Looking around, for the first time, he noticed civilians, residents who lived in the neighborhood were staring at him from their windows. No doubt they thought at any minute, this terrible creature might burst through their doors and devour them.
Then he noticed the little girl nearby. Big, brown eyes, pigtails, and a light-yellow sundress. She’d been riding her hoverbike down the street when the commotion had come flying past her. Distracted, she’d crashed her bike into a tree. Now bike and girl both lay on a lawn, the girl’s eye wide with fright as she stared at the huge boogie man.
Sherman said not a word. He simply walked over and picked up the bike. Resetting the hover discs, he reached down and scooped the little girl up in one huge paw. Maybe she was too terrified to scream. Perhaps she was afraid to cry for fear of angering this awful beast, or perhaps she simply sensed that it meant her no harm as it sat her back on her little bike. She looked up at Sherman with those big, brown eyes, but he said nothing, made no sound. He simply turned and began walking down the street back toward Lulah’s.
«◊»
They come in with the sun to their backs, jamming the Authority’s scanners. The Chargers and Super Chargers are the fastest ships, and they attack in the first wave. The Guard’s defenses are caught totally by surprise, and half of their missile batteries are destroyed before they can even fire one rocket. A lot more should’ve been put out of action, but some of the Colonial pilots get antsy and fire off their missiles too soon.
He leads the Chargers in strafing troop barracks with rail gunfire as they complete the first phase of the attack. The rounds rupture a pressurized living quarter module. It bursts open like a festering, pus-filled sore, bodies in all states of dress spewing from the ruptures.
War just got real.
The slower ships are coming in behind them, puttering rust buckets that have no business being here. The old tour bus has nothing more than a pulse cannon mounted at the hatch and manned by a door gunner in an EVA suit. Still, he strafes a row of barracks mercilessly … until a missile vaporizes the decrepit old relic that belonged in a museum, not in a battle.
By now, Authority defenses have regrouped, and Colonial ships are beginning to take heavy fire. The old converted tugs and shuttles are easy targets and quickly decimated. Tiger recognizes some of the pilots dying around him. They were Guild pilots. Spacers. They worked the Rush back in the day. Others are local crater hoppers from right here on Luna. Small timers he’s not as familiar with. It doesn’t matter. They’re all dying for a common cause, but dyin’s still dyin’ and dead’s still dead.
And then, there’s her. Off the starboard wing, she strafes a column of armored rovers. They blow apart, debris in every direction; some cartwheel high into space as their fuel cells explode.
“We got Guard ships coming in from Authority HQ!” a pilot on the flank alerts them. He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, resigning himself to fate. Nothing ever goes as planned. Ever!
“I guess we can safely assume the squadron from Luna Five didn’t achieve their objectives.” He quickly takes stock of the situation. The ragtag squadron has been scattered by Authority fire. Those that are left that is … mostly the Chargers. The others have been either destroyed or put out of action.
He didn’t want a fight, but he doesn’t have a choice now.
“Awright! Form up on me!” he calls into his transmitter. “We got some bogeys about to crash the party!”
The “H” Class Gunship, more commonly called “Grendel” was the standard light attack ship for the Space Guard. It’d been given the “H” designation due to its unique appearance. A cockpit pod held the pilot, instrumentation and life-support systems. On each side of the cockpit, horizontal struts extended out to attach to a vertical outrigger. An engine assembly attached to the bottom of each outrigger while a weapons pod attached to the top. The “H” Class were spaceborne only and not capable of operating in the Earth’s atmosphere. They were used mainly for anti-piracy warfare in the Belt and customs enforcement along the shipping routes between Mars, Luna and Earth. They were flying rocket launchers … mobile artillery. They were fast, but not at all maneuverable. They were considered completely useless in dogfights, which never happened in space anyway.
Until now …
“Meet them head-on!” he orders. “Keep your shields at full power. Punch ‘em right in the mouth!”
The remaining Colonial ships form up into a sad excuse of a formation and roar toward the waves of advancing Grendels, a ragtag band of hotrods and clunkers, determined to inflict as much damage as possible on an enemy with superior manpower and resources.
Inexperience and adrenaline rule this fight. Pilots on both sides are firing at the enemy long before they’re in range. While the Authority has unlimited resources, for the Colonials, each wasted shot is one they can’t replace. Rockets and pulse rounds crisscross the void, like a maniacal fireworks display. Most miss their targets, but some find paydirt. Ships on both sides are blown apart or are heavily damaged and crippled. Some try to limp away; others simply float helplessly among the ever-increasing field of debris that now includes bodies and body parts floating into the void. The battle quickly devolves into kill or be killed, as the Colonial ships fight through the first line of Grendels, only to find another rushing to meet them. Pilots are shooting desperately now, finding themselves surrounded. Hoping to kill their killer before they kill them, it’s every pilot for themselves.
It’s utter chaos, the state most battlefields eventually descend into, and it’s reflected in the transmissions:
“Ex Ray Niner Niner, watch your six! You got two bandits working around behind you …
