“Hornet One is a go and on course,” Coda said.
“Hornet Two is a go,” Moscow echoed then gave an enthusiastic hoot.
More pilots announced their successful course.
Coda tried to determine how much time had passed since his launch. Three seconds? Four? He would lose operational control at any moment. Spinning around, he saw nearly two full squadrons of drones racing through the black. It was a beautiful sight. One he had dreamed about during his early days at the academy.
… and then it disappeared.
The Baranyk had hit them with their weapon.
47
Cockpit, Nighthawk
Arradin System, Toavis
“Hawk One, this is Hornet One,” Coda said over the radio. “We have lost control. I repeat, the Baranyk have targeted our drones and we have lost navigation.”
Coleman let the words wash over him. The drone pilots had launched only seconds ago. Had they had enough time?
“Captain Baez,” Coleman asked, “how many drones were able to successfully plot a collision course?”
“Looks like forty-three, Commander.”
“Copy that,” Coleman said.
Forty-three out of an even fifty. That number was remarkable, considering the small window they’d been given to work with. Commander Coleman had often discounted the drone piloting program. In his opinion, flying what amounted to a glorified paper airplane wasn’t flying. But there was little doubt that their pilots were good at what they did.
I’ll have to go easier on them in the future.
As expected, a number of Baranyk fighters broke away from the battle, moving to intercept the incoming drones. They would make short order of the human attack force if it had no backup.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Coleman said. “The drones are away. Time to make sure they find their target. Let’s go. Time to plow the road!”
He punched the throttle, rocketing toward the battle and Baranyk vessels. Positioned as they were, the Nighthawks were a full two seconds ahead of the drones and approaching the incoming enemy from their flank. The Baranyk flew in a tight formation, which was a mistake, given that Coleman and the rest of his fighters were out of missiles.
As the first fighter came into range, Coleman opened fire, squeezing the trigger in short, controlled bursts. He shot down two fighters before the rest of his squadron opened fire. Within moments, a dozen more became space dust. With the smaller human force the larger immediate threat, the Baranyk fighters altered course, moving to engage the Forgotten. Coleman hooted as the drone ships zipped past unmolested, their path to the capital ship clear.
Then the dogfight began. He swerved, avoiding an incoming Baranyk fighter, opened fire, and shot down a second. Then he veered, peppering a third while bringing the capital ship back into view. Its point-defense cannons shot down many of the incoming drones, but dozens of explosions erupted against its hull. Terrible gouts of flame inflicted more damage than anything his missiles had been able to accomplish.
Coda had been right.
But would it be enough? Coleman longed to have more kamikaze drones, but they had purposely left the second squadron aboard the Jamestown. The Baranyk weapon would be pointing in the Jamestown’s direction already, further shortening the drones’ operational window. More importantly, if their attack succeeded in destroying the Disrupter, the remaining drones would become fully operational and able to enter the battle. For that same reason, they had reserved the drones on the other ships as well. They would need them. Because god be damned, they were going to succeed.
Coleman went positive-Z. The Baranyk ship disappeared from view just as more explosions riddled its hull. The sudden change of course was the only thing that saved Coleman’s eyes. A triumphant explosion lit up the black as the second Baranyk carrier erupted into flames.
Jubilant shouts filled the radio.
“Captain Baez,” Coleman said as he shot down another Baranyk fighter. “Tell me that did it. Tell me we’ve eliminated the Baranyk signal.”
The radio remained silent as the Jamestown was no doubt running the diagnostics. Coleman spun then pulled a tight, high-g turn, catching another fighter in his sights. But he wasn’t done. He shot down two more before Captain Baez’s voice came on the radio.
“All ships, this is Captain Baez. The Baranyk signal has been eliminated. Launch all drones. I repeat, launch all drones.”
More triumphant cheers echoed across the line.
Coleman opened a private channel. “Sir, what if there’s a third signal? We just committed every drone in our fleet.”
“This battle is over, either way, Commander,” Captain Baez said. “Either the signal is destroyed and our drones can engage, or it’s not, and we’re forced to retreat.”
“Forced to retreat?” Coleman repeated. “The strategy worked. If there’s another ship with the weapon, we can—”
“The Baranyk will just shoot down the next wave of drones. The strategy could only work once. And my intel shows me that nearly all of your fighters are down to their last ten percent of ammunition. You are ordered to return to base.”
Coleman wanted to argue. He wasn’t done. He’d waited years to get back into the cockpit, to get back into battle, and he wasn’t ready to give that up. But he’d been given a direct order, and besides that, Captain Baez was right. They were all dangerously low on ammunition.
“Acknowledged.” Coleman switched to his pilots’ channel. “All fighters, this is the commander. Good work. We’ve done our jobs and given the fleet a chance. RTB for rearmament and await further instruction.”
Coleman shot down another Baranyk fighter before flipping around and blazing a trail back
