But the Leaguer pilots were made of slightly sterner stuff. All four broke sharply, scattering their formation. A few of Justin’s shots hit, but most sailed wide of the target. The first enemy fighter reduced his forward momentum and squeezed off a barrage of red energy bolts, and Justin’s craft overshot.
Justin rocked his flight stick and accelerated, turning out of the incoming fire and reversing his course with a pitchback maneuver. The other pilot was completely surprised and fell behind. Justin let out a breath and glanced at Mateus’s position on his HUD. Another enemy craft was matching her move for move as she attempted a high-speed scissors attack. The dots exchanged places several times, but the hostile was obviously gaining position on her.
“Lieutenant, he’s almost got you. Break left and pull out. I’ll swing over and run him down.”
“Oh no, you don’t, Spencer. I will not be denied this kill,” she replied.
As she was speaking, the Leaguer matched her turn and cut his speed. He settled behind her six o’clock and fired his energy weapons repeatedly, scoring multiple hits on Mateus’s shields. The pilot followed up with a dual heat-seeking missile launch. Despite her best effort, both warheads exploded near her Sabre.
“This is Alpha Four declaring an emergency!” Mateus practically shouted. “Master alarm… my reactor is going critical. I’m punching out.” After a burst of static, silence followed.
On Justin’s HUD, the icon representing Alpha Four blinked out of existence. “Mateus, can you hear me? Mateus?” He paused and sucked in a breath. “Mateus?” Dammit. She’s gone. He hoped against hope that the escape pod had gotten far enough away before the reactor went hypercritical. A moment of sadness was replaced by rage as he rotated his Sabre—just in time to see the enemy pilot performing a barrel roll, presumably in celebration of his kill. We’ll see about that, you son of a bitch. Justin kicked the afterburners up and quickly did the mental geometry required to calculate his course to intercept. He caught the craft as it looped around and loosed a barrage of blue neutron-cannon shots. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.”
Several bolts connected with their target, creating bright-red shield effects on the enemy fighter before it rolled away. Justin followed the craft, pitching down and slowing his forward speed. In the back of his brain, something reminded him that sacrificing speed in a multi-fighter combat situation was a bad idea. He paid it no heed and pressed on. As Justin veered in and out of his Sabre’s firing arc, he squeezed the trigger, sending more fire toward the Leaguer. The few that hit urged him onward to more. Tighter and tighter he turned, losing more speed as he fought to stay on the aft of the enemy craft, who adopted what a CDF pilot would call a guns-D strategy of wild course changes.
In the midst of it all, the missile-alert tone sounded. Justin scanned his HUD, and his eyes widened with shock. Two heat-seeking missiles were less than five hundred meters away, and right behind them, three League fighters streaked toward him. Oh shit.
“Conn, TAO. Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six is coming about. She’s locked onto us, ma’am.”
Tehrani gripped the armrests of the CO’s chair as she pondered Bryan’s report. The League heavy cruiser had taken a firing pass on the Conqueror and broken off presumably to recharge its shields and was in their face, flinging plasma balls at every friendly vessel in range. “Has Sierra Ninety-Six engaged?”
“Not yet, ma’am,” Bryan replied quickly.
“Communications, request Sierra Ninety-Six redirect all fire to Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh said. A moment later, he looked over his console at her. “Message delivered. Flash traffic from commander, CSV Conqueror—will launch an alpha strike in thirty seconds.”
Thirty seconds until all hell rains down on the enemy. Tehrani grinned fiercely. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six. I want you to target their weakest armor points and aim for the hangar bay. We’ll wait to shoot until the Conqueror works her magic. Clear?”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Wright leaned in and whispered into her ear, “You realize CDF CONOPS is the carriers stay out of the fighting, right?” While he delivered the words with a calm smile, he had an edge to his voice.
“Of course. They also don’t cover a situation like this,” Tehrani replied.
“Our shields are down to thirty-two percent, skipper.”
“Ask me what’s really on your mind, Benjamin.” She hoped the use of his first name would defuse any tension.
“What’s your plan B?”
“Emergency Lawrence drive jump out, with as many of our fighters as can make it back in sixty seconds.”
Wright’s face turned pale. “That’s it?”
“That’s all there is. Just like last time.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “I know you’re right. But God…”
“What’s the old saw, XO? War is hell.” Tehrani turned her attention back to the tactical plot above her head. The CDF ships—those that hadn’t been destroyed already—maintained a cohesive battle line and gamely engaged the advancing enemy forces. But they were up against so many League vessels. For every one they neutralized, four more took its place, like an onrushing tsunami. The rate of loss they’re taking… why do they do it? For that matter, why is this so-called League of Sol even here? What has the Terran Coalition possibly done to them to justify an all-out sneak attack? She vaguely recalled bits of information from history lessons in school about communist empires on old Earth that had conquered only for the sake of trying to take over the world. I guess some things never change.
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Sierra Ninety-Six. She’s preparing an alpha strike, ma’am. I show all magnetic-cannon turrets ready to fire along with her neutron beams.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Confirm firing solution on Master Four Hundred Twenty-Six.”
“Firing solutions set, ma’am. I’m targeting its hangar bay as instructed.”
A group of four fast-moving blue dots labeled Delta
