“Are you saying this is a British line formation brought into space?”
Fuller shrugged. “If I’m the only person thinking it, then lock me up. We don’t have ships that use weapons anywhere near this design. I’m not familiar with all of the Cove’s dirty little secrets, but I think I’d remember catching a glimpse of one of these being built at Colorum.” He pointed to the two unknown battle groups. “These aren’t humans, Sam. They don’t have to think like we do, nor do they have to behave like we’d want them to.”
DeHart bit his thumb. He didn’t want it said aloud. There wasn’t any proof either way, but the evidence stood on its own legs at the moment. No ships like these existed anywhere in Terran space; or, if they did, they were the best-kept secret in human history. But to take that leap, to say the word “alien,” it was too much.
“Commander, I recommend we pull SP back. If we get in the middle of their intergalactic barroom brawl, we’re dragging ourselves into uncharted waters. And it looks pretty deep from here on the shore.”
DeHart nodded. “Pass it out to SP. Recall to former position and hold.”
“Intel is going to be upset you didn’t get a scan.”
The commander sighed. “Right now I’d rather deal with a ghost than a little green goblin.”
Wolfpack
Lunar Space
Cameron, George, and Ensign McLane flew in a tight formation just to the rear of the unknown black fleet. Wolfpack had spread out across a line of a thousand kilometers so as to appear less aggressive to the alien ships. Alien—the word sounded wrong the first time Cameron had said it, but he was hard-pressed to find a better description. He’d never visited the colonies before; that trip was out of his budget. Once, while serving as a skycap pilot over Europa, he’d seen strange lights that seemed to chase his Sparrow around the small research station. But those were just vapor wraiths. This was something far more…otherworldly.
“McLane,” Cameron said. “Did you ever hear back from the Fade?”
“Nah. Assholes don’t see SP as enough experience.”
George snickered. “You applied for an intel position? You do realize you have to be smart to do that, right?”
“Shut up, Locklear.”
“Make me, buttercup.”
“All right, all right. Cut the chatter,” Cameron said. “We’re almost in range.”
The dark fighters appeared to have been built with the sole purpose of looking as scary as possible. A three-wing design gave the hull a distinct Y-shape, and the red splotches across the glossy black metal resembled animal markings or war paint. Radar and sensor array spikes popped out at odd angles across the body. Two gray barrels hung under the smaller wings—the main cannons—and fired rapid bursts of red energy at the far-off silver craft. Sound didn’t carry in the vacuum, but the resonation from each salvo echoed inside Cam’s cockpit. The engines leaked thermal energy in a red stream behind the vessel as it flew.
Up close the missile frigates no longer resembled perfect spheres. Made of six layers of rotating disks, the warships spewed out a steady barrage of heat-seekers that locked onto targets and gave chase. The cruisers revealed a secret up close as well: a gargantuan barrel that protruded from the nose and seemed to run the length of the ship. Every few minutes the main gun would fire, rocking the entire ship as a breach dropped out the rear of the vessel to expel gasses. The engines had to rev to max power just to keep the ship from rocketing backward with each shot. Flying this close to the giant vessels played havoc with Cameron’s nerves, but he focused on the mission.
Ensign McLane volunteered to be the one to scan the ship. His fighter was relatively old, but had recently received a new port engine. If the active radar caused the aliens to grow hostile, Cameron and George could hold the line while the younger pilot escaped. As the ensign’s Phoenix closed with a solitary Y-fighter, George pulled off to his flank to watch for other ships. They hadn’t said a word in twenty minutes, save guidance on flight patterns. When they neared a slow group of alien craft, the silence finally broke.
“This is maybe the second dumbest thing you’ve ever gotten me into,” George said. He was sweating. His arms were stiff from holding the yoke so tight.
“Second?” Cameron looked off at a distant explosion. A silver fighter broke into thousands of pieces as a missile connected. He was lost in the image for a moment. There wasn’t much debris left after the fireball, and no evidence of a pilot trying to punch out. “This is way worse than Angela Hershbach.”
“Angela would have ruined my life. You’re only trying to kill me.”
“First of all,” Cameron began. “Angela was a catch. She had a robust figure, a smile that most members of the species would not find alarming, and she could whittle with her feet. Plus you always wanted to grow a mustache, and she was clearly the best teacher.”
George jerked his ship to the side to avoid a fiery chunk of debris. “All good points, but she also smelled exactly like hydraulic fluid. Woman never spent a day in her life around heavy machinery, but every inch of that apartment reeked. I spent a full day digging through her stuff looking for an empty bottle of H-twelve.”
Ensign McLane couldn’t resist getting in. “You spent a day rooting around in some lady’s apartment while she was out?”
“No, McLane.” Cameron suppressed a laugh. “That would have only been sad. George looked through her stuff while she slept on the bed.”
“Hibernated,” George shouted. “It’s how her kind recovers after a session of passionate mating.” All three pilots laughed.
Cameron’s collision alert sounded. He looked around for a moment but couldn’t see any source of danger in his flight path. He adjusted his height, dropping down two meters. Better to trust the sensors than to run into some unseen debris. His kinetic shielding would protect him from smaller fragments, not chunks of wrecked fighters. “I invited you to a party at a friend’s apartment. You’re the one who got blasted on coolers and ended up neck-deep in mistakes.”
The alien fighters had drawn far away from the main battle, performing some elaborate banking maneuver that seemed excessively slow and deliberate. It took a full thirty seconds before they were pointed in the right direction again. Cameron and his wingmen fell in behind, ready to complete their mission.
An alarm sounded across their comms. McLane panicked, jerking his fighter laterally for a moment. He regained control, but tripped the toggle on his stick and activated his laser lock. The Phoenix’s active radar projected out and found the nearest object and began creating a firing solution. Laser locks were used when the target had no readable signature, such as an asteroid or chunk of debris or an alien spacecraft that refused contact. The L-DAR, even more so than active radar, worked like a tracer round. It almost guaranteed a targeting solution, but drew a gigantic line back to the fighter for the enemy to follow with their own weaponry.
“McLane, you all right?” Cameron’s heart pounded in his chest, but he recognized the alarm as a distance warning, not a threat detection. They had crossed beyond the range of their supporting vessels and the fighters warned that they should turn back. “We’re working without a net. Stay sharp.”
The radio squawked and a female voice came over the net. “This is Valley Forge. All SP fighters are
