“They’re popping so much fire into us, ma’am, that I wouldn’t recommend any launch attempts. If one of those plasma balls got lucky and took out a fully loaded bomber… the Greengold wouldn’t survive,” Wright replied quietly. “Probably need to think about bugging out.”
No! Tehrani pursed her lips. “Communications, put me live on the general distress frequency.”
“You’re on, ma’am.”
“This is Colonel Tehrani, CSV Zvika Greengold, requesting assistance from any friendly vessels. I say again, this is the Zvika Greengold requesting assistance. We are under heavy attack, and if we withdraw, enemy forces will finish off the shipyard we’re protecting.” She turned to Singh and made a cutting gesture across her neck.
“Conn, TAO. Forward shields have failed.”
To underline Bryan’s report, a series of jolts shook the entire bridge crew in their harnesses, including Tehrani. She held on tight as the deck bucked. “Navigation, emergency turn to port. Present our starboard shield to the enemy. Ahead flank!”
Wright’s face betrayed his fear. “Colonel, I again must urge you to consider retreat.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Communications, signal the fast movers to head to within thirty-second combat-landing range of the ship.” Tehrani opened her eyes and stared at Wright. “We wait until the last possible moment.”
“You heard the Colonel. Everyone back to the Greengold.” Justin’s pulse quickened.
Ominous numbers of red dots appeared on his HUD, signaling another wave of enemy fighters and at least two bombers incoming. Dammit. If we don’t stop those bombers, they’ll destroy the Marcus Luttrell or the Greengold. Both ships were heavily damaged. He wasn’t sure how the Luttrell had stayed in one piece. The little destroyer was shot full of so many holes that it didn’t resemble a ship.
I can’t let that happen. Justin wasn’t entirely sure how he’d reached the conclusion that he had to stop the Leaguers by himself, but when he did, it was with a steadfast resolve. Engaging the afterburner of his Sabre, he performed a loop and headed back toward the enemy.
“Sir, why are you turning around?” Feldstein asked.
“Someone’s gotta stop those bombers, Lieutenant. You and everyone else get back to home plate. I’ll cover you.”
“We’re not leaving you, sir.”
“I’ve no desire to die today, Feldstein. The moment I get those bombers, I’ll push it up and perform a combat landing. In the meantime, make sure the rest of Alpha element gets back safely so that I don’t have to worry about you.”
A pregnant pause came through the commlink connection. “I understand, sir.”
“Bring them home safe. Spencer out.”
“Godspeed, sir.”
The exhortation, from a time gone by in the CDF, didn’t strike home for Justin. The only thing getting him out of the situation he was in, besides his skills, was good luck. Sometimes all we need is for the bad guys to have a run of bad luck.
With grim determination, he adjusted the flight stick and aimed directly for the group of fighters racing at him. I need to change the rules here. Justin pulled up the stores list on his Sabre. Three LIDAR-tracking missiles and four heat seekers remained. He inhaled through his nose.
“You should run back with the rest of your friends, capitalist pig,” someone said over the guard frequency in heavily accented English. “If not, we run you down.”
Justin deftly disabled the launch safeties on his heat-seeking missiles, allowing him to toggle-fire all four at the same time. He stroked the missile-launch button, and the quintuplets of death dropped from his fighter’s internal munitions bay. Each Eagle’s engine ignited, and they blasted off toward the approaching League craft.
“Come on down,” Justin said after changing the commlink frequency. “I’ll be glad to wait.” While his tone was confident, even cocky, he wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Hopefully all four warheads won’t find the same fighter.
Luck, fate, or perhaps something more was on Justin’s side. The four missiles danced around the battlespace, quickly gaining targets and beginning their terminal homing mode. Two picked the first Leaguer, while the other two locked onto his wingman. Both enemy craft exploded in orange flame. “Alpha One, splash two.”
“Spencer, what the hell are you doing out there? Get back to home plate.” The commlink’s squadron command channel erupted with the raspy voice of Major Whatley. “I don’t need any dead heroes.”
As Justin rotated his craft and lined up on the closest Leaguer, his mind was alive with how to respond to his commanding officer. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re breaking up.”
“Spencer! Don’t give me that bull—”
He turned the commlink off and took a deep breath. I’ll deal with the court-martial later. Justin had one task: stop the last two League bombers on a direct attack run toward the Zvika Greengold. Both had already loosed anti-ship missiles, which in the carrier’s weakened state—especially if they hit the right spot—could destroy the vessel.
He pressed one finger down on the afterburner initiator while holding his flight stick with the other hand. As his Sabre closed the distance, he realized he was coming in upside down, at least from his perspective. After a barrel roll, Justin was on the same plane of engagement.
Justin switched his designated target to the nearest anti-ship missile headed toward the Greengold and sent a stream of blue neutron-cannon energy at it. Trying to hit an object that small was a great challenge, but one bolt dinged the outer skin of the warhead. It exploded in a bright ball of blue fire. As the second one passed, he fired a continuous burst. Just as it was almost beyond engagement range, the missile blew up. He let out a deep sigh and pulled his fighter around.
The League bombers flashed by quickly, still heading straight for the Greengold. Justin pulled fourteen Gs as he looped around, pulse-firing
