the shadow of America’s forward shield and into space with a relatively sedate velocity of five meters per second.
In seconds, a cloud of gravfighters began to encircle the carrier, moving outward.
“We’re counting thirty-four active Turusch capital ships,” Commander Craig told him. “Eight more appear to be heavily damaged, but still have active power sources.” She hesitated. “Lots of fighters … but we’re not picking up any friendlies.”
“Very well,” Koenig said. “Captain Buchanan? You may accelerate and engage as soon as all of our fighters are clear.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
If the initial numbers were to be believed, the Dragonfires had destroyed at least thirteen Turusch warships, and damaged eight more, a very respectable showing for just twelve gravfighters. Data tags alongside the slowly drifting red icons in the display showed that several of the remaining enemy vessels were damaged as well.
That gave the America battlegroup a decent chance against the survivors of the Turusch fleet, chances better than even, at any rate. A lot would depend on how prepared the enemy was for the Confederation fleet’s arrival.
He’d not expected to see any Dragonfires in the battlespace, not after nine hours. He just hoped that most of them had been able to win through to the Marine perimeter on the planet.
Blue Omega One
VFA-44 Dragonfires
Battlespace Eta Boötis IV
2352 hours, TFT
“All Blue Omegas are in position and ready for boost,” Commander Allyn said. “We’ll take our count from you.”
“Copy that, Blue One,” the voice of a Marine in MEF HQ Operations Control replied. “The shield is coming down in five … four … three … two … one … mark!”
The five gravfighters were already airborne, configured for atmospheric flight and floating vertical, their noses aimed at the night sky just south of the zenith. As the shield section flicked off, the fighters began accelerating, a slight ripple preceding them as artificial singularities winked into place. Within seconds, they were shrieking skyward. A thick cloud of vapor engulfed each as it lanced toward heaven, stretching out behind and forming a cone shape as the Starhawks went supersonic, then vanishing as they went hypersonic seconds later. Behind and below, the Marine shields switched back on and the base lights vanished.
“Hey Skipper?” Tucker, Blue Eight, called. “I’m getting an EDS here. AI says it’s Prim!”
Allyn glanced at her virtual com suite display, saw the wink of a contact light, with bearing and range. So Prim had survived! Or, at least, the emergency distress beacon built into his e-suit was still functioning, which wasn’t necessarily the same thing.
“Got it,” she said, patching the signal through back to MED HQ.
“Shouldn’t I go back down and try to find him?”
Katie Tucker was Prim’s wing. Of course she wanted to cover her partner. “Negative, Tuck,” she replied. “The Marines’ll take care of him.” If they can, she added to herself, but she didn’t speak the thought aloud.
“Yeah, we got other Tushies to fry,” Blue Five put in. “Let’s do it!”
On Allyn’s tactical display, six Turusch capital ships and a score of fighters were picked out by red icons above Eta Boötis IV. All were under acceleration, and appeared to be outbound from the planet’s night side. She extended the range on her display, and the blue icons of the emerging carrier battlegroup winked on.
The five surviving Blue Omega fighters had pulled several two-ship patrols in the time since they’d arrived at Mike-Red, aimed mostly at keeping the Turusch at a respectful distance. The bombardment of the Marine perimeter had all but stopped. With Blue Omega’s arrival, the enemy had known that the battlegroup would be on the way, and they’d obviously been preparing for its arrival, the Marines on-planet now a far lower priority than the approaching Confederation fleet.
The overall tactical situation offered the handful of Starhawks on the surface of Eta Boötis IV a rare opportunity. With the America battlegroup emerging from metaspace off the planet’s dark side, the Turusch fleet was swinging about and accelerating to meet it … and in the process turning their backs on Allyn and the remnants of her squadron.
White light blossomed, startling and stark against the night. The Tushies hadn’t entirely forgotten the base, or the fighters hidden there. “Everyone okay?” she called as the crackle of EM static faded.
“Blue Eight, okay!”
“Blue Five, still here.”
“Blue Six. Got a little crisp there for a sec, but okay.”
“Blue Three. Rog.”
The black bulk of Eta Boötis’s night side dropped away as the five Blue Omegas streaked out of the turbulent atmosphere.
“Okay, children,” Allyn told the others. “Let’s put them where they count!”
“Surprise, you freaking Tush bastards!” Lieutenant Tucker called over the tac channel. “Omega Eight, target lock! And Fox One!”
Allyn was already targeting a Sierra-class cruiser, eight thousand kilometers ahead. “Omega One! Target lock! Fox One!”
The Krait slid off the rail and through the momentary puckered opening in the Starhawk’s smoothly shifting surface and vanished into the distance. Seconds later, it detonated against the Sierra’s screens with a swelling, nuclear fireball … but Allyn was already breaking right and high, targeting another enemy vessel.
Then the Tush fighters were closing on them from three directions, swinging around and back to engage the sudden pop-up strike from the planet’s surface. The five Confederation fighters went into the merge accelerating hard, engaging the fighters with particle beams and KK cannon, saving the heavy-hitting Kraits for capital ship targets.
For the next several seconds, the combat was a confused blur of fast-moving ships, black space, and fireballs. Twice, Allyn’s Starhawk AI intervened to throw the ship one way or the other to avoid hurtling pieces of white-hot debris. She saw her CPG beam spear through an oncoming Toad just ahead, and then the sky lit up with an eye-searing explosion, pelting her outer hull with high-velocity bits of shrapnel. Warning tones sounded in her ear as gravitic missiles locked on and accelerated toward her. Sand canisters thumped into the void, blocking the enemy thrusts.
Ahead, two massive battlefleets engaged. …
CIC, TC/USNA CVS America
Battlespace Eta Boötis IV
2354 hours, TFT
“Main spinal mount!” Captain Buchanan called from the bridge, “Fire!”
On the tactical display, a beam of white light snapped out from the icon of the America, connecting the carrier momentarily with an Alpha-class Turusch line
