Weapons Free (Battlegroup Z Book 1) Page 16

  “Send the bastard on to God, and we’ll let Him sort it out.”

  Justin rotated his Sabre toward the enemy without replying to Whatley’s instruction. Instead, his mind was laser-focused on the approaching hostile. The missile-lock-on tone buzzed, and he automatically squeezed the trigger, dropping a Vulture active-LIDAR-tracking missile toward the target. The Leaguer fired a similar warhead at him, which he avoided with ease. That League tech doesn’t appear to be as good as ours. Perhaps a technological advantage would help them in the long term. It would do much to explain the number of kills he and the rest of the Zvika Greengold pilots had racked up.

  The enemy fighter blew past him as both craft exchanged energy-weapons fire. Without the three wingmen backing the Leaguer up, his movements were less confident and aggressive. The fight quickly turned into a turn-tail chase as they both tried to gain an advantage. Potshots at each other scored few hits, and Justin didn’t have enough time for missile lock-on. I’m still fighting this guy’s war. I need to fight mine. Clarity came to Justin, and he toggled the secondary weapon selector to his heat-seeking warheads. At the same time, he overrode the safety controls and set them to double launch.

  Justin whipped through a tight series of scissors moves and borrowed a trick he’d seen Whatley perform in a different combat and slowed dramatically through one turn. The Leaguer overshot on full afterburner, and Justin pressed the missile-launch button. “Alpha Two, fox two.” Twin heat seekers rocketed away from his Sabre and tracked the enemy fighter relentlessly. He took the time to make a transmission on the guard frequency. “Hey, Leaguer. Alpha Mike Foxtrot.” A few seconds later, both missiles hit its shields and detonated. The resulting explosion took the other craft with it. “Alpha One, splash one.” It felt good to erase from existence the person who’d probably killed his friend.

  “More heavy bombers inbound,” Whatley rasped. “Alpha, get after ’em. I’m going to assist Beta.”

  “Roger, sir.”

  “And Spencer… nice shooting. What’d you learn?”

  “Don’t allow emotion to overcome good tactical judgment.”

  “Ah, lookee here. The kid can learn.”

  Justin could almost feel the smirk he was sure was emanating from Whatley’s face. “Occasionally and twice on Sundays.”

  “Good hunting, Lieutenant.”

  With that, Whatley was off. Justin turned his attention to the inbound flight of League bombers flying directly toward the Zvika Greengold. It surprised him that they weren’t attacking a more capable capital ship, like the Conqueror, but it didn’t matter in the end—only that his element did its job. The squadron information screen on his HUD showed ten green dots and one red one. One was absent. Feldstein and Adeoye’s craft were functioning at one hundred percent—at least according to the integrated sensors. “Alpha One to Alpha Two, come in.”

  “This is Alpha Two. Go ahead,” Feldstein replied quickly. “We were worried about you for a minute there, Lieutenant.”

  “I was worried about myself.”

  “Is Mateus…”

  “I don’t know. She said she was ejecting, but it’s so chaotic out here that my sensors didn’t pick up an escape pod.” He hoped against hope that her IFF was malfunctioning but knew it was unlikely. Moreover, he couldn’t spare the brain space to think about it. They had a job to do—stay alive and defeat the enemy. “Form up on me and switch to dumb-fire rockets if you have any left. We’re going bomber hunting.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The intercept vector was a favorable one for Justin’s fellow Alpha element members to catch up to him without staying at maximum afterburner the entire time. He took the time to examine the battlespace and get a feel for the ebb and flow of the fighter combat. Most of the friendly small craft were of the planet-based variety. The only carriers the CDF had in its inventory were the Thane class. While they were all present and accounted for, three hundred sixty fast movers weren’t enough to shift the tide in any meaningful way.

  “Everyone lock up a separate bomber,” Justin said. “Take one high-speed firing pass then get behind and terminate these guys.”

  “Sir, there’s another flight of fighters headed our way,” Feldstein called. “Four bandits, bearing one-two-eight degrees negative declination.”

  “Forget them. Take out the bombers, then we’ll shift targets.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Justin lined up the lead enemy and squeezed his firing trigger the moment it entered maximum range. Return fire in the form of red energy bolts rushed toward him. He added his dumb-fire missiles to the mix. Each hit substantially impacted the bomber’s shields. They failed, and chunks of armor broke off. At the last second, Justin rolled to his left, and his final rocket smacked the enemy craft, causing a chain reaction of several small explosions that blew the bomber apart. Only after the intense glow from the brief fireball had faded did he realize that three anti-ship missiles were headed straight for the Greengold. He briefly considered pursuit but discounted the idea. The carrier’s CIWS systems would have to be up to the task.

  “Conn, TAO. We just lost two of our point-defense emplacements, port side.” Bryan turned his head around. “Fifty percent reduction in point-defense effectiveness on that quarter.”

  “Communications, have Major Whatley designate one of his squadrons to protect us until repairs can be made,” Tehrani said. She turned toward Wright. “XO, prioritize getting our CIWS emplacements back online. By any means necessary.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Tehrani brushed a wisp of brown hair out of her face and focused on the tactical plot. The blue overhead lighting amplified the screen and made watching it easier. Across the battlespace, the League ships had stopped their advance, except for a few pockets of vessels still moving forward. She assumed they had a rigid command structure that didn’t allow for individual commanders’ initiatives.

  The Greengold shuddered from another series of hits.

  “TAO, who’s shooting at us?”

  “Master Four Hundred Thirty-Six, ma’am. Enemy destroyer, and it’s coming about for another pass.”

  On the plot, Tehrani quickly found the enemy along with two frigates maneuvering aggressively. “Firing-point procedures, Master Four Hundred Thirty-Six, forward neutron beams.”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

  “TAO, tag Master Four Hundred Twenty-Eight and request Delta element engage as she approaches us. ” Tehrani grinned fiercely. “We’ll see how many times they’ll fall for that particular trick.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan replied with levity in his voice—the sound of a man who had hope he would live to see another day.

  Wright leaned in. “Bad news, Colonel. Damage-control parties report multiple hours to get our PD guns back online. One’s completely gone, while the other is suffering from a severed power conduit.”

  “We must make do,” Tehrani replied. Her heart sank. At any moment, the Leaguers would realize how badly her ship was wounded and concentrate everything they had on the port quarter. I owe it to my crew not to sacrifice them in a meaningless gesture. “Run a Lawrence drive calculation to put us across the system, closer to Canaan and inside the Lawrence limit,” she whispered.

  “Shouldn’t the navigator do that, ma’am?” Wright replied equally quietly. “I’m rusty enough that I might put us into the sun.”

  Tehrani chuckled. “No, I don’t want to alarm the crew. Just in case we have to bug out quickly.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright turned and bent over his tablet, hard at work on the equations.

  “Conn, Communications,” Singh called. “Flash traffic from CSV Victory, ma’am. Vidlink is active.”

  “Put it on my viewer, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  The screen above Tehrani’s head sprang to life with an image of General Irvine. Her face was harried, and dark circles were visible under her eyes. “Attention, all CDF forces. The enemy’s
flagship has been disabled and, with it, their command-and-control structure. Our reinforcements are minutes away, but victory is still far from certain. Engage the enemy at all points of attack and don’t hold back. We must press them and send them on the run. You’ve all fought bravely and valiantly. Continue to do your duty, and we will prevail! I will see you all at the victory celebration. Good hunting and Godspeed.”

  “I wish we knew how long we had to hold,” Wright groused. “But it’s good to hear the American and the British space navies are on the way.”

  “The CDF should never have disbanded and downsized the way it did,” Tehrani said. “That decision was short-sighted.” She glanced at the tactical plot and noted that the League destroyer she was tracking was almost in range. “TAO, reconfirm firing solution for Master Four Hundred Thirty-Six.”

  “Firing solution set and confirmed, ma’am.”

  The League vessels flew into firing range, loosing a barrage of the ubiquitous red plasma balls. The view through the Zvika Greengold’s windows filled with the glow from the enemy weapons, while the Greengold’s point-defense systems—those still working, anyway—blazed away at incoming missiles. Delta element sent three anti-ship missiles at the hapless destroyer, pummeling her shields to less than ten percent.

  Tehrani grinned. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Two blue spears of solid energy shot out from the bow of the Greengold and first depleted what was left of the League vessel’s deflector screens. For a split second, the enemy’s shields held with a red skid effect visible. Then they were gone. Because of the positioning of the two ships, the neutron beams speared the destroyer from bow to stern, punching a hole clean through the thin hull. Moments later, it exploded in a flash of orange-and-blue flame, with nothing left to prove it had ever existed except one-meter-long chunks of debris.

  “I would again remind you that CDF tactical doctrine states that carriers are to stay back, out of a direct ship-to-ship engagement,” Wright said and laughed. “The way you’re going, ma’am, we’re going to get awarded a battle star.”

  “Desperate times, desperate measures, XO.” Tehrani set her eyes back to the tactical plot, searching for the next target. She had many to choose from.

  16

  “Beta three declaring an emergency. Mayday, mayday, mayday. I’m punching out,” someone calmly stated.

  Justin winced. That made three pilots from his squadron with a total loss of craft and an unknown number of them killed in action. They were down to eight combat-effective fighters. All around the Red Tails, debris from destroyed Leaguers filled the void. We’ve fought a good fight. He maneuvered through space as he did the mental mathematics to plot a course to bring his Sabre behind the enemy displayed on the HUD.

  “Any word on those reinforcements, CAG?” Feldstein asked.

  “What do I look like? A prophet? They’ll get here when they get here,” Whatley groused. “Until then, keep killing the bastards.”

  “Wilco, sir.”

  Justin laughed softly. I’d wager the major is having a blast over there. Some people were seemingly made from steel. Whatley was one of them.

  The calculations Justin had made appeared to work, as his Saber glided behind the enemy he was tracking. To his surprise, he was close enough for a guns solution, and he held down the firing trigger. Dozens of blue neutron-cannon bolts flew into the hostile craft, and it exploded violently. “Alpha One, splash one.”

  Another League fighter exploded to his left. “Alpha Two, splash one,” Feldstein said tightly. “Two more in this group.”

  I’m down to my last heat-seeking missile. Justin quickly toggled through his stores, having lost count during the nonstop fighting. He only had one warhead left. He’d expended all active LIDAR trackers and dumb-fire rockets. Better make it count.

  His craft shuddered from a volley of hits, and Justin slowed his Sabre dramatically. The enemy overshot. Time seemed to slow as he pressed the missile-launch button while holding down the firing trigger for his energy weapons.

  The enemy craft blew apart, and its debris cloud struck his cockpit canopy with a series of short metallic impacts that sounded like rain hitting a tin roof.

  Adeoye’s voice filled the commlink. “Alpha Three, splash one.”

  Justin didn’t even bother to call out his latest kill. “We’re clear.”

  “For now,” Feldstein replied. “They seem to have a never-ending supply of these things.”

  As if on cue, another blob of red dots appeared on Justin’s HUD. He groaned. “Quit jinxing us.” Justin paused. “Stores check?”

  “I’m out except energy weapons,” Feldstein replied.

  “Same for me,” Adeoye said.

  Justin despaired. Tail-turning dogfights, even against inferior technology, would eventually end up with him and the rest of Alpha dead or ejected. He cued the commlink and set it to the squadron commander’s channel. “CAG, this is Alpha One. We’re all Winchester, sir. Recommend we pull back to the carrier and attempt to resupply.”

  “Negative, Alpha,” Whatley barked. “We hold.”

  “Sir—”

  “Son, listen. There’s no time to get a new load of missiles. We’re going to stand and fight until we can’t fight anymore.”

  Again, the ultimate sacrifice. Who am I to consider stepping aside? Cohen and the crew on that destroyer didn’t. Justin set his jaw. Even though he could make peace with the notion of dying, sacrificing those under him felt like a bridge too far. “Sir, can I at least order my wingmen back?”

  A pregnant pause came through the commlink. “Lieutenant, I respect your desire to take care of those under your command. It’s an excellent trait. But not today… today we’re all in. We hold the line or die trying. You get me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Carry on. CAG out.”

  Justin resolutely stared at the HUD and calculated his course. The Leaguers might overwhelm them in time, but he was determined to take as many of the enemy out as possible—to make the sacrifice worth it. Maybe if we kill enough of them, they’ll stop coming.

  “Colonel, it’s time to pull our fighters back,” Wright whispered. He’d leaned in close to her to avoid having his words carry throughout the bridge. “Everyone is Winchester, and it’s suicide for them to go into wave after wave of enemies with full missile loads.”

  Tehrani grimaced, as the words stung. He was right, but she couldn’t bear to admit defeat. I suspect most of our ship commanders feel the same way as I do. “Not yet. We wait until the last possible moment.”

  “Ma’am,” Wright said, his voice rising, “it’s my duty to insist on proper procedure. Canaan’s defense system is operational. We should get what’s left of our air wing, bug out, and make another stand there—after rearming our pilots so they’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell!”

  “As you were,” Tehrani replied forcefully. “Order each squadron to continue engagement until each craft is under fifty percent hull integrity. At that point, they are to bug out to home plate. Clear, XO?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  While Wright’s words were respectful, his tone was anything but. Tehrani made a mental note to address it later—if they had a later. Meanwhile, the battle raged around them. While the CDF battle line had slowly but stubbornly given way earlier, the loss of every ship had become more and more devastating. It allowed the League forces to concentrate their firepower on an ever-dwindling number of targets, to horrific effect. Escorts endured the enemy assault, with destroyer after destroyer exploding as waves of the deadly plasma balls overloaded their shields, melted away armor, and seared them from the universe. The fight was quickly becoming a rout.

  “Conn, TAO. We’ve got a heavy cruiser on a direct approach, ma’am. Designated Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine, it’s focusing on the Conqueror.”

  Inwardly, Tehrani groaned. They just don’t stop coming. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Four Hundred Sixty-Nine, forward neutro
n beams.” She studied her tactical plot. “Do any of our bombers have anti-ship missiles left?”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am.” Bryan turned his head. “No, ma’am. All munitions expended. Our beams can’t get through their shields at full strength.”

  Tehrani already knew that, but it didn’t change that they had to try. “Request fire support from the Conqueror,” she replied quietly.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan said as he faced forward.

  Seconds passed without a response from the CDF battleship. According to Tehrani’s readout, the Conqueror was in worse shape than the Greengold. Her shields had collapsed, and her forward armor was nearly depleted. Still, her magnetic cannons blazed defiance into the void. Missiles erupted from her Vertical Rail Launch System, and neutron beams far more potent than those the Greengold mounted reached out and burned the enemy heavy cruiser’s shields.

  The moment the League vessel’s shields dropped below fifteen percent, Tehrani made her move. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Two blue spears of energy shot out of the Greengold and slammed into the enemy ship as it closed with the CDF formation. After a few moments, the beams penetrated the cruiser’s defensive screens and impacted its hull. But unlike the last few times, there was no series of secondary explosions and no last-second destruction of the target. Plasma balls zoomed out of the Leaguer’s forward turrets along with red energy beams and a brace of missiles. Against the weakened shields of the Greengold and her degraded point-defense systems, the barrage scored many hits.

  “Conn, TAO. Forward and port shields failed, ma’am!” Bryan’s normally professional voice went up an octave, and his volume rose. “We’re taking hull damage, concentrated in the hangar decks and ventral armor.”

  His words stoked fear in Tehrani’s heart. She pulled up a hull-integrity readout. The forward portion of the ship had already turned yellow. “Navigation, emergency turn to port, flank speed. Come to heading two-seven-zero, thirty-degree up bubble.”