“Don’t get cheeky with me, Captain. I can still make you run laps.” Whatley’s voice had little trace of the snark normally in it.
Justin scanned his HUD, looking for a new target, and found no shortage of them. Pirate small craft zoomed about the battlespace, and they held superiority in terms of numbers. Clusters of fighters from the Greengold were engaged in pitched dogfights, and it appeared the Mauler bombers had been decimated yet again. “If I make it back to the flight deck, I’d be delighted to get some exercise, sir. In the meanwhile, what’s the play?”
Whatley snickered. “Stay alive until the colonel figures out how to beat these bastards. Not sure if you noticed, but the nebula was probably safer.”
The CAG had a point, as always. Justin studied the sensor map on his HUD and was shocked to see at least six CDF pilot rescue beacons. One frigate was missing, and the second had a good bit of damage to its outer hull, as did the Marcus Luttrell. I had it easy. As he stared at the augmented-reality display, several icons belonging to the pirate corvettes started moving on a course for the remaining frigate, the CSV Ernest Evans.
“Black Hogs are going in,” Green announced. “We’ll try to even up the odds a bit.”
“That’s a negative, Lieutenant. Those corvettes have wickedly accurate point defense. I’m not throwing your lives away on a suicide run,” Whatley replied.
“With respect, sir, the Boars can handle it.” Green’s voice held a no-nonsense tone. “The Greengold’s escorts won’t survive another pass. All we have to do is take out a couple of turrets and scatter them.” She paused. “If our hotshot Sabre pilots can’t handle the heat, we’ll do it ourselves.”
Justin’s eyebrows rose. Nobody calls out the CAG like that. It might’ve been fun to listen to if they weren’t in a life-or-death situation.
Silence came over the commlink channel. Finally, Whatley spoke. “Okay. What the hell… going out in a blaze of glory has always been my preferred way to depart the universe. If we make it back, I’m assigning you to swab the hangar deck, Lieutenant.”
“You’re on, sir,” Green replied cockily.
“Count Alpha in,” Justin said on the open line. “We’ll fly overwatch.”
“Remember who gives the orders, Spencer,” Whatley replied. “Reconfigure yourself to Alpha One. I’ll slide into Epsilon One.”
“Wilco, sir.” Justin grinned as he rotated his Ghost toward the small group of Boars that barreled toward the first pirate vessel in the attack wave. The depleted fighters on both sides closed their formations, and Justin counted the cost yet again. Six Maulers, two Sabres, three Boars. My God. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for the majority of the fight, as if he’d let his brothers and sisters down. A quick check of his craft’s internal stores told him he had two heat seekers and four LIDAR trackers left. Not a whole heck of a lot.
Magnetic-cannon rounds, neutron beams, plasma charges, and muonic pulses lit up the void in a vivid blue, red, and purple display. As Justin weaved through the exchange of weaponry, he almost forgot they were in a pitched battle for their lives—until the missile-lock-on tone sounded again. The HUD-integrated scanner showed two LIDAR trackers coming at his Ghost from below him and to the left. He wrenched the flight stick to the right, and his Ghost rolled away as he sent multiple blasts of chaff into the void.
“Alpha Two, fox three,” Feldstein called out. “Three bandits engaged.”
Avoiding the incoming, Justin reversed his turn and found a pirate craft bearing straight down on him. Squeezing the integrated trigger for his Ghost’s neutron cannons, Justin blasted away at the enemy. Both his and the fighter’s forward shields took significant beatings, but he obtained a hard lock on the hostile at the last second. Another button press, and two LIDAR-tracking missiles zoomed into the void.
Several seconds later, both connected with the heavy pirate fighter and erased it from space. “Alpha One, splash one,” Justin said as he rotated back around, pawing the vacuum and searching for a new target.
Meanwhile, Green and the Black Hogs had engaged one of the corvettes. Not so much avoiding point defense as absorbing it, the squat fighters unloaded streams of neutron-cannon bolts, anti-ship missiles, and dumb-fire rockets into the hapless vessel. Two turrets exploded, reducing the outgoing volume of fire from the ship considerably.
Still, the CDF warships had taken a beating. Justin was in awe of how many holes the Marcus Luttrell had in it, yet she fought on. Atmosphere must be trailing out of ten separate hull breaches. Never out of the fight, indeed. But they held.
Aided by the two remaining security vessels, the corvettes broke off after shifting their attacks to the Greengold and pummeling her damaged port side once again. Tehrani’s acting like a smaller boxer going up against a heavyweight. The tactics would only work for so long, because something had to give sooner or later.
The Ernest Evans slowly dropped out of formation, turning away from the battle on a course that would take her to the Lawrence limit and away from the pirates. Justin despaired, for as they lost vessels, it meant the enemy could concentrate even more on the ones left.
As if reading Justin’s mind and everyone else’s, Whatley’s gruff voice came over the commlink. “Nice flying, people. Now recharge your shields, and we’ll take another run at these bastards. Remember—fight the good fight, no matter the odds!”
The invocation of their battle cry stirred Justin’s warrior spirit. “No matter the odds!” he thundered into the commlink. With a glance at the picture of his family, Justin marked his next target.
On the bridge of the Zvika Greengold, the lights suddenly dimmed and nearly blinked out. Tehrani glanced at Wright
