Trouble Emerging

Annette licked her upper lip in nervous anticipation as she stared at the main holographic tactical display. From the friendly green icons that represented the Thunderstorms of the 391st, to the indigo shapes of the 389th’s Shootingstars, the Wing was fairing very well overall in the battle. Major Ieyasho’s squadron had withered the Sprinter’s defenses considerably, with over half of its defensive turrets out of commission. Colonels Espara and Cho’s units had also swept through the bulk majority of the enemy carrier’s starfighter compliment, at least seventy shot down by current estimate.

“Ma’am!” Petty Officer Adams called out, head peeled back from the sensor station. “Hyperspatial distortions detected approximately one million two hundred thousand klicks out at two-seven-three!”

That couldn’t be good. She stood up from the Captain’s chair, looking directly at Adams.

“How long until emergence?” She asked.

“Twenty seconds!” he replied, turning back towards his virtual console, holographics and navigation graphics popping up around him.

“Put it on the main monitor and magnify as soon as they emerge,” Annette commanded, waiting for the main screen to reveal their foes. Her mind began to reel from all of the possibilities.  But she had to keep her cool. Her crew depended on it.  

On the main monitor, various swirling flashes appeared in deep space, each in close proximity to the others. It was definitely a fleet. But its composition would determine how dire the situation.

“Objects have emerged! Eleven total!” Petty Officer Adams magnified the image, and the fleet of vessels appeared.

It was another Allied carrier and its battle group: the shark-like profile of a Starburst-class medium carrier, flanked by eight Comet-class gunships and two Nebulae-class medium cruisers. The Challenger and the Sprinter were on an even playing field before. The tables had turned against them. Captain Fox’s stomach turned. They were in trouble.

“Hostile carrier identified as the AFWS Streaker,” Adams added. “Other vessels designations unknown.”

“Thank you Adams,” she replied. “Sergeant Wells! Recall the 389th to our location ASAP. We’re going to need them! Be ready to coordinate for them!”

“Yes ma’am,” the blue-eyed, raven-haired space controller replied, patching into her comm-set. Captain Fox straightened her uniform and sat down, pressing the comm-button on her chair rest. She hated what she was about to do, but it had to be done if they were going to survive this.

“All hands and pilots, this is the Captain. Magnum launch! All pilots and crews to your fighters immediately!  I repeat, Magnum launch! All pilots and crews to your fighters immediately!”

Keying the comm button off, she turned to face the gunnery station.

“Master Chief Zan-Ling, I want all starboard anti-ship lasers and missiles to target the enemy gunships; we can’t let those Comets reach their ideal firing range. Be ready to fire on my command!”

“Aye aye, Ma’am,” the gunnery chief acknowledged, motioning to angle the main guns with the controls.

“Helm; rotate the Challenger starboard up degrees to maximum targeting angle. Hold position until directed otherwise.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Proceeding.” She felt the motion of the ship’s maneuvering thrusters raising the Challenger’s starboard side into the proper firing angle. The trajectory of her four starboard lasers lined up with four separate gunships on the portable gunnery pop-up. Similarly, the four missile launchers achieved lock-on, although their own effectiveness at this range would be limited, and possibly intercepted by the enemy vessels point-defense lasers. Still, it would keep the gunships occupied.

“Master Chief?”

“Four targets locked on at maximum effective range, trajectory two-seven-three at one million, two hundred thousand klicks. “

Annette felt her jaw clench as she gave the order.

“Fire!”

---

Will watched the Bold Tigers whittle down the Sprinter’s capabilities, the most recent attack run knocking out more defense turrets, and now that he and Colonel Cho had considerably thinned out her compliment, it was only a matter of time.

“Charlie Flight, make your run for the bridge,” he heard Major Ieyasho call over the comm. Will nearly breathed a sigh of relief… until Sergeant Wells called over the comm.

“Thunder oh-one, Challenger Control. Return to the Challenger ASAP. Anticipating inbound hostiles.”

Shit! Just when we gained control of THIS situation…

“Control, Thunder oh-one, coordinates?” he replied.

“S-point plus one million two hundred thousand kilometers, two-seven-three degrees.”

At present, they were about fifty thousand klicks away from her. One million two hundred and fifty thousand klicks away from impending doom. They would be pushing it to make it back in time to intercept.

Then, Captain Fox’s voice emanated over the wing-wide channel.

“All hands and pilots, this is the Captain. Magnum launch! All pilots and crews to your fighters immediately!  I repeat, Magnum launch! All pilots and crews to your fighters immediately!”

That could only mean one thing: another carrier.

“Control, can I get a confirmed hostile count?” A brief pause, then the hard figures came back.

“One additional Starburst-class carrier, eight Comet-class gunships, two Nebulae-class medium cruisers.” William swallowed hard. They had rolled snake eyes; a lot of them wouldn’t make it back today.

“Copy Control, Thunder is RTS. Tusk-oh-one, Thunder-oh-one?”

“Tusk-oh-one copies,” Colonel Cho acknowledged solemnly.  “We’ve got the Tigers covered.”

Will nodded unconsciously, turning his attention back to his unit. Fortunately, he still had everyone in all three of his flights. He had trained them to the best of his ability… and this next engagement would test them to their limits.

“Thunder Flights, Thunder oh-one. Return to the carrier ASAP. Maximum acceleration, then land and prepare for refuel and rearm.”

“Bravo Flight copies,” Hitomi replied, followed by an equally taxed Maya.

“Charlie Flight copies.”

Twelve Shootingstars in three flights quickly altered course, engines flaring full acceleration towards home.  Behind them, explosions erupted from the hull of the stricken AFWS Sprinter as the Bold Tigers’ Shrikes struck true. Dozens of tiny flashes from escape pods raced away from their mothership in attempt to reach safety. Ahead of the Thunderbolts, four streaks of laser cannon fire erupted in the far distance at lightspeed, signifying that the battle was far, far from over.

---

78-0782 hit the deck of the port recovery bay as the Challenger’s artificial gravity dropped her from zero-g, the motion of the electromagnetic reversers holding William fast in his ejection seat. There would be no time to return to the hangar, hop out and take a breather. He throttled down to twenty percent to move the Shootingstar towards the quick-turn pit just before End of Recovery. The red box with diagonals approached, crew chiefs and loaders in vacuum suits waiting along either side.

William guided his fighter into the confines of the safety box, braked fully, and dropped the engine throttle down to idle. Sunshine pulled alongside him in the safety box to his right, and the ground crew scurried underneath both of the fighters. An orange indicator popped to the left side of his helmet’s HUD, indicating that his fighter’s single point refueling receptacle had been opened, which quickly turned to yellow as soon as the hydrogen refueling process began.

The internal weapons bay open warning light also illuminated in his helmet’s Heads-Up Display, followed by the internal bay selection screen. With loader assistance, the reloading process was essentially automated now; a massive conveyer system traveled underneath the hangar bays and the recovery bays, transporting munitions from the ship’s enclosed armory directly to each fighter’s designated spot, which included the quick-turn pits in the recovery bays. Equipped with robotic  manipulators that lifted, positioned and loaded each missile, bomb, or specialty munitions into a fighter’s internal stores, this rapid reloading system was incorporated into the Challenger’s last refit, and with vastly improved weapons handling and safety standards, it reduced a quick-turn to a scant few minutes.

Will had serious tactical choices to make. With the enemy carrier’s fighters inbound, he needed sufficient striking power to knock them out. Mark 43’s were solid and reliable missiles, and Shootingstars could carry twelve of them. But keeping the enemy out of visual range was crucial to protecting the Challenger and her escorts, especially now that they were sorely outnumbered. ASM-45s, or “William Tells” as they were known by starfighter pilots, added some one thousand two hundred kilometers above the 43s’ two thousand kilometer threshold, but Shootingstars could only hold six.

His choice was made: six “William Tells” in the main internal bay, four short-range Mark 30s in the small dorsal above that, and one Mark 43 per each side’s internal bay. He toggled his selections, and the weapons control responded in kind. A few moments passed, and he felt 0782 shudder as each missile was loaded.

While waiting, William toggled over to the Command & Control function, observing Maya’s weapons selection process. Hers was identical, and that made him smile. She knew the stakes, and responded in kind. With that knowledge and experience under her belt, she was well on her way to become a successful squadron commander. But first, they all had to return in one piece.  

Time ticked away, and it began to make him anxious. But after a few more moments, the SPR indicator went green, and blinked out. The weapons bay warning light vanished as well. He was refueled, rearmed, and ready to taxi out. The recovery crew rushed away, save for one body, who tapped their comm-button on their vacuum suit.

“Godspeed, Colonel,” the female voice spoke up, giving him a thumbs-up.

It was Aria Johnson, his dedicated crew chief. William nodded, a brief smile hidden beneath his helmet.

“Thanks Chief,” he replied. He throttled up, and the SF-14C edged forward of the quick-turn pit, with Aria marshalling him out. As he passed, she raised a sharp salute, one he was proud to return.

The launch chute airlock opened, William and Maya taxied into the E-Mag catapult latches.  In place, the latches locked onto their gear, and once more, space awaited them.

“Challenger Control, Thunder-oh-one; requesting launch clearance.”

“Thunder-oh-one, Control. You are cleared for launch. Go get ‘em!”

William briefly closed his eyes, anticipating the hard fight ahead.

“We will Control, don’t you worry.”

He pushed the throttle to maximum thrust, and his fighter bolted down the catapult track, like the cavalry of old.

We have to…