Here it is: Chapter Four.
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Chapter Four: Action Stations
Justin Overstreet set his P-64 Ferret down on the Antietam’s deck, Pete Decker and Nikita Gorbunov’s came a moment later. With a sigh, he clambered down the egress ladder and barely acknowledged Rachel’s, “ Great flying, Chief.” She was nice enough to greet him after long and harrowing missions, but this hadn’t been one and he just didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Maybe it had to do with the lack of alcohol, he didn’t know, but he just felt like locking himself up in his cabin and falling fast asleep, never to wake up again. But the problem with that was that he just couldn’t sleep! Every time he closed his eyes he would suddenly jerk back awake, his mind swimming with the tremendous fireball that had engulfed the TCS Jak Bo’rah. Everyone kept telling him that it was not his fault for not catching that Grikath, but for some reason he just couldn’t believe that. I could’ve stopped that Cat bastard, he thought, making his way toward debriefing, I should’ve stopped him.
When he was through with Captain Shelby, Gnome told him, “ Lieutenant Overstreet, Captain Ruth has asked that you relay what you just told me to him in person. He’s waiting on the bridge for you.” Justin quickly removed his flight gear and headed up toward the Antietam’s control deck.
He saluted Donald Ruth when he found the C.O. conversing with Warren Jerome and Casper Drake by a map board. He held the salute until Ruth acknowledged him.
“ Ah, Lieutenant Overstreet,” he greeted, returning the salute. “ I’ve asked for a brief run-down of your mission today.”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ So, what did you find, Lieutenant?”
Justin paused before answering. “ Well, Major Edison assigned Echo Wing to patrol the Trk’Harna System in search for Korag’s asteroid base, since the Antietam had lost contact with the other Ghorah Khar rebels shortly after… the Jak Bo’rah was destroyed.” He could not help the bitter tone that had crept into his voice then. “ Anyway, we encountered a wing of Jalkehis at Nav One, a pair of Drakhris at Nav Two…”
“ And did you find the base?” Ruth prodded.
Justin nodded grimly. “ In pieces, sir. Looks like the local Imperial forces found her and blew her out of space. She was lightly armed, sir, the Kilrathi must have had one hell of a grand time picking her apart. It’s a damn shame.”
“ Dammit, this mission has had one disaster after another!” Ruth ground out, slamming a fist upon the map table. “ I wonder if Admiral Halsey knew the trouble we’d be facing here in Trk’Harna, and just didn’t have the heart to tell us.” He chuckled grimly. “ But it’s not like old Ted to try to spare anyone’s feelings. He’s as cold and callous as they come.” Ruth looked back up at Justin. “ That’s all, Lieutenant Overstreet, I’ll call you if I need any more- -”
Suddenly, John Noble stuck his head into the bridge, his dark eyes wide. “ Sorry to interrupt, Captain Ruth,” he said, holding his right hand up to his brow in a salute,
“ but Major Edison sent me up here to tell you that we have some problems in Pilots’ Country!”
“ What? With whom, Major?” Donald asked, just slightly annoyed.
Noble sighed. “ Lieutenant Gorbunov… and one of the Kilrathi, sir.”
“ Son of a bitch!” the Antietam’s C.O. snapped under his breath, brushing past Justin and heading for the bridge’s exit. MadDog was close on his captain’s heels, following the older man toward the rec room. Sure enough, when they got there, they could here shouting from out in the hallway.
When they entered the lounge, Justin saw Boyar looking up at a tall, golden-furred Kilrathi, his face flushed with anger. He clutched a broken bottle in one hand, and looked very ready to use it on the big alien. “ You fucker, how dare you!?” Nikita was yelling. “ I’ll tear out your black guts, you son of a bitch!”
Meanwhile, Douglas Edison was trying to talk some since into his subordinate.
“ Lieutenant, goddammit, put the bottle down. This is crazy. No one needs to be hurt here. Just put the bottle down. We’ll talk about this.”
But Boyar wouldn’t have it. “ Back off, Major, or I’ll kill you, too! Don’t fucking try me, you bastard! You’re on his side! You’re all on his side!”
Ruth burst into the rec room and walked boldly up to the furious pilot. He leaned in close to Major Edison. “ What’s going on, Doug?” he asked.
Doug spread his hands in confusion. “ You got me, Captain. I came in and there he was, prepared to kill First Fang Tak’Kar nar Hhallas there. According to some of my pilots, it all started with an argument about the social structure of Terran society. Apparently, some of Tak’Kar’s views didn’t bode too well with Lieutenant Gorbunov and he went off.”
The Captain nodded in understanding and turned toward the murderous young pilot. “ Nikita, what’s the problem?”
Boyar pointed his broken bottle at Tak’Kar’s abdomen. “ This motherfucker is a madman. He drags his furry ass on the Antietam and expects to be treated like one of us, when he’s just some hairy monster from another world. He can’t be like us, he never will be!”
“ Tak’Kar?”
The big Kilrathi pilot growled low under his throat before replying, “ I thought you Terrans appreciated freedom of speech, but this sa’guk here is trying to slaughter me for my views. If you know what is good for your ship, Captain Ruth, then you will blow this cub out of the airlock!”
“ I’ll fucking kill you!” Boyar shouted, straining against Ruth’s arms.
Tak’Kar chuckled. “ Do it, you sniveling tuka,” he spat.
With a roar of animalistic fury that made him seem almost Kilrathi himself, Boyar brushed past Donald and dove at Tak’Kar, his ad hoc weapon poised over his head. The Ghorah Khar rebel tried to dodge, but Boyar had already taken a large chunk of bloodied fur and flesh from his arm. Justin dove on Gorbunov, tackling the fiery pilot to the ground. Boyar swore a blue streak as he fought against Justin. “ You’re only hurting yourself, Nik!” he yelled, hoping to knock some sense into the other man, just before Nikita lashed out with a foot, catching Justin in a rather sensitive area. “ Oof!” he spat, crumpling to the ground.
Major Edison, Pete, and Captain Ruth took over then, piling atop Boyar and pinning his arms back. Going over to the intercom, Ruth hollered, “ Commander, get a security team down to P.C. immediately to throw Lieutenant Gorbunov into the brig!” By the time the MPs arrived on the scene and dragged away a furious Boyar, Justin had collected himself and was crawling over to Tak’Kar, who was slumped against the bar.
He helped drag the big Kilrathi to his feet, asking, “ You okay, man?”
Tak’Kar shook off Justin’s grip and looked down at his mangled arm in dismay. He narrowed his cat-like gaze at Lieutenant Overstreet. “ Next time, keep a better handle on your pilots, or someone may end up dead!” And with that he brushed past Justin, in search of the medical facilities.
Things slowly got back to normal in the rec room, but gloomily Justin sidled up to the bar, his face buried in his hands. He felt like crying almost, but held composure. When he had been at the Academy all those years ago, he had never imagined it like this. He had almost been like Paul Tucker then, looking forward to action and adventure. But life wasn’t a holovid. It didn’t always turn out with the good guys the victors.
“ Don’t listen to that furry bastard, lad,” Joe said with a smile. “ ‘Tis not your fault.”
Justin sighed. “ Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot lately, Joe.”
“ Here, maybe you can use this.” Expecting a tall glass of beer, Justin soon found himself staring into a glass of milk. With a wry grin, he lifted the frothy white liquid up to his lips.
“ ETA to Trk’Harna IV: Two point five hours, sir,” helmsman Kevin Murphy said from his central console.
“ Thank you, Petty Officer Murphy,” Donald Ruth responded with a long, drawn out sigh. Many mission objectives had been abandoned since the destruction of both the rebel base and the TCS Jak Bo’rah. Now, it was straight into Trk’Harna IV. Ruth hoped to every god that ever was for success. Success… Lord knew one was hard pressed to find some these days, especially if you were Terran. The Kilrathi seemed to be having all the luck lately.
Ruth glanced over at Korag nar Hhallas, who was seated at a nearby auxiliary command console. “ Why do it, Kal Shintahr?” he asked out of the blue. “ Why betray everything you once believed in to help us?”
The grizzled Kilrathi stared dreamily out at the stars whipping past the Antietam’s bridge windows. With a purring sigh, he said, “ For many reasons, Captain Ruth, I suppose. Once, years ago, I served the Empire of Kilrah. I commanded a noble cruiser, the KIS Xal’Torahg, and I had a noble crew. When we first fought you Terrans all those years ago, I looked forward to the day when the Emperor walked upon the scorched, lifeless dust of Nak’Tara.” Perhaps he expected Ruth to take offense, but the Captain merely nodded for Korag to go on. “ But soon I realized the truth. We had been fighting the war for twenty-two years when I defected, and there was no end in sight!
“ All we did was trade conquered territories back and forth, and the Empire was no closer to winning this war, not by a margin of a fraction!” Korag spoke with great passion now, as if he had just been waiting for someone to ask him about his story. “ I looked at the casualty reports each day, at the millions of brave warriors dead! How many lives had we spent in this war, and to what gain? There had been no true victory for either side. We win a system, we lose a system. It had all been an act in futility.
“ I and a few other patriots saw this struggle for what it truly was- - a pointless exchange of territories. There had been no honor, no glory. Granted, if we Kilrathi could have found a way to conquer you Terrans, then, yes, there could have been glory,” the rebel leader continued, “ but humans are strong, persevering. There would be no victory over you, I soon discovered. And without victory, what had been the purpose of this war? Not honor. Not glory. Just death. Meaningless death! ‘For what?’ I had asked myself over and over again. For the glory of the Emperor? The useless fool whose bony backside warmed the Throne of Kilrah, who hadn’t fought in decades, who hadn’t realized the price of this war?
“ And so I took the Xal’Torahg and threw in my lot with the Ghorah Khar rebels. Perhaps that way, I could help end this war of nonsensical territorial exchange and remove the Emperor and his brain-addled grandson, Thrakhath, from the seat of power.” Korag shook his big head ruefully. “ I turned my back on a great many things, Captain Ruth, to help you Terrans. I hope to Sivar you appreciate it.”
Slowly, Donald Ruth nodded. He had not been expecting such passion and emotion from the rebel leader, and, quite frankly, Korag’s response had floored him.
“ I do, Kal Shintahr. Very much so. I just hope our mutual cause will continue to the very end, until this senseless strife ends and we can finally live in peace.”
“ As do I, Captain. As do I.”
Mollie Finster pressed her headset firmly against the side of her head and snapped, “ Captain Ruth, I have something!” He came to look over her shoulder. “ There it is, sir!” she said, pointing at her radar screen. Sure enough, a trio of golden blips raced across the board: Kilrathi capital ships. “ Hang on, sir, I’m getting an ID… Got it! Looks like a Ralatha squadron coming up from Trk’Harna IV.”
“ Damn!” Ruth spat. “ They’re trying to block our advancement. Well, they won’t succeed, I’ll tell you that right now, Miss Finster. How far away are those destroyers?”
Mollie checked her readouts. “ Um… one-hundred thirty thousand klicks, sir.”
“ Just enough time to scramble up our fighters,” he said, turning toward Jack Fuller.
“ I’m on it,” the Ensign replied with a grin.
“ Captain, the Ralathas are opening their torpedo tubes!” Finster cried. “ They’re firing!”
Ruth rushed back to his central command chair and strapped in. Opening a link to the torpedo room, he said, “ Mr. Kabrowski, launch interceptors!”
“ Firing interceptors, aye, aye, sir!” Chief Warrant Officer Mordechai Kabrowski acknowledged. A moment later, the Antietam spat out a wave of interceptor missiles, which raced out toward the oncoming Kilrathi warheads on immense exhaust plumes. Finster counted down the range. “ It’s a hit!” she shouted, pumping her fist into the air as an explosion blossomed thirteen hundred klicks out from the carrier.
“ Operations, shields up!” Ruth commanded. “ Helm, move us into torpedo range!”
“ Our birds are out there, sir!” Jack Fuller interrupted.
“ Battle stations! Battle stations! We’re going to kill those damned Cat bastards, or die trying!”
Justin hated flying Broadswords. They were big, and slow, and clunky, and, just, well, he felt way too vulnerable each time he piloted the heavy bomber. If a Dralthi or a Sartha should land on his tail, Justin would probably be dust if it weren’t for his co-pilot and tail gunner, Naomi Akwende and Van Salzburg in this case. The two were enlisted personnel, normally serving in the Antietam’s laser turrets most of the time, but for this mission they had been pulled out and placed in the Broadsword with Justin.
Overstreet looked out through the canopy. Rapiers from Major Nomura’s Fighting Tigers squadron were flying escort to the clunky bombers of the Battling Bastards, while Heinrich’s Gray Ghosts, snug in their little Epees, flew CAP support for the bombers as they raced toward the Ralathas swelling in Justin’s canopy. The head Ralatha, as Justin had taken to calling the Kilrathi destroyer centermost in his sights, spat forth a couple squadrons worth of Drakhri medium fighters. The Ghosts immediately got to work, dropping the Cat ships in their sights and opening up with particle cannons and DumbFire missiles. Explosions began to blossom throughout space. Justin had to admire the Gray Ghosts prowess, especially in a fighter like the Epee.
“ They’re launching another torpedo!” Naomi gasped, pointing to her radar display. Justin followed her gaze. Sure enough, the starboard-most Ralatha was opening its tubes and spitting forth an evil-looking warhead, connected to the destroyer, it seemed, by a long trail of ionized gas.
Justin immediately got on the comm to the Antietam. “ Antietam command and control, we have another torpedo, bearing right at you! It will hit in ten seconds!” As if in reply, the Antietam let loose with a cloud of interceptor missiles, which seemed to converge on the enemy torpedo like a pack of wolves on a slab of meat. Justin shuddered at his comparison. But the missiles missed, detonating a few kilometers away as if recognizing that they had failed their objective. Justin watched in horror as the Cat warhead hit home, striking the Antietam’s port flank with terrifying ferocity. An explosion blossomed from the carrier, fires licking out from a gap in the hull. “ Damn,” he whispered. They had been so close to Trk’Harna IV, and now this!
“ Jesus!” Van Salzburg ground out, tracking a Drakhri buzzing around their Broadsword. He jammed his thumbs down on the control yoke, letting loose with a volley of neutron fire, which lanced across the port shields of the Cat fighter, but did little else. The Drakhri swooped low over the Broadsword, dropping a Dart that rocked the bomber. Justin pushed the bomber’s control yoke downwards, centering the fleeing Drakhri in his sights. The targeting reticule settled in on the Cat’s image on the HUD and Justin pelted it with mass driver rounds, punching through its shields and eating into armor. The Drakhri exploded and was met with cheers from Naomi and Van. But Justin did not cheer.
Even before the wreckage of the Drakhri had dispersed into space, a sheet, it seemed, of Anti-Matter Gun fire lanced out through space, cutting through a nearby Broadsword. AM guns were usually used by cap ships against attacking corvettes, heavy fighters, or bombers, and whoever was manning them on that Ralatha was doing too good a job. Justin stared in horror as a Confed bomber was destroyed. Shouts of anger and alarm exploded from the radio: That had been Captain Shelby’s Broadsword! The squadron’s Executive Officer was now dead, as well as quite a few from Majors Heinrich and Nomura’s squadrons. The battle was turning into a slaughter!
“ Sergeant, how long till target lock?” Justin almost yelled at Akwende.
The dark-skinned E-7 stared down at the HUD with wide, black eyes. After a moment, she said, “ Still almost fifteen seconds, sir, and I—Goddammit, they’re launching another torpedo!” Stifling his own curse, Justin stared in dismay yet again as one of the Ralathas disgorged yet another torpedo, sending it racing across the void on a plume of exhaust. Justin did not need to radio it in this time. Dozens of other warnings came across the comm to replace MadDog’s voice. Luckily, the Antietam acted quickly, pulling sharply to port and clearing the way of the Kilrathi warhead. Justin sighed in relief, but the Antietam was far from in the clear; Drakhri medium fighters began to converge on her like a swarm of bees. The carrier’s F-54 Epees seemed to abandon their CAP duties to defend the Antietam. Justin could not find fault in that. Meanwhile, a Rapier exploded somewhere close.
Gnome Shelby’s death still left Justin feeling almost numb as his Broadsword drew ever nearer to the head Ralatha. Still, he was not so numb to get the hell out of the way of flak fire and Anti-Matter Guns. At times, the Triple-A fire would sizzle so close to his canopy, that he thought he could almost feel the heat. Behind them, Van Salzburg was still keeping a continuous volley of neutron fire.
A Drakhri flashed past the canopy, brilliant laser flashes lighting up the void. Justin fired mass drivers at it, but his shots went wide. An Epee from Heinrich’s squadron was hot on its tail, cutting through its aft shields with particle cannons. Justin glanced down at the HUD. The kitty’s rear armor was wearing down under the Epee’s continuous bombardment. “ Hang on!” he warned his crew. The Drakhri exploded, pelting the Broadsword’s fore shields with smoldering wreckage. The bomber shuddered under the impact. The Epee, too, it seemed, had been too close to the dying Cat fighter and soon itself was a blossoming cloud of gas and metal.
“ Shit!” Justin roared, pushing the control yoke forward and clearing the blast.
Naomi Akwende pointed down to the HUD. “ We have positive lock, sir,” she announced.
“ Roger that. Arm torpedoes,” Justin ordered. Sergeant Akwende obeyed. “ I’m radioing in to the Antietam.” He manipulated a few switches before saying, “ Antietam, Broadsword 421 has positive torpedo lock on the center-most Ralatha. Permission to launch?”
A moment later, Lieutenant Commander Warren Jerome’s voice came over the comm to say, “ Roger that, Lieutenant Overstreet. You have permission to launch.”
“ You heard the man, Sergeant. Launch on my mark. Three… two… one… Mark! Fire that sucker!” As the words left his mouth, Justin inverted the big bomber and hit afterburners, getting the hell out of the blast zone. Several other Broadswords, he noticed, had fired off their torpedoes and were clearing ground zero, as well. Justin’s torpedoes had already detached from the Broadsword’s hardpoints, racing across the void to the Ralatha. Several of the Bastards’ warheads were shot down by flak, but most made it through, slamming full force into the destroyer’s starboard flank.
The top decks collapsed into the bottom ones with a blinding flash, crushing the engine and igniting it. Soon, massive chunks of the Ralatha were floating among a dispersing cloud of debris. Despite it all, Justin found himself cheering with his team. Still, there were two other destroyers to contend with.
A Kilrathi torpedo exploded somewhere close by, splattering the Antietam’s port shields with smoldering debris. Captain Donald Ruth jerked wildly in his command seat, held in place only by a thin strip of cloth across his abdomen. Helmsman Murphy was making the carrier buck like a wild bronco, causing his captain a severe headache. But he could not fault the young man for it. Just a few more torpedo hits (which only seemed too likely for Ruth’s tastes) and the Antietam would certainly be a goner, just like that Ralatha that the pilots had just destroyed. Well, Ruth thought, one down, two to go.
Ruth, as well as the majority of the bridge crew, instinctively ducked as a Drakhri dove over the bridge, dropping a missile and pulling up. The chamber rocked as the DumbFire hit home, eating through shields and chipping away at armor. Normally, he would have sent a damage control team EVA to fix the damage, but they’d likely get shot up by the Kilrathi pilots if Ruth attempted that risky enterprise. So they had to sit it out and hope the Flight Wing could get rid of the Drakhris, as well as their Ralatha motherships. Colonel Drake’s boys had a lot to do, but that didn’t mean the Antietam had to sit idly by and get shot up.
He looked a glance over at Radar Officer Finster. “ Mollie, have we acquired target lock on the other Ralatha yet?”
She brushed a lock of dark hair away from her forehead before responding, “ Just one moment, sir.” Mollie paused, her eyes intently locked on her readouts. Finally, she snapped. “ Yes, we got it! Target lock is positive, Captain.”
“ Mr. Kabrowski?”
“ Firing tube number three, skipper!” Mordechai down in the torpedo room bellowed. The torpedo let out a resounding clang as it was dropped from the Antietam and hurled across the void. Ruth crossed his fingers and sent out a silent prayer. He was normally not a religious man, but God had to look out for Confed today. If He favored the Kilrathi, then mankind was surely doomed.
He counted down the remaining seconds before impact, hoping that the Ralatha did not shoot it down with flak fire or that they didn’t launch a torpedo of their own. The Antietam surely could not take another bombardment. But God was indeed looking out for the Terran Confederation today, for the torpedo made it through the sheet of Triple-A fire and plowed straight into the Kilrathi destroyer. “ Yes!” Ruth raised his voice with his crew, pounding a fist on the arm of his chair. Brilliant incandescence shot forth from the dying Ralatha, creating, it seemed, a new star in the heavens. In a moment, the destroyer’s funeral pyre died down, leaving only a widening debris field. “ Good shooting, team!” the Captain praised. “ Mr. Kabrowski, remind me to give you a promotion when we get out of this.”
Donald could almost picture Mordechai’s grin. “ Aye, aye, sir.”
“ Very well done, Captain, but I do not like the prospect of reporting that there is still one more Ralatha out there, waiting to hull the Antietam,” Korag said from his port observation station, his vernacular as impeccable as ever. Ruth, again, could not help but grin at that. He had never seen a Cat as much of a poet before. But, then again, all the holovids had ever done was show the Kilrathi in the worst possible light, what with Goddard, and, more recently, Tingvallir. Now, however, Donald knew that many of the fearsome-looking creatures were as, if not more in the case of the Mandarins, good-hearted as Terrans. The thought warmed him to a degree, but not enough to vanquish the chill he felt from that remaining Ralatha.
He nodded once, without turning his gaze away from the boiling battle displayed before him. “ Too true, my dear Korag. Too true,” he said, even as another Dart struck the bridge. A shower of yellow sparks cascaded from Jack Fuller’s console, raining him with fiery torment. “ Damn. Medic!” Ruth called as the flight control officer went down, writhing in agony on the deck. A moment later, a team from sickbay brought down a stretcher and hauled Fuller away. George Meade, a young Spacehand, replaced Jack. Ruth sent out another prayer that Jack would pull through okay.
“ What the hell? Sir, it might be that my systems have gone haywire from all the hits we’ve taken, but it looks like that last Ralatha… is pulling back!” Mollie Finster cried, pressing her headset firmly against her ear.
“ What?” Ruth turned toward the computer monitor mounted on the arm of his command chair. Mollie’s equipment was not malfunctioning, it seemed, for indeed the last Kilrathi destroyer was gathering its remaining Drakhris and pulling back from the engagement. A cheer went up throughout the ship. “ We beat the bastards back!” they would yell, but Donald Ruth was not sure. Yes, the Ralatha had pulled back, but he was convinced it was only a matter of time before it returned with a whole damned fleet to back it up…
Justin brought the Broadsword down to the deck. When he scrambled down the ladder, he and Sergeant Akwende were helping down Van Salzburg, whose entire body was covered from head to toe with third-degree burns. Bits and pieces of the gunner’s flight suit had been burned into his flesh and he screamed in unrestrained agony as the medicos piled him onto a stretcher and hauled him away. Justin watched the medical team go, sighing and wiping his hands (now smeared, he noticed, with Van Salzburg’s blood) on his pants.
“ My, my, skipper, you sure got shot up good out there today,” Chief Coriolis said with a tight grin, coming up to the battered A-17.
Justin sighed again. “ Go to hell, Rachel.”
His crew chief held up her hands in defense. “ Now don’t get testy, Lieutenant Overstreet, it’s just that I thought you’d be able to bring her in a little more in one piece than you did.”
Angrily, Justin stabbed a finger toward Rachel’s chest. “ Look, Van Salzburg’s probably gonna die; die a horrible, painful death, mind you. Captain Shelby and so many other pilots are already dead. Goddamn it to hell, I probably should have been killed a hundred times over already. What I’m trying to say is, Chief, that whatever you have to do, it’s not near as bad as what I- - and dozens of other pilots- - just went through! Good day, Chief!” With that, he whirled away, hardly noticing Coriolis’ glum expression.
He waded through the hell that had enveloped the Antietam’s flight deck after the Ralatha had pulled out, making his way toward the ready room. As he began to angrily pull off his flight gear, Major Edison came up behind him. MadDog did not bother to salute. “ Lieutenant Overstreet,” Doug prompted.
“ What do you want?” Justin snapped, just before hastily adding, “ Sir.”
“ I don’t want anything, Lieutenant, I just want to talk.”
Justin shrugged, zipping up his blue uniform shirt. “ About anything in particular, Major, or do you just want to waste my time?”
Surprisingly, Doug chuckled. “ Damn, Lieutenant, you really know how to wound a guy.”
The younger pilot slammed his locker shut, leaning his head against the cool metal. “ I… I’m sorry,” he said, his tone softening significantly. “ It’s just been hard lately, that’s all. I’ve been privileged, you know that, sir? Throughout my entire service, since I arrived on the TCS Robert E. Lee back in 2661, I’ve been privileged. I saw little action, I saw little death. In a way, I wasn’t so much different than old Paul Tucker.”
“ Paul’s death changed all that,” Doug pointed out.
Justin shrugged. “ I guess. Yeah, that’s probably it. That and, once I became a wing commander, I developed a sort of… maturity about me that had not been there before. Anyway, Tucker had died, then the Cats hit Tingvallir, and now Wilber Shelby and Van Salzburg… it’s just too much to bear, sir. That’s all.”
Slowly, Doug Edison nodded. “ I know what you mean, Justin,” he said, and Overstreet was surprised to realize that that had been the first time Major Edison had used his first name. “ I’ve been serving in Confed for thirteen years. I’ve seen a lot of fleet actions, I’ve seen a lot of death. I envy you, Lieutenant. I never had a privileged tour of duty.” He chuckled grimly. “ Hell, I don’t even know what the word means.”
“ How do you get by, sir? How can you stand this hell, being away from you family for so long? I know I’d go mad,” Justin replied.
Doug absently fingered the golden locket he wore around his neck. Justin had noticed the jewelry before, but the squadron commander had always kept it hidden beneath his uniform shirt and had never revealed its purpose. Slowly, he lowered his head and removed it. “ Justin… take this,” he said, holding out the locket. Justin’s mouth hung open. “ There are some things… I need to do. And I don’t want this damaged, or destroyed. Make sure my son, Christopher, gets it on Arcturus VI. You read me, Lieutenant?”
Justin reached out a shaking hand and took the locket. It felt cold in his grasp.
“ Why, sir? Are they giving you a deep space op? Covert intell, perhaps?” he asked, wondering what could possibly have forced Edison into giving the charm up.
Doug smiled ruefully. “ No, nothing so important, Lieutenant Overstreet. Just make sure my son gets it. It’ll mean a lot to me.” With that, Edison straightened and turned around, leaving the ready room. Leaving Justin alone. His hands shaking, he gently pried open the locket. Inside was Doug’s Academy picture and the image of young Christopher Edison. For some reason, one he could not pinpoint, Justin Overstreet knew he would never see Douglas Edison again.
Six hours later, after returning from yet another patrol, Justin landed his P-64 Ferret and scrambled down to the deck. The Antietam had pulled back to the Trk’Harna asteroid belt, hoping to use its cover in order to exact repairs without the threat of Kilrathi attack. Snuggling in the asteroid belt was a precarious situation at best, made even more precarious by the fact that they were in the middle of an enemy system.
“ Superb flying, Lieutenant. For a Terran,” Tak’Kar nar Hhallas remarked, climbing down from his Hhriss heavy fighter and offering a human-style salute. Tak’Kar had flown on Justin’s wing for the patrol, because Colonel Drake wanted to patch up the relations between the Terran and Kilrathi pilots on the Antietam, especially after Lieutenant Gorbunov’s outburst. Tak’Kar had been a great wingman, almost too loyal, it seemed. Although he never would have said it aloud, he would have gladly flown on the big Kilrathi’s wing any day over Pete Decker.
Justin returned Tak’Kar’s salute. “ Thanks, First Fang. You didn’t do so bad yourself, you know that? Propaganda isn’t always true, no matter how persuasive the holos can be.” He flashed the pilot a big grin and made his way toward the ready room. Tak’Kar was confused on just exactly what Confed propaganda said about his species. Justin wouldn’t tell him, for fear of a massacre on board the Antietam.
When he was finished stowing his gear, Justin took the lift down to the brig. Casper Drake had ordered him to go down and talk to Boyar in order to squeeze an apology out of him. If Nik said he was sorry for attacking Tak’Kar earlier in the rec room, then Drake would agree to release him from the brig. After all, the Antietam needed every able pilot she could get her hands on, especially after the staggering losses taken against the Ralathas. He thought again of Wilber Shelby and Van Salzburg, who clung to his life down in sickbay.
The lift ground to a halt. Returning the salute of the Marine corporal on duty, Justin found Lieutenant Gorbunov’s cell. The blond pilot was slumped bare-chested across his bunk, snoring loudly. A nearby petty officer, who looked to be suffering from a hangover, covered his ears with a pillow in an attempt to block out the awful racket. Justin coughed low in his throat to get Boyar’s attention, but Nik remained oblivious. He coughed louder, but still to no avail. “ Dammit,” Overstreet whispered. “ Corporal?”
“ Yes, sir,” the grunt replied with a grin, reaching into his holster and pulling out a pistol. With obvious relish, the man violently squeezed the trigger and sent a lance of verdant energy toward the brig’s ceiling. Gorbunov (and several other furious pilots) jerked awake.
“ What the fuck is your problem, Johnson?” the Russian pilot demanded hotly. The corporal merely grinned at him. “ I’ll kick that motherfucker’s goddamned ass, Justin, I’ll do just that.”
Johnson snorted in derision. “ Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” he challenged.
With a howl of fury, Nikita Gorbunov hurled himself across the cell, hoping to tackle the big Marine guard. But he slammed full brunt into the cell’s energy field, sending him careening back across the chamber and collapsing against the back wall. Johnson laughed as if that had been the funniest thing he had ever seen. “ Goddammit, Nik, will you stop acting like an idiot for one second?” Justin demanded.
“ I will if he will,” he replied groggily, pointing toward Corporal Johnson.
Justin groaned. “ Take five, soldier.” Johnson offered Nikita a one-fingered salute and left the brig. MadDog turned back toward his fiery subordinate. “ Lieutenant. You’re going to have to make some serious attitude changes if you want to keep flying.”
“ Forget it. You think I’m gonna kiss the hairy ass of your Kilrathi friends, you got another thing coming, buddy,” Boyar shot back.
The commander of Echo Wing shrugged lightly. “ Then you get the hell off the Antietam, the hell out of that uniform, and the hell away from the Confederation.” Nik started to turn away in disgust, but Justin snapped, “ You think I’m kidding, 2nd Lieutenant Gorbunov? Colonel Drake is dead set on discharging you for attacking First Fang Tak’Kar earlier today.”
“ Fuck him, and fuck you, too!” Nik roared. “ If that asshole wants me gone, then I’m outta of this hellhole as fast as a tachyon. Maybe I’ll sign up with a freighter in Gemini, throw my lot in with the privateers. Least then I won’t have to deal with you fucking communists, and I can get back to killing Cats.”
“ Is that all this war is to you, Lieutenant? ‘Killing cats’? Well, let me tell you something, pal, we’re fighting for our freedom. The Emperor and that grandson of his, Thrakhath, wants to conquer our entire race. They want to vanquish us as they have so many species in the past. We-must-be-united!” He punctuated each word by slamming a fist into his palm. “ The Ghorah Khar rebels want to help us stave off these invaders. Why won’t you accept that?”
Nik, less fiery now, crawled into a fetal position and locked his eyes on the dull, gray walls of the brig. “ I… I just can’t, sir. The Kilrathi are monsters. I’ll never accept them as allies… Not after what they did to me.”
“ Tell me, Boyar. What did the Kilrathi do to you?”
Boyar seemed to try to compose himself before going on. “ My father, Sergei, was a colonel in the Marine Corps, my mother a researcher. I was twelve years old when it happened. My family and I had relocated to Rostov II, which had, at the time, been inhabited by primitive aliens called Mopoks. I was in the jungle with my mother when the Kilrathi Marines landed. There was so much gunfire and screaming, I thought I was in hell.” A tear leaked out from Boyar’s right eye, and he hastily wiped it away. “ We tried to hide, but the Cat bastards caught us and dragged us into a nearby Mopok village. The aliens were scared as hell, I could tell that much, but I knew they were not as scared as I was. For I saw the Kilrathi take my father, and chop his head off! They took his fucking head clean off!” By this time, tears were pouring down Nik’s cheeks like Niagara Falls. “ There was a spray of blood and my father was no more. My mother, Ludmilla, screamed out in terror, I… I remember that clearly. She rushed the Cat in charge and he pulled out a pistol and pumped ten rounds into her. She died before she hit the ground. The remaining Confed Marines, the Mopoks, and I were taken to a Kilrathi POW camp, where I spent three years of my life. We were rescued, of course, but I’ve carried this with me ever since, Lieutenant Overstreet. You’d never know the feeling. Your family’s still safe on Earth, away from all this madness. Just pray that you never know what I know.”
Justin took in a sharp intake of breath. He had never known this about his subordinate before. “ I… I’m sorry, Nikita, I truly am. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you pass the Academy psyche exams?”
Surprisingly, Boyar laughed, a low, mirthless sound. “ I had a… benefactor, you could say. Major Red Taylor, my father’s Exec on Rostov II, forged the documents, allowing me an easy ride through Hilthros. All I wanted to do was kill Cats, I never cared about being a model officer.” He took a look around his current residence. “ Well, I guess I did a damned good job of that, eh, Lieutenant?”
“ Your family’s dead, Lieutenant Gorbunov,” Justin stated bluntly, hating himself for saying it, but knowing he had to do it, nonetheless. “ There’s no way to bring them back. But you have a new family now. Your fellow pilots on the Antietam. Don that flight suit again, Nik, strap yourself into that cockpit. Get revenge. Just not in the way you have been. Tak’Kar is an honorable warrior who deserves respect.”
Nikita cracked a half-grin. “ Well, he did bag his fair-share of Imperials that first time around. Maybe he’s as good as you make him out to be.”
“ He is, Lieutenant.” He reached forward and cut the forcefield. Nikita scrambled back into his shirt. Stepping forward, he clasped Boyar’s outstretched hand. “ ‘We few, we happy few…’”
“ ‘… We band of brothers,’”
------------------
If I'm locked on, there's no such thing as evasive action!
[This message has been edited by Dralthi5 (edited October 30, 2000).]
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Chapter Four: Action Stations
Justin Overstreet set his P-64 Ferret down on the Antietam’s deck, Pete Decker and Nikita Gorbunov’s came a moment later. With a sigh, he clambered down the egress ladder and barely acknowledged Rachel’s, “ Great flying, Chief.” She was nice enough to greet him after long and harrowing missions, but this hadn’t been one and he just didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Maybe it had to do with the lack of alcohol, he didn’t know, but he just felt like locking himself up in his cabin and falling fast asleep, never to wake up again. But the problem with that was that he just couldn’t sleep! Every time he closed his eyes he would suddenly jerk back awake, his mind swimming with the tremendous fireball that had engulfed the TCS Jak Bo’rah. Everyone kept telling him that it was not his fault for not catching that Grikath, but for some reason he just couldn’t believe that. I could’ve stopped that Cat bastard, he thought, making his way toward debriefing, I should’ve stopped him.
When he was through with Captain Shelby, Gnome told him, “ Lieutenant Overstreet, Captain Ruth has asked that you relay what you just told me to him in person. He’s waiting on the bridge for you.” Justin quickly removed his flight gear and headed up toward the Antietam’s control deck.
He saluted Donald Ruth when he found the C.O. conversing with Warren Jerome and Casper Drake by a map board. He held the salute until Ruth acknowledged him.
“ Ah, Lieutenant Overstreet,” he greeted, returning the salute. “ I’ve asked for a brief run-down of your mission today.”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ So, what did you find, Lieutenant?”
Justin paused before answering. “ Well, Major Edison assigned Echo Wing to patrol the Trk’Harna System in search for Korag’s asteroid base, since the Antietam had lost contact with the other Ghorah Khar rebels shortly after… the Jak Bo’rah was destroyed.” He could not help the bitter tone that had crept into his voice then. “ Anyway, we encountered a wing of Jalkehis at Nav One, a pair of Drakhris at Nav Two…”
“ And did you find the base?” Ruth prodded.
Justin nodded grimly. “ In pieces, sir. Looks like the local Imperial forces found her and blew her out of space. She was lightly armed, sir, the Kilrathi must have had one hell of a grand time picking her apart. It’s a damn shame.”
“ Dammit, this mission has had one disaster after another!” Ruth ground out, slamming a fist upon the map table. “ I wonder if Admiral Halsey knew the trouble we’d be facing here in Trk’Harna, and just didn’t have the heart to tell us.” He chuckled grimly. “ But it’s not like old Ted to try to spare anyone’s feelings. He’s as cold and callous as they come.” Ruth looked back up at Justin. “ That’s all, Lieutenant Overstreet, I’ll call you if I need any more- -”
Suddenly, John Noble stuck his head into the bridge, his dark eyes wide. “ Sorry to interrupt, Captain Ruth,” he said, holding his right hand up to his brow in a salute,
“ but Major Edison sent me up here to tell you that we have some problems in Pilots’ Country!”
“ What? With whom, Major?” Donald asked, just slightly annoyed.
Noble sighed. “ Lieutenant Gorbunov… and one of the Kilrathi, sir.”
“ Son of a bitch!” the Antietam’s C.O. snapped under his breath, brushing past Justin and heading for the bridge’s exit. MadDog was close on his captain’s heels, following the older man toward the rec room. Sure enough, when they got there, they could here shouting from out in the hallway.
When they entered the lounge, Justin saw Boyar looking up at a tall, golden-furred Kilrathi, his face flushed with anger. He clutched a broken bottle in one hand, and looked very ready to use it on the big alien. “ You fucker, how dare you!?” Nikita was yelling. “ I’ll tear out your black guts, you son of a bitch!”
Meanwhile, Douglas Edison was trying to talk some since into his subordinate.
“ Lieutenant, goddammit, put the bottle down. This is crazy. No one needs to be hurt here. Just put the bottle down. We’ll talk about this.”
But Boyar wouldn’t have it. “ Back off, Major, or I’ll kill you, too! Don’t fucking try me, you bastard! You’re on his side! You’re all on his side!”
Ruth burst into the rec room and walked boldly up to the furious pilot. He leaned in close to Major Edison. “ What’s going on, Doug?” he asked.
Doug spread his hands in confusion. “ You got me, Captain. I came in and there he was, prepared to kill First Fang Tak’Kar nar Hhallas there. According to some of my pilots, it all started with an argument about the social structure of Terran society. Apparently, some of Tak’Kar’s views didn’t bode too well with Lieutenant Gorbunov and he went off.”
The Captain nodded in understanding and turned toward the murderous young pilot. “ Nikita, what’s the problem?”
Boyar pointed his broken bottle at Tak’Kar’s abdomen. “ This motherfucker is a madman. He drags his furry ass on the Antietam and expects to be treated like one of us, when he’s just some hairy monster from another world. He can’t be like us, he never will be!”
“ Tak’Kar?”
The big Kilrathi pilot growled low under his throat before replying, “ I thought you Terrans appreciated freedom of speech, but this sa’guk here is trying to slaughter me for my views. If you know what is good for your ship, Captain Ruth, then you will blow this cub out of the airlock!”
“ I’ll fucking kill you!” Boyar shouted, straining against Ruth’s arms.
Tak’Kar chuckled. “ Do it, you sniveling tuka,” he spat.
With a roar of animalistic fury that made him seem almost Kilrathi himself, Boyar brushed past Donald and dove at Tak’Kar, his ad hoc weapon poised over his head. The Ghorah Khar rebel tried to dodge, but Boyar had already taken a large chunk of bloodied fur and flesh from his arm. Justin dove on Gorbunov, tackling the fiery pilot to the ground. Boyar swore a blue streak as he fought against Justin. “ You’re only hurting yourself, Nik!” he yelled, hoping to knock some sense into the other man, just before Nikita lashed out with a foot, catching Justin in a rather sensitive area. “ Oof!” he spat, crumpling to the ground.
Major Edison, Pete, and Captain Ruth took over then, piling atop Boyar and pinning his arms back. Going over to the intercom, Ruth hollered, “ Commander, get a security team down to P.C. immediately to throw Lieutenant Gorbunov into the brig!” By the time the MPs arrived on the scene and dragged away a furious Boyar, Justin had collected himself and was crawling over to Tak’Kar, who was slumped against the bar.
He helped drag the big Kilrathi to his feet, asking, “ You okay, man?”
Tak’Kar shook off Justin’s grip and looked down at his mangled arm in dismay. He narrowed his cat-like gaze at Lieutenant Overstreet. “ Next time, keep a better handle on your pilots, or someone may end up dead!” And with that he brushed past Justin, in search of the medical facilities.
Things slowly got back to normal in the rec room, but gloomily Justin sidled up to the bar, his face buried in his hands. He felt like crying almost, but held composure. When he had been at the Academy all those years ago, he had never imagined it like this. He had almost been like Paul Tucker then, looking forward to action and adventure. But life wasn’t a holovid. It didn’t always turn out with the good guys the victors.
“ Don’t listen to that furry bastard, lad,” Joe said with a smile. “ ‘Tis not your fault.”
Justin sighed. “ Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot lately, Joe.”
“ Here, maybe you can use this.” Expecting a tall glass of beer, Justin soon found himself staring into a glass of milk. With a wry grin, he lifted the frothy white liquid up to his lips.
“ ETA to Trk’Harna IV: Two point five hours, sir,” helmsman Kevin Murphy said from his central console.
“ Thank you, Petty Officer Murphy,” Donald Ruth responded with a long, drawn out sigh. Many mission objectives had been abandoned since the destruction of both the rebel base and the TCS Jak Bo’rah. Now, it was straight into Trk’Harna IV. Ruth hoped to every god that ever was for success. Success… Lord knew one was hard pressed to find some these days, especially if you were Terran. The Kilrathi seemed to be having all the luck lately.
Ruth glanced over at Korag nar Hhallas, who was seated at a nearby auxiliary command console. “ Why do it, Kal Shintahr?” he asked out of the blue. “ Why betray everything you once believed in to help us?”
The grizzled Kilrathi stared dreamily out at the stars whipping past the Antietam’s bridge windows. With a purring sigh, he said, “ For many reasons, Captain Ruth, I suppose. Once, years ago, I served the Empire of Kilrah. I commanded a noble cruiser, the KIS Xal’Torahg, and I had a noble crew. When we first fought you Terrans all those years ago, I looked forward to the day when the Emperor walked upon the scorched, lifeless dust of Nak’Tara.” Perhaps he expected Ruth to take offense, but the Captain merely nodded for Korag to go on. “ But soon I realized the truth. We had been fighting the war for twenty-two years when I defected, and there was no end in sight!
“ All we did was trade conquered territories back and forth, and the Empire was no closer to winning this war, not by a margin of a fraction!” Korag spoke with great passion now, as if he had just been waiting for someone to ask him about his story. “ I looked at the casualty reports each day, at the millions of brave warriors dead! How many lives had we spent in this war, and to what gain? There had been no true victory for either side. We win a system, we lose a system. It had all been an act in futility.
“ I and a few other patriots saw this struggle for what it truly was- - a pointless exchange of territories. There had been no honor, no glory. Granted, if we Kilrathi could have found a way to conquer you Terrans, then, yes, there could have been glory,” the rebel leader continued, “ but humans are strong, persevering. There would be no victory over you, I soon discovered. And without victory, what had been the purpose of this war? Not honor. Not glory. Just death. Meaningless death! ‘For what?’ I had asked myself over and over again. For the glory of the Emperor? The useless fool whose bony backside warmed the Throne of Kilrah, who hadn’t fought in decades, who hadn’t realized the price of this war?
“ And so I took the Xal’Torahg and threw in my lot with the Ghorah Khar rebels. Perhaps that way, I could help end this war of nonsensical territorial exchange and remove the Emperor and his brain-addled grandson, Thrakhath, from the seat of power.” Korag shook his big head ruefully. “ I turned my back on a great many things, Captain Ruth, to help you Terrans. I hope to Sivar you appreciate it.”
Slowly, Donald Ruth nodded. He had not been expecting such passion and emotion from the rebel leader, and, quite frankly, Korag’s response had floored him.
“ I do, Kal Shintahr. Very much so. I just hope our mutual cause will continue to the very end, until this senseless strife ends and we can finally live in peace.”
“ As do I, Captain. As do I.”
Mollie Finster pressed her headset firmly against the side of her head and snapped, “ Captain Ruth, I have something!” He came to look over her shoulder. “ There it is, sir!” she said, pointing at her radar screen. Sure enough, a trio of golden blips raced across the board: Kilrathi capital ships. “ Hang on, sir, I’m getting an ID… Got it! Looks like a Ralatha squadron coming up from Trk’Harna IV.”
“ Damn!” Ruth spat. “ They’re trying to block our advancement. Well, they won’t succeed, I’ll tell you that right now, Miss Finster. How far away are those destroyers?”
Mollie checked her readouts. “ Um… one-hundred thirty thousand klicks, sir.”
“ Just enough time to scramble up our fighters,” he said, turning toward Jack Fuller.
“ I’m on it,” the Ensign replied with a grin.
“ Captain, the Ralathas are opening their torpedo tubes!” Finster cried. “ They’re firing!”
Ruth rushed back to his central command chair and strapped in. Opening a link to the torpedo room, he said, “ Mr. Kabrowski, launch interceptors!”
“ Firing interceptors, aye, aye, sir!” Chief Warrant Officer Mordechai Kabrowski acknowledged. A moment later, the Antietam spat out a wave of interceptor missiles, which raced out toward the oncoming Kilrathi warheads on immense exhaust plumes. Finster counted down the range. “ It’s a hit!” she shouted, pumping her fist into the air as an explosion blossomed thirteen hundred klicks out from the carrier.
“ Operations, shields up!” Ruth commanded. “ Helm, move us into torpedo range!”
“ Our birds are out there, sir!” Jack Fuller interrupted.
“ Battle stations! Battle stations! We’re going to kill those damned Cat bastards, or die trying!”
Justin hated flying Broadswords. They were big, and slow, and clunky, and, just, well, he felt way too vulnerable each time he piloted the heavy bomber. If a Dralthi or a Sartha should land on his tail, Justin would probably be dust if it weren’t for his co-pilot and tail gunner, Naomi Akwende and Van Salzburg in this case. The two were enlisted personnel, normally serving in the Antietam’s laser turrets most of the time, but for this mission they had been pulled out and placed in the Broadsword with Justin.
Overstreet looked out through the canopy. Rapiers from Major Nomura’s Fighting Tigers squadron were flying escort to the clunky bombers of the Battling Bastards, while Heinrich’s Gray Ghosts, snug in their little Epees, flew CAP support for the bombers as they raced toward the Ralathas swelling in Justin’s canopy. The head Ralatha, as Justin had taken to calling the Kilrathi destroyer centermost in his sights, spat forth a couple squadrons worth of Drakhri medium fighters. The Ghosts immediately got to work, dropping the Cat ships in their sights and opening up with particle cannons and DumbFire missiles. Explosions began to blossom throughout space. Justin had to admire the Gray Ghosts prowess, especially in a fighter like the Epee.
“ They’re launching another torpedo!” Naomi gasped, pointing to her radar display. Justin followed her gaze. Sure enough, the starboard-most Ralatha was opening its tubes and spitting forth an evil-looking warhead, connected to the destroyer, it seemed, by a long trail of ionized gas.
Justin immediately got on the comm to the Antietam. “ Antietam command and control, we have another torpedo, bearing right at you! It will hit in ten seconds!” As if in reply, the Antietam let loose with a cloud of interceptor missiles, which seemed to converge on the enemy torpedo like a pack of wolves on a slab of meat. Justin shuddered at his comparison. But the missiles missed, detonating a few kilometers away as if recognizing that they had failed their objective. Justin watched in horror as the Cat warhead hit home, striking the Antietam’s port flank with terrifying ferocity. An explosion blossomed from the carrier, fires licking out from a gap in the hull. “ Damn,” he whispered. They had been so close to Trk’Harna IV, and now this!
“ Jesus!” Van Salzburg ground out, tracking a Drakhri buzzing around their Broadsword. He jammed his thumbs down on the control yoke, letting loose with a volley of neutron fire, which lanced across the port shields of the Cat fighter, but did little else. The Drakhri swooped low over the Broadsword, dropping a Dart that rocked the bomber. Justin pushed the bomber’s control yoke downwards, centering the fleeing Drakhri in his sights. The targeting reticule settled in on the Cat’s image on the HUD and Justin pelted it with mass driver rounds, punching through its shields and eating into armor. The Drakhri exploded and was met with cheers from Naomi and Van. But Justin did not cheer.
Even before the wreckage of the Drakhri had dispersed into space, a sheet, it seemed, of Anti-Matter Gun fire lanced out through space, cutting through a nearby Broadsword. AM guns were usually used by cap ships against attacking corvettes, heavy fighters, or bombers, and whoever was manning them on that Ralatha was doing too good a job. Justin stared in horror as a Confed bomber was destroyed. Shouts of anger and alarm exploded from the radio: That had been Captain Shelby’s Broadsword! The squadron’s Executive Officer was now dead, as well as quite a few from Majors Heinrich and Nomura’s squadrons. The battle was turning into a slaughter!
“ Sergeant, how long till target lock?” Justin almost yelled at Akwende.
The dark-skinned E-7 stared down at the HUD with wide, black eyes. After a moment, she said, “ Still almost fifteen seconds, sir, and I—Goddammit, they’re launching another torpedo!” Stifling his own curse, Justin stared in dismay yet again as one of the Ralathas disgorged yet another torpedo, sending it racing across the void on a plume of exhaust. Justin did not need to radio it in this time. Dozens of other warnings came across the comm to replace MadDog’s voice. Luckily, the Antietam acted quickly, pulling sharply to port and clearing the way of the Kilrathi warhead. Justin sighed in relief, but the Antietam was far from in the clear; Drakhri medium fighters began to converge on her like a swarm of bees. The carrier’s F-54 Epees seemed to abandon their CAP duties to defend the Antietam. Justin could not find fault in that. Meanwhile, a Rapier exploded somewhere close.
Gnome Shelby’s death still left Justin feeling almost numb as his Broadsword drew ever nearer to the head Ralatha. Still, he was not so numb to get the hell out of the way of flak fire and Anti-Matter Guns. At times, the Triple-A fire would sizzle so close to his canopy, that he thought he could almost feel the heat. Behind them, Van Salzburg was still keeping a continuous volley of neutron fire.
A Drakhri flashed past the canopy, brilliant laser flashes lighting up the void. Justin fired mass drivers at it, but his shots went wide. An Epee from Heinrich’s squadron was hot on its tail, cutting through its aft shields with particle cannons. Justin glanced down at the HUD. The kitty’s rear armor was wearing down under the Epee’s continuous bombardment. “ Hang on!” he warned his crew. The Drakhri exploded, pelting the Broadsword’s fore shields with smoldering wreckage. The bomber shuddered under the impact. The Epee, too, it seemed, had been too close to the dying Cat fighter and soon itself was a blossoming cloud of gas and metal.
“ Shit!” Justin roared, pushing the control yoke forward and clearing the blast.
Naomi Akwende pointed down to the HUD. “ We have positive lock, sir,” she announced.
“ Roger that. Arm torpedoes,” Justin ordered. Sergeant Akwende obeyed. “ I’m radioing in to the Antietam.” He manipulated a few switches before saying, “ Antietam, Broadsword 421 has positive torpedo lock on the center-most Ralatha. Permission to launch?”
A moment later, Lieutenant Commander Warren Jerome’s voice came over the comm to say, “ Roger that, Lieutenant Overstreet. You have permission to launch.”
“ You heard the man, Sergeant. Launch on my mark. Three… two… one… Mark! Fire that sucker!” As the words left his mouth, Justin inverted the big bomber and hit afterburners, getting the hell out of the blast zone. Several other Broadswords, he noticed, had fired off their torpedoes and were clearing ground zero, as well. Justin’s torpedoes had already detached from the Broadsword’s hardpoints, racing across the void to the Ralatha. Several of the Bastards’ warheads were shot down by flak, but most made it through, slamming full force into the destroyer’s starboard flank.
The top decks collapsed into the bottom ones with a blinding flash, crushing the engine and igniting it. Soon, massive chunks of the Ralatha were floating among a dispersing cloud of debris. Despite it all, Justin found himself cheering with his team. Still, there were two other destroyers to contend with.
A Kilrathi torpedo exploded somewhere close by, splattering the Antietam’s port shields with smoldering debris. Captain Donald Ruth jerked wildly in his command seat, held in place only by a thin strip of cloth across his abdomen. Helmsman Murphy was making the carrier buck like a wild bronco, causing his captain a severe headache. But he could not fault the young man for it. Just a few more torpedo hits (which only seemed too likely for Ruth’s tastes) and the Antietam would certainly be a goner, just like that Ralatha that the pilots had just destroyed. Well, Ruth thought, one down, two to go.
Ruth, as well as the majority of the bridge crew, instinctively ducked as a Drakhri dove over the bridge, dropping a missile and pulling up. The chamber rocked as the DumbFire hit home, eating through shields and chipping away at armor. Normally, he would have sent a damage control team EVA to fix the damage, but they’d likely get shot up by the Kilrathi pilots if Ruth attempted that risky enterprise. So they had to sit it out and hope the Flight Wing could get rid of the Drakhris, as well as their Ralatha motherships. Colonel Drake’s boys had a lot to do, but that didn’t mean the Antietam had to sit idly by and get shot up.
He looked a glance over at Radar Officer Finster. “ Mollie, have we acquired target lock on the other Ralatha yet?”
She brushed a lock of dark hair away from her forehead before responding, “ Just one moment, sir.” Mollie paused, her eyes intently locked on her readouts. Finally, she snapped. “ Yes, we got it! Target lock is positive, Captain.”
“ Mr. Kabrowski?”
“ Firing tube number three, skipper!” Mordechai down in the torpedo room bellowed. The torpedo let out a resounding clang as it was dropped from the Antietam and hurled across the void. Ruth crossed his fingers and sent out a silent prayer. He was normally not a religious man, but God had to look out for Confed today. If He favored the Kilrathi, then mankind was surely doomed.
He counted down the remaining seconds before impact, hoping that the Ralatha did not shoot it down with flak fire or that they didn’t launch a torpedo of their own. The Antietam surely could not take another bombardment. But God was indeed looking out for the Terran Confederation today, for the torpedo made it through the sheet of Triple-A fire and plowed straight into the Kilrathi destroyer. “ Yes!” Ruth raised his voice with his crew, pounding a fist on the arm of his chair. Brilliant incandescence shot forth from the dying Ralatha, creating, it seemed, a new star in the heavens. In a moment, the destroyer’s funeral pyre died down, leaving only a widening debris field. “ Good shooting, team!” the Captain praised. “ Mr. Kabrowski, remind me to give you a promotion when we get out of this.”
Donald could almost picture Mordechai’s grin. “ Aye, aye, sir.”
“ Very well done, Captain, but I do not like the prospect of reporting that there is still one more Ralatha out there, waiting to hull the Antietam,” Korag said from his port observation station, his vernacular as impeccable as ever. Ruth, again, could not help but grin at that. He had never seen a Cat as much of a poet before. But, then again, all the holovids had ever done was show the Kilrathi in the worst possible light, what with Goddard, and, more recently, Tingvallir. Now, however, Donald knew that many of the fearsome-looking creatures were as, if not more in the case of the Mandarins, good-hearted as Terrans. The thought warmed him to a degree, but not enough to vanquish the chill he felt from that remaining Ralatha.
He nodded once, without turning his gaze away from the boiling battle displayed before him. “ Too true, my dear Korag. Too true,” he said, even as another Dart struck the bridge. A shower of yellow sparks cascaded from Jack Fuller’s console, raining him with fiery torment. “ Damn. Medic!” Ruth called as the flight control officer went down, writhing in agony on the deck. A moment later, a team from sickbay brought down a stretcher and hauled Fuller away. George Meade, a young Spacehand, replaced Jack. Ruth sent out another prayer that Jack would pull through okay.
“ What the hell? Sir, it might be that my systems have gone haywire from all the hits we’ve taken, but it looks like that last Ralatha… is pulling back!” Mollie Finster cried, pressing her headset firmly against her ear.
“ What?” Ruth turned toward the computer monitor mounted on the arm of his command chair. Mollie’s equipment was not malfunctioning, it seemed, for indeed the last Kilrathi destroyer was gathering its remaining Drakhris and pulling back from the engagement. A cheer went up throughout the ship. “ We beat the bastards back!” they would yell, but Donald Ruth was not sure. Yes, the Ralatha had pulled back, but he was convinced it was only a matter of time before it returned with a whole damned fleet to back it up…
Justin brought the Broadsword down to the deck. When he scrambled down the ladder, he and Sergeant Akwende were helping down Van Salzburg, whose entire body was covered from head to toe with third-degree burns. Bits and pieces of the gunner’s flight suit had been burned into his flesh and he screamed in unrestrained agony as the medicos piled him onto a stretcher and hauled him away. Justin watched the medical team go, sighing and wiping his hands (now smeared, he noticed, with Van Salzburg’s blood) on his pants.
“ My, my, skipper, you sure got shot up good out there today,” Chief Coriolis said with a tight grin, coming up to the battered A-17.
Justin sighed again. “ Go to hell, Rachel.”
His crew chief held up her hands in defense. “ Now don’t get testy, Lieutenant Overstreet, it’s just that I thought you’d be able to bring her in a little more in one piece than you did.”
Angrily, Justin stabbed a finger toward Rachel’s chest. “ Look, Van Salzburg’s probably gonna die; die a horrible, painful death, mind you. Captain Shelby and so many other pilots are already dead. Goddamn it to hell, I probably should have been killed a hundred times over already. What I’m trying to say is, Chief, that whatever you have to do, it’s not near as bad as what I- - and dozens of other pilots- - just went through! Good day, Chief!” With that, he whirled away, hardly noticing Coriolis’ glum expression.
He waded through the hell that had enveloped the Antietam’s flight deck after the Ralatha had pulled out, making his way toward the ready room. As he began to angrily pull off his flight gear, Major Edison came up behind him. MadDog did not bother to salute. “ Lieutenant Overstreet,” Doug prompted.
“ What do you want?” Justin snapped, just before hastily adding, “ Sir.”
“ I don’t want anything, Lieutenant, I just want to talk.”
Justin shrugged, zipping up his blue uniform shirt. “ About anything in particular, Major, or do you just want to waste my time?”
Surprisingly, Doug chuckled. “ Damn, Lieutenant, you really know how to wound a guy.”
The younger pilot slammed his locker shut, leaning his head against the cool metal. “ I… I’m sorry,” he said, his tone softening significantly. “ It’s just been hard lately, that’s all. I’ve been privileged, you know that, sir? Throughout my entire service, since I arrived on the TCS Robert E. Lee back in 2661, I’ve been privileged. I saw little action, I saw little death. In a way, I wasn’t so much different than old Paul Tucker.”
“ Paul’s death changed all that,” Doug pointed out.
Justin shrugged. “ I guess. Yeah, that’s probably it. That and, once I became a wing commander, I developed a sort of… maturity about me that had not been there before. Anyway, Tucker had died, then the Cats hit Tingvallir, and now Wilber Shelby and Van Salzburg… it’s just too much to bear, sir. That’s all.”
Slowly, Doug Edison nodded. “ I know what you mean, Justin,” he said, and Overstreet was surprised to realize that that had been the first time Major Edison had used his first name. “ I’ve been serving in Confed for thirteen years. I’ve seen a lot of fleet actions, I’ve seen a lot of death. I envy you, Lieutenant. I never had a privileged tour of duty.” He chuckled grimly. “ Hell, I don’t even know what the word means.”
“ How do you get by, sir? How can you stand this hell, being away from you family for so long? I know I’d go mad,” Justin replied.
Doug absently fingered the golden locket he wore around his neck. Justin had noticed the jewelry before, but the squadron commander had always kept it hidden beneath his uniform shirt and had never revealed its purpose. Slowly, he lowered his head and removed it. “ Justin… take this,” he said, holding out the locket. Justin’s mouth hung open. “ There are some things… I need to do. And I don’t want this damaged, or destroyed. Make sure my son, Christopher, gets it on Arcturus VI. You read me, Lieutenant?”
Justin reached out a shaking hand and took the locket. It felt cold in his grasp.
“ Why, sir? Are they giving you a deep space op? Covert intell, perhaps?” he asked, wondering what could possibly have forced Edison into giving the charm up.
Doug smiled ruefully. “ No, nothing so important, Lieutenant Overstreet. Just make sure my son gets it. It’ll mean a lot to me.” With that, Edison straightened and turned around, leaving the ready room. Leaving Justin alone. His hands shaking, he gently pried open the locket. Inside was Doug’s Academy picture and the image of young Christopher Edison. For some reason, one he could not pinpoint, Justin Overstreet knew he would never see Douglas Edison again.
Six hours later, after returning from yet another patrol, Justin landed his P-64 Ferret and scrambled down to the deck. The Antietam had pulled back to the Trk’Harna asteroid belt, hoping to use its cover in order to exact repairs without the threat of Kilrathi attack. Snuggling in the asteroid belt was a precarious situation at best, made even more precarious by the fact that they were in the middle of an enemy system.
“ Superb flying, Lieutenant. For a Terran,” Tak’Kar nar Hhallas remarked, climbing down from his Hhriss heavy fighter and offering a human-style salute. Tak’Kar had flown on Justin’s wing for the patrol, because Colonel Drake wanted to patch up the relations between the Terran and Kilrathi pilots on the Antietam, especially after Lieutenant Gorbunov’s outburst. Tak’Kar had been a great wingman, almost too loyal, it seemed. Although he never would have said it aloud, he would have gladly flown on the big Kilrathi’s wing any day over Pete Decker.
Justin returned Tak’Kar’s salute. “ Thanks, First Fang. You didn’t do so bad yourself, you know that? Propaganda isn’t always true, no matter how persuasive the holos can be.” He flashed the pilot a big grin and made his way toward the ready room. Tak’Kar was confused on just exactly what Confed propaganda said about his species. Justin wouldn’t tell him, for fear of a massacre on board the Antietam.
When he was finished stowing his gear, Justin took the lift down to the brig. Casper Drake had ordered him to go down and talk to Boyar in order to squeeze an apology out of him. If Nik said he was sorry for attacking Tak’Kar earlier in the rec room, then Drake would agree to release him from the brig. After all, the Antietam needed every able pilot she could get her hands on, especially after the staggering losses taken against the Ralathas. He thought again of Wilber Shelby and Van Salzburg, who clung to his life down in sickbay.
The lift ground to a halt. Returning the salute of the Marine corporal on duty, Justin found Lieutenant Gorbunov’s cell. The blond pilot was slumped bare-chested across his bunk, snoring loudly. A nearby petty officer, who looked to be suffering from a hangover, covered his ears with a pillow in an attempt to block out the awful racket. Justin coughed low in his throat to get Boyar’s attention, but Nik remained oblivious. He coughed louder, but still to no avail. “ Dammit,” Overstreet whispered. “ Corporal?”
“ Yes, sir,” the grunt replied with a grin, reaching into his holster and pulling out a pistol. With obvious relish, the man violently squeezed the trigger and sent a lance of verdant energy toward the brig’s ceiling. Gorbunov (and several other furious pilots) jerked awake.
“ What the fuck is your problem, Johnson?” the Russian pilot demanded hotly. The corporal merely grinned at him. “ I’ll kick that motherfucker’s goddamned ass, Justin, I’ll do just that.”
Johnson snorted in derision. “ Yeah, I’d like to see you try,” he challenged.
With a howl of fury, Nikita Gorbunov hurled himself across the cell, hoping to tackle the big Marine guard. But he slammed full brunt into the cell’s energy field, sending him careening back across the chamber and collapsing against the back wall. Johnson laughed as if that had been the funniest thing he had ever seen. “ Goddammit, Nik, will you stop acting like an idiot for one second?” Justin demanded.
“ I will if he will,” he replied groggily, pointing toward Corporal Johnson.
Justin groaned. “ Take five, soldier.” Johnson offered Nikita a one-fingered salute and left the brig. MadDog turned back toward his fiery subordinate. “ Lieutenant. You’re going to have to make some serious attitude changes if you want to keep flying.”
“ Forget it. You think I’m gonna kiss the hairy ass of your Kilrathi friends, you got another thing coming, buddy,” Boyar shot back.
The commander of Echo Wing shrugged lightly. “ Then you get the hell off the Antietam, the hell out of that uniform, and the hell away from the Confederation.” Nik started to turn away in disgust, but Justin snapped, “ You think I’m kidding, 2nd Lieutenant Gorbunov? Colonel Drake is dead set on discharging you for attacking First Fang Tak’Kar earlier today.”
“ Fuck him, and fuck you, too!” Nik roared. “ If that asshole wants me gone, then I’m outta of this hellhole as fast as a tachyon. Maybe I’ll sign up with a freighter in Gemini, throw my lot in with the privateers. Least then I won’t have to deal with you fucking communists, and I can get back to killing Cats.”
“ Is that all this war is to you, Lieutenant? ‘Killing cats’? Well, let me tell you something, pal, we’re fighting for our freedom. The Emperor and that grandson of his, Thrakhath, wants to conquer our entire race. They want to vanquish us as they have so many species in the past. We-must-be-united!” He punctuated each word by slamming a fist into his palm. “ The Ghorah Khar rebels want to help us stave off these invaders. Why won’t you accept that?”
Nik, less fiery now, crawled into a fetal position and locked his eyes on the dull, gray walls of the brig. “ I… I just can’t, sir. The Kilrathi are monsters. I’ll never accept them as allies… Not after what they did to me.”
“ Tell me, Boyar. What did the Kilrathi do to you?”
Boyar seemed to try to compose himself before going on. “ My father, Sergei, was a colonel in the Marine Corps, my mother a researcher. I was twelve years old when it happened. My family and I had relocated to Rostov II, which had, at the time, been inhabited by primitive aliens called Mopoks. I was in the jungle with my mother when the Kilrathi Marines landed. There was so much gunfire and screaming, I thought I was in hell.” A tear leaked out from Boyar’s right eye, and he hastily wiped it away. “ We tried to hide, but the Cat bastards caught us and dragged us into a nearby Mopok village. The aliens were scared as hell, I could tell that much, but I knew they were not as scared as I was. For I saw the Kilrathi take my father, and chop his head off! They took his fucking head clean off!” By this time, tears were pouring down Nik’s cheeks like Niagara Falls. “ There was a spray of blood and my father was no more. My mother, Ludmilla, screamed out in terror, I… I remember that clearly. She rushed the Cat in charge and he pulled out a pistol and pumped ten rounds into her. She died before she hit the ground. The remaining Confed Marines, the Mopoks, and I were taken to a Kilrathi POW camp, where I spent three years of my life. We were rescued, of course, but I’ve carried this with me ever since, Lieutenant Overstreet. You’d never know the feeling. Your family’s still safe on Earth, away from all this madness. Just pray that you never know what I know.”
Justin took in a sharp intake of breath. He had never known this about his subordinate before. “ I… I’m sorry, Nikita, I truly am. If you don’t mind my asking, how did you pass the Academy psyche exams?”
Surprisingly, Boyar laughed, a low, mirthless sound. “ I had a… benefactor, you could say. Major Red Taylor, my father’s Exec on Rostov II, forged the documents, allowing me an easy ride through Hilthros. All I wanted to do was kill Cats, I never cared about being a model officer.” He took a look around his current residence. “ Well, I guess I did a damned good job of that, eh, Lieutenant?”
“ Your family’s dead, Lieutenant Gorbunov,” Justin stated bluntly, hating himself for saying it, but knowing he had to do it, nonetheless. “ There’s no way to bring them back. But you have a new family now. Your fellow pilots on the Antietam. Don that flight suit again, Nik, strap yourself into that cockpit. Get revenge. Just not in the way you have been. Tak’Kar is an honorable warrior who deserves respect.”
Nikita cracked a half-grin. “ Well, he did bag his fair-share of Imperials that first time around. Maybe he’s as good as you make him out to be.”
“ He is, Lieutenant.” He reached forward and cut the forcefield. Nikita scrambled back into his shirt. Stepping forward, he clasped Boyar’s outstretched hand. “ ‘We few, we happy few…’”
“ ‘… We band of brothers,’”
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If I'm locked on, there's no such thing as evasive action!
[This message has been edited by Dralthi5 (edited October 30, 2000).]
