Sunlord (57 page)

"What the hell were you doing?" demanded Robinson.
"We have strict orders to remain under cover of the Berana's deck
canons until we are needed - yet you charged off without a thought
for command!"

Squadron five loomed closer as Richael slotted into
his position, brooding angrily. "That fighter was alone! I took him
out easily, and if I hadn't he would have met squadron two from
behind."

The Squadron Leader had tapped into the intercom and
he interrupted their conversation. "That is not for you to decide,
five-kappa. Keep close until we are given a vector." With a sharp
crack the voice cut out, only to be replaced by Robinson's.

"What is it with squadron two? That makes it three
times you've diverged into their path."

Richael was silent for a time before answering. "I
have friends in that unit," he at last said. "I trained with some
good friends there, and I can't let them go into battle without
me."

"Well, you're stuck in squad five now so get used to
it. We've just been patched a vector - it's in your computer
now."

Immediately the eleven small fighters darted into
life in a tight formation. Richael tweaked the last few touches to
the joystick, keeping the nose of his ship just two metres from the
leading craft. Activity had put though to the back of his mind, but
still he felt anxious about his fellows of squadron two. Blinking
harshly he forced himself to concentrate as his squadron at last
met with solid opposition.

The clash was harsher than any he had expected. His
pivoting seat swung upside down as he pulled back on the stick,
flicking the safety off the fire button as a mass of Sova-1's
darted past his nose. Inertia ruled in space, and it was with
practiced ease that Richael spun about, applying just enough engine
power to arrest his former motion and bring him around in a lazy
circle.

His thumb pressed down and twin lasers shone.

"What the -!"

Robinson snapped alert. "What happened?"

Richael was still shaky. "A Minnow came between me
and my target...damn near blasted his retro's clean off." The image
flashed again in his mind's eye, and he knew he had come within a
split-second of accidentally destroying a fellow Minnow. Richael
applied more power, the acceleration pressing him into the back of
his seat, giving him a little more clear space.

"Three Minnows from our squadron have gone down,"
reported Robinson from the back seat.

Biting his lower lip Richael plunged into the fray at
full power, drifting sideways a little in the watery weightless of
space. A grey metal shape flashed before his scope and he pressed
the fire button, blasting a way clear through the mass of Hartrias
ships. His craft bucked, and then suddenly they were through the
other side, shaken but unharmed.

"You managed to pick off a Sova-1," observed
Robinson, his voice holding an element of satisfaction. "Hold on!
I've multiple readings from sector seven!"

Richael was in a world of his own now. Training
drilled into his reflexes controlled his motions as he redirected
power towards engines and ordered his navigator to lock in on the
nearest target. The large rear engine glowed white-hot fed by the
compact fission reactor, spitting a wash of invisible
radio-activity in its wake. Richael fed power to the underside
retros and his Minnow arced around, stars spinning dizzily past the
viewscreen.

"Locked!"

Richael heard the cry from his navigator at the same
time the Sova-1 flashed before his eyes. In that split second
before he depressed the red plastic button atop the joystick he saw
the stripe markings denoting the Hartrias ship's squadron and the
worn grey of its hull. A moment later it was a fireball, metallic
debris flung outwards like shrapnel from a landmine.

The craft shook and Richael felt a definite slewing
from underneath his seat. Displays dropped markedly and digital
displays ran downwards in a confusing blur.

"We're losing air pressure!"

Richael tried to remain calm as he manoeuvred the
stricken Minnow away from the advancing enemy. He focused just
before his nose and the heads up display sharpened into focus. "How
did it happen?"

Robinson's voice did not respond immediately.
"Something's grazed us on port side. The leak has been
localised."

Exhaling heavily, Richael felt an irresistible urge
to pull aside his full-face helmet and wipe away the sticky
perspiration from his forehead. Knowing this was impossible he
gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. "That had me worried."

"You and me both," came Robinson's voice over the
earset.

A quick burst from the side retros pivoted the Minnow
like the opposite turning of a tank's tracks. Applying main engine
power Richael discovered, with a mix of dismay and relief, that the
band of Hartrias fighters was retreating. After running a check
program to ensure his craft was operational Richael sought after
his fellow wingmen.

"We've new orders." Robinson paused as his screen
filled with a three dimensional map. "We pull back to the
Berana."

"But the Sova's are retreating," responded Richael.
"We can follow after and evade their mother-ship's lasers." Richael
knew that the primary purpose of a fighter craft was to operate as
a kind of guided missile that would dodge a battleship's laser
defences and, moving slowly, penetrate the electro-shielding that
would otherwise deflect a laser blow. Once inside this shield the
fighter would deploy short-range missiles against the battleship.
Richael was watching his screen. "If we follow after squadron two
we can hurt that Hartrias bitc-"

"Follow the orders, Flightman," said Robinson
levelly. "Pull back. The Berana is charging the planet even as we
speak."

The Federation ship disappeared from the radar.

Force Master Loakar slammed his burly fist down, claw
extended, as a sudden buzz of activity broke out on the control
deck of the Rplore. "Where have they gone?" he demanded.

He had been in the process of ordering his craft
around to position itself between the stranded Urisa and the
incoming enemy. That was when the holographic radar simply failed
to show the three class battle craft.

"Did they drop into jumpspace?"

Adviser De'olorn shook his head. "Skeeter's
blanketing technology."

Loakar spun about, his gaze affixing to that of the
robed Adviser. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"Confidential spy reports came in several standards
ago," replied De'olorn, sunken eyes shadowed as his brows furrowed.
"But none of our informants knew it had already been
implemented."

"Their alliance to the humans should never have been
permitted!" There was a short buzzing from the console of Captain
Loakar's chair a moment before Weaponsmaster Treah's face appeared
on the commlink. Loakar held Treah on hold for a moment.

"Have you any suggestions what we should do to combat
this?" he asked of De'olorn.

The Adviser bowed his head slightly, shadowing his
face beneath the heavy hood of his robe to indicate declination.
Loakar turned his attention to the console and punched the activate
button, bringing the sounds of the flight deck bawling through the
speakers.

"-kar! The scout squadron has been destroyed and the
defence region has been invaded. I've ordered twelve more squadrons
of Sova-1's to be launched but they have no chance against that
enemy frigate's laser."

"Keep them close to the Urisa," said Loakar into the
recessed microphone as soon as the dirtied, chiselled visage of the
Weaponsmaster fell silent. "They are to intercept and destroy any
Federation fighters. The Urisa is to be defended at all costs."

Weaponsmaster Treah nodded. "A field of auto mines
has just been set."

"Double them," growled the Force Master. "Without
shields just one of their torpedo's getting through will mean the
end of the Urisa. Also, I want one hundred SGT's spreading the
area. The Federation ship has gone stealth and I want it found -
now!"

"Yes, sir." Treah paused. "The remaining Daml bombers
are on standby-"

"Launch them," interrupted Loakar, already moving to
the intercom switch. "I want every available craft scrambled and
awaiting orders!" With a quick motion he flipped the switch and the
holographic image of the Weaponsmaster disappeared to be replaced
by that of another Hartrias officer. The officer seemed momentarily
surprised but rallied quickly.

"Force Master Loakar, sir," he stuttered.

Loakar studied the officer briefly. He wore a
half-battle suit with the visor unclasped, grime and dust covering
the armoured shoulders and breastplate. Behind the officer open sky
could be seen and numerous robots and workers crossed across the
field of view as they went about their tasks.

"Base Controller Seven," Loakar began. "Status
report?"

There was a brief pause as the officer conferred with
something offscreen. In those few seconds background noises of
drills and machinery drifted through into the Rplore's bridge as
Loakar tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of the control
chair. Then the officer returned, holding a piece of computer paper
held between heavily gloved hands, flapping in the wind.

"The Skycannon is operational. Power is due to be
connected in fo-"

"Do it now," put in Loakar. "We are under enemy fire
and I want that planet defended at all costs. Your Skycannon is the
only one functional so I want the tech's to widen the range and
prepare for invasion."

The officer seemed taken aback with news of the
sudden attack. "Y-yessir."

Loakar filled the officer in with some technical
details and instructions before switching off the communicator. The
semi-darkness of the bridge again captured his attention once again
- the radar showing the spreading blanket of SGT scout pods,
relaying a row of digits that flashed across the top of the panel.
But still the invisible Federation ships had avoided detection.
Irregular beeps broke the silence as the crew worked quickly but
without panic.

"We have them!" came the shout.

Loakar sat bolt upright, eyes glued to the radar.
Suddenly a strong blip dropped into sight as one of the SGT's came
in contact with the Federation ship. Loakar saw the enemy ship had
moved farther than he had anticipated.

"Accelerate to put us in front of the Urisa!" he
ordered. "Have scout squadrons of Sova-1's attack first, then a
wave of Daml bombers." Loakar hunted for a moment then punched a
green, illuminated button. "Weasponsmaster Treah - take the
offensive."

Chapter Eighteen

Front Line.

If I were fierce and bald and
short of breath,

I'd live with scarlet Majors at
the Base,

And speed glum heroes up the line
to death.

- Siegfried Sassoon.

"At this speed they won't be able to slow in time."
Mitchell exasperated. "Even at full decelerating thrust collision
speed will be mark oh two."

Captain Lockhart shook his head. "Keep us behind the
Lanceman. We've got to be ready."

Subman Mitchell tore the headphones from his ears.
"For what? The Scoipre is a scout, not a battleship. We should
retire to a safe vantage while the Berana makes contact."

"Although I encourage personal opinions aboard my
ship I will not have an astrogator giving me orders during battle,"
said Lockhart.

"Sir, I think Mitchell has a point."

Lockhart spun about in surprise. "What is it,
Lieutenant?"

Loriena swept back her thick black hair before
pointing to a flat-map display on her console. "There are only two
Hartrias ships, and they are keeping close together and in tight
orbit. Now, if there is only two ships guarding the most valuable
prize in the universe-"

"Where is the rest of the Royal Fleet," finished
Lockhart. He paused. "Give me a full screen display of our position
and Mitchell, pull us away from the Berana and set for
vector..."

The map blinked onto the main screen. Lockhart barked
for a plot of incoming jumptunnels, and a second later the spider's
web like map overlayed it. Muttering almost to himself, Lockhart
considered the most advantageous drop-point.

"If I were leading that Hartrias fleet I'd come up
here," he mused. "Directly to the rear of the Berana." He spun to
the astrogator. "Set vector 278 mark 134 - maximum thrust. If your
hunch is right," he nodded in Loriena's direction, "this is an
elaborate trap for the Federation ships. As soon as the Hartrias
drop from jumpspace we've got to warn the Berana." He then turned
to Mitchell. "Looks like you've got your way, after all."

Mitchell turned back to his console wordlessly. He
knew that they were not pulling away from a battle - rather they
were heading for the point where two tremendous factions would war.
Caught between, the Scoipre would have to act as the Federation's
eyes and ears.

The Scoipre about-faced and applied thrust to reverse
it's motion, the massive steel bulk of the three Federation
battleships pulling away into starry space. Once again the Scoipre
was alone.

"The battle has just been joined," reported Tech
Officer Waterly, pressing a hand to the speaker in his ear. His
voice paled. "Oh my God...this frequency is just chaos. Everything
is just happening at once; the Lanceman is hit."

Lockhart ordered the intership comm-line to be put
over the bridge speakers. In the space of a few minutes the square
jawed Captain heard reports of over two thousand lives lost betwixt
showers of static and bawling orders.

Suddenly the attention of all those aboard the small
scout craft snapped away from that almost unreal sounding report of
disaster. Alarms flashing on nearly every console, Subman Mitchell
pivoted his head towards the Captain, his grey eyes cold.