Nathan Thomas relaxed as the sub orbital shuttle made reentry into the Terran atmosphere. It had been a long trip, and he was looking forward to a vacation in the Rocky Mountains. He had never been to that part of the Market.
To his left the young woman he had met on Mars was seated. She had agreed to return with him. They had a few adventures that they were interested in partaking.
END
Friday, April 24, 2009
Chapter 8 Part 7
Blake walked the long walk back to their apartment. But instead of going in, he passed it up and went down to the fighter's lounge. There was a sound of celebration and revelry coming from within. Several pilots had been killed in the skirmish, and they were being remembered by celebrating the survival of those still alive.
Tradition demanded that VRAD crews not attend that particular party since they generally did not risk their lives in combat, but Blake felt that there was something that needed doing. He keyed the door and stepped inside.
The room was trashed as men laughed and joked and threw rolls of paper and food about in celebration. But with the entrance of the VRAD commander, the room became deathly quiet. All attention was focused on Blake.
"What is he doing here?" Render muttered acidly.
Blake responded by taking four steps over to the fighter pilot and looking him square in the eye. "Did you get your kills?"
Render's frown turned into a thin smile. "Yes I did. I risked my life and downed two by myself and assisted in six more. That makes me an ace."
"Congratulations," Blake offered. At he same time he decked the young rash pilot with a haymaker which sent the man sprawling to the floor.
Blake walked past the angry jock as the downed pilot glared back, rubbing his jaw.
Blake stepped up to another young pilot with long black braids and a bandanna about his head. "Searchinghawk?"
"Yes?" The Indian stood tall and firm as if expecting equal treatment.
"Stand down, son," Roundhouse told his junior. "This is Blackjack."
Searchinghawk's eyes softened slightly. "You have my thanks, sir," he said. "If it had not been for your sacrifice, I would not be here now."
Blake nodded. He tried to speak, but choked. He settled for holding out the Wildcard's nameplate. Finally, he found his voice again. "I want you to have this. She served you as well as she served me."
Roundhouse reached out and took the placard from the stunned Indian. All eyes followed the senior fighter pilot as he reverently walked over to Speedway Squadron's trophy wall. There, he placed the placard on the wall higher than any other plaque.
"A place of honor," one of the other senior pilots explained to his fellows. "Honor for a mindless drone that made the ultimate sacrifice to save one of our own when his wingman abandoned him and went glory hopping."
"From this day on, the tights are welcome here any time they please," Roundhouse announced.
"And any man who ducks out and goes chasing after kills and leaves his wingman does not deserve the honor of being called and ace," another voice added.
There was several cries of agreement, but they were cut off as the door closed behind Blake after his departure. There were some thing's that had to be done, and the memory of the Wildcard had been secured.
Blake found that he was suddenly very very tired. It was time to go back to the apartment and get some sleep. When he stepped inside the commons room of the apartment, it was unoccupied. Blake had almost expected to see the rest of his crew there, but they were all probably too excited about the new assignment to sleep.
Blake looked slowly around the room. Lochlear was right about one thing. He should have a memento of his first command, and Blake knew exactly what that was to be. He walked up to the slot machine and pulled the handle one last time as the commander of the Wildcard. He did not wait to see what it stopped on.
Tradition demanded that VRAD crews not attend that particular party since they generally did not risk their lives in combat, but Blake felt that there was something that needed doing. He keyed the door and stepped inside.
The room was trashed as men laughed and joked and threw rolls of paper and food about in celebration. But with the entrance of the VRAD commander, the room became deathly quiet. All attention was focused on Blake.
"What is he doing here?" Render muttered acidly.
Blake responded by taking four steps over to the fighter pilot and looking him square in the eye. "Did you get your kills?"
Render's frown turned into a thin smile. "Yes I did. I risked my life and downed two by myself and assisted in six more. That makes me an ace."
"Congratulations," Blake offered. At he same time he decked the young rash pilot with a haymaker which sent the man sprawling to the floor.
Blake walked past the angry jock as the downed pilot glared back, rubbing his jaw.
Blake stepped up to another young pilot with long black braids and a bandanna about his head. "Searchinghawk?"
"Yes?" The Indian stood tall and firm as if expecting equal treatment.
"Stand down, son," Roundhouse told his junior. "This is Blackjack."
Searchinghawk's eyes softened slightly. "You have my thanks, sir," he said. "If it had not been for your sacrifice, I would not be here now."
Blake nodded. He tried to speak, but choked. He settled for holding out the Wildcard's nameplate. Finally, he found his voice again. "I want you to have this. She served you as well as she served me."
Roundhouse reached out and took the placard from the stunned Indian. All eyes followed the senior fighter pilot as he reverently walked over to Speedway Squadron's trophy wall. There, he placed the placard on the wall higher than any other plaque.
"A place of honor," one of the other senior pilots explained to his fellows. "Honor for a mindless drone that made the ultimate sacrifice to save one of our own when his wingman abandoned him and went glory hopping."
"From this day on, the tights are welcome here any time they please," Roundhouse announced.
"And any man who ducks out and goes chasing after kills and leaves his wingman does not deserve the honor of being called and ace," another voice added.
There was several cries of agreement, but they were cut off as the door closed behind Blake after his departure. There were some thing's that had to be done, and the memory of the Wildcard had been secured.
Blake found that he was suddenly very very tired. It was time to go back to the apartment and get some sleep. When he stepped inside the commons room of the apartment, it was unoccupied. Blake had almost expected to see the rest of his crew there, but they were all probably too excited about the new assignment to sleep.
Blake looked slowly around the room. Lochlear was right about one thing. He should have a memento of his first command, and Blake knew exactly what that was to be. He walked up to the slot machine and pulled the handle one last time as the commander of the Wildcard. He did not wait to see what it stopped on.
Chapter 8 Part 6
Blake and his crew stood in the hangar gazing at the remains of the Wildcard. "Things will never be the same again," Drake stated. "Now we are dispossessed too. Just like the Storm."
"What will they do with her?" Shamus asked.
"She is too damaged to repair," Major Duncan advised the crew. He had insisted on being present when the wreckage was brought aboard. "Don't worry about this piece of junk anymore. Soon you will have other things to worry about."
"What about the Storm and her crew?" Drake asked.
"Don't worry about them," Duncan advised. "They too have been reassigned. Bandit, Wraith and Dixie will stay here as will the new replacement for the Storm.
"What about a replacement for the Wildcard?" Blake asked.
"There won't be one," Duncan answered.
"Wait, the Storm is getting a replacement and they lost the whole thing," Drake objected.
"The Wildcard was wrecked, but you didn't lose her," Duncan answered, "and Col. Pharr has recommended you be assigned to another VRAD."
"Another VRAD?"
"That is correct," Major Duncan smiled. "The five of us have been assigned to a new VRAD squadron being formed. After shore leave, we will be reporting to the Whirlpool. I have been placed in command of the new VRAD squadron being formed their and you four are going to be my lead crew. Your new ship is a newer version of VRAD. Starting next month, you will be the crew of the Pheonix. You will have to work hard to train three more crews to man the Pegasus, the Dragon and the Griffin.
Blake glanced at his crew excitedly. Their thoughts were on their faces. "Thank you, Major Duncan," he choked. "We won't let you down."
"Of course not," Duncan replied. "But when we get to our new station, it will be 'Lieutenant Colonel Duncan,' so don't forget."
"Congratulations," Blake offered. "It is well deserved."
"Congratulate yourself, Major Blake McCoy," Duncan laughed. "Yours is also well deserved."
"It certainly is," Shamus and Drake agreed together.
Ben Lochlear, elected not to speak, but instead left the small group in the midst of their elation and walked over to the twisted remains of the Wildcard. He pried the name plate from the damaged hull. The placard was undamaged.
He rejoined the others and passed the item to Blake. "Every commander should keep a memento of his first command," Ben told him.
"Thanks," Blake whispered as he held the plate tightly. Then he turned to leave. His crew started to follow, but Duncan stopped them.
"Sometimes a man needs to be alone," the commander of the Wraith advised. "Let him be."
"What will they do with her?" Shamus asked.
"She is too damaged to repair," Major Duncan advised the crew. He had insisted on being present when the wreckage was brought aboard. "Don't worry about this piece of junk anymore. Soon you will have other things to worry about."
"What about the Storm and her crew?" Drake asked.
"Don't worry about them," Duncan advised. "They too have been reassigned. Bandit, Wraith and Dixie will stay here as will the new replacement for the Storm.
"What about a replacement for the Wildcard?" Blake asked.
"There won't be one," Duncan answered.
"Wait, the Storm is getting a replacement and they lost the whole thing," Drake objected.
"The Wildcard was wrecked, but you didn't lose her," Duncan answered, "and Col. Pharr has recommended you be assigned to another VRAD."
"Another VRAD?"
"That is correct," Major Duncan smiled. "The five of us have been assigned to a new VRAD squadron being formed. After shore leave, we will be reporting to the Whirlpool. I have been placed in command of the new VRAD squadron being formed their and you four are going to be my lead crew. Your new ship is a newer version of VRAD. Starting next month, you will be the crew of the Pheonix. You will have to work hard to train three more crews to man the Pegasus, the Dragon and the Griffin.
Blake glanced at his crew excitedly. Their thoughts were on their faces. "Thank you, Major Duncan," he choked. "We won't let you down."
"Of course not," Duncan replied. "But when we get to our new station, it will be 'Lieutenant Colonel Duncan,' so don't forget."
"Congratulations," Blake offered. "It is well deserved."
"Congratulate yourself, Major Blake McCoy," Duncan laughed. "Yours is also well deserved."
"It certainly is," Shamus and Drake agreed together.
Ben Lochlear, elected not to speak, but instead left the small group in the midst of their elation and walked over to the twisted remains of the Wildcard. He pried the name plate from the damaged hull. The placard was undamaged.
He rejoined the others and passed the item to Blake. "Every commander should keep a memento of his first command," Ben told him.
"Thanks," Blake whispered as he held the plate tightly. Then he turned to leave. His crew started to follow, but Duncan stopped them.
"Sometimes a man needs to be alone," the commander of the Wraith advised. "Let him be."
Chapter 8 Part 5
In response to that command, the two VRADs banked in opposite directions with particle cannons blazing. Like a pair of gates opening, Roundhouse saw the large drones part revealing a multitude of enemy fighters rushing in towards them.
Several blooms of hot gas replaced a few of the fighters as the drone particle cannons scored vital points. Roundhouse did not wait. He steered with his feet and used his hands to select the first target. When the enemy fighter turned to follow the drone, Roundhouse closed into range and opened up with his own guns. Though not quite as powerful as those on the VRAD, the Adder's cannons were still deadly to an unshielded fighter. Roundhouse scored his first kill.
The Wildcard banked hard to the left and lined up on a medium sized gunship. Lady Luck confirmed an earlier scan and informed her crew of some grizzly news. "It looks like they took all the wounded ships to the rear," she said. "They are going to make us fight through the toughest part of their lines."
"That's what I would do if I were in their place," Blackjack muttered respectfully. "They have long scans. They know that we don't have a battle fleet. If they can get past the fighters and us, the Andromeda will be a sitting duck."
"Missile lock," Lady Luck announced as she instantly activated her ECM systems. "They tried to slip a virus at us at the same time."
Roulette triggered the rail gun and a twin burst from the particle cannons. The gunship responded with dozens of lances of coherent light. Only one beam struck the agile VRAD, and it was only a glancing blow easily deflected by the electromagnetic shielding.
The VRAD's particle beams were also turned aside by the gunboat's own shields, but the rail gun's shot blasted tons of armor outward from the larger vessel's outer hull spilling precious air from its insides.
"I have missile launch," Lady Luck responded excitedly.
Blackjack saw the points of light. Three missiles came at them closing the distance with frightening speed. By reflex, he pulled into a hard climb and fell into a course perpendicular to that of the missiles. They of course adjusted their angle to follow.
Ten seconds went by as the missiles closed the distance. "Turrets active," Lady Luck announced, and the dorsal and belly laser cannons came to life targeting the small but deadly missiles. Long seconds of anxiety preceded the hoped for report. "Missiles destroyed," Lady Luck announced with a release of held breath.
Blackjack banked again, and the Wildcard dove at the gunship from above. The battle craft began to roll about its axis, and lasers flashed out by the dozen. As a cannon discharged, it would roll away from the diving drone, and a freshly recharged cannon would roll into view. The maneuver was deadly, and the onslaught forced the VRAD to break off its attack.
Blackjack cursed. They had taken several jolts from the lasers. None of which had passed through the shielding with enough energy left to do damage, but they had broken the attack.
Blackjack flipped the drone over and then performed a split S maneuver. Suddenly the gunship's engine section loomed in front of them. Immediately Roulette triggered the rail gun and the rocket pods at the same time. The rail gun slug plowed into the hull wrecking the mechanisms within as the multitude of rockets obliterated the surface structures of the larger ship's engines.
"That did it," Lady Luck announced. "She is dead in the water."
Blackjack came about and the Wildcard lined up on the next target, a heavy battle cruiser.
"Be careful with that thing," Lady Luck warned as they skirted around to approach the deadly opponent from head on. "Our shields won't be able to stand a direct hit from its laser or particle cannons."
"Bay coming open," Roulette announced as he opened the Wildcard's weapons bay.
"Make it quick, sport," the woman warned. "They have a hard lock on us with the bay open."
"One, two, three missiles away," Roulette concluded. "Bay closed, clear for action."
"They tried to slip another virus to us again," Lady Luck reported.
Blackjack ground his teeth with a firm jaw. The heavy battle cruiser was definitely more than the VRADs were designed to tackle. He knew that they should turn and run, but that was not an option. They absolutely could not allow the heavily armored and armed warship to get within striking range of the Andromeda.
"Wraith, this is Wildcard," he called over the com. "It looks like we have found their ace in the hole. We are definitely outclassed here and could use a hand if you can spare it." It was not Blackjack's style to call for help, but too much was at stake.
"Sorry guys," Specter's voice returned. "We have our hands full as it is. You are on your own."
"Four seconds to impact," Roulette announced referring to the trio of SRAMs he had launched only moments before. Almost immediately two brilliant plumes of light erupted. Two seconds later a third explosion flowered and convulsed wildly.
"They shot two of the SRAMs down," Lady Luck announced. "The third one got through though." Then, "here comes the reply," she added abruptly. Half a dozen tiny plumes materialized along the huge ship's spine. The telltale signs of missile launches lighted gently away from the ship and curved towards the VRAD.
Blackjack throttled to full velocity and reversed direction. There was still a lot of distance between the two ships and they needed time to defeat the missiles.
"Jam them, Lady," Blackjack said. "Jam them and shoot them."
Lady Luck worked diligently at her console. She banked jammers onto the scan wavelengths. She put white noise interference on the missile guidance uplink, and she activated the defense laser turrets. "Put 'em on the gee limit," she advised her pilot.
Blackjack instantly obeyed. He threw the drone into a course that would cause the missiles to have to turn more sharply than they were designed to do. As a result, they would lose their lock and the countermeasures would have a much better chance of shaking them.
The maneuver worked for the most part. Only one missile hit but it took off most of the starboard wing including one of the particle cannons.
"What do we have left?" Blackjack asked his gunner.
Roulette checked his status. "We have half a load of HERPs, eighty percent of our kinetic load, five SRAMs on the forward rotor, a full eight on the aft rotor and one proton cannon. We have both laser turrets and we haven't used any of the electronic package yet," he added.
"Okay," Blackjack decided, "it's time to roll the dice. Let's go in at full speed, pass over their dorsal while they are reloading their missiles. Hit them with all guns and give them the rest of the rockets. Then we will go over-the-shoulder with two more SRAMs."
"Off we go," the pilot said. "Longshot give me one hundred percent on the reactor."
"Break it down," Longshot replied as he complied.
Blackjack answered his engineer's request for power allotment. "Put fifty into thrust, twenty into weapons and thirty into shields until we pass. Then drop weapons to five percent pn weapons and increase shields to forty-five."
"We are riding a star," Longshot replied using the engineer lingo for a fusion reactor at full power.
The Wildcard shot straight at the battleship and unleashed three shots from her rail gun and four shots from her remaining particle cannon before pulling up slightly to pass over the enemy ship's upper hull.
As the drone passed over the hull, the rocket pods fired repeatedly blasting chunks of armor and sensory equipment into useless scrap. At the same time, the belly turret spat globs of laser light searing into the pockmarked upper hull of the huge ship.
The battle cruiser's own guns belched forth energy in reply, but the drone was too close and too agile for the defending guns angular tracking to be effective. And when the drone passed to the aft of the battle cruiser, the weapons bay opened and another pair of missiles dropped out, ignited their engines, and reversed course to fly right into the vital areas of the engineering section of the big ship.
"They are trying to decipher our data link," Lady Luck warned. That was a serious problem. It meant that the enemy was trying to wrest control of the Wildcard from her crew.
"Give them something to chew on," Blackjack ordered.
The electronic warfare specialist activated a previously unused panel and dialed a number on the selector. Then she initiated the program and hit a transmission button. "Let's see how they like this one," she mused. "Get us some distance," She suggested to her crew.
"What did you hit them with?" Roulette asked curiously.
"I slipped the Bulldog 7 into our transponder frequency," she answered. "If they don't catch it in time, it will foul up their stabilizer routine badly. That is why we don't want to be too close."
Lady Luck was right on the money. As Blackjack brought the VRAD around for another attack run, the heavy ship began to yaw and roll randomly.
"She's out of control," Blackjack laughed. "I don't think we need to worry about her for a while."
"Don't get too comfortable," Lady Luck advised. "The Bulldog series of viruses are good at getting in, but they are also easy to wipe out. We probably have about five minutes before they regain control of their attitude systems."
"Then let's make the best of this run," Roulette urged.
The Wildcard dove in for another attack run. This time the only defensive response was a token shot or two from independent gunnery stations on the ship's undamaged sides that badly missed. The VRAD came in low with turret, rail gun and single remaining particle cannon blazing. The damage was enormous as armored plating ruptured exposing vital sections of the huge ship.
"Hey, gang," Longshot warned as the other three watched the heavy cruiser suffer from their furious attack. "One of the smaller gunships is trying to sneak past us."
Blackjack brought the Wildcard about and lined up on an intercept course with the smaller and quicker battle craft. He gunned the throttle and took pursuit.
The Wildcard closed the distance quickly, but before they could close to attack range, the enemy ship launched a pair of missiles towards the bright point of light in the distance that was the Andromeda.
"Heads up," Longshot warned abruptly. "Those missiles have fusion warheads!"
"Damn," Blackjack swore. "Push it to the edge, Longshot," he urged. "We have to catch those things."
"Power down the weapons," Longshot advised. "We are going to need everything we have to catch those nukes."
Blackjack gave the VRAD a kick in the rear and burned the engines to their maximum rating. "Lady," he calmly ordered, "as soon as you can, start hacking into those things. Try to shut down their drives, alter their course, disarm, or if necessary prematurely detonate those warheads."
"I'm on it," she confirmed. If the missiles attacked the Andromeda, that would be the end of them all.
Dozens of seconds passed, and the distance between the missiles and the VRAD was decreasing, but was doing so very slowly. "Roulette," Blackjack asked, "are we going to catch them?"
"No," Roulette answered calmly. "Not close enough for me to shoot them down. How about you, Lady?"
Lady Luck sounded unsure. "I think we can get within ECM range," she admitted, "but I don't know if there will be time enough to hack into their systems."
"I have notified Haunted House of the missiles," Longshot interrupted. "They are putting out interceptors."
Blackjack eased back on the engines. "Well, there is no need in burning out our drive," he remarked. "The carrier's defenses should be capable of stopping two unprotected missiles. Our primary concern should be to keep that damn gunboat from launching any more of them."
Blackjack brought the VRAD about and lined up on the light battle craft. They made one pass and Roulette sent three SRAMs and another round from the rail gun slamming into the other ship's hull. One of the SRAMs obliterated the enemy's bridge and the ship began to drift.
They were about to go in for the kill when the Wildcard lurched violently to one side.
"Bandit coming in from the port beam," Lady Luck announced sheepishly.
"No kidding," Blackjack muttered as he struggled to regain control of the space craft.
"We have lost the port proton cannon too," Roulette announced.
"Turrets are active," Lady Luck announced as the defensive lasers came on line.
Blackjack redirected the VRAD to give chase to the new arrival. But when they came onto the prescribed course, the attacker had moved off to their flank again. "Whoa!" the pilot exclaimed startled. "Where'd he go?"
Once again the VRAD lurched. "I think he is to port again," Roulette mused.
"He has a tighter turn radius than we do," Lady Luck advised. "It must be a drone."
"That last hit did not cost us anything vital," Longshot added. "But that could change if he keeps up these attacks."
"Put shields at fifty percent and drop thrust to forty five and weapons to five," Blackjack ordered. "We know that he is shielded, so our defensive turret won't be able to hurt him. On the other hand, with our shields at fifty percent, his won't be able to hurt us either."
Blackjack throttled the Wildcard back to where most of the other ships were slugging it out. They needed a little help to get rid of the pest fighter drone. "Lady see if you can mess with him some," he ordered as they cruised back with the drone in chase.
Lady Luck opened her sensors and began to read the drone's telemetry messages. "Their coding is pretty complex," she reported. "I can interject garbage into their steering signals, but it may or may not do any good. And if I do, it would leave us open to a viral attack."
"Don't risk it then," Blackjack decided. "We will get one of the fighters to work it over."
"Their lasers probably won't be able to hurt it either," Roulette doubted.
"That is true, but their ordinance should be able to," Lady Luck explained. "Those thirty millimeter cannons are quite formidable to lightly armored craft. They are useless against the big ships, but the fighters and that drone should be easy prey."
Blackjack keyed the comm transmitter; "Wildcard to Daytona Lead."
"This is Daytona Lead," Roundhouse's voice returned hesitantly. "I am a little busy if you don't mind, Blackjack. What do you want?"
"Sorry for the interruption," Blackjack apologized, "but I seem to have one of those Syndicate fighter drones on my tail and he is really getting on my nerves. Do you think you or one of your boys could give us a hand?"
"This is Atlanta four," a youthful voice interrupted. "I am not far from Ghost two. I'll bail the tights out."
"All right Atlanta four and five, break formation and rendezvous with Ghost two. After you save his butt, stay with him as escort. I will send Darlington six and seven to do the same for Ghost one."
"Thanks Roundhouse," Blackjack replied. "Who is Atlanta four?" he asked Longshot as he turned the drone onto a rendezvous course.
"Lieutenant Searchinghawk," Longshot replied. "He is okay. Unlike most of the rookie jocks, he has his head on right."
"What kind of name is Searchinghawk?" Roulette asked.
"Native American," Blackjack guessed. "But I could not tell you which tribe."
"He told me he is Sioux," Longshot offered, "the grandson of a tribal leader of some sort."
"Here they come," Roulette advised.
The scene which followed was quick and well coordinated. The two fighters skimmed just beneath the VRAD's hull and then popped up from the larger craft's cover and opened up on the pursuing fighter drone. The combined firepower of the two fighter's cannons disabled the lightly armored drone before its controller could react.
"That was some good shooting Atlanta four," Blackjack complimented. "Thanks."
"No need for thanks," a youthful and irritatingly familiar voice replied. "You weren't in any real danger, were you?"
"Cool it, Render," the voice of Atlanta four interrupted.
"Hey, we are risking our necks for an empty overpriced robot ship," Render snapped.
"Listen to me, Render," Searchinghawk advised calmly. "If those battleships get within striking distance of the carrier, where are you going to land that Adder when your fuel runs out? The Syndicate executes prisoners as corporate saboteurs."
The two fighters circled and formed up off either side of the VRAD. Searchinghawk continued his lecture. "The VRADs are the only weapons we have capable of holding the battle craft at bay unless you want to take your fighter in on a strafing run yourself."
"That's telling him," Roulette muttered.
"I wouldn't cry too much if our turret cannon accidentally blew Lieutenant Render into next year," Longshot agreed.
"Can it," Blackjack ordered. Then over the radio he addressed his escort fighters. "Atlanta four and five, we are going in for another attack run. Our target is the vessel at twelve mark seven degrees. Follow us in and lead us out."
"Roger Wildcard," Searchinghawk replied. "We will follow you in, strafe and then lead you out."
"Very well," Blackjack agreed. Then to Roulette he asked, "what do we have left?"
"We still have a few shots left on the railgun, a full rotary launcher of SRAMs and the defensive cannon turrets."
"We also have a few electronic bugs we can throw at them if we catch them probing us actively," Lady Luck added.
"Okay team," Blackjack decided, "our best results seem to come when we lead with a kinetic attack. So, let's follow the rail gun with a pair of SRAMs if we can get them off. Then as we pass by, rake them with the belly turret. Their shields will probably turn the lasers aside, but you never know."
"Wildcard to Atlanta squad, we're going in," Blackjack radioed.
"We're right behind you Wildcard," the fighters answered.
The VRAD nosed over and dove at the surface of the enemy ship. At Roulette's command, the massive rail gun which made up the drone's backbone shuddered and hurled a projectile into the battle craft's external structure. Immediately following that, the weapons bay doors snapped open, and a missile jettisoned and fired its engine. The rotor launcher inside the bay rotated another missile into position, and then jettisoned that one too. Then the bay doors snapped closed as the second missile fired and sped towards its target.
The Syndicate cruiser fired volley after volley at the unpowered projectile speeding towards it, but the speed and small size of the object defied their attempts to destroy it. Even so, when it struck the ship, it tore into the hull obliterating a power distribution station and blacking out part of the ship.
Seconds later the first missile detonated ripping a massive hole in the craft's hull. The second missile was destroyed prior to impact.
"Fighter's off the port," Longshot announced excitedly. "But they are ignoring us and moving on to the engage the carrier."
"This is a perfect opportunity," Render's voice interrupted over the radio. "We can take them by surprise."
"Let the other fighters take care of them," Searchinghawk decided, "we stay with the drone."
They completed the attack and pulled out of the dive. Both fighters moved out ahead of the VRAD as the drone's shields protected the two Adders from the cruiser's laser turrets.
A second pair of Syndicate fighters skipped by off in the distance headed for the melee taking place near the Andromeda.
Without warning, one of the two escort fighters peeled off and took pursuit. "Atlanta four to Atlanta five: Render, get back here," Searchinghawk's voice indicated his anger.
"I'll be right back," Render replied. "These will be a pair of easy kills."
"Our task is to work with the VRAD," Searchinghawk insisted. "You are putting the mission at risk with this glory hunt. Now get back."
The conversation was fierce and distracting. Searchinghawk's attempts to regain control over his rogue wingman almost cost him his life.
"Atlanta four watch your six!" Longshot warned suddenly
From the far side of the battered cruiser, a lone Syndicate fighter drone had emerged and flown at a fantastic velocity closing the distance between itself, and the fighter.
"He can't outrun that thing," Lady Luck announced. "And without a wingman he can't fight it."
"Hang on," Blackjack advised. He yanked the controls and placed the Wildcard between the drone fighter and its prey. Lady Luck opened up with the defensive turrets, but the laser beams simply skipped off its hull like stones on water.
"We can't stop it and we can't keep ourselves between it and Searchinghawk forever," Roulette noted.
Blackjack made a rash decision. At the last second, he brought the Wildcard about and rammed the enemy fighter.
His three crew members all gazed at him in stunned silence as hundreds of status indicators changed inside the VR cockpit. "Status report," he ordered.
There was a long silence. "We have lost the rail gun," Roulette began. "In addition, the ship's frame has been torqued. We can't open the weapons bay any more."
"What about navigation?"
"We still have directional control for now," but it you pull any more stunts like that we may lose all control," Roulette answered.
"We lost the dorsal laser turret," Lady Luck added. "Our electronic warfare package is intact, but we probably lost a lot of jamming ability due to external damage."
"We still have telemetry," Longshot completed the list. Otherwise we would be flying blind and self destructed by now. The bad news is that we took a nasty jolt and our reactor's maximum potential is now forty percent. And we lost the dorsal shield generators."
Blackjack cursed. "Shut all power to weapons off," he decided. "We can't use them anyhow. Pour everything into thrusters."
"Atlanta four to Wildcard: are you guys still alive in there?"
"Yeah, we are still here," Blackjack answered. "But we just lost everything we had to fight with."
"Maybe you had better return to base. I'll cover you. The Market knows I owe you that."
"He's right," Longshot advised. "We can't do any good out here."
"Well if you are going to do something, do it now," Roulette interrupted. "Because that cruiser has recovered from our attack and is coming."
"Can we outrun him?" Blackjack asked Longshot.
"No. Our reactor can't generate that kind of speed anymore."
"Atlanta four, this is Wildcard." Blackjack made a decision, "break formation and return to your flight."
"Negative, Wildcard. I'll cover your withdrawal."
"Thanks, four," Blackjack refused graciously. "Thanks, but you would be defending an empty, useless drone. Don't risk your life over it."
There was a long pause. "Roger, Wildcard," came the reply at last. "I will find Render and rejoin the fight."
"Wildcard out," Blackjack replied and turned off the radio.
"So what now?" Lady Luck asked.
"Now we try to sell the Wildcard as expensively as possible," Blackjack replied.
"You mean to ram that cruiser don't you," Longshot guessed.
"I do," Blackjack answered. "Any objections?" There were none. "Okay crew. Let's go out in a blaze of glory." He brought the battered VRAD around and lined up on the cruiser, aiming for the already weakened hull structure.
"I wonder what my next assignment will be?" someone asked, but Blackjack concentrated only on guiding the Wildcard into its death dive.
The cruiser slowly swelled in size as the large craft closed in. Lances of laser light reached out to the VRAD, but Blackjack kept his only operating shield between them and the cruiser.
"We are losing power!" Longshot yelled surprised. "We have lost maneuverability.
"Did we take a hit?" Blackjack demanded.
"No we picked up a virus," Lady Luck answered. "Our electronic filter was damaged in the collision. Damn! There is no way to tell if it's damaged until a virus gets past it."
"How deep is it?" Blackjack demanded.
"We've lost maneuverability and we are losing navigation," Longshot sounded almost panicked. "It will hit our telemetry next unless we shut command and control down now."
"Do it," Blackjack commanded angrily. They could not afford to lose telemetry. That would mean flying blind and an automatic self destruction.
Longshot complied with the order and began cutting interfaces off. "Done," he reported. "We can monitor what happens, but we can't control the ship. We are almost blind."
"Maybe they will think its dead and ignore it," Blackjack offered.
"Or if they try to capture it, we could power it up in their hangar and blow their cruiser apart," Roulette suggested.
The cruiser loomed ever larger in their viewer. As it grew they could see the heavy damage their first attacks had inflicted. The cruiser shifted its course slightly in order to avoid the collision.
"She is locking her guns," Lady Luck announced regretfully.
"I can't watch this," Roulette announced and disconnected himself from the VR interface. He did not want to see the Wildcard destroyed as it drifted powerless. He removed his helmet and left the module.
In the hallway, Roulette made his way to the ready room. The red corridor lights indicated that the Andromeda was at battle stations. He was not worried. With the destruction of the Wildcard, his career was ruined. He would be lucky to get an assignment as a simulator instructor. And that, itself would be nothing short of torture.
"Roulette disconnected," Longshot announced as they watched the cruiser close in for the kill.
"He didn't want to watch our ship die," Lady Luck stated with a hint of emotion. "And neither do I." With that she too disconnected and left the VR cockpit.
"She sure was a good ship," Longshot said reverently. He reached around to his left and unplugged his own suit from the VR interface and promptly disappeared from the cockpit leaving Blackjack alone in the cockpit of the Wildcard.
The commander of the VRAD was determined to ride out the fate of his ship. He could see that they were almost within range of the rocket launchers and cannons of the enemy ship. Soon it would not matter whether the drone was shielded or not. They would blast him from the sky. Blackjack's thoughts recalled something about ancient sea faring captains going down with their ships.
The cruiser hovered monstrously over the Wildcard like a giant predator about to snatch up its helpless prey when suddenly a brilliant bolt of lightning slammed into the side of the huge battle craft sending shorts and static crawling along the damaged shielding of the Syndicate ship. Blackjack stood frozen. At first he thought that the Wraith had come to the rescue, but as the shock wave of the attack swept over the Wildcard's dead hulk, the view slowly rotated and Blackjack beheld his savior.
A Market destroyer eclipsed the sun and engaged the damaged cruiser at point blank range. The Whirlpool's battle group had arrived and taken the enemy by total surprise.
Several blooms of hot gas replaced a few of the fighters as the drone particle cannons scored vital points. Roundhouse did not wait. He steered with his feet and used his hands to select the first target. When the enemy fighter turned to follow the drone, Roundhouse closed into range and opened up with his own guns. Though not quite as powerful as those on the VRAD, the Adder's cannons were still deadly to an unshielded fighter. Roundhouse scored his first kill.
The Wildcard banked hard to the left and lined up on a medium sized gunship. Lady Luck confirmed an earlier scan and informed her crew of some grizzly news. "It looks like they took all the wounded ships to the rear," she said. "They are going to make us fight through the toughest part of their lines."
"That's what I would do if I were in their place," Blackjack muttered respectfully. "They have long scans. They know that we don't have a battle fleet. If they can get past the fighters and us, the Andromeda will be a sitting duck."
"Missile lock," Lady Luck announced as she instantly activated her ECM systems. "They tried to slip a virus at us at the same time."
Roulette triggered the rail gun and a twin burst from the particle cannons. The gunship responded with dozens of lances of coherent light. Only one beam struck the agile VRAD, and it was only a glancing blow easily deflected by the electromagnetic shielding.
The VRAD's particle beams were also turned aside by the gunboat's own shields, but the rail gun's shot blasted tons of armor outward from the larger vessel's outer hull spilling precious air from its insides.
"I have missile launch," Lady Luck responded excitedly.
Blackjack saw the points of light. Three missiles came at them closing the distance with frightening speed. By reflex, he pulled into a hard climb and fell into a course perpendicular to that of the missiles. They of course adjusted their angle to follow.
Ten seconds went by as the missiles closed the distance. "Turrets active," Lady Luck announced, and the dorsal and belly laser cannons came to life targeting the small but deadly missiles. Long seconds of anxiety preceded the hoped for report. "Missiles destroyed," Lady Luck announced with a release of held breath.
Blackjack banked again, and the Wildcard dove at the gunship from above. The battle craft began to roll about its axis, and lasers flashed out by the dozen. As a cannon discharged, it would roll away from the diving drone, and a freshly recharged cannon would roll into view. The maneuver was deadly, and the onslaught forced the VRAD to break off its attack.
Blackjack cursed. They had taken several jolts from the lasers. None of which had passed through the shielding with enough energy left to do damage, but they had broken the attack.
Blackjack flipped the drone over and then performed a split S maneuver. Suddenly the gunship's engine section loomed in front of them. Immediately Roulette triggered the rail gun and the rocket pods at the same time. The rail gun slug plowed into the hull wrecking the mechanisms within as the multitude of rockets obliterated the surface structures of the larger ship's engines.
"That did it," Lady Luck announced. "She is dead in the water."
Blackjack came about and the Wildcard lined up on the next target, a heavy battle cruiser.
"Be careful with that thing," Lady Luck warned as they skirted around to approach the deadly opponent from head on. "Our shields won't be able to stand a direct hit from its laser or particle cannons."
"Bay coming open," Roulette announced as he opened the Wildcard's weapons bay.
"Make it quick, sport," the woman warned. "They have a hard lock on us with the bay open."
"One, two, three missiles away," Roulette concluded. "Bay closed, clear for action."
"They tried to slip another virus to us again," Lady Luck reported.
Blackjack ground his teeth with a firm jaw. The heavy battle cruiser was definitely more than the VRADs were designed to tackle. He knew that they should turn and run, but that was not an option. They absolutely could not allow the heavily armored and armed warship to get within striking range of the Andromeda.
"Wraith, this is Wildcard," he called over the com. "It looks like we have found their ace in the hole. We are definitely outclassed here and could use a hand if you can spare it." It was not Blackjack's style to call for help, but too much was at stake.
"Sorry guys," Specter's voice returned. "We have our hands full as it is. You are on your own."
"Four seconds to impact," Roulette announced referring to the trio of SRAMs he had launched only moments before. Almost immediately two brilliant plumes of light erupted. Two seconds later a third explosion flowered and convulsed wildly.
"They shot two of the SRAMs down," Lady Luck announced. "The third one got through though." Then, "here comes the reply," she added abruptly. Half a dozen tiny plumes materialized along the huge ship's spine. The telltale signs of missile launches lighted gently away from the ship and curved towards the VRAD.
Blackjack throttled to full velocity and reversed direction. There was still a lot of distance between the two ships and they needed time to defeat the missiles.
"Jam them, Lady," Blackjack said. "Jam them and shoot them."
Lady Luck worked diligently at her console. She banked jammers onto the scan wavelengths. She put white noise interference on the missile guidance uplink, and she activated the defense laser turrets. "Put 'em on the gee limit," she advised her pilot.
Blackjack instantly obeyed. He threw the drone into a course that would cause the missiles to have to turn more sharply than they were designed to do. As a result, they would lose their lock and the countermeasures would have a much better chance of shaking them.
The maneuver worked for the most part. Only one missile hit but it took off most of the starboard wing including one of the particle cannons.
"What do we have left?" Blackjack asked his gunner.
Roulette checked his status. "We have half a load of HERPs, eighty percent of our kinetic load, five SRAMs on the forward rotor, a full eight on the aft rotor and one proton cannon. We have both laser turrets and we haven't used any of the electronic package yet," he added.
"Okay," Blackjack decided, "it's time to roll the dice. Let's go in at full speed, pass over their dorsal while they are reloading their missiles. Hit them with all guns and give them the rest of the rockets. Then we will go over-the-shoulder with two more SRAMs."
"Off we go," the pilot said. "Longshot give me one hundred percent on the reactor."
"Break it down," Longshot replied as he complied.
Blackjack answered his engineer's request for power allotment. "Put fifty into thrust, twenty into weapons and thirty into shields until we pass. Then drop weapons to five percent pn weapons and increase shields to forty-five."
"We are riding a star," Longshot replied using the engineer lingo for a fusion reactor at full power.
The Wildcard shot straight at the battleship and unleashed three shots from her rail gun and four shots from her remaining particle cannon before pulling up slightly to pass over the enemy ship's upper hull.
As the drone passed over the hull, the rocket pods fired repeatedly blasting chunks of armor and sensory equipment into useless scrap. At the same time, the belly turret spat globs of laser light searing into the pockmarked upper hull of the huge ship.
The battle cruiser's own guns belched forth energy in reply, but the drone was too close and too agile for the defending guns angular tracking to be effective. And when the drone passed to the aft of the battle cruiser, the weapons bay opened and another pair of missiles dropped out, ignited their engines, and reversed course to fly right into the vital areas of the engineering section of the big ship.
"They are trying to decipher our data link," Lady Luck warned. That was a serious problem. It meant that the enemy was trying to wrest control of the Wildcard from her crew.
"Give them something to chew on," Blackjack ordered.
The electronic warfare specialist activated a previously unused panel and dialed a number on the selector. Then she initiated the program and hit a transmission button. "Let's see how they like this one," she mused. "Get us some distance," She suggested to her crew.
"What did you hit them with?" Roulette asked curiously.
"I slipped the Bulldog 7 into our transponder frequency," she answered. "If they don't catch it in time, it will foul up their stabilizer routine badly. That is why we don't want to be too close."
Lady Luck was right on the money. As Blackjack brought the VRAD around for another attack run, the heavy ship began to yaw and roll randomly.
"She's out of control," Blackjack laughed. "I don't think we need to worry about her for a while."
"Don't get too comfortable," Lady Luck advised. "The Bulldog series of viruses are good at getting in, but they are also easy to wipe out. We probably have about five minutes before they regain control of their attitude systems."
"Then let's make the best of this run," Roulette urged.
The Wildcard dove in for another attack run. This time the only defensive response was a token shot or two from independent gunnery stations on the ship's undamaged sides that badly missed. The VRAD came in low with turret, rail gun and single remaining particle cannon blazing. The damage was enormous as armored plating ruptured exposing vital sections of the huge ship.
"Hey, gang," Longshot warned as the other three watched the heavy cruiser suffer from their furious attack. "One of the smaller gunships is trying to sneak past us."
Blackjack brought the Wildcard about and lined up on an intercept course with the smaller and quicker battle craft. He gunned the throttle and took pursuit.
The Wildcard closed the distance quickly, but before they could close to attack range, the enemy ship launched a pair of missiles towards the bright point of light in the distance that was the Andromeda.
"Heads up," Longshot warned abruptly. "Those missiles have fusion warheads!"
"Damn," Blackjack swore. "Push it to the edge, Longshot," he urged. "We have to catch those things."
"Power down the weapons," Longshot advised. "We are going to need everything we have to catch those nukes."
Blackjack gave the VRAD a kick in the rear and burned the engines to their maximum rating. "Lady," he calmly ordered, "as soon as you can, start hacking into those things. Try to shut down their drives, alter their course, disarm, or if necessary prematurely detonate those warheads."
"I'm on it," she confirmed. If the missiles attacked the Andromeda, that would be the end of them all.
Dozens of seconds passed, and the distance between the missiles and the VRAD was decreasing, but was doing so very slowly. "Roulette," Blackjack asked, "are we going to catch them?"
"No," Roulette answered calmly. "Not close enough for me to shoot them down. How about you, Lady?"
Lady Luck sounded unsure. "I think we can get within ECM range," she admitted, "but I don't know if there will be time enough to hack into their systems."
"I have notified Haunted House of the missiles," Longshot interrupted. "They are putting out interceptors."
Blackjack eased back on the engines. "Well, there is no need in burning out our drive," he remarked. "The carrier's defenses should be capable of stopping two unprotected missiles. Our primary concern should be to keep that damn gunboat from launching any more of them."
Blackjack brought the VRAD about and lined up on the light battle craft. They made one pass and Roulette sent three SRAMs and another round from the rail gun slamming into the other ship's hull. One of the SRAMs obliterated the enemy's bridge and the ship began to drift.
They were about to go in for the kill when the Wildcard lurched violently to one side.
"Bandit coming in from the port beam," Lady Luck announced sheepishly.
"No kidding," Blackjack muttered as he struggled to regain control of the space craft.
"We have lost the port proton cannon too," Roulette announced.
"Turrets are active," Lady Luck announced as the defensive lasers came on line.
Blackjack redirected the VRAD to give chase to the new arrival. But when they came onto the prescribed course, the attacker had moved off to their flank again. "Whoa!" the pilot exclaimed startled. "Where'd he go?"
Once again the VRAD lurched. "I think he is to port again," Roulette mused.
"He has a tighter turn radius than we do," Lady Luck advised. "It must be a drone."
"That last hit did not cost us anything vital," Longshot added. "But that could change if he keeps up these attacks."
"Put shields at fifty percent and drop thrust to forty five and weapons to five," Blackjack ordered. "We know that he is shielded, so our defensive turret won't be able to hurt him. On the other hand, with our shields at fifty percent, his won't be able to hurt us either."
Blackjack throttled the Wildcard back to where most of the other ships were slugging it out. They needed a little help to get rid of the pest fighter drone. "Lady see if you can mess with him some," he ordered as they cruised back with the drone in chase.
Lady Luck opened her sensors and began to read the drone's telemetry messages. "Their coding is pretty complex," she reported. "I can interject garbage into their steering signals, but it may or may not do any good. And if I do, it would leave us open to a viral attack."
"Don't risk it then," Blackjack decided. "We will get one of the fighters to work it over."
"Their lasers probably won't be able to hurt it either," Roulette doubted.
"That is true, but their ordinance should be able to," Lady Luck explained. "Those thirty millimeter cannons are quite formidable to lightly armored craft. They are useless against the big ships, but the fighters and that drone should be easy prey."
Blackjack keyed the comm transmitter; "Wildcard to Daytona Lead."
"This is Daytona Lead," Roundhouse's voice returned hesitantly. "I am a little busy if you don't mind, Blackjack. What do you want?"
"Sorry for the interruption," Blackjack apologized, "but I seem to have one of those Syndicate fighter drones on my tail and he is really getting on my nerves. Do you think you or one of your boys could give us a hand?"
"This is Atlanta four," a youthful voice interrupted. "I am not far from Ghost two. I'll bail the tights out."
"All right Atlanta four and five, break formation and rendezvous with Ghost two. After you save his butt, stay with him as escort. I will send Darlington six and seven to do the same for Ghost one."
"Thanks Roundhouse," Blackjack replied. "Who is Atlanta four?" he asked Longshot as he turned the drone onto a rendezvous course.
"Lieutenant Searchinghawk," Longshot replied. "He is okay. Unlike most of the rookie jocks, he has his head on right."
"What kind of name is Searchinghawk?" Roulette asked.
"Native American," Blackjack guessed. "But I could not tell you which tribe."
"He told me he is Sioux," Longshot offered, "the grandson of a tribal leader of some sort."
"Here they come," Roulette advised.
The scene which followed was quick and well coordinated. The two fighters skimmed just beneath the VRAD's hull and then popped up from the larger craft's cover and opened up on the pursuing fighter drone. The combined firepower of the two fighter's cannons disabled the lightly armored drone before its controller could react.
"That was some good shooting Atlanta four," Blackjack complimented. "Thanks."
"No need for thanks," a youthful and irritatingly familiar voice replied. "You weren't in any real danger, were you?"
"Cool it, Render," the voice of Atlanta four interrupted.
"Hey, we are risking our necks for an empty overpriced robot ship," Render snapped.
"Listen to me, Render," Searchinghawk advised calmly. "If those battleships get within striking distance of the carrier, where are you going to land that Adder when your fuel runs out? The Syndicate executes prisoners as corporate saboteurs."
The two fighters circled and formed up off either side of the VRAD. Searchinghawk continued his lecture. "The VRADs are the only weapons we have capable of holding the battle craft at bay unless you want to take your fighter in on a strafing run yourself."
"That's telling him," Roulette muttered.
"I wouldn't cry too much if our turret cannon accidentally blew Lieutenant Render into next year," Longshot agreed.
"Can it," Blackjack ordered. Then over the radio he addressed his escort fighters. "Atlanta four and five, we are going in for another attack run. Our target is the vessel at twelve mark seven degrees. Follow us in and lead us out."
"Roger Wildcard," Searchinghawk replied. "We will follow you in, strafe and then lead you out."
"Very well," Blackjack agreed. Then to Roulette he asked, "what do we have left?"
"We still have a few shots left on the railgun, a full rotary launcher of SRAMs and the defensive cannon turrets."
"We also have a few electronic bugs we can throw at them if we catch them probing us actively," Lady Luck added.
"Okay team," Blackjack decided, "our best results seem to come when we lead with a kinetic attack. So, let's follow the rail gun with a pair of SRAMs if we can get them off. Then as we pass by, rake them with the belly turret. Their shields will probably turn the lasers aside, but you never know."
"Wildcard to Atlanta squad, we're going in," Blackjack radioed.
"We're right behind you Wildcard," the fighters answered.
The VRAD nosed over and dove at the surface of the enemy ship. At Roulette's command, the massive rail gun which made up the drone's backbone shuddered and hurled a projectile into the battle craft's external structure. Immediately following that, the weapons bay doors snapped open, and a missile jettisoned and fired its engine. The rotor launcher inside the bay rotated another missile into position, and then jettisoned that one too. Then the bay doors snapped closed as the second missile fired and sped towards its target.
The Syndicate cruiser fired volley after volley at the unpowered projectile speeding towards it, but the speed and small size of the object defied their attempts to destroy it. Even so, when it struck the ship, it tore into the hull obliterating a power distribution station and blacking out part of the ship.
Seconds later the first missile detonated ripping a massive hole in the craft's hull. The second missile was destroyed prior to impact.
"Fighter's off the port," Longshot announced excitedly. "But they are ignoring us and moving on to the engage the carrier."
"This is a perfect opportunity," Render's voice interrupted over the radio. "We can take them by surprise."
"Let the other fighters take care of them," Searchinghawk decided, "we stay with the drone."
They completed the attack and pulled out of the dive. Both fighters moved out ahead of the VRAD as the drone's shields protected the two Adders from the cruiser's laser turrets.
A second pair of Syndicate fighters skipped by off in the distance headed for the melee taking place near the Andromeda.
Without warning, one of the two escort fighters peeled off and took pursuit. "Atlanta four to Atlanta five: Render, get back here," Searchinghawk's voice indicated his anger.
"I'll be right back," Render replied. "These will be a pair of easy kills."
"Our task is to work with the VRAD," Searchinghawk insisted. "You are putting the mission at risk with this glory hunt. Now get back."
The conversation was fierce and distracting. Searchinghawk's attempts to regain control over his rogue wingman almost cost him his life.
"Atlanta four watch your six!" Longshot warned suddenly
From the far side of the battered cruiser, a lone Syndicate fighter drone had emerged and flown at a fantastic velocity closing the distance between itself, and the fighter.
"He can't outrun that thing," Lady Luck announced. "And without a wingman he can't fight it."
"Hang on," Blackjack advised. He yanked the controls and placed the Wildcard between the drone fighter and its prey. Lady Luck opened up with the defensive turrets, but the laser beams simply skipped off its hull like stones on water.
"We can't stop it and we can't keep ourselves between it and Searchinghawk forever," Roulette noted.
Blackjack made a rash decision. At the last second, he brought the Wildcard about and rammed the enemy fighter.
His three crew members all gazed at him in stunned silence as hundreds of status indicators changed inside the VR cockpit. "Status report," he ordered.
There was a long silence. "We have lost the rail gun," Roulette began. "In addition, the ship's frame has been torqued. We can't open the weapons bay any more."
"What about navigation?"
"We still have directional control for now," but it you pull any more stunts like that we may lose all control," Roulette answered.
"We lost the dorsal laser turret," Lady Luck added. "Our electronic warfare package is intact, but we probably lost a lot of jamming ability due to external damage."
"We still have telemetry," Longshot completed the list. Otherwise we would be flying blind and self destructed by now. The bad news is that we took a nasty jolt and our reactor's maximum potential is now forty percent. And we lost the dorsal shield generators."
Blackjack cursed. "Shut all power to weapons off," he decided. "We can't use them anyhow. Pour everything into thrusters."
"Atlanta four to Wildcard: are you guys still alive in there?"
"Yeah, we are still here," Blackjack answered. "But we just lost everything we had to fight with."
"Maybe you had better return to base. I'll cover you. The Market knows I owe you that."
"He's right," Longshot advised. "We can't do any good out here."
"Well if you are going to do something, do it now," Roulette interrupted. "Because that cruiser has recovered from our attack and is coming."
"Can we outrun him?" Blackjack asked Longshot.
"No. Our reactor can't generate that kind of speed anymore."
"Atlanta four, this is Wildcard." Blackjack made a decision, "break formation and return to your flight."
"Negative, Wildcard. I'll cover your withdrawal."
"Thanks, four," Blackjack refused graciously. "Thanks, but you would be defending an empty, useless drone. Don't risk your life over it."
There was a long pause. "Roger, Wildcard," came the reply at last. "I will find Render and rejoin the fight."
"Wildcard out," Blackjack replied and turned off the radio.
"So what now?" Lady Luck asked.
"Now we try to sell the Wildcard as expensively as possible," Blackjack replied.
"You mean to ram that cruiser don't you," Longshot guessed.
"I do," Blackjack answered. "Any objections?" There were none. "Okay crew. Let's go out in a blaze of glory." He brought the battered VRAD around and lined up on the cruiser, aiming for the already weakened hull structure.
"I wonder what my next assignment will be?" someone asked, but Blackjack concentrated only on guiding the Wildcard into its death dive.
The cruiser slowly swelled in size as the large craft closed in. Lances of laser light reached out to the VRAD, but Blackjack kept his only operating shield between them and the cruiser.
"We are losing power!" Longshot yelled surprised. "We have lost maneuverability.
"Did we take a hit?" Blackjack demanded.
"No we picked up a virus," Lady Luck answered. "Our electronic filter was damaged in the collision. Damn! There is no way to tell if it's damaged until a virus gets past it."
"How deep is it?" Blackjack demanded.
"We've lost maneuverability and we are losing navigation," Longshot sounded almost panicked. "It will hit our telemetry next unless we shut command and control down now."
"Do it," Blackjack commanded angrily. They could not afford to lose telemetry. That would mean flying blind and an automatic self destruction.
Longshot complied with the order and began cutting interfaces off. "Done," he reported. "We can monitor what happens, but we can't control the ship. We are almost blind."
"Maybe they will think its dead and ignore it," Blackjack offered.
"Or if they try to capture it, we could power it up in their hangar and blow their cruiser apart," Roulette suggested.
The cruiser loomed ever larger in their viewer. As it grew they could see the heavy damage their first attacks had inflicted. The cruiser shifted its course slightly in order to avoid the collision.
"She is locking her guns," Lady Luck announced regretfully.
"I can't watch this," Roulette announced and disconnected himself from the VR interface. He did not want to see the Wildcard destroyed as it drifted powerless. He removed his helmet and left the module.
In the hallway, Roulette made his way to the ready room. The red corridor lights indicated that the Andromeda was at battle stations. He was not worried. With the destruction of the Wildcard, his career was ruined. He would be lucky to get an assignment as a simulator instructor. And that, itself would be nothing short of torture.
"Roulette disconnected," Longshot announced as they watched the cruiser close in for the kill.
"He didn't want to watch our ship die," Lady Luck stated with a hint of emotion. "And neither do I." With that she too disconnected and left the VR cockpit.
"She sure was a good ship," Longshot said reverently. He reached around to his left and unplugged his own suit from the VR interface and promptly disappeared from the cockpit leaving Blackjack alone in the cockpit of the Wildcard.
The commander of the VRAD was determined to ride out the fate of his ship. He could see that they were almost within range of the rocket launchers and cannons of the enemy ship. Soon it would not matter whether the drone was shielded or not. They would blast him from the sky. Blackjack's thoughts recalled something about ancient sea faring captains going down with their ships.
The cruiser hovered monstrously over the Wildcard like a giant predator about to snatch up its helpless prey when suddenly a brilliant bolt of lightning slammed into the side of the huge battle craft sending shorts and static crawling along the damaged shielding of the Syndicate ship. Blackjack stood frozen. At first he thought that the Wraith had come to the rescue, but as the shock wave of the attack swept over the Wildcard's dead hulk, the view slowly rotated and Blackjack beheld his savior.
A Market destroyer eclipsed the sun and engaged the damaged cruiser at point blank range. The Whirlpool's battle group had arrived and taken the enemy by total surprise.
Chapter 8 Part 4
The bridge of the Andromeda was strangely quiet for a ship about to go into battle alone. The intercom was alive with the voices of the various flight commanders as they talked their pilots up for the rapidly approaching fight. Many of those pilots were green rookies that had never been in combat before, and in their hands lay the large carrier's safety.
One relatively small station in the corner of the bridge was receiving an extra ration of attention. It was the station that monitored and maintained the data link between the virtual reality cockpit modules deep within the Andromeda's belly and the two drones which represented the spearhead of the attack.
Carol Garret, the ensign in charge of that station was well aware of the tremendous responsibility entrusted to her. Should the data link fail, the VRADs would be flying blind and unusable. Without the VRADs, their fighters would be overwhelmed and the Syndicate battle craft would obliterate them carrier and all.
To ensure the security of the precious data link, the VRAD signals were being broadcast on nine separate, changing wavelengths simultaneously. The VRADs were only monitoring one of them at any given time. Even then the data was encoded by a complex polynomial which had been randomly selected and loaded onto both VRADs just prior to launch.
It was next to impossible that some technician of the Syndicate Hacker Corps would seize control of the drones. Even so, Colonel Pharr hovered nervously behind the ensign's station keeping a constant vigil for some damning indicator that would signal the doom of the entire VRAD program.
Commodore Becker, on the other hand stood patiently before the large transparent portal. He gazed serenely out at the stars. He refused to look at the instrumentation or monitors during the attack. The peace of deep space helped calm him as he meditated on the silence only an arm's reach away. Long ago the commodore had learned that watching a battle develop could emotionally cloud one's judgment. He would let his subordinate's follow the battle. He himself would calmly make whatever decisions were necessary at the appropriate time.
"They are engaging," Pharr announced from the ensign's side.
"Wildcard," Specter's voice crackled over the comlink, "this is Wraith, break formation and pursue assigned targets at your discretion."
One relatively small station in the corner of the bridge was receiving an extra ration of attention. It was the station that monitored and maintained the data link between the virtual reality cockpit modules deep within the Andromeda's belly and the two drones which represented the spearhead of the attack.
Carol Garret, the ensign in charge of that station was well aware of the tremendous responsibility entrusted to her. Should the data link fail, the VRADs would be flying blind and unusable. Without the VRADs, their fighters would be overwhelmed and the Syndicate battle craft would obliterate them carrier and all.
To ensure the security of the precious data link, the VRAD signals were being broadcast on nine separate, changing wavelengths simultaneously. The VRADs were only monitoring one of them at any given time. Even then the data was encoded by a complex polynomial which had been randomly selected and loaded onto both VRADs just prior to launch.
It was next to impossible that some technician of the Syndicate Hacker Corps would seize control of the drones. Even so, Colonel Pharr hovered nervously behind the ensign's station keeping a constant vigil for some damning indicator that would signal the doom of the entire VRAD program.
Commodore Becker, on the other hand stood patiently before the large transparent portal. He gazed serenely out at the stars. He refused to look at the instrumentation or monitors during the attack. The peace of deep space helped calm him as he meditated on the silence only an arm's reach away. Long ago the commodore had learned that watching a battle develop could emotionally cloud one's judgment. He would let his subordinate's follow the battle. He himself would calmly make whatever decisions were necessary at the appropriate time.
"They are engaging," Pharr announced from the ensign's side.
"Wildcard," Specter's voice crackled over the comlink, "this is Wraith, break formation and pursue assigned targets at your discretion."
Chapter 8 Part 3
Roundhouse climbed into the fighter and strapped himself into the prone acceleration couch. The forward tilting couch molded itself to his body automatically. Roundhouse slipped his feet into the steering stirrups and checked the feedback from the various motions. By rocking his feet forward or backward either together or oppositely, the fighter would respond by accelerating, decelerating or rolling. By raising both knees and pulling the stirrups forward, he could initiate a dive or by pressing the stirrups backward, he could climb. His support crewman outside the canopy verified the systems' functionality and then saluted Roundhouse. The pilot returned the gesture and signaled his readiness to launch.
Roundhouse keyed his com receiver and contacted his flight. "Daytona Flight this is Daytona Lead, stand by for launch. Sing out with exceptions." No reply came from any of the ten fighters in his flight. They were ready.
"Daytona Lead to Victory Lane," Roundhouse addressed the fighter control deck of the Andromeda. "We are go for launch."
"Stand by Daytona Flight," a voice returned. A few seconds later he received his orders.
"Daytona, close formation with Darlington, Atlanta, Rockingham and Talladega Flights. You will assume command of Speedway Taskforce."
Roundhouse signaled his deck crew. They cleared the fireway and the hydraulic ram gently loaded his egg shaped fighter into the magnetic acceleration launcher. He felt the telltale clicks as the fighter's undercarriage engaged in the hundred yard long tracks. The status light for launch changed from the amber transit light to ready green.
"Gentlemen, start your engines." With that, Roundhouse touched the trigger which activated the linear accelerator. His Adder shot down the tube and into the vastness of space like a bullet from a rifle.
All around him the sky began to fill with the flat egg shaped Adders as the launch order was relayed by the fighter control deck. The fighters themselves were not pretty, but the compact shapes allowed for maximum performance with minimum size and mass. Roundhouse keyed his IFF and his flight began to take positions in formation about him. Like wise, the other four flights were forming up as well.
When all of the fighters were ready, Roundhouse ordered them towards their targets at half speed. A few moments later, two blazing fusion driven engines flashed past the fighters and drove hard for the distant bright spots which represented sunlight reflecting off metal.
Roundhouse moved his feet to line his fighter up behind the VRAD which had just passed and then ordered the rest of the squadron to fall in behind the drones as well. "Darlington, Rockingham and Talladega," he ordered, "fall in behind Ghost Lead. Daytona and Atlanta fall in with Ghost Two."
Roundhouse lined his fighter up behind the Wildcard as did his sister flight. The other three flights fell in behind the Wraith. "Ghost Squadron, this is Speedway Squadron, you have the lead."
"Speedway, this is Ghost," Specter's reply came quickly and calmly, "hang on back there and stay close. We are picking up their outer defenses. We will be engaging in twelve minutes."
Roundhouse keyed his com receiver and contacted his flight. "Daytona Flight this is Daytona Lead, stand by for launch. Sing out with exceptions." No reply came from any of the ten fighters in his flight. They were ready.
"Daytona Lead to Victory Lane," Roundhouse addressed the fighter control deck of the Andromeda. "We are go for launch."
"Stand by Daytona Flight," a voice returned. A few seconds later he received his orders.
"Daytona, close formation with Darlington, Atlanta, Rockingham and Talladega Flights. You will assume command of Speedway Taskforce."
Roundhouse signaled his deck crew. They cleared the fireway and the hydraulic ram gently loaded his egg shaped fighter into the magnetic acceleration launcher. He felt the telltale clicks as the fighter's undercarriage engaged in the hundred yard long tracks. The status light for launch changed from the amber transit light to ready green.
"Gentlemen, start your engines." With that, Roundhouse touched the trigger which activated the linear accelerator. His Adder shot down the tube and into the vastness of space like a bullet from a rifle.
All around him the sky began to fill with the flat egg shaped Adders as the launch order was relayed by the fighter control deck. The fighters themselves were not pretty, but the compact shapes allowed for maximum performance with minimum size and mass. Roundhouse keyed his IFF and his flight began to take positions in formation about him. Like wise, the other four flights were forming up as well.
When all of the fighters were ready, Roundhouse ordered them towards their targets at half speed. A few moments later, two blazing fusion driven engines flashed past the fighters and drove hard for the distant bright spots which represented sunlight reflecting off metal.
Roundhouse moved his feet to line his fighter up behind the VRAD which had just passed and then ordered the rest of the squadron to fall in behind the drones as well. "Darlington, Rockingham and Talladega," he ordered, "fall in behind Ghost Lead. Daytona and Atlanta fall in with Ghost Two."
Roundhouse lined his fighter up behind the Wildcard as did his sister flight. The other three flights fell in behind the Wraith. "Ghost Squadron, this is Speedway Squadron, you have the lead."
"Speedway, this is Ghost," Specter's reply came quickly and calmly, "hang on back there and stay close. We are picking up their outer defenses. We will be engaging in twelve minutes."
Chapter 8 Part 2
Several hours later, Blake awoke and checked his clock. There was just enough time to wake the crew, get them washed and fed, then report to the main briefing room.
Blake flipped his clock back and touched a switch in the panel beneath. In the other three rooms, the alarms responded and woke the crew of the Wildcard.
Blake stepped into the commons area and turned the heat up a little bit. He entered the kitchen and dialed a dozen hard boiled eggs and eight strips of bacon. Then he powered up the beverage dispenser and requested a pot of coffee and four mugs.
A noise behind him caused Blake to glance over his shoulder in time to see Shamus sitting at the bar with his head resting in his arms. "Good morning," Blake offered.
"Are you sure it's morning?" Shamus asked. He lifted his head and reached out to grab the remote control for the wall sized video monitor.
"It had better be," Blake stated. "Because if it isn't then the colonel is going to take us apart."
Shamus flipped through the ship wide network until he found the broadcast he was looking for.
A newscast from the Mars showed citizen stock prices. After the Syndicate attacks, the prices had dropped sharply, but as a result of the recent VRAD raid, the Market's stock value had jumped considerably.
"Well I hadn't expected that," Shamus exclaimed with a grin.
"What is it," Blake asked as he offered Shamus three eggs, two strips of bacon and a mug of coffee.
"My stocks just jumped five percent as a result of yesterday," Shamus said. "I never thought that I could have that much affect on my earnings."
"How much of your commission is in stocks, if you don't mind my asking?" Blake inquired.
"Twenty percent of my salary is in stock," Shamus answered. "I invested in Research and Development. It is a little more risky than the more popular stocks, but when it does pay off, it pays off big."
"So the success of the VRAD program increased your net worth by five percent?" Blake asked.
"Right," Shamus turned around and began to peel an egg. "How about you? Are you buying into the Market?"
"Yes," Blake answered. "But I am less risky. I am buying into medical and pharmaceuticals. It is a fairly steady yield."
"I thought about that one too," Shamus concurred. "But for some reason I decided against it."
"I knew one fellow who made a partial investment in public entertainment. Six months later he had increased his value one thousand times. A year later and he was flat broke." Blake recalled a former roommate at flight school.
"Those erratic stocks can be like that. You have to know when to get in and when to get out."
"Next," Lee said as she came around the corner with her damp hair plastered against her bare back. She was wearing only her trousers and her breasts were still damp where she had not dried them properly.
"Put a shirt on," Blake requested. "I don't need you getting sick." Her nudity did not distract him or any of the other two men in the least. Drake was a comely enough woman, but the crew looked upon each other as siblings more than anything else.
Shamus finished his breakfast and made a bee-line for the shower that Lee had just vacated. Blake himself finished his food more slowly since he had to wait for Ben to finish bathing before he could take a shower himself.
Half an hour later, Blake's crew were sitting before the monitor looking at the maintenance records from Ghost Squadron.
"Man that sucks," Ben griped.
"What is it," Blake said as he struggled into a clean tunic.
"The Dixie has had a major fault in the guidance system," Shamus informed him.
"Serious?" Blake asked his navigator.
"She can't fly," Shamus replied.
"Damn," Blake swore. "That just leaves the Wraith and us."
"I really wish we had not lost the Storm now," Lee mused. "If we had more time, the Bandit could be ready to fly again. Her problems are not too serious, but there are an awful lot of them."
"So we are down to two flyable VRADs," Ben leaned back and propped his feet up. "This is just wonderful."
"What is our weapons load?" Blake asked.
"A belly full of SRAMs," Shamus reported. "The cannons are pre-charged, and the rail gun has a full load. In addition Major Duncan ordered a case of Herpies for us."
Blake smiled. Herpies was slang for the HERPs, the high explosive rocket pods. The pods were attached to the forward kinard stabilizer structure, one to either side of the rail gun. The rockets could be launched in a volley, or singly. Firing all rockets at once actually did considerable damage and was referred to as giving the enemy a case of Herpies.
"What is our ECM status?"
Lee stood from her chair. She felt better talking on her feet. "As before, the ECM is unrestricted. This time, since we are not carrying nukes, we are loaded with a cyber combat package as well. We didn't have to worry about cyber attacks before because we caught them off guard, and it takes time to set up a cyber attack. But you can bet they will be ready this time."
"I really don't like the idea of cyber warfare," Blake cursed.
"Well our data link is almost invulnerable since we use fractal polynomials to modulate the quantum frequency," Ben promised.
"Our most vulnerable area is our sensor array," Lee warned. "If they slip something by us, that is what we will lose first. If I can't catch it before it gets too deep, we could lose the ship. If the CCP senses that we are flying blind in a combat theater, it will self destruct the Wildcard."
"Let's try not let that become necessary," Blake hoped. He tied his shoe and walked over to the slot machine. He pulled the handle and watched two bells and a cherry pop up.
"Come on, Gamblers," Blake McCoy urged as he keyed the door. His crew followed, each pausing only long enough to pull the handle on the slot machine.
They passed by the hangar bays on their way to the briefing room. Through the observation portal they could see the crew of the Storm assisting with the maintenance of one of the remaining VRADs. Though they each saw the scene, they averted their eyes when they saw one of the dispossessed crew glance their way.
"I don't know if you guys saw Thunder and the rest of his crew, but I don't want to end up like that," Ben declared after they had passed the hangar.
"They looked like ghosts," Shamus recalled.
"They might as well be ghosts," Blake informed them. "Without a ship, they will be reassigned to support duties."
"I thought the colonel promised that the loss of our ships as a result of combat would not be charged to us," Ben argued.
Blake shrugged. "To err is human," he began.
"To forgive is not Market policy," Shamus concluded. It was an ancient quote whose origin was lost in military antiquity.
"I know its not fair," Blake agreed. "But military life rarely is fair. Do you remember the Veterans of the Cold War Memorial in Toronto? More careers were lost in the Cold War due to small mistakes than at any other time in military history."
"And that wasn't right then either," Ben objected. "Imagine, one wrong action and your entire career was over."
"The VRAD program is a lot like that," Blake pointed out. "Back then they dealt with thermonuclear weaponry. They could not afford any mistakes. The VRADs are under such scrutiny that we can't afford to make mistakes either."
"At least there is a Cold War Memorial," Lee mused.
"There is now," Blake agreed. "But it was not dedicated until one hundred years after the end of the Cold War."
"I've seen that memorial," Shamus offered. "It is a three sided marble pyramid. Bombers, ICBMs and submarines are engraved on the sides. It gives you something to think about really. No blood was shed, but a lot of sacrifices were made."
"No one made the ultimate sacrifice," Ben pointed out.
"Believe it or not," Blake countered, "sometimes dying is an easier sacrifice to make than one you have to live with."
Shamus opened the door to the main briefing room. At that moment it was vacant. "Some of those people gave up most of what they had and lived their lives in isolation and near poverty for an ideal," he said as he followed Blake into the room.
"And some of them were hated by the very people they defended," Lee added, "especially the ICBM crews. They didn't even have the glory of flying to solace them."
"They were all martyrs," Blake stated. He took a seat and leaned back. He propped his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him. "They did their thankless jobs because they believed in their purpose."
The door opened again and Major Duncan entered with his elite crew in tow. They wore spotless, pressed uniforms and highly polished boots.
"I guess you are aware that we two are the only ships flying in this next segment," Duncan began. "That changes things slightly, but the major plan remains the same. We have to punch a hole through their fighters and keep the heavy ships preoccupied. We don't want them to get close enough to the Andromeda to destroy her."
"Once we get through their fighters, we shouldn't have to worry about them any more. Our own jocks will work them over. We can give our undivided attention to their battle craft. If we keep them busy enough, they will never see our own battle fleet until it is too late."
"How you going to hide all those destroyer?" Lee asked.
"The Whirlpool's ships are coming out of the sun with the whole asteroid field between them and the Syndicate ships. The sun, our own ECM systems and the millions of rock fragments will degrade their scans from that area."
"CCP?" Blake asked.
The ECM officer of the Wraith answered. "The cyber combat packages have been loaded with every antibody that we are aware of. In addition, we are setting a new virus in the CCP armament. We have far more experience with remotes. If the new Syndicate fighters are a form of drone, we may be able to infect their systems, and perhaps capture one."
The door opened again and a few jocks drifted in. They wordlessly took seats near the front of the room. Both VRAD crews seated themselves properly and quietly conversed as the room continued to fill.
Several of the younger jocks entered, flashed looks of hatred at the VRAD crews then glanced nervously at their seniors. Obviously they had been reprimanded for their previous attitudes.
There was surprisingly little said as the rest of the command staff entered. The commodore was absent and Colonel Pharr opened the meeting.
"Gentlemen, our moment of truth is here. Within the hour you will be launching against superior forces. It is your sole mission to get their attention, inflict as much collateral damage as possible, and return safely. If you can keep them occupied until our reinforcements arrive, we will gain a numerical advantage."
The General stepped down and yielded the podium to the senior fighter pilot. Roundhouse stepped up and outlined the jocks' mission objectives and strategies. "Mix it up with them," he urged. "After the VRADs' raid, they are down to comparable numbers and we should be able to face them on a one to one ratio. Don't tangle with their newer fighters solo. If they try to engage you, pair off and use the tactics we discussed earlier. If all else fails, lead them into the Andromeda's defensive envelope."
"Don't try to engage the heavier ships," Roundhouse warned. "That is what VRADs are for. Just keep the fighters occupied."
Roundhouse stepped down and Major Duncan replaced him. "When we launch," he told the jocks, "form up behind the two operational drones. We will use the drones to provide ECM cover and hide your numbers until we engage the enemy. We will use our heavier firepower to blast a hole in their fighter screens. That should throw them into a temporary chaos and give you an unmolested first shot at them. Once we get through, they are all yours. We will be going after the bigger fish."
Colonel Pharr resumed the podium. "If there are no questions, you are to proceed to your assignments."
Major Duncan eyed the people in the ready room. They had left the briefing and reported directly to the conference lounge next to the VRAD modules. Each occupant was in full battle dress with helmets in hand. Duncan had very few words to say.
"By no means are we safe," he reminded them. "The Andromeda is going into full combat with heavy battle craft. It is entirely possible that we could take crippling blows. Unfortunately all we have left are two drones. Even though the attack was a success, the others were beaten soundly by the enemy in our last raid."
"We can not afford to let fresh battle craft launch attacks on the Andromeda. As a last resort, you are to follow the Storm's lead and ram the enemy ships, but only as a last resort. Bandit and Dixie will be held in reserve for defense. So you will not be completely without backup. But considering their degraded status, they will not be much good."
Specter critically surveyed the seven people in his command. They were all aware of the stakes. "All right Ghost Squadron, go get em."
Blake flipped his clock back and touched a switch in the panel beneath. In the other three rooms, the alarms responded and woke the crew of the Wildcard.
Blake stepped into the commons area and turned the heat up a little bit. He entered the kitchen and dialed a dozen hard boiled eggs and eight strips of bacon. Then he powered up the beverage dispenser and requested a pot of coffee and four mugs.
A noise behind him caused Blake to glance over his shoulder in time to see Shamus sitting at the bar with his head resting in his arms. "Good morning," Blake offered.
"Are you sure it's morning?" Shamus asked. He lifted his head and reached out to grab the remote control for the wall sized video monitor.
"It had better be," Blake stated. "Because if it isn't then the colonel is going to take us apart."
Shamus flipped through the ship wide network until he found the broadcast he was looking for.
A newscast from the Mars showed citizen stock prices. After the Syndicate attacks, the prices had dropped sharply, but as a result of the recent VRAD raid, the Market's stock value had jumped considerably.
"Well I hadn't expected that," Shamus exclaimed with a grin.
"What is it," Blake asked as he offered Shamus three eggs, two strips of bacon and a mug of coffee.
"My stocks just jumped five percent as a result of yesterday," Shamus said. "I never thought that I could have that much affect on my earnings."
"How much of your commission is in stocks, if you don't mind my asking?" Blake inquired.
"Twenty percent of my salary is in stock," Shamus answered. "I invested in Research and Development. It is a little more risky than the more popular stocks, but when it does pay off, it pays off big."
"So the success of the VRAD program increased your net worth by five percent?" Blake asked.
"Right," Shamus turned around and began to peel an egg. "How about you? Are you buying into the Market?"
"Yes," Blake answered. "But I am less risky. I am buying into medical and pharmaceuticals. It is a fairly steady yield."
"I thought about that one too," Shamus concurred. "But for some reason I decided against it."
"I knew one fellow who made a partial investment in public entertainment. Six months later he had increased his value one thousand times. A year later and he was flat broke." Blake recalled a former roommate at flight school.
"Those erratic stocks can be like that. You have to know when to get in and when to get out."
"Next," Lee said as she came around the corner with her damp hair plastered against her bare back. She was wearing only her trousers and her breasts were still damp where she had not dried them properly.
"Put a shirt on," Blake requested. "I don't need you getting sick." Her nudity did not distract him or any of the other two men in the least. Drake was a comely enough woman, but the crew looked upon each other as siblings more than anything else.
Shamus finished his breakfast and made a bee-line for the shower that Lee had just vacated. Blake himself finished his food more slowly since he had to wait for Ben to finish bathing before he could take a shower himself.
Half an hour later, Blake's crew were sitting before the monitor looking at the maintenance records from Ghost Squadron.
"Man that sucks," Ben griped.
"What is it," Blake said as he struggled into a clean tunic.
"The Dixie has had a major fault in the guidance system," Shamus informed him.
"Serious?" Blake asked his navigator.
"She can't fly," Shamus replied.
"Damn," Blake swore. "That just leaves the Wraith and us."
"I really wish we had not lost the Storm now," Lee mused. "If we had more time, the Bandit could be ready to fly again. Her problems are not too serious, but there are an awful lot of them."
"So we are down to two flyable VRADs," Ben leaned back and propped his feet up. "This is just wonderful."
"What is our weapons load?" Blake asked.
"A belly full of SRAMs," Shamus reported. "The cannons are pre-charged, and the rail gun has a full load. In addition Major Duncan ordered a case of Herpies for us."
Blake smiled. Herpies was slang for the HERPs, the high explosive rocket pods. The pods were attached to the forward kinard stabilizer structure, one to either side of the rail gun. The rockets could be launched in a volley, or singly. Firing all rockets at once actually did considerable damage and was referred to as giving the enemy a case of Herpies.
"What is our ECM status?"
Lee stood from her chair. She felt better talking on her feet. "As before, the ECM is unrestricted. This time, since we are not carrying nukes, we are loaded with a cyber combat package as well. We didn't have to worry about cyber attacks before because we caught them off guard, and it takes time to set up a cyber attack. But you can bet they will be ready this time."
"I really don't like the idea of cyber warfare," Blake cursed.
"Well our data link is almost invulnerable since we use fractal polynomials to modulate the quantum frequency," Ben promised.
"Our most vulnerable area is our sensor array," Lee warned. "If they slip something by us, that is what we will lose first. If I can't catch it before it gets too deep, we could lose the ship. If the CCP senses that we are flying blind in a combat theater, it will self destruct the Wildcard."
"Let's try not let that become necessary," Blake hoped. He tied his shoe and walked over to the slot machine. He pulled the handle and watched two bells and a cherry pop up.
"Come on, Gamblers," Blake McCoy urged as he keyed the door. His crew followed, each pausing only long enough to pull the handle on the slot machine.
They passed by the hangar bays on their way to the briefing room. Through the observation portal they could see the crew of the Storm assisting with the maintenance of one of the remaining VRADs. Though they each saw the scene, they averted their eyes when they saw one of the dispossessed crew glance their way.
"I don't know if you guys saw Thunder and the rest of his crew, but I don't want to end up like that," Ben declared after they had passed the hangar.
"They looked like ghosts," Shamus recalled.
"They might as well be ghosts," Blake informed them. "Without a ship, they will be reassigned to support duties."
"I thought the colonel promised that the loss of our ships as a result of combat would not be charged to us," Ben argued.
Blake shrugged. "To err is human," he began.
"To forgive is not Market policy," Shamus concluded. It was an ancient quote whose origin was lost in military antiquity.
"I know its not fair," Blake agreed. "But military life rarely is fair. Do you remember the Veterans of the Cold War Memorial in Toronto? More careers were lost in the Cold War due to small mistakes than at any other time in military history."
"And that wasn't right then either," Ben objected. "Imagine, one wrong action and your entire career was over."
"The VRAD program is a lot like that," Blake pointed out. "Back then they dealt with thermonuclear weaponry. They could not afford any mistakes. The VRADs are under such scrutiny that we can't afford to make mistakes either."
"At least there is a Cold War Memorial," Lee mused.
"There is now," Blake agreed. "But it was not dedicated until one hundred years after the end of the Cold War."
"I've seen that memorial," Shamus offered. "It is a three sided marble pyramid. Bombers, ICBMs and submarines are engraved on the sides. It gives you something to think about really. No blood was shed, but a lot of sacrifices were made."
"No one made the ultimate sacrifice," Ben pointed out.
"Believe it or not," Blake countered, "sometimes dying is an easier sacrifice to make than one you have to live with."
Shamus opened the door to the main briefing room. At that moment it was vacant. "Some of those people gave up most of what they had and lived their lives in isolation and near poverty for an ideal," he said as he followed Blake into the room.
"And some of them were hated by the very people they defended," Lee added, "especially the ICBM crews. They didn't even have the glory of flying to solace them."
"They were all martyrs," Blake stated. He took a seat and leaned back. He propped his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him. "They did their thankless jobs because they believed in their purpose."
The door opened again and Major Duncan entered with his elite crew in tow. They wore spotless, pressed uniforms and highly polished boots.
"I guess you are aware that we two are the only ships flying in this next segment," Duncan began. "That changes things slightly, but the major plan remains the same. We have to punch a hole through their fighters and keep the heavy ships preoccupied. We don't want them to get close enough to the Andromeda to destroy her."
"Once we get through their fighters, we shouldn't have to worry about them any more. Our own jocks will work them over. We can give our undivided attention to their battle craft. If we keep them busy enough, they will never see our own battle fleet until it is too late."
"How you going to hide all those destroyer?" Lee asked.
"The Whirlpool's ships are coming out of the sun with the whole asteroid field between them and the Syndicate ships. The sun, our own ECM systems and the millions of rock fragments will degrade their scans from that area."
"CCP?" Blake asked.
The ECM officer of the Wraith answered. "The cyber combat packages have been loaded with every antibody that we are aware of. In addition, we are setting a new virus in the CCP armament. We have far more experience with remotes. If the new Syndicate fighters are a form of drone, we may be able to infect their systems, and perhaps capture one."
The door opened again and a few jocks drifted in. They wordlessly took seats near the front of the room. Both VRAD crews seated themselves properly and quietly conversed as the room continued to fill.
Several of the younger jocks entered, flashed looks of hatred at the VRAD crews then glanced nervously at their seniors. Obviously they had been reprimanded for their previous attitudes.
There was surprisingly little said as the rest of the command staff entered. The commodore was absent and Colonel Pharr opened the meeting.
"Gentlemen, our moment of truth is here. Within the hour you will be launching against superior forces. It is your sole mission to get their attention, inflict as much collateral damage as possible, and return safely. If you can keep them occupied until our reinforcements arrive, we will gain a numerical advantage."
The General stepped down and yielded the podium to the senior fighter pilot. Roundhouse stepped up and outlined the jocks' mission objectives and strategies. "Mix it up with them," he urged. "After the VRADs' raid, they are down to comparable numbers and we should be able to face them on a one to one ratio. Don't tangle with their newer fighters solo. If they try to engage you, pair off and use the tactics we discussed earlier. If all else fails, lead them into the Andromeda's defensive envelope."
"Don't try to engage the heavier ships," Roundhouse warned. "That is what VRADs are for. Just keep the fighters occupied."
Roundhouse stepped down and Major Duncan replaced him. "When we launch," he told the jocks, "form up behind the two operational drones. We will use the drones to provide ECM cover and hide your numbers until we engage the enemy. We will use our heavier firepower to blast a hole in their fighter screens. That should throw them into a temporary chaos and give you an unmolested first shot at them. Once we get through, they are all yours. We will be going after the bigger fish."
Colonel Pharr resumed the podium. "If there are no questions, you are to proceed to your assignments."
Major Duncan eyed the people in the ready room. They had left the briefing and reported directly to the conference lounge next to the VRAD modules. Each occupant was in full battle dress with helmets in hand. Duncan had very few words to say.
"By no means are we safe," he reminded them. "The Andromeda is going into full combat with heavy battle craft. It is entirely possible that we could take crippling blows. Unfortunately all we have left are two drones. Even though the attack was a success, the others were beaten soundly by the enemy in our last raid."
"We can not afford to let fresh battle craft launch attacks on the Andromeda. As a last resort, you are to follow the Storm's lead and ram the enemy ships, but only as a last resort. Bandit and Dixie will be held in reserve for defense. So you will not be completely without backup. But considering their degraded status, they will not be much good."
Specter critically surveyed the seven people in his command. They were all aware of the stakes. "All right Ghost Squadron, go get em."
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