I send the mental command through my implants to my Guardian to fold our wings and dive. Weight disappears as I accelerate down and slam from side to side as maneuvering jets fire, dodging randomly. We’re falling through fire, smoke, shot, and shrapnel toward the golden clouds below.
It’ll be OK. I’ve got my Guardian Angel.
Griffon—or “Griff,” as I call him—is a five-meter-tall, armored battle frame, complete with wings, micro-plasma turbines, and maneuvering thrusters. While diving, the heavy rail cannon and offensive beam x-ray laser lance are folded back, and the two six-pack missile launchers lay waiting in their magazines for use. Every once in a while, the defensive point-defense laser clusters let fly, taking out a mine or missile that gets too close on our spiraling path down. None of this is really visible, though; stealth systems and variable-imagery nanoflage coating make the whole Angel appear to be nothing more than a faint shimmer against the cloudscape, and only that because of its rapid movement.
Out there somewhere, the rest of my flight are with me. “Sparky” Shane in his “Sparrow,” “Mad Dog” Martin in his “Cerberus,” “Joker” Takashi in his “Pegasus,” and “Shockwave” Larry in his “Sundog.” No one has been hit yet…Can’t worry about that now; we need to take out that anti-space cannon.
I say a quick prayer as we dive below the cloud deck.
* * *
Sure, Operation Thunderfall is an exercise, but I say a prayer anyway. Look, we’ve got a whole task force out here firing live ammunition on a simulated invasion of a gas giant. All kinds of things could go wrong.
Also, I want to win.
We’re part of the “Aggressor” force vs. the “Defenders.” Naturally, all our units are represented in red, and we’re the bad guys. We’re playing the part of a hypothetical invading enemy, which just happens to use tactics remarkably similar to those of the Union of Saturn. It’s just coincidence—sure. We’re getting along great with Saturn these days. Why, they haven’t seized one of our ships in weeks now. It must because of the shiny new treaty we’ve got with them, which will work so much better than the last dozen or so treaties they’ve broken. Personally, I think the new Nike-class heavy cruisers have a lot to do with our improving relations. Nothing makes everyone want to forget old grudges and talk about peace like a superior space force.
This training will be good for the defenders, helping them learn how to hold together in a surprise attack after we’ve given them some humility. It’s good for our team, too; we might have to launch a strike into Saturn’s atmosphere some time, and not just land on a planetary surface. Mostly it’s a great chance to do some large-scale maneuvers and get in some needed flying time.
Also, it’ll be good if we win.
The clouds are getting darker. The ammonium hydrosulfide clouds started out as a thick opaque mist of gold. It’s been steadily darkening toward orange, and now toward an angrier red. Not a good sign. Wind speeds are going up, and the temperature, while still below freezing, is rising. Most likely a column of warm air from below is rising into the cloud deck. That’ll mean storms. Not the famous city-busting super-storms of the lower depths, but still bad enough to be dangerous. That puts a time limit on our exercise, but it also gives us an advantage.
The winds and thunder will help mask the sound of our approach, the changing temperatures will help mask us in IR, and the lightning should mask us in EM. All of which is good, because our attack is going to have to be almost perfect. Our target is a space-defense emplacement, so its targeting systems will tag us all almost instantly unless we overwhelm it all at once.
There it is. The platform shows up on magnetic sensors first. The magnetic fields that keep it floating in the air can’t be entirely hidden, though they’re putting out a distortion field to make it hard to lock onto it. Every second or so, a microwave burst rips through the air, indicating it’s fired again. It’s at reduced power, of course, so it won’t actually destroy a frame. Still…each shot could mean someone on our side having to sit this out as it records another kill. We can’t wait too much longer. I wait for the faint signals from my team, confirming they’re all there, so we can attack all at once, and—
Mad Dog Martin bellows over open channels and races directly at the weapon platform, firing all his training missiles.
Great…we’re all going to get wiped out.
I give the order to attack, while the weapons platform focuses all its considerable firepower on Martin, and his blip disappears in half a second. We’re all firing missiles, and I see a dozen trails of vapor leap away from me into the darkening clouds. Taki’s blip disappears off the screen, and I finally come into view of the platform as the red sea of clouds parts for a moment.
There it is, a broad, reddish-brown cylinder the same color as the clouds it’s floating in, with a basket-weave mesh of wires spreading out around its diameter. The whole thing is turned away from me at the moment, but it’s wiping out my missiles with the point-defense laser clusters scattered across its hull. It fires its main gun, and Sparky’s out of the game.
I fire my railgun and offensive laser, and Shockwave races in to add his firepower. Both are recorded hits. If I can keep the fire up for just a little longer, I’ll get a recorded kill—
A huge flash of blue light fills the sky, followed by a roaring thunderclap. Shockwave’s blip disappears, but
