The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2) (16 page)

Two male bridge officers shared a wide-eyed look at the sound of Hex’s voice over the comm. Nothing escaped the XO’s roaming eyes on the bridge. “So, she’s a bit of a predator herself, I take it,” Plaas said to himself.

“Well done,” Rox said. “Now see if you can keep up.” She twisted the stick, sending her Wasp into a tornado-like spin upward, rotating and revolving at the same time. The other pilots fought with their controls to keep up.

“There’s little instinct involved here, you know,” she said after they had formed up behind her again. “We’ll never engage at this range, but I’m glad to see you’re adapting to reaction control.”

Captain Long’s voice came over the comm, “Coming up on target in thirty.”

“Acknowledged,” Rox said. “Line formation, starboard!”

Wolf moved up to the position directly to Rox’s right, with Hex and Bowman maneuvering to his right.

“Good. Now, Hex, Bowman, break off, five miles to port, and follow us in. Remember your velocity. We’re
relative
here to the Lex, not to the Moon!”

Wolf watched with magnification as Hex and Bowman banked down and left and quickly became points of light.

“Here we go, Wolf,” Rox said.

Over the comm, they heard the captain’s hail. “Attention unidentified ship. This is Captain Long of the UNS Lexington. Identify yourselves or activate your ID transponders.”

The two SF-100 Wasps slowed as they approached the mated ships that were their potential targets. The larger of the two was a lot bigger than expected.

“Lexington, Rox, got a visual here.”

“Rox, Lexington Actual, what do you see?”

“Lexington, I see a large freighter. Looks bigger than Promise class, not familiar with the design. The mated ship is—”

“
Incoming!
” Wolf yelled.

“Rox, Lexington Actual, we’re tracking two missiles on you.”

“Wolf,
evasive,
break!
Weapons free,” Rox said, breaking right as her wingman broke left at maximum thrust.

The rest of the pilots in the fighter wing back on Lexington leaped from their seats in the ready room, swearing and howling with frustration. The bridge officers could hear them through the bulkhead.

The walls and ceiling of the ready room were continuous screens that could be configured for any tactical display. The position of every craft in the vicinity was visible with ID and details. The front wall of the ready room showed video from each pilot’s point-of-view. There was nothing they could do but watch and learn—and hope no one caught a stray missile.

Back on the bridge, the captain leaned in to the XO, “There’s nothing more frustrating than being left behind during a hunt.”

Plaas nodded, eyes seemingly on fire with anticipation.

One of the junior officers whispered to another, “I can relate to that, their friends are out there.”

“Not only that,” the other said, “but we can’t afford to lose a fighter, either. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but the birds are more valuable than pilots right now.”

“Stow it,” the XO said, walking by quietly, and the two men quickly returned to their duty stations.

The smaller ship detached from the freighter and began accelerating toward the horizon.

“They’re magnetic,” Rox said over the radio, with a missile still tracking her. “Where
the hell
did these scavengers get military ordnance?”

“Magnetic?” Wolf said. “What do you mean?”

“They’re tracking your radiation shields,” Hex suggested.

“Can we switch them off?” Wolf said. “A few minutes wouldn’t be a problem. I’d rather take some rads than a missile up my arse—”

The missile tracking Wolf exploded a quarter mile behind him. There was no sound or fireball, it just winked out. “Got it!” Bowman yelled and he and Hex came around the other side of the freighter.

Rox had rotated her ship a full one-eighty so she was facing the small predator. “Target that,” she told the ship, looking at the missile.

“Locked,” the ship said.

She thumbed the weapon selector. A Wasp could carry several types of ordnance. The standard loadout called for a wing leader with depth and a wingman with breadth—depth being a
lot
of the same, and breadth being a variety. In Rox’s case, depth meant sixteen SLAMs (space light autonomous missiles) and two MCGLs (multiple capacitor gigawatt lasers), while Wolf carried two SHAMs (space heavy autonomous missiles), eight SLAMs, and one MCGL. They wouldn’t likely encounter a capital ship since no one but the UNSC had the capability, but they brought at least one heavy missile on every mission anyway—for Murphy’s sake, if not the odd asteroid.

She activated the MCGL and pulled the trigger. Her augmented helmet showed the gun tips and highlighted the invisible laser bursts in red using virtual tracers. She
saw
the invisible beams. Every pulse was a thunderous burst of power that felt like a sledgehammer striking a blacksmith’s anvil twice per second—
bam-bam, bam-bam, bam-bam
. Every shot vibrated through the cockpit and pilot’s seat.

The missile disintegrated in a half second under the barrage.

“Oh . . . my . . .
God
!” she said excitedly. Fortunately, her wing channel was active so the comment didn’t reach the Lexington.

“What’s wrong?” Wolf said from off to her left. stupid

“Oh . . .” Rox said in a hoarse whisper, squeezing hard on the control stick in her gloved right hand, “wow.”

Rox’s awareness shifted between the physicality of her cockpit seat and the wide-open augmented view. She squeezed her eyes shut to shake it off and regain her senses, despite a desire to keep firing. She felt powerful sitting in the cockpit. Combat already brought out extreme emotions
without
the thrusts of the McGhoul.

“The simulators just don’t. . . .”

From the bridge of the Lexington, Captain Long watched on magnification as the tip of the missile briefly glowed red and then exploded. He was furious that someone had fired on his people.

“Goddammit! Hail that ship again!” the captain ordered.

“Frequency open, sir,” Devlin said.

“Attention hostile vessel. Stand down
immediately
or you will be fired upon!”

A few seconds later, he said, “Anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Two more missiles inbound!” an officer at the RADAR station announced.

“They’re headed for the Lexington,” Rox said. “We’ll get ‘em. Closest ship, engage!”

Long turned to his XO, “Commander, lock on that bastard and ready the FHML”—pronouncing it
fee-mal.

“Yes, sir!”

Plaas nodded the tactical officer, who said, “Target locked. She’s trying for the horizon.”

Wolf locked onto one of the missiles and squeezed off a burst from his McGhoul. Bowman mirrored his maneuver from a mile away and the second missile disintegrated.

The captain looked at the screen showing the hostile ship moving away at full thrust toward the horizon, with its three engines glowing bright blue.

“Fighter wing, Lexington Actual. Fall back, regroup at the freighter,” Long said.

“Roger,” Rox confirmed.

“Hoping to put the moon between us, looks like,” Plaas said.

“Range?” Long asked.

“Eight miles and continuing to accelerate,” the tactical officer said.

“Feemal?” Long said.

“Ready,” Plaas replied.

“Very well, fire,” Long said coolly.

The front heavy mount laser was mounted to the ship’s spine. It shared a capacitor array with three HMLs on the port, three on starboard, and one at the rear, any one of which could be fired at full or partial power. A dozen light mounts on each side shared a separate capacitor array with less density but a faster charge rate—suitable for anti-aircraft and anti-missile duty. The Illustrious-class cruiser also bristled with heavy and light missile tubes. In Captain Long’s opinion, she was more battlecruiser than carrier.

The FHML beam was invisible even at long range. The tactical officer wore an augmentation helmet that showed the beam cross the miles.

The Lexington’s hull absorbed the vibrations coming from the weapon but the crew could still feel a low buzz vibrate through the deck while it fired.

The fleeing ship visibly jolted and began to tumble. At maximum magnification, Long could see a piece of the ship’s hull come apart.

“Direct hit,” said the tactical officer. The bridge crew broke discipline to cheer.

“As you were!” the XO said.

The captain nodded and smiled, allowing the release of tension. “Good job, people.” He then hit the intercom button. “Commander Pierce, prepare two search-and-recovery teams. Priority on the freighter.”

“Aye, sir, already prepped and ready to go,” said William Pierce, callsign “Buck”.

“Very well, launch when ready,” Long said. Then he turned to Devlin at the comm station, “Ship to ship.”

“Channel open,” Devlin said.

“Rox, Lexington, did you catch that?”

“Lexington Actual, Rox, loud and clear, sir! Nice to see the big guns at work. Although, I would have preferred to take them out myself.”

“Very well, sweep the area, and cycle your pilots every hour on the hour. We’ll be here for a while sorting out this mess.”

“Roger that, Lexington. Hex, Bowman, go give us eyes on the wreckage and prepare to escort the grunts.”

“Will do,” Hex said.

“On the way,” Bowman said.

Chapter 16
A Piece of the Action

“
Captain, a word, please
,” Cmdr. Plaas said.

“What is it?” the captain said, walking over to the XO.

Plaas showed him the alert message, declaring a state of national emergency in the United States, with details on the destruction of Palo Alto, California.

The captain turned pale. He leaned back on the bridge railing and almost lost his footing.

“
My God
, Bel! It’s
war
!” the captain whispered.

Plaas massaged his temples and shook his head. “What do you want to do?”

“We have people engaged in this mission. We have to keep it under wraps until the mission is over. Then we’ll inform department heads.”

“We
have
to tell the crew. We can’t keep them in the dark, and they’ll find out eventually anyway,” Plaas said.

“I want to inform officers first. Keep this news private until we meet with them.”

“Understood,” the XO confirmed.

The Lexington had two troop shuttles on board. By engineering necessity, the ST-1 Beetle had to be physically compatible with the SF-100 Wasp, sharing the launch bays and maintenance facilities. Standardizing on spacecraft size reduced complexity across the board in the cruiser’s design.

The ST-1 and SF-100 shared the same engine but that’s where the similarities ended. While the fighter was nimble, pivoting at the cockpit, the transport was gawky and sluggish, designed to cram as many troopers on board its small frame as possible. Since troopers were trained for zero gee and wore EMC armored suits, the pilots could close the cockpit access door when the rear hatch was open. There was no room for an airlock, but an unsuited person could be ferried as long as the hatch was kept closed.

Lieutenant Brick Landers, callsign “Hotrod” said, “I don’t get the name. I mean, what the hell does this rig have in common with a beetle?”

Lieutenant Lacy Kent, callsign “Breaker” said, “Hotrod, you’re just pissed that you got assault duty. I, for one, would rather be here than pacing the floor back in the ready room. Uh, sorry, guys.”

A cheer came over the comm from the few remaining pilots in the Lexington wing, along with a few expletives.

“Yeah, why don’t you guys clean up the place or something? Make yourselves useful,” Lacy Kent said, teasing.

“You’re killing me here, Breaker. Why are you such a tease?” came an unannounced voice over the comm. It was Lieutenant Nashone Jackson, callsign “Reb”, flying co-pilot beside Lieutenant Ricky Sanderson, callsign “Stone”, in the other Beetle.

Lacy Kent rolled her eyes inside her helmet. The body language was useless but
she
got something out of it. She was piloting the second Beetle with Landers as co-pilot. “Why’s that, Reb, dear?” She smiled devilishly, winked at Landers, and adopted a husky voice. “Does my
voice
upset you, Jackson?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it’s very distracting,” Jackson said. “Rox, you’ve
got
to keep me and Breaker together from now on, sir! What if I crash land on some alien planet without her?”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Lacy Kent said.

“Reb, just keep piloting that rig and leave Breaker alone,” Marjorie  said. “Or do you want harassment on your record?”

“Harassment? Who’s harassing anyone? I’m in
love
, sir,” Jackson said.

“It’s within your right to press charges, Breaker,” Marjorie said.

“Hell, no, Rox! Not when I’ve got him all hot and bothered. Easier to control that way,” Lacy Kent said.

Nash Jackson blushed behind his helmet. “Now who’s being harassed?”

“I think Hotrod knows where my affections truly lie,” Kent added. “I told him in the shower this morning, Reb.”

Hoots and howls came over the comm from the benched crew.

“Goddammit, Hotrod!” Jackson said. “I’m gonna kill you!”

“Hey, whoa,” Brick Landers said, “reverse thrust! Keep me out of your lover’s spat!”

“I’m surrounded by juveniles,” Ricky Sanderson, callsign “Stone”, whispered over the comm, speaking for the first time since launch. “Rox excluded, of course, sir.”

“Alright, people, bring it down a notch,” Marjorie said.

“I deny all of this. I’m being defamed and slandered!” Brick Landers said.

Cristina Ramos took the moment of silence as an opening. “If you truck drivers are done blowing each other, we
fighter pilots
would like to get back to the job at hand.”

“Whoa!” Stone said.

“I admit it, I’m a little hot and bothered right now,” Jeff Black said.

“I know just what you need, Hotrod,” Kent retorted. “Couple of my boys in the back here said they’d love to tag-team you.”

“Your boys? Don’t you mean your
freight
?” Landers said. “And, for the record, the only tag teaming I’ll be doing is with—”

Jeff Black interrupted, “You guys know we all have to live together after this mission, right?”

“Just blowing off some steam, Bowman,” Landers said. “But you can come too, if you want.”

“Did you hear that, Reb?” Kent said. “You know I love
you
, right, darling?”

“Just leave me in peace, would you mind, you heartbreaker?” Jackson said plaintively.

“Sounds like he just cried
uncle
,” Kent said.

“Okay, cut the chatter, people, we’re going to full comm now,” Marjorie said. “Hotrod, Breaker, you’re designated Beetle One. Hex and Bowman have your six. You’re heading out to the live ship.”

“Roger,” Hotrod said.

“Copy,” Hex said.

“Stone, Reb, you’re designated Beetle Two. Rox and Wolf have your six,” Marjorie said. “We’re right behind you. We’re checking out the derelict.”

“Copy that, Rox, we’re heading in,” Breaker said.

“Lexington, Rox, we’re sorted and under way.”

“Rox, Lexington Actual, roger that. Buck, are your troopers ready?”

“Locked and loaded, captain,” Buck said from the rear compartment of Beetle One.

The Beetle was cramped with Troopers and equipment.

“Alright, troopers,” Cmdr. Buck Pierce shouted, standing in the middle of the aisle to address his men. He hit a comm button to link them up to Beetle Two. “Expect light resistance but be ready for anything. These scumbags have already demonstrated the capability and will to fire on our ships, so they likely have the capability and will to fire on our persons.
If
they’re still alive.”

“Our persons, commander?” Private First Class Deck Willard asked.

Master Sergeant Alfred Connor stood in the rear, holding an overhead strap—entirely by habit, as there was no turbulence. “PFC Willard, do not interrupt the commander.”

Willard’s eye bugged out. “Sorry, sir! Yes, sir!”

“Men,” Buck said, reasserting his authority, “these are civilians, remember that. We can’t always charge in, guns blazing. You have to think like a cop, like a SWAT member, not a take-ground trooper. Not always. That indecision will hamper you. I realize that. But you are
troopers
! The best-trained marines in the world!

“Your reflexes are unmatched. Fire when fired upon, not before. That’s the rule of engagement out here. And, whenever possible, we use NLPs. Brass doesn’t want bad guys cut down. They want us to bring them in, make an example of them. Lots of wanna-be pirates and mercs going rogue. They come up from Earthside on corporate contracts and bail. We want them to know there’s a high price for skipping out! Oorah?”

“Oorah!”

MSgt Alfred Connor hated that battle cry but kept that opinion to himself. In fact, he kept most opinions to himself, since some would get him ejected from duty. He knew it, no question about it. He also knew that was pretty common among aged troopers, and that’s why new recruits were so essential to the operation of the outfit. Teenage boys, too young and dumb to recognize bullshit when they step in it.

But young men loved the service, the glory, the glittery-eyed girls at port. Who the hell was he to get in their way? Hadn’t he been one of them at one time, long ago? Every young man should have the right and privilege to be a dumbass for a while, and enjoy the privileges that came with it.

“Two minutes,” Hotrod announced from the cockpit.

The troopers wore skintight battle suits with molded nanofiber armor plates that could stop a few bullets or low-power laser shots while still allowing good mobility. The suits were not pressurized but could still protect a trooper in hard vacuum.

Beetle Two arrived at the derelict while Beetle One was still en route to the disabled ship farther away. The troopers engaged their augmentation helmets, which fed video and stats to the troop commander and to the Lexington. Stone brought Beetle Two in close to the derelict as it gently rolled in space. On the bridge of the Lexington, Cmdr. Plaas stood next to Captain Long in front of a screen showing the video feed from Beetle One. Plaas pointed to the ship and nodded as the computer displayed the class recognition data.

“Promise class,” the captain said.

“Yes, or, it used to be,” the XO said. “But look there, and there,” he said, pointing to odd parts of the ship. “Highly modified, hardly anything left of the original.”

“Looks like a couple of ships hobbled together,” the captain said. “There,” he said, pointing to the rear engine nozzles. “High-temp nozzles, next to the originals.”

Plaas nodded. “If she’s got high-end engine upgrades, it’s a sure bet—”

“Weapons?” the captain suggested.

“Right, I would be surprised if she didn’t. This is a high-end predator.”

“Exactly why
we’re
out here,” Long said, as if finally finding the proof he needed to justify his career. Plaas smiled at him. They didn’t need to prove
anything
, but sending this data back to the UN Security Council was good for PR.

“The commandant will love this stuff,” Plaas added, knowing that the captain knew what he was driving at. Anyone who spends decades in the service knows how important it is to impress the brass from time to time, especially during annual budget negotiations—which was coming up soon.

Beetle Two rotated as they came around to the large cargo hatch. Stone blipped the maneuvering thrusters to bring them in as close as possible. “Alright, troopers,” Stone said from the now-sealed cockpit, “this is as close as we can get. The ship is rotating so you’ll have to
do your stuff
since we can’t move right up to the hatch. Commander Pierce, the hatch is at your command.”

“Open hatch,” Buck replied.

“Roger, opening hatch,” Stone said.

MSgt Connor was still grasping the overhead handhold. As the hatch began to open, he rotated and kicked the hatch the rest of the way. “Alright, troopers, here we go! Biggs, Helsberg, you’re up, get the cargo hatch open.”

Biggs elbowed his way to the opening beside Connor. Without a second thought, he knelt down at the edge of the floor and used it to spring away as he leaped toward the derelict ship. His timing was good. He crossed the open space between the two ships—about thirty yards—and grasped a handhold on the ship’s belly just beneath the cargo hatch. His combat suit had limited maneuvering capability but the jets borrowed his oxygen supply—something no trooper was eager to use. Skill was the name of the game. Hit your target the first time with little room for error.

Helsberg leaped as soon as Biggs made contact and landed right on top of the cargo hatch.

“Good work, you two. Glad I didn’t have to send Willard into open space after you,” MSgt Connor said in an authoritarian voice.

Willard stood, looking petrified. “Open space, sir? But . . . but . . .”

Connor snorted out a short laugh. “Greener than my tomato plants back home.”

The troop commander had taken the seat nearest the cockpit where he could use a built-in screen on the wall. He would stay in his combat suit in the open transport hold of the Beetle until his people returned safely. He would respond instantly if the team needed another body, since his presence on the ship left MSgt. Connon down a man.

“Beetle One, report. Master sergeant, what’s your status?” Cmdr. Pierce transmitted.

“We’re on site, sir,” MSgt. Thatcher Smith replied over radio from the other ship. “The pilots are maneuvering us into position over the central docking port.”

As the master sergeant said this, the ship gently touched the other and the docking clamps grabbed hold. From the cockpit, Hotrod said, “We’re in position, troopers. The hatches are in sync, but you’ll have to open the other hatch manually as we have a red light on power.”

“That’s it, gents, get the hatch open,” MSgt. Smith said. “Hatch open, commander. We’re going in.”

“Roger,” Buck said over the radio. “Keep me informed of your progress.”