Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (56 page)

Even with FTL comms, which the
Enterprise
had but the fighters did not, controlling a battle at that range was beyond the realm of realism. He trusted his commanders to do what they had to do, and to know that he was going to get the
Enterprise
into the right position to end this fight.

“I want a diagnostics check on all point defense systems,” he said, mostly to keep people busy at this point.

He knew that everything was working. They’d been running drills ever since they were forced to flee Earth space over a month ago. What was broken had been repaired, and what was slow was now running as fast and smooth as he could hope for.

“All systems check green. Crews are performing hands-on checks now.”

“Good. The alien fighters are known to try kamikaze stunts. There can be
no
holes in our defensive screen,” he said. “We’re not a Priminae ship. One of those things will end us.”

“Yes sir.”

Carrow looked back over the numbers on his screens. “Rip them up, Wild Bill. End this.”

The passage of the two ranks of fighters was a nonevent in every way except the digital. In the black of space he couldn’t make out the dark-colored Vorpals of Bravo Flight, and the heat of their reactors was so high that the flames burned well past the visible spectrum.

The computers noted it, however, and that was all Bill needed.

“Lock them in, Alphas,” he ordered.

“They’re closer than I expected them,” Alpha Five said. “Positive lock! I’ve got halos.”

Others made similar comments, but Bill ignored them for a moment while he made sure that everyone was targeting their own picks and no one was doubling up. They had limited munitions as it was. It wouldn’t do to waste any.

“Roger that, Alphas,” he said a moment later, last second checks made. “Stand by to blossom after we fire.”

The range was falling fast, and he knew he didn’t have much time.

“Alpha One,” he said calmly, thumb sliding over the firing stud of the control stick. “Fox Three.”

The rest of the flight followed suit seconds later, as the twelve fighters of Alpha flight put thirty-six lightning space-to-space HVMs into the intervening area, then pulled out hard. The fighters of Alpha didn’t just turn around and burn back for the
Enterprise
, however; they exploded out in a blossom formation as they took a long curve around before they wound up pointing back the direction they had come from.

Less than a light-second away now, the first of the light HVMs struck true, and the dying began.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE CHEROKEE BANKED hard, using air resistance as well as counterthrust to slow as quickly as it could. The sudden and rapid deceleration was enough to slam everyone hard into their seats as the pilot leaned over and looked back over his shoulder.

“Captain, you may want to check this.”

Eric nodded, unbuckling, and made his way forward to where the pilots were nodding. He looked out over the copilot’s shoulder and whistled.

The city of Dallas was a mess, there was no questioning that. He could count a dozen ruined skyscrapers at a glance, and his armor warning systems were going nuts with all the high thermal points in motion across what remained.

“Damn. Do we have any contacts on the ground?”

“Yes sir. Rangers and Guardsmen have a forward base near Reunion Park,” the pilot told him. “They’re using it as a relay point for evacuees and a delivery zone for munitions drops.”

“Alright, good,” Eric said. “Get them on the line. I want to talk to whoever is in charge.”

“It’s a mess down there, sir,” the pilot said. “I
think
that a Texas Ranger is currently the man in charge.”

“Really? Alright, get a hold of him then.” Eric shrugged. “I don’t care who, I just need to talk with the person in charge.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Where do you want us?”

“I’ll let you know once we’ve had a chance to talk with the person in charge,” Eric said. “The question is going to be what can we do, not where can we do it.”

Ranger Swenson had seen a
lot
of shit in his day, but whatever the hell had happened to his city over the past four weeks topped everything he’d even seen in
movies
. The damn things came out of the sky. Alright, they were aliens. Sure, he’d watched the news, he knew that aliens existed, but they didn’t drop in on the Dallas/Fort Worth area and start
eating
the goddamn place!

Never, never had he even
imagined
anything like the nightmare they’d been dealing with for the past month. He was a goddamn ranger. He dealt with scum and villains of all stripes, from the lowest street filth to the most dangerous psychos in a state where insanity was considered part of the way of life.

“Ranger?”

“What is it,” Swenson looked around, seeing a Guardsman running up with a field comm.

“We’ve got a captain on the comm. Wants to talk to the person in charge.”

“Unless he has a division or two of troops he can lend me, tell him to take a number and wait in line,” Swenson growled. Three, four, sometimes five and more times a day some jackass with a chest full of medals, usually for piloting ROVs, was on the line trying to tell him how to handle the shit coming his way while he was standing right in the middle of the stream with nothing but a goddamn net.

“Sir, Ranger, he’s using presidential codes.”

“Oh fan-frigging-tastick,” Swenson sighed, reaching out for the comm. “Fine. Put the boy on.”

He grabbed the wireless comm, dropping it over his ear, and planted a foot on the cement barrier that was all that stood between himself and a thirty-story drop. The windows of just about every building in the city had been long since blown out.

“You’ve got Ranger Swenson. Make it good.”

“Weston,” the voice on the other side said simply. “I’m currently orbiting Dallas, a little north of your position. Your city
crawls,
Ranger.”

Swenson laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know, Weston.”

“The President gave an order, couple hours ago. Anything that crawls,
dies
.” The voice on the other side said, “Get your people out of the city, Swenson.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa . . .” Swenson leaned forward, glowering at no one. “What the hell are you saying, Weston?”

“I’m saying”—the voice paused a moment—“what I’m saying, Ranger, is that Dallas glows in the dark tonight. Whether you do or not depends on how far out of town you get.”

Swenson swore. “You can’t
DO
that!”

“It’s done.”

“It’s NOT done!”

Swenson was hollering into his comm, attracting the attention of everyone in the makeshift command center, and he didn’t give a damn. About fifteen Guardsmen, the remainder of an armored platoon that got torn to shreds on Young Street, started to circle around and look at each other nervously.

The remaining defenders of the city were mostly scattered, based out of whatever piece of crap building they could find that wasn’t being eaten at the time. They’d mostly been
driven to being little more than an underground railroad, of which the Reunion base was the last stop.

“Listen to me, you piece of shit, if you think I’m going to sit here and let you blow
my
city to hell and back, you’re out of your fucking mind.”