Emergence: Book One of the Dark Tide Trilogy Page 5

  Moments later her HUD showed she was within optimal laser range. She fired two beams of light on the same target as her missiles. She fired again for good measure and waited, expecting an explosion.

  An inky black cloud of black emanating from the target absorbed the lasers. Sensors showed no damage. Selene blinked in disbelief. How is that possible? Advanced shielding technology?

  Her missiles reached her target next, but before impact they converged and again disappeared without detonation. The missile icons on her HUD disappeared. Shit. The same phenomenon was happening across the field of battle.

  The enemy held their fire through the barrage. Then they unleashed their fury. Enemy fighters across the battle line launched their projectiles. Selene’s HUD lit up as it filled with icons from hundreds of projectiles. Multiple impact and target lock warnings blared at her through her neural implant despite suppression safeguards.

  Selene activated her repulsors and her fighter rose. Three projectiles passed through her previous position. She risked a glance outside her canopy. The projectiles looked like rocks covered in something green.

  A clump of icons representing Federation starfighters flashed red on her HUD.

  “I’m hit!” Brianne Earling reported. “Going E…” her transmission ended as the icon representing Brianne’s fighter on Selene’s HUD disappeared.

  One down, Selene thought.

  More icons disappeared, some preceded by panicked cries from pilots, others silent, their pilot’s dead or unable to communicate their last moments to their fellows.

  “Fire again,” Selene ordered over the squad channel. She fired another pair of missiles and another, longer, burst of laser fire.

  The effect was the same - her strikes disappeared into a cloud of nothingness in front of the enemy fighter.

  Her lasers hadn’t recharged before she was upon the enemy lines and past them. She spun and fired two missiles toward the rear of an enemy fighter. She didn’t bother to fire her laser.

  The missiles streaked up behind the enemy vessel but the same void shield drew them in. The enemy turned toward her.

  Four missiles left. Those shields couldn’t last forever, could they? Maybe if she unleashed the energy in the missiles before hitting the void shields…she fired two more missiles. As they neared the enemy fighter, she and triggered her lasers. One beam of light struck each missile. The missiles detonated in a furious explosion.

  A circle of void in the center of the explosion marked the void shield, but a second later it disappeared, the void being filled with the reddish-orange glow of the missile explosion. The explosive cloud cleared and Selene strained to see whether her opponents were dead or alive.

  Nothing remained. No fighter, just pieces of an enemy fighter.

  Selene let out a whoop. She opened the channel to the remaining fighters. “This is Lieutenant Artois to Federation fighters. Detonate your missiles before they strike their target. The force of the explosion will overwhelm their shields. I say again, detonate your missiles with your laser before the missiles strike your targets.”

  She sought another target. Two missiles left. Target lock alarms sounded. Projectiles coming from behind. She spun 180 degrees and fired her lasers at the enemy projectiles. They exploded in a green burst. She passed through the cloud of debris and a glob of green goo slapped against her viewport.

  Hull integrity indicators popped up on her HUD. A diagram appeared, showing multiple red points of something impacting the hull.

  Why didn't the shields stop it?

  The ooze on her viewport ate away at the duraglass. She activated her pressure suit, and a helmet materialized around her head.

  Moments later a hole appeared in the viewport, causing her HUD feed to transfer to her helmet.

  “Shit,” she said. She turned her fighter back toward the Independence. Atmosphere vented from the cockpit.

  She was several hundred kilometers from the carrier when her fighter jerked and spun. The HUD projection showed the entire starboard wing coming loose, the acid from the destroyed projectile having eaten its way through the wing.

  There was only one thing left to do. She opened her link to the fighter group. “This is Raptor One, going EV. I repeat, Raptor One going EV.”

  She took a deep breath and hit the switch.

  ***

  While the Independence filled the viewport, blip after blip representing Federation fighters disappeared on the view screen. Green icons changed to blinking red, blinking yellow or solid red as the battle raged.

  One icon caught his attention. A flashing red icon passed by on their right. It turned to yellow.

  Derek sat forward and pointed at the icon. “What does a flashing yellow icon mean?”

  “Pilot evacuated their fighter.”

  “We have to help them.”

  “What we ‘have to’ do is make it to the Independence,” Ashley responded. “We've got one working engine: we’re in no position to enter a combat zone.”

  “But they're on our way.” He pointed to where two yellow icons had turned red. “Pilots going EV are dying. We need all the pilots we can get.”

  Ashley sighed. “Fine.” She turned the ship toward the icon. “Independence, this is Dauntless. We are deviating to pick up one of your pilots.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Moments later, the pod came into view. A red beacon flashed in the dark, dim against the backdrop of battle.

  “Attention, EV pilot,” Ashley said over the short range infrared comm band. “Prepare for pickup.”

  “Ready and waiting,” a female voice responded.

  Ashley shot the mag cable out. “Attachment made. Heading home.”

  Ashley turned the ship, resuming its limp toward the Independence. Incoming projectile alarms chimed and the view screen flashed red.

  “Three projectiles incoming,” Ashley said. “Gunners, can you target them?”

  “On it,” Private Goyle and Hamilton responded. The coilguns thudded. Two projectiles disappeared from the sensor overlay. A second salvo from both guns destroyed the third projectile.

  “Get the bastard before he fires again,” Ashley ordered.

  The coilguns fired again. The icon of the enemy fighter blinked out of existence.

  Good shooting, Derek said through the squadron link. “Nothing pursuing us,” he noted aloud.

  Several minutes later the Dauntless entered the docking bay of the Independence, the escape pod in tow.

  Ashley activated the ramp. “Help me with John.”

  Derek unstrapped from his seat and held John’s weight as Ashley undid his seat restraints. He lifted John up and threw him over his shoulder, carrying him to the ramp.

  Two squads of Marines met them as they disembarked from the ship. The officer saluted. “I am 1st Lieutenant Robert Granderson. You are?”

  “1st Lieutenant Derek Jamison of the 53rd. This is Ashley Edgerton,” he inclined his head toward Ashley, “and her husband, John. Where’s the med bay? We have three other wounded.” He gestured to the three Marines descending the ramp on stretchers.

  The lieutenant surveyed the trio and the haggard-looking Marines behind him. He pointed to two of his men “You two, take John to the med bay.”

  The designated men relieved Derek of John’s weight, placing him on a medical stretcher.

  A loud bang from behind Derek caused him to turn. The escape pod door panel blew off and a pilot in a black pressure suit stepped out. She stretched and then walked straight toward Derek and Ashley.

  She deactivated her helmet, revealing a freckled face topped with ginger hair tied back in a ponytail. Her green eyes locked on Ashley. “I am Lieutenant Selene Artois. I wanted to thank you for rescuing me.” She extended a hand.

  Ashley shook her hand. “It was our pleasure, lieutenant.”

  Lieutenant Artois nodded, gave Derek a long look, then said, “Please excuse me. I must report to the CAG and return to the fight.”

  “Of course,”
Ashley said.

  Derek admired the woman. Quite a fighter … and a figure.

  Lieutenant Granderson cleared his throat. “Follow me to the med bay.”

  Ashley and Derek nodded their agreement. They and the remnants of Derek’s squad followed the man.

  ***

  Selene entered the fighter CIC. It bustled with activity as the holo-map floating in the center of the room updated the status of the Federation fighters and their enemies in real time. Comm chatter from fighters deployed in the battle flooded the room.

  “Green Two is down, I repeat, Green Two is down.”

  “Yellow Five is hit. Yellow Five is…,” the link went dead.

  Selene walked up to the CAG, who was studying the holo-map with his dark brown eyes, and saluted.

  “Shift the remains of Solace squad to sector six. The Revenant is taking heavy damage,” Hans Vrekof, the CAG, said aloud.

  “Acknowledged,” the tactical commander said through the comm.

  The CAG turned to Selene and returned her salute. “Artois, you’re not dead.”

  Selene smiled at his grim humor. “Not yet, sir. But give me a fighter and I’ll get back out there to try again.”

  The CAG shook his head. “I wish I could, but every asset is out there.” He gestured to the tactical display. “Unless you want to fly a tin can.”

  Selene grimaced and shuddered. “No, thank you, sir. I’d rather not fly in a paper ship.” she said. She didn’t even like riding in transports when descending to the planet. She preferred the comfort of her cockpit. “Better to send me out in just my flight suit - I might be more maneuverable.”

  “Well you’re stuck here for now, then. The nanufactories are producing fighters, but our reserves took the first batch. Should be a fresh fighter for you in what? An hour, Jenkins?”

  The Deputy CAG looked up from his station. “Yes sir, production shows a batch of ten fighters available in fifty-three minutes.”

  “Good. Go take a load off, Artois. Get your hair done, get a massage, go have a ration bar. Then get ready to kick alien ass. Dismissed.”

  Selene saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 6 - Battle Ensues

  “The Revenant is taking heavy damage, sir,” the tactical commander reported from the center of the bridge. “Solace squadron is moving to assist.”

  “It won’t be enough,” Captain Martin Rigsby muttered.

  “Sir?”

  “It’s not enough, Commander. Lasers and missiles aren’t affecting these bastards. Meanwhile their slime is melting through our armor plating.”

  “A pilot from Raptor Squadron reported success detonating missiles before reaching the enemy void shields. I’ve ordered the fleet to use that tactic.”

  “After most of our fighters spent their missiles.”

  “The nanufactories are producing more, sir.”

  “That doesn’t do us any good right now and you know it.” Martin sighed in frustration. He slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “Any damage to the enemy capital ships?”

  “Negative sir. Their void shields absorbed our first two volleys of missiles and lasers. We are preparing a third wave of missiles using the premature detonation tactic.”

  “Fine.” Martin reviewed holo footage from the battle, trying to find something—anything he was missing. He paused the feed, rewound and paused again. “Zigana, did you see this?” The holo showed a fighter pilot’s escape pod being tugged toward the carrier by a light freighter. He restarted the holo. The freighter fired its railguns from the top-mounted quad cannons. The high-velocity projectiles pierced right through the shield of the enemy fighter.

  Zigana studied the holo. “It appears they used coilguns to accelerate projectiles fast enough to reach the escape velocity of the void shields.”

  “You’re damn right they did.” He snapped his fingers. “What about our coilguns? Are they working?”

  “The enemy has only just come in range of our point defenses, sir. One moment.” Zigana’s eyes flickered back and forth as she accessed the tactical feeds being fed through her brain. Moments later he re-focused on Martin. “Yes, sir, our coil gun point defenses are having an effect.”

  “What about railguns? Would they work?”

  “In theory, sir, yes.”

  Captain Rigsby activated his fleet-wide comm. “All ships, this is Captain Rigsby. Report on railgun and coilgun capabilities.”

  “Vertigo has two dual railgun batteries and six coilgun emplacements, sir, but the railguns are unused and we need ammunition for them.”

  “Devastator has four dual railgun batteries and ten coilgun emplacements. We also need ammunition for the railgun batteries.”

  More reports came in over the comm links. Two cruisers and four destroyers possessed two railguns each and numerous coilguns. The frigates and corvettes only had coilguns. The Independence herself only boasted four batteries.

  “All right, we’re shifting production to railgun and coilgun munitions. We’ll transport them to you ASAP. Captain Rigsby out.” He looked at Zigana. “Zigana…”

  “Already done, sir. Shifting half of production of fighters and half of production of missiles to appropriate munitions.”

  “Excellent. Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”

  “It is not logical to consider that antiquated technology might be effective, sir.”

  “That was rhetorical, Zigana.”

  “Oh.”

  “Good thing for those budget cuts, eh? Just imagine if we’d upgraded to lasers like … well, like the fleet here…,” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Time to circle the wagons while we wait on the nanufactories. Order all ships to close ranks around us. Create overlapping fields of coilgun fire. Order the fighters back to the carrier. They’re no use out there without proper weapons. Reload their missiles for now - we can retrofit with coilguns later.”

  “Yes, sir,” Zigana replied.

  The support ships moved toward the Independence, forming a wall of ships. Federation starfighters flew through the gaps in the wall of capital ships and landed.

  “Enemy fighters have reached prime coilgun range,” Zigana reported.

  Icons of enemy fighters blinked out of existence as they fell to overlapping streams of coilgun shells.

  We got them now. Alarms sounded. The display showed large objects inbound. They struck the wall of escort vessels.

  “Shit,” Martin said. He should have known the counterstrike would come.

  Damage reports flooded in.

  “Destiny hit. They’re reporting damage on multiple decks. Ivanov and Klevsky are reporting critical damage,” Zigana reported.

  “Damage control efforts are failing,” avoid aboard the Destiny came through on the fleet channel. “The acid is eating through our ship. We are abandoning ship. I repeat, abandon ship.”

  “I’m launching transports to help with evacuation efforts,” Zigana responded.

  The icon representing the frigate Ivanov flared and disappeared. The corvette Klevsky announced evacuation moments later.

  “Shit. We can’t stand many more volleys of that crap,” Captain Rigsby said. “What’s the time on those projectiles?”

  “Seven minutes until first batch completes.”

  “Seven minutes of Hell,” Martin muttered.

  ***

  Lieutenant Selene Artois leaned against the wall of the docking bay as the last of the Federation starfighters landed.

  She did a head count. Of the twelve squadrons of fighters deployed, only three dozen fighters remained.

  A few more pilots had survived; transports and other fighters towed their escape pods into the docking bay. Still, the casualty count was high. Too high, she thought.

  Selene waved at one pilot exiting a fighter with a Raptor Squadron insignia on their chest.

  The pilot approached. They saluted before deactivating their helmet. Jeremiah Jamison looked at her with haunted gray eyes. “Ma’am, am I glad to see you alive.”
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  “I barely made it. How many other Raptors survived?”

  Jeremiah looked over his shoulder and back at her. “Two other Raptors survived in their fighters. We recovered another pilot who went EV. The rest…,” he shook his head.

  Five survivors out of a dozen Raptors. Only three working fighters. Damn. “Well, the nanufactory produced another five fighters. I was hoping for ten, but the Captain ordered production to shift to railgun and coilgun munitions.”

  “Any idea why, ma’am?” he asked.

  “It may be the only damn thing that can hurt the bastards. Report to the mess and get some grub. We’ll be re-deploying soon I imagine.” She pointed to where flight crews were hauling out magazines of missiles to re-supply the fighters.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  ***

  Derek stood in the med bay. Ashley sat at John’s bedside. “Does this happen often? That he loses consciousness?”

  Ashley shook her head. “It’s been many years since John used all his power like that. But he’ll recover. He always does. He just needs sleep and nutrients.” She gestured to the bag of nutrient fluid being fed into his body. “How are your men?”

  “One guy lost an eye, one is in surgery for his leg and the third is in a coma. The others? Well, just minor scrapes and bruises.”

  “You started with twenty-four?”

  “Yes.”

  Ashley sighed. “I’m sorry for your losses.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. Part of the job.” He paused. “Does it ever get easier losing people?”

  “No. It never gets easier. Not for me.” She fell silent for a moment. “Do you have family, Derek?”

  “Yes ma’am. My mother and father have a home on Vertras III, and I have two younger siblings. A brother and sister. I haven’t seen them in over a year. And with this war…”

  The doctor entered the room before Ashley could reply. He sported gray hair and wore a lab coat and spectacles. He glanced at the monitors before turning his gaze on Ashley.

  “Your husband’s vital signs look normal. We expect he will awaken soon.”

  “He always does,” Ashley replied.