“We have no choice but to treat the incoming as hostile and deal with them as such.”
The simply stated opinion made sense. “Agreed, but we don’t shoot unless they shoot first. TAO, redesignate Sierra One through Three as Master One through Three.” “Master” noted the target as a hostile entity. Tehrani leaned forward. “Get me a firing solution for our forward neutron beams. Communications, status of our escorts?”
“I’m having trouble getting through, ma’am. We’re being jammed.”
She sat back and punched a button. “Air boss, this is Colonel Tehrani. Scramble our bomber squadron, anti-capital-ship loadout. I say again, scramble all bombers.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change. Master One, Two, and Three have opened fire. Assess they’re using plasma-based weaponry.” As Bryan spoke, the ship rocked from repeated impacts. “Shields holding. Strain on fore generators rising.”
“TAO, firing-point procedures, Master One.” Tehrani’s voice took on rigid formality. “Forward neutron beams.”
“Firing solution set, ma’am.”
“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”
With that order, the CSV Zvika Greengold became the first CDF warship in almost thirty years to open fire on an enemy vessel in Terran Coalition space.
A LIDAR-tracked missile pursued Justin’s fighter through the void as he desperately jinked around a massive asteroid. He triggered the release of two chaff balls then pulled up sharply. The incoming warhead exploded in the cloud of decoys, creating a shockwave that nearly sent his Sabre into another rock. “I could use some help over here,” Justin called.
His HUD showed his three wingmen engaged in dogfights of their own. Deciding to try a new tactic, Justin engaged the afterburner on his craft. He whipped around multiple asteroids and through a dense cloud of ring material while avoiding red balls of energy flung at him by the enemy fighter. After picking out an unusually large rock, he used it to hide behind as he looped around and headed directly toward the craft firing on him.
Streaks of red flashed by his Sabre’s canopy. Some struck the shields, while most missed. Justin adjusted his aim until the neutron cannon lead indicator turned green, then he squeezed the trigger. Blue beams lanced out from his craft, cutting through the vacuum toward the enemy. Again and again, enemy fire struck his forward shields, while shot after shot of his own connected.
As his deflectors were about to fail, he armed a Vulture missile and pressed the button to fire. “Alpha One, fox three.”
Though Justin wrenched his fighter to the left, balls of red energy continued to find him for a few more seconds—until the impact of his missile on the enemy craft blew it to bits. Stunned, he let out a breath and checked the board. Two out of four bandits were down, while his wingmen continued to engage the rest. “Alpha One, splash one. I’m moving to assist.”
Mateus flew the nearest friendly fighter, engaging in a tight-turning series of scissor maneuvers with an enemy that was aggressively attempting to destroy her craft. Justin came in at full afterburners, and the moment the missile-lock-on tone sounded, he squeezed the launch button. “Alpha One, fox three. Mateus, break right and burn.” If she does it right—hopefully the enemy will fly right into my missile.
“Roger, Alpha One.” Mateus’s fighter jinked to the right, and its afterburners kicked in. A few moments later, the enemy craft exploded from a direct missile hit.
“Alpha One, splash another one!” Testing himself in battle felt incredibly exhilarating after the hundreds of hours of training Justin had endured. And whoever they are, they’re getting what’s coming to them.
But the question remained: Who the heck are we fighting? Justin played it over and over in his mind.
“Alpha Three, splash one. We’re clear,” Adeoye said. “I show no further hostiles.”
“Alpha Three, I’m showing hull damage on your left wing.” Justin’s HUD provided details on each fighter’s status.
“No reduction in thrust or combat effectiveness, sir.”
Justin wondered how true the statement was. Even if entirely accurate, another hit on the affected area could be catastrophic. “Understood, Alpha Three. Stay in the back of our formation, and we’ll cover you.”
“Wilco, sir.”
“Resuming formation,” Feldstein said. “At this rate, you’ll be an ace before we get back to the Greengold, LT.”
“I doubt that,” Justin replied. “There hasn’t been an ace pilot in the CDF since… hell, the Saurian War.”
“Since when do reservists get to fight?” Mateus asked. “I signed up for one weekend a month, two weeks a year, and never thought I’d see combat. No complaints, though. That was a rush!”
Justin thought back to why he’d joined the CDF. Simple… free college. The degree program offered through Reserve Officers’ Training Corps had allowed him to get a degree without debt and set his young family up for success. I suppose helping to safeguard the Terran Coalition was in there too. But we don’t have any enemies. Or...we didn’t until now.
As the adrenaline of combat faded, he found something else in its wake: shock and stress reaction. His hands shook. My God, I just killed someone. Three someones, to be exact.
His commlink crackled, jerking him out of his fugue. “This is the Zvika Greengold to any friendly ships and fighters. We are under attack by hostile forces. I repeat, we’re under attack and request immediate assistance.” Lieutenant Singh’s voice cut through Justin’s mind like a knife.
These aren’t mere pirates. Someone is attacking the Terran Coalition. He cued his commlink. “You heard the man. Form up and stand by for max burn. It’s fifteen minutes back to the Zvika Greengold, and they need our help.”
He hoped they would make it in
