“Alpha One, this is Zvika Greengold actual. What is your current status?” Tehrani asked.
“Colonel, we’re in an active dogfight with unknown hostiles. Request immediate assistance.” I don’t have time to brief the damn brass right now. Justin rocked his Sabre from side to side, dodging a wave of what appeared to be red balls of energy, something new in his experience. “Alpha One out.”
Justin shifted in his flight harness as his fighter traded spaces with the bandit during a series of high-speed scissor turns. Finally, he ended up behind his quarry and opened fire with the neutron cannons. Several hits later, he was rewarded with the explosion of the craft in front of him. “Alpha One, splash one.”
“Alpha Two, splash one. That’s all of ’em, sir.”
Before Justin could catch his breath, Colonel Tehrani interrupted. “Say again last, Alpha One.”
“Colonel, we’ve now splashed four hostiles.” Justin focused on calming his breathing, though his hands shook almost uncontrollably. “Again, request search and rescue.”
“Can you identify your attackers, Lieutenant Spencer?” Tehrani’s voice was calm but held an undercurrent of concern.
Rightfully so. Enemy fighters weren’t a regular feature of solar systems designated for CDF training operations, especially not ones well within the Terran Coalition’s territorial boundaries. “No, ma’am. I’ve never seen anything like them before. I’ll transmit my full sensor logs immediately.”
“Understood, Lieutenant. Pack it—”
Feldstein cut in, “I’ve got more hostiles on my LIDAR.”
“Additional bandits inbound, Colonel. Alpha One out.” That’s the second time I’ve cut off a senior officer today. Make that in my career.
Red dots appeared in his HUD, roughly one hundred kilometers away. “Form up on my wing, Alpha flight. Stand by for maximum missile range.” This time, we’re not waiting for these bastards to shoot first.
2
System 36XNZ—Open Space
Terran Coalition Border Zone
27 September 2433
Colonel Banu Tehrani stared straight ahead at the Tactical and Navigation consoles in front of the commanding officer’s chair on the CSV Zvika Greengold. While the escort carrier was over thirty-five years old, it had an illustrious name that went all the way back to Earth’s military history. As she sucked in a breath, numerous thoughts ran through her head, mostly centered on who was shooting at her pilots. After twenty-two years in the CDF, she’d only seen combat a handful of times and never as a CO.
Tehrani turned to her right and looked at her XO, Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Wright. “Pirates?” She adjusted her ball cap, which was adorned with the Greengold’s logo and motto—Semper tempus, which translated to “Always in time.”
Wright shook his head. “Out here? No way. Pirates hit trade depots, not CDF fighters in an asteroid belt.” He shifted and pulled down the black space sweater he and most other officers and crewmen in the CDF wore over his khaki duty uniform. “Maybe the Coalition Intelligence Service got their hands on some advanced drones and is testing us. Though that seems outlandish, even for them.”
“Could be the Saurians,” First Lieutenant Zachary Bryan, the Zvika Greengold’s tactical action officer, interjected. “I don’t care what anyone says. They never forgave us for the plastering in the last war.”
“Hard to believe after over thirty years of peace.” Tehrani turned back at her XO. “What do we have on the flight line for ready five?”
“Four more Sabres with standard loadouts. And the usual SAR bird.”
“Get them into space and vector them toward Alpha flight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and tell the air boss to warm up the rest of the Red Tails squadron, just in case.”
Wright nodded. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Trust in Allah and tie your camel to a tree.”
Bryan broke in, “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes. Unknown signature.”
Artificially created wormholes were the only known means of faster-than-light travel. The human version of the technology was known as a Lawrence drive, named after its creator.
Tehrani and Wright glanced at each other. She inhaled sharply and punched a button on her chair for the ship-wide intercom. “This is the commanding officer. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. I say again, man your battle stations.” She clicked the intercom off. “TAO, set material condition one throughout the ship, raise shields, and charge the energy-weapons capacitor.”
While the Zvika Greengold had a full complement of thirty-six space-superiority fighters and bombers, it lacked offensive anti-ship weaponry. It had close-in point defense and a limited number of neutron-beam emitters to engage other vessels. “Communications, order our escorts back. Emergency jumps, as fast as they can safely make it.”
First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh’s bright-purple turban bobbed up and down. “Aye, aye, ma’am.” He’d been assigned to the ship for several months and was short, at not a centimeter over 1.7 meters. The handgrip of his distinctive blade, known as a kirpan, was just visible above his waist.
Singh’s left shoulder bore the flag for the nation of India and the Sikh religion. One of the unique features of CDF uniforms was dual flags on the left shoulder. Regulations permitted any soldier to wear their country’s flag and religious emblems or, if they preferred, solely the flag of the Terran Coalition.
“Conn, TAO. Unknown vessels confirmed. Three ships, all of the same type and size. Roughly equivalent to a CDF frigate. Contacts designated Sierra One through Three.”
“Sierra” indicated that the target was unknown or not hostile. In the absence of identification, a new contact was never labeled as hostile, to prevent a potential tragedy.
“They’re raising deflector screens, and I show weapons-power buildup. Type unknown.”
Tehrani’s heart raced as she stared at her tactical plot. The possibly hostile vessels were directly ahead of them. What is going on here? A sixth sense warned her they were moments away from combat, but it didn’t add up. The Terran Coalition was at peace. “Range, TAO?”
“Fifteen thousand kilometers. They’re accelerating toward us rapidly, ma’am.”
“Communications, put out a wide-band hail. Instruct Sierra One through Three to turn away, or we’ll treat them as hostile.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The purple dots representing the incoming vessels moved ever closer on the holotank’s projected tactical plot.
