Louis Shalako
The
headphones squawked. Dale straightened, an intent look on her face.
“Lantern Red!
Break! Break!”
There
came a flurry of radio calls, pitched high with fear.
Half
a light-year away the returning gaggle of four blue triangles, spreading now
like the extended fingers of a hand, were joined by three new red markers,
angling in from a trailing position to get their shots away. Technical Sergeant
Dale Marston had a surge of adrenalin when one of the blue triangles expanded
and dissipated sharply. Lantern Red was returning from an armed reconnaissance
of what was code-named Gamma Cluster.
Her
hand stabbed the heavy-duty mechanical button. Another blue ship winked out of
existence onscreen.
An
alarm sounded in Captain Danko’s day cubby. He came striding out, blinking what
had been sweet, blessed sleep from his eyes.
“Sir. Lantern Red is under attack.”
Leaning in over Dale’s shoulder, he
muttered one word, unprintable.
***
Bruzer
was gone. Carrot was gone. The crews of the two remaining scout ships were
being thoroughly debriefed.
Commander
Ann ‘Screwball’ McCluskey, pilot of Lantern Red One, was haggard, still in her
flight suit. She smelled of sweat and anger. She chewed furiously on the unlit
stub of a thick black cigar.
She glared at Curran.
“Why
don’t we know about these guys?”
The
surviving crew members, the intelligence officer, and Captain Danko stared at
the largest screen, mounted on the far bulkhead.
Lieutenant
Curran shook his head. He was sick inside.
“This
is definitely something new.”
“Those
have to be unmanned.” McCluskey’s co-pilot, Ralph Bowen, hung his head in
disgust.
“They’re just too small otherwise.”
Dan
Smallwood, ‘Husky,’ grunted from the sidelines, his bald dome shining in the
glare of the screen in the otherwise dark room. Shotgun-seater Rube Zabrilli
said nothing.
“We
can’t turn with them. That’s what got Bruzer.” Pete Jackson and Rene Snyder were
in Lantern Red Two.
Two
good people, gone.
Mick
Curran went back to the tactical board’s recorded time-line and ran through it
again. He zoomed in on maneuvers and resultant arcs, blue for friendlies and
red for the enemy.
Taken
completely by surprise in a high-speed attack. Four Imperial ships in combat spread.
Three bogeys appear onscreen, coming up from behind. They didn’t get much
warning before the shit hit the fan. Curran brought the shot in tighter.
The
first bogey got on Bruzer’s tail. Bruzer broke right. The bogey cut across the
arc on a much tighter arc, pulling down and then up through a barrel roll as it
did to maintain speed. It looked very professional. Bingo. One shot, one kill. Bruzer
and co-pilot Ed Muggeridge blown away.
Just
like that.
“I
have a question.”
Curran
stopped motion and brought up the room lights as all heads turned to regard the
lanky figure standing silent at the back of the room. The buzz from the
overhead lighting was very loud all of a sudden.
“And
what’s that, Mister Smith?” The captain, also standing, straightened up.
Smith
was a nom de guerre.
Danko’s
shoulders were hunched with tension as he regarded the rather tanned Mister Smith
and the exotic tattoos on the backs of his hands.
There
was an element of disapproval in more than one pair of eyes.
McCluskey
shrugged. It was like that.
Smith
was a consultant, a mercenary, fighting
for pay. Fleet types didn’t see much use for them in general. This one in
particular set teeth on edge, with his theatrical leather jacket, high fringed
moccasins, and the pistol on the hip. The man had his own ship mothballed, which rankled some.
Smith was a figure of fascination
among the younger crew, serving on short-service terms or inducted for the
duration. Wars were supposed to happen very quickly and be over in seconds
these days.
Unfortunately no one had told the Alliance that and it was rapidly
turning into a longer war of production capacity and straightforward military attrition.
“Why
did they quit?”
Smith
moved in, and Varl Danzigg, co-pilot of Lantern Red Four, stepped back to let
him through.
“Did
they run out of fuel? This one—” He pointed at a bogey that stopped maneuvering
and then went straight and true out of the combat area at a constant speed.
“Did he have a systems malfunction?”
He
stared, getting in close to the screen to see the telemetrics from all ships, code
name and serial number, displayed down the right side of the picture. Below
that, were Bogey One, Two and Three.
He touched the icons, studying the enlarged
data-boxes.
“No
one shot at this guy.” Not one of the Imperial ships had fired their guns,
launched a missile or deployed any of their more active counter-measures. “What
happened to him? That’s one good question.”
The
enemy was too close and too fast, too maneuverable. It was all they could do to
try and avoid being shot down.
“I’d
like to know…” Ann trailed off.
They
had been caught with their pants down.
Her
face was grim. Four people dead, and it shouldn’t have happened. She clamped her
mouth shut.
“What
are you thinking, Mister Smith?” The captain wanted answers.
“What
if he ran out of fuel? The others broke off after a short pursuit of One and
Four. We need to go back in there. We know there must be something. What if there’s a new heavy unit we don’t know about.
It’s not immediately certain that those bogeys require support, but they must
have launched, they must have come from somewhere.”
The
captain nodded. They might be fully autonomous, even disposable.
“Keep
talking, Mister Smith.”
Smith
raised his eyebrows.
“What
if we found that other bogey? It must be traveling along that same vector if it
ran out of fuel. That’s one potential mission. But right now the bigger problem
is how to fight these guys, manned or unmanned. Right?”
“We’re
listening.” The captain’s arms were across his chest.
Smith
grinned briefly and nodded. Their comrades were dead, but he didn’t know them
all that well.
He had a kind of objectivity and an incentive to keep it on
topic.
At
this stage all he had were questions.
The
intelligence officer was putting fresh data into the larger-scale navigational
map and estimating time, speed and distance on their runaway bogey. He tapped
keys and set a program to check it and fast-forward to potential intercepts. As
Mister Smith had pointed out, the other two bogeys broke pursuit after a short
chase, turning in the opposite direction. With opposing flight vectors, they
disappeared from surviving instruments in a heartbeat. Unless it was some
elaborate deception plan, in which case why would they not break in three directions? It was possible the
two active enemy ships might have returned to the very unconfirmed base the
light carrier Heracles was searching
for.
Smith had a point. If they were going back, they had better find a way to
deal with the fighters.
Danko
glanced at Lieutenant Curran, still red in the cheekbones from suppressed anger.
“I
want a thorough analysis. Mister Smith will be happy to assist.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Smith
gave Curran a wink. Without another word, the captain turned and left the room.
Her
Majesty’s Ship Heracles was on high
alert. They had their own fighters on patrol, but the bridge was where he
needed to be. Especially with all the newbies aboard.
***
The
youngster on the communications panel looked around and caught Danko’s eye.
“Yes?”
“Intelligence
Officer, sir.”
Danko
put his headphones on to keep out background noise. He would be succinct.
“Mister
Curran?”
“We
have some preliminary plans, Captain. Would you have a minute?”
All
systems were on high alert and the most experienced crew members were on duty.
Defense systems on automatic. Six fighters on patrol. All systems operational. There
was nothing more he could do.
“I’ll
be down in a minute.”
“Thank
you.”
***
“We
have several options, sir.”
Curran
nodded at Smith, standing with a pointer at the side of the big screen.
Smith
had the navigational map up.
“Okay.
The engagement was here. My theory is that they carry limited fuel. They must
engage before a certain point or they can’t return to base. It might be done on
a sacrificial basis, but only under limited circumstances.”
The
captain nodded in comprehension. The others had already heard it.
“Okay.”
“They
made their attack at Point A and got two kills, engaged in pursuit, and then broke
off at point B. They came about and turned to a new course.” His pale, watery
blue eyes regarded the captain as vectors appeared on the screen. “We’re
looking for point C.”
He
cleared his throat.
They
said Smith was a drinker, but Danko had never seen any real signs of it.
“My
suggestion is to detail the possible runaway fighter-drone or robot ship in the
next Fleet packet.”
This was a reciprocal, very tight beam pulsed twice daily
to keep Fleet and Heracles mutually
informed. “Let them try and find it. It would be a nice thing to have.”
“Of
course.” Danko stared at the screen.
“Okay.
We’re assuming a limited range for the enemy fighters, whereas our scouts are
designed for long-range penetration. Otherwise the enemy really shouldn’t have
broken contact. Look at Lantern Red’s search pattern. These may be
point-defense interceptors.”
The
captain nodded sharply.
“Keep
going.”
“Going
by the size of those ships, we can estimate by previous intelligence and
captured enemy artifacts, roughly the mass, the size and the power. We have
their arcs and at least some telemetrics. We know something about their weapons
capability.”
The enemy had to
close to fire…they might be turning at full power…it was a problem of fuzzy
logic.
Danko’s
mind worked through it.
The
captain chewed his lip, taking a quick glimpse at the bridge screen, reassuring
himself that he had time for this.
“Go
on. Mister Smith.”
“If
there is an enemy base, or some heavy units, Captain, they must be within…” He
manipulated his data and a ball of space was highlighted. “…somewhere in there.”
Lantern
Red’s search pattern brushed up against the near side of the pale sphere. It
was a surprisingly small area. Smith showed how they could move the radius
around within that sphere. all that did was to make a wider search volume.
“Lantern
Red approached on this vector…and we’re here…and the assumption is that they
are on the far side, so to speak.” It was either bad, or good luck that they
had flushed the enemy.
“Interesting.”
With
full knowledge of their own sensor systems, and some intelligence of the
enemy’s sensor capability, they could extrapolate how, and most likely where or
when, Lantern Red had been detected
and subsequently intercepted. Smith’s logic seemed good.
Smith’s
pointer arm extended. The tip wavered and then settled on a cluster of small
white dots.
It
all fit in.
There
were known concentrations of dust and interstellar gas clouds, thin strings of
vapour extending in patches, stretching a good forty degrees across the screen.
Danko saw various bodies, a few inert, and a half a dozen active stars,
swirling around each other over eons of gravitational ballet.
Danko
looked at Mister Curran.
The
Lieutenant smiled.
“Bingo.”
The
captain’s cold, hard face slid back to Smith.
“Very
well. So. What’s your plan?”
Smith,
Curran and McCluskey exchanged glances. It was just the four of them in there.
Smith
held the floor.
“Well,
Captain. We have two or three options.”
***
Looking
perfectly at home in the military suit, visor up, Mister Smith was at the
controls of Lantern Red One with Ann McCluskey riding in the second seat.
They
were a hundred and fifty billion kilometres off from their bait ship. They had
a hot white star above them, ten light years away. Relative to their position,
Red Four was below and to the left where it was naked-eye visible on its
programmed path. While flyable, Lantern Red Four was moderately damaged and
would require extensive repairs in a shop with better facilities than those
available aboard Heracles.
Red
Four had been stripped of one of its two quantum engines. The fuel system had
been re-rigged to feed into number one pump. They had re-balanced it, with an extra
fuel bladder aboard, an auxiliary pump and a control chip to run it through the
secondary inlet ports. By making a slow, stealthy approach, they had extended
the time on station by a factor of about four or four and a half to one.
Being
unmanned, Red Four was expendable. All weapons, all sensitive equipment had
been stripped out.
The
fission-type warhead of a Mark Eighteen heavy torpedo was banded to the floor
in the mid-section of the ship. It was rigged for automatic detonation based on
impacts to the structure, radar proximity, and was equipped for infrared and
optical detection. Red One could detonate it remotely. That signal might give
them away, so it was a judgment call for Smith and McCluskey.
They
were getting very close to the point of ambush. Point A.
Tension
was rising.
Ann’s
arm shot out, pointing at the left forward screen and Smith barely caught a
glimpse of several red triangles vectoring in. Red Four exploded in a pop of
blue-white light and then the shock wave was halfway there all ready.
“Coming
left.” Smith’s voice was calm as Ann grabbed the metal hand-holds and locked
her eyes on the expanding debris field.
Two
visors lowered automatically.
The
ship shuddered gently and then they were through.
Out
of the corner of her limited vision she noted Smith knocking back the switches
for cannon, cameras and all defensive measures. He avoided near-misses in the
debris cloud with casual ease.
Right
hand on the stick, left hand on the throttle.
The
electronics suite merited a quick glance and she saw that all systems were
working. No alarms.
“What’s
that?” Smith moved the cursor ball on this right-hand stick as he cautiously
approached the scene, centering the white caret on one object in particular.
Seventy-five
billion kilometres.
“It’s
round—” She zoomed in. “Good eye.”
“Okay.
Mark it and keep your eyes peeled.” She got a lock on its vector, slaving a
pickup on the top of the right fin to follow the object.
The
enemy machine, if that’s what it was, appeared to have some damage. It glowed
with internal heat but held steady on course and speed.
“Okay.”
He glanced over. “We’re going in.”
She
had the information, barely three-quarters of a second of the enemy’s approach
vector.
“What
do you think?”
“It
looked like there were four or five of them this time.”
He
glanced at her display. It wasn’t much to go on.
“We
might as well, Mick.”
She knows my name,
then.
With
the side of his mouth curled up in concentration, Smith rolled right, bumped up
the throttle, and headed to where, for all intents and purposes…based on a lot
of guesswork, the enemy had to be.
“I
got a bad feeling about this, Mister Smith.” He was heading straight for the
largest of three great wisps of gas clouds.
She
watched the distance clocking down.
“You
ain’t the only one, Ann.” He looked over and grinned. “Get ready on the mines.”
He
increased speed again, entered the first thin smudges of the cloud. They
detected some small, hard objects, planetoids, gravel, all of it reflected
energy and not generated by the bodies themselves. He still had a star behind
him relatively speaking. Hopefully.
“Ah!”
Ann
clamped her wrists in the restrainers with a quick push. Smith hit the firing
button on the pair of 57 mm cannons in the nose. She snapped the mine switch
and then the flares, setting those for a two-second run. The vibration was
considerable. It was up to Mister Smith now.
White
flashes smacked and danced up and along the side of the enemy carrier, a light
assault ship by the ship’s catalog, instantly displayed in a corner of their
console.
Smith
punched the throttle, dumping shells into her. With a wrench, he lifted the
keel of Red One over the hump of the enemy ship’s midsection and then turned
right to go opposing vector.
It
wouldn’t buy them much time. There had to be fighters in the vicinity. They
were pounded back into their seats and shaking back and forth as Smith built up
their velocity. He was making some fairly big course changes, as big as he
dared under high acceleration. Finally his restraints snapped down. Ann was
watching their tail sensors, not reporting anything. Smith straightened it up
for a second, fingertip pressure. She nodded, not looking at him. It was all
she could do to keep air in her lungs and blood in her head.
“Whoa.”
She
stared at the rear-view, not responding.
They
were at full power, the enemy ship was on fire and they were an awful long ways
from home.
***
Red
One had taken some hits. When she went unstable, Smith shut her main motors
down on the instant. He wrestled stability back, finally setting the vessel up
to rotate axially at a rate that would give them a third of a gee of positive
gravity if you didn’t mind leaning to the left.
“Power
down.”
Ann
looked over her boards as Smith hesitated over the weapons systems. He decided
to leave them on. She nodded. Stranger things had been known to happen and it
would be too naked without a gun.
Mick
Smith heaved a deep sigh. He looked over.
“We
have an estimated one hundred seventeen and a third, approximately, hours of
life support.”
He
smiled into her eyes. She had to make some response.
“Don’t
worry. They’ll find us.”
Smith
was still grinning at her.
She
flushed slightly, looking back at the boards. She’d never really thought of him
as a person before, more of an A-type personality and not much else.
“Looks
like you and I will have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
She
laughed in spite of herself.
“You
made one fine mess of that carrier, Mister Smith.” Her smile was genuine.
His
eyes were warm and kind.
“Thank
you. Please call me Mick.”
Looking
away, she chuckled in spite of herself. She should have known better.
Mick.
She
liked the sound of it.
Her
eyes came up again and she took a better look at him. He smiled serenely and
looked away.
In
spite of everything, there was that flutter in the midriff, unwelcome at the
best of times.
Hmn.
Well, what do you
know.
END
