“Conn, TAO,” Bryan began. “Aspect change… I’ve got a new contact designated Master Four. Same Lawrence-drive signature. It’s got seventy-five percent more mass than the other ships, ma’am.”
Tehrani’s heart skipped a beat as the new vessel glided into the battlespace. Still in the destroyer-size range, but it's sporting far more weapons emplacements. As if to underscore her concern, the newcomer flung a stream of plasma balls toward the already-taxed shields of the carrier. Time to go. “Communications—”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change,” Bryan interjected. “New contact… CSV Marcus Luttrell, designated Sierra One!” The young man’s voice went up an octave as he gave the report.
About time. “Communications, send my compliments to Colonel Arrington and order him to engage the enemy.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
On her tactical plot, Tehrani watched as the Marcus Luttrell accelerated. Missiles erupted from her bow-mounted launchers along with multiple neutron beams and the coup de grâce of Terran Coalition weapons: magnetic cannons. The Galahad-class destroyer sported three turrets with dual barrels each, each three hundred millimeters in diameter. Thousand-kilogram projectiles spat out of them and slammed into the hapless enemy ship. As the missiles impacted with giant explosions of orange flame, secondary explosions blossomed across the hull.
“Conn, TAO. Master Two destroyed. Access warhead or fuel bunkerage cookoff.”
“XO, status of our bomber squadron?”
“Ten minutes to launch, ma’am. They’ll be launching with half stores, though.”
Tehrani nodded. “Until then, we’ll degrade the remaining enemy vessels.”
“Who are these people?” Wright asked quietly. “You don’t just show up in one of our star systems and attack the Coalition Defense Force.”
“If we’re lucky enough to disable something, I’ll order our Marine contingent to attempt a capture,” Tehrani replied. She made eye contact with him. “If nothing else, that should get us some answers.”
“Agreed.”
“Communications,” Tehrani began. “Contact CDF HQ on Canaan. Send our sensor logs.” She quickly glanced at Wright. “Just in case.”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Four… Colonel, that ship is launching fighters. Same configuration as the ones deployed by the smaller vessels. I’m also detecting larger craft. Could be bombers.”
“Understood, TAO. Communications, signal Alpha and Beta elements to engage.” Allah help us. Tehrani set her jaw, staring at the tactical plot. The battle was suddenly mostly out of her hands.
“Tally ho, bandits at eleven o’clock, high!” Justin yelled. He used his craft’s mental link to designate a formation of what he assumed were four bombers behind a fighter screen. Friendly blue neutron beams issued from the Marcus Luttrell along with counter-fire filled the void around him. The contrasting colors were almost a thing of beauty—if the enemy hadn’t been trying to kill him and his fellow pilots.
“Sir, shouldn’t we attack the fighters first?” Mateus asked. “They can chew us up.”
“Negative, Alpha Four. If those bigger, slower craft are bombers, they’re the biggest threat to our ride. Neutralize them first, then clean up the remaining fighters. Beta element is tasked to engage all other enemies.”
“Understood, sir.”
Her comment wasn’t wrong, but Justin wasn’t taking any chances with their carrier. His training was clear—protect capital ships at all costs in a combat situation. While adrenaline still coursed through his veins, calm replaced his previous jitters. He methodically adjusted the trajectory of his Sabre to avoid flying head-on at the enemies screening the bomber group. The moment his missile lock-on sounded, he loosed a Vulture toward the nearest fighter. “Alpha One, fox three.”
“Alpha Four, fox three,” Mateus called a moment later.
Justin watched with satisfaction as his element tightened up after sending a salvo of four active LIDAR-tracking warheads toward the enemy. Two hit the same enemy, destroying it. One knocked down the forward shields of the fighter it connected with, while the fourth missed. We’re getting better at this. Alpha blew through the screening force and rocketed toward the bombers. “Okay, pilots, give ’em a volley of missiles, then we close in and take these guys down. They can’t maneuver, and we should be able to sit on their tails. Clear?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Adeoye replied. “We’ll be aces by the end of the day.”
“Stow that and focus on staying alive,” Justin snapped. The missile-lock-on tone sounded again. On the HUD, the targeting reticule highlighted one of the lumbering craft that moved at half the speed of the enemy fighters. He pressed the button for missile launch. “Alpha One, fox three.” The Vulture rocketed away from his Sabre and slammed into the bomber, which didn’t attempt to evade. He might as well have thrown a paper airplane. The sensor readouts on Justin’s HUD showed a less than twenty percent shield-effectiveness drop from the impact. He whipped around the enemy, avoiding a string of red plasma balls fired from the bomber formation, and settled behind the lead craft. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.” He held down the firing trigger for the neutron cannons, and bright-blue bursts of energy stabbed out into the enemy. Five, ten, fifteen hits, then the bomber exploded. Damn. Those things are tough.
A new cluster of dots appeared on the HUD. Justin’s heart skipped a beat before he realized they were blue, indicating friendly forces. IFF transponders marked them as four Mauler bombers of the Gamma element. The Greengold had a single bomber squadron aboard, the Winged Lightnings.
“Hey, mates,” someone called.
Justin recognized the voice of First Lieutenant Francis Martin, a pilot who hailed from the Australian Federal State, one of the many member worlds of the Terran Coalition. The Aussie was larger than life, with a quip for everything. He and Justin had become friends over the last two
