little shielding
had remained after the Meltranians’ initial blast was quickly whittled away to
nothing under a constant barrage of concentrated firepower. Once the shielding
was gone, the small turrets began to pick at the hull of ship, causing small
chunks of the vessel to flake off and float out into space. Shawn knew that to
assist the destroyer would have been suicide. The Meltranians’ laser fire was
like a heavy sheet of rain pelting the hull of the Kafaran, and any fighter
that ventured too close was sure to get caught up in the exchange.

  
The space in front
of the alien vessel began to warp and twist, giving everyone who witnessed
it—including Shawn—the sign that it was about to fire its isotonic cannon once
more. Shawn knew the Kafaran destroyer didn’t stand a chance.

  
At this point, the
second, undamaged Kafaran destroyer began firing another barrage of its heavy
cannons at the enemy vessel, but it was to no avail. Space was once again
filled with a violently bright light.

  
An enormous bolt of
blue-white energy sprang out from the Meltranians’ bow and streaked across
space, leaving a trail of blue embers sparkling in its wake. The blast impacted
the damaged, unprotected midsection of the first destroyer at full strength,
instantly severing the vessel into two nearly equal halves. The nearly
three-hundred-yard sections floated free of one another, the portion containing
the drive engines now dangerously rocketing directly into the path of Shawn’s
small band of fighters.

  
Quick on his feet,
Kestrel yelled out a quick order to all friendly pilots, who instantly broke
out of the path of the rampaging destroyer with plenty of time to spare. Raven,
Nova, and two junior lieutenants from the Golden Suns came around and formed up
on his wing, and Shawn brought his group around to bear on the Meltranian
vessel once more. It had begun to change its position, taking aim with its
turrets and now firing on the remaining Kafaran destroyer. Shawn had only a
minute to watch the conflict before a communications request from Raven came
into his computer.

  
“Kafaran fighters
approaching from astern, sir!”

  
Shawn accessed the
short-range sensor readings and watched in awe as dozens of Kafaran deck
fighters streamed up behind him. Suddenly his craft was surrounded, almost
smothered in the swarm. There were so many Kafarans passing his cockpit that he
momentarily lost sight of the distant stars beyond them. Then, just as quickly
as they’d appeared, they hurtled past him and swooped down toward the
Meltranian vessel. Apparently the Kafarans weren’t as concerned about the
turret fire as Shawn was, and it led him to believe that perhaps the Kafarans
really did know more about this new enemy than Sector Command did. Besides, it
just wouldn’t do to have the Kafarans save the day while he and the rest of the
Sector Command forces sat idly by like helpless children.

  
If they can do it, then so can we.

  
“What do we do now,
Skipper?” Raven asked, truly unsure of what was going through the mind of her
commander.

  
Shawn gripped the
stick and placed a firm hand on the thruster control. “We go in.”

  
“Right behind
them?”

  
Shawn couldn’t help
but smile. “Why let them have all the fun?”

  
Roslyn’s image
grinned back joyously. “With pleasure, sir.”

  
He flipped the
thruster control to full power, and the small band of fighters rocketed up to
the Kafarans as fast as they could go. The Kafarans had made it to the
objective first, but only by mere fractions of a second. There was no order to
their attack, and it seemed to be every creature for himself. The sixty-five
Kafaran fighters, organized into clusters of three, six, and nine, were taking
aim at whatever turret was closest to their group at that time. One turret
would come under fire from three Kafaran fighters at a time, but then another
would pop up from some unseen alcove and spray the fighters with laser fire.
Most of the bolts were too slow to catch up to the nimble Kafarans, but some
did manage to hit home. While the losses to the turret fire weren’t nearly as
great as those to the Meltranian fighters, the Kafarans were still suffering
moderate casualties.

  
The Kafaran
fighters themselves were an odd amalgam of shapes. They had a cigar-shaped
central fuselage, with a series of transparent view ports placed almost
directly on the nose. On either side of the main body, held on by a series of
forward-swept beams, were angular pods. The forward half of the pods served as
the weapons bay for whatever armament the craft held, with the fighter’s engines
on the rear of the structures. All this, together with the reflective green
color of the alloy that coated its surface, gave the fighter the appearance
that it was moving, even when standing still. It was sleek, it was beautiful,
and it was deadly.