Ep.#8 - "Celestia: CV-02" (19 page)

The president cleared his throat and pulled himself together. “Do what you can. I need to know, one way or another. I need to know.”

“Yes, sir,” the colonel answered, stepping back from the president.

President Scott looked up at the map display. One of the smaller, blue triangles that had been approaching Winnipeg now had an orange circle around it and was no longer moving. That triangle represented his wife’s shuttle. Somewhere in those woods, she was stranded, probably injured, possibly even dead. And there was nothing he could do about it. He wondered if she might still be safe if she had not been forced to move to the NAU capital in Winnipeg.

He had never really wanted to be president.

* * *

Admiral Galiardi studied the world-wide tactical map displayed on the massive, main view screen on the command center’s far wall. Over the past ten minutes, hundreds of smaller red triangles had made their way from the larger triangles representing the Jung troop ships in orbit. The triangles clustered around every seat of government on the planet, as well as numerous key military installations. Their goal was clear: destroy the Earth’s defenses and the leaders that commanded them. One by one, green dots on the map that represented government capitals turned red, indicating their fall to Jung forces. There was no ceremonial handing over of assets, no waving of a white flag in surrender; they had simply lost all communication with those governments, after which, their fall was usually confirmed on the Earth-Net by images of Jung troops landing uncontested, destroyed government buildings in the background.

“Jesus, Marty,” the admiral swore, “are they even fighting back?”

“The Jung weapons are far more accurate than we were originally led to believe,” Rear Admiral Duncan said. “They must have had agents on the ground for years to develop such a complete target list. By the time Jung forces start landing here, our national military forces won’t have much left to defend with.”

“What about our forces?” the admiral wondered.

“We managed to get one flight of missiles off before they struck our launchers on the surface. We’ve lost most of our surface-to-orbit guns as well.”

“Did we do any damage to those ships?”

“We knocked out two gunboats, one cruiser, and one transport. The other three transports have moved into higher orbits, out of the reach of our surface defenses, but we’re pretty sure they’ve already offloaded. We also damaged one cruiser, and she’s moved higher as well. However, she’s still able to launch weapons at the surface. It just takes a little longer for them to reach us.”

“Recall our fighters from orbit and have them engage targets in the atmosphere. Let’s see if we can’t protect our remaining surface-to-orbit guns. Those fighters can’t do much to the cruisers anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How far out are those other three cruisers?” the admiral wondered.

“Just under an hour, sir,” Rear Admiral Duncan answered. “The Volkov should be in weapons range of them any minute now.”

“Let’s hope she can hold out until the Zhang-Ti joins the fight. If they can neutralize those three cruisers, we might have a fighting chance here.”

* * *

Synda raised her head from her pillow, her eyes squinting at the bedroom lights that had just snapped on and awakened her.

“Synda! Get up!” her roommate Nikki yelled as she stormed into the room.

“What time is it?”

“Who cares?”

Synda glanced at her alarm clock on her night stand. “It’s only one? What the hell, Nikki? You know I work nights,” Synda complained.

“Don’t you know what’s going on?” Nikki said. “The world’s coming to an end, and you’re sleeping?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Synda asked as she turned over and partially sat up, resting on her elbows.

“The Jung! They’re bombing everything! They’re landing troops!”

“What?”

Nikki picked up the remote off Synda’s nightstand and turned on her small viewer in the corner. Images of blown-out buildings, people running in fear, injured victims lying about, rescue vehicles and military transports rushing past: the scenes flashing across the viewer revealed a state of absolute chaos from locations around the world.

“Oh, my God,” Synda said in disbelief. “We’re being invaded?”

“Now are you going to get up?” Nikki asked as she stormed out of the room.

Synda watched the viewer, turning up the volume as more images of death and destruction flashed across the screen. “
…experts estimate that it is only a matter of time before Jung troops begin landing in all major cities on every continent. Civil authorities in all major population areas are urging citizens to stay indoors and to stay away from all windows and doors. In the event that you come in contact with Jung forces, do not offer resistance. Martial law has been declared in all areas that have reported to this agency. Local militias have been alerted and have already engaged Jung ground forces…
”

Synda heard something fall in the living room and muted her viewer. “Nikki?” She became concerned when she got no response from her friend and rose from her bed. She went to the door, then stopped short when she heard another crash. She peeked slowly around the door frame, but pulled back sharply when she saw the leg of a man in the living room. The man had been wearing combat boots and dark gray pants. Thoughts raced through her mind.
A Jung soldier?
She doubted that, as the news had only estimated that they would come down to the surface. It had to be some jerk taking advantage of the chaos, breaking into people’s apartments, or worse yet, raping young women.
You came to the wrong apartment,
she thought. Synda looked about her room, grabbing the nearest heavy object—a trophy for winning second place in a mixed martial arts tournament at her local gym. She moved close to the door frame, preparing to lunge at the unknown intruder. Her muscles tensed as she raised the large trophy, preparing to use it as a weapon.

Synda stepped out in one smooth motion, the trophy held high and ready to swing with all her might. She stopped short when she saw the man standing next to her roommate. Nikki was handing the man a bag stuffed full of clothing to carry. “You’re taking your trophy with you?” Nikki asked. “Seriously?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think you should put some clothes on first?” Nikki suggested as she headed back to the other room to continue gathering her things. “Or do you plan on taking on the Jung in a T-shirt and panties?”

Synda dropped the trophy to her side.

“Hi, I’m Eddie.” The man waved. “I’m with her,” he added, pointing back in the direction of Nikki in the other room.

“Synda, nice to meet you,” Synda said.

“Are you coming with us?” Eddie asked.

“Coming where?”

“We’re heading out to my mom’s in the country,” Nikki said as she came back into the room with another bag. “You have to come with us.”

“Why?”

“Because if the Jung come here, it will be safer there,” Nikki insisted.

“But on the news, they said to stay put,” Synda said.

“Oh, please,” Nikki said as she went toward the kitchen. “Don’t be stupid! Get your things! You’re coming with us!”

“She’s probably right,” Eddie said.

“Okay then,” Synda agreed. “I’ll just go and put some clothes on.”

* * *

“Missile intercept in five seconds,” Lieutenant Eckert reported from the Intrepid’s tactical station.

Captain Christopoulos watched the tactical display on the main view screen calmly. Their fragmentation missiles had split into multiple warheads at the precise moment to ensure proper dispersal before interception.

“Two……one……intercept.”

Half the missiles launched by the four Jung frigates coming from behind the moon disappeared from the screen. The captain watched for several seconds as three more faded away, but there were still more than twenty missiles on their way to the Orbital Assembly Platform and the Celestia.

“Twenty-seven targets destroyed,” the lieutenant said.

“Time to missile intercept at current range?” the captain asked.

“Five minutes.”

“Combat, Captain,” the captain called over his comm-set. “Fire another round of fragmenting intercepts at the remaining incoming Jung missiles. Let’s see if we can knock out the rest of them.”

“
Aye, Captain,
” Commander Nasser answered over the comm-set.

“How long until our first round of missiles reach those frigates?” the captain asked.

“Three minutes, sir,” the tactical officer responded. “Second round of fragmenting intercepts launched. Sixteen missiles away.”

The captain glanced at the screen as the missiles sped away from the Intrepid on their way to intercept the incoming missiles. “Combat, Captain,” he called over the comm-set.

“
Captain, go for combat,
” the commander answered.

“Commander, load another round, wait one, and fire again. I want to have time to maneuver out of the path of those missiles before we end up taking one in the nose.”

“
Aye, sir. As soon as we get off another round at those frigates, we’ll reload and fire on the incoming targets a third time. That will do it for our frag-intercepts, though.
”

“Might as well fire them all now, Commander,” the captain explained. “We won’t get another chance. Be ready with our rail guns to take on any that get through.”

“
We’ll try, sir,
” the commander promised. “
But that’s like trying to hit a bullet by throwing a handful of pebbles.
”

“It’s all we’ve got,” the captain said, clicking off his comm-set.

“Thirty seconds until our missiles reach the frigates, sir,” Lieutenant Eckert reported. “Frigates are firing point-defenses.”

“Captain, message from Fleet,” Lieutenant Chara reported from the comm-station. “The Reliant has been destroyed.”

“Damn! How many of those cruisers are still headed our way?” the captain asked.

“Three, sir,” the sensor operator reported.

“Well, at least Yahi took out half of them. How long until the Volkov engages?”

“Any minute now, sir.”

“Five seconds to intercept of the frigates,” Lieutenant Eckert reported.

Captain Christopoulos watched the tactical display on the main view screen. He wanted nothing more than to see all four of those red triangles over the moon disappear. One by one, the oblong, green icons representing his missiles winked out as the point-defense systems of the enemy frigates ripped them apart.

“Impact.”

Five oblong, green icons reached their targets, two of them striking the outermost red triangle, the other three striking the second to the left. The one on the left disappeared instantly along with the icons for the torpedoes that had destroyed her. The other red triangle, the one on the right, was still there even after the missiles had disappeared. A moment later, that triangle disappeared as well.

“Two frigates destroyed!” the lieutenant reported happily. “Firing another round of ship-to-ship now.”

Sixteen more missiles streaked away from them on the view screen.

“Three minutes to second wave intercept on the incoming missiles,” the tactical officer added.

“Contacts!” Ensign Kono reported from the sensor station. “Probable missile launches. The frigates are firing again! Transferring tracks to tactical.”

“Are they firing at the OAP?” the captain asked, worried that he had no more intercept missiles left.

“No, sir,” Lieutenant Eckert reported. “The two remaining frigates are firing on us! Count: twenty inbound. Time to impact: seven minutes!”

“Comms, notify Fleet Command that we’re under fire,” the captain ordered.

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Chara acknowledged.

“Helm, stand by to rollover onto our port side. If any of those missiles get past, I want to bring as many of our rail guns as possible onto them as they pass us by.”

Ensign Hunt quickly entered a string of commands into the maneuvering control computer in preparation to execute his captain’s orders. “Standing by to roll to port.”

“Two minutes to second wave intercept,” Lieutenant Eckert reported. “Third wave of frag-interceptors launching. Sixteen missiles away.”

The captain waited a beat to let the missiles get well clear of the ship before maneuvering. “Now, Mister Hunt. Roll to port, and then pitch down ninety degrees relative to our flight path.”

“Rolling to port and pitching down, aye,” the helmsman answered as he executed the roll maneuver and prepared to pitch the Intrepid’s nose downward.

“How long until our second wave of ship-to-ship missiles reaches those frigates?” the captain asked.

“Four minutes, forty-eight seconds,” Lieutenant Eckert answered from the tactical station.

“Roll complete,” Ensign Hunt reported. “Pitching down ninety.”

“One minute until second wave of frag-intercepts reaches the remaining incoming missiles,” Lieutenant Eckert reported.

Captain Christopoulos tapped his comm-set hanging on his left ear to initiate a call. “Combat, Captain.”

“
Captain, go for combat,
” Commander Nasser answered over the comm-set.

“Keep our big guns on the frigates. Spin up all point-defenses and target the rest of the missiles bound for the OAP,” the captain ordered.

“
Yes, sir, but we’re going to need our point-defenses shortly to ward off the missiles targeting us.
”

“Understood,” the captain acknowledged. It was a calculated risk, but one he had little choice but to take. He knew that the Celestia was trying to get under way in order to take the data cores from the Ark into hiding. If they had to take a few missile impacts in order to protect her, they would. They had guns, they had missiles, and they had armor. The Orbital Assembly Platform and the Celestia did not.

* * *

Luis headed down the corridor that led through the thick layers of the Celestia’s hull to the command deck inside. The corridor was also only partially painted, with bare metal showing in many places. Much of the overhead piping and conduit was also unpainted, and there were entire sections of wall plating missing, leaving internal systems exposed. More than once, Luis found himself instinctively moving to the opposite side of the corridor to steer clear of exposed wiring terminals.

Luis stepped through the inner pressure hatch at the end of the corridor, then turned left and headed forward at a brisk pace. He passed several compartments, including the command briefing room and several officers’ quarters. The corridor curved gradually to the right, following the curvature of the inner hull. Luis followed it around until he came to the port entrance to the Celestia’s bridge. He stepped inside and found chaos. Technicians were scrambling to get critical systems flight-ready. Fleet personnel were trying to figure out how to use the stations that were functional. At the center of the chaos was a young lieutenant commander who looked slightly overwhelmed. Luis made his way to the man. “Sir,” he called out, only to be ignored, as the officer continued giving orders to others. “Sir!” Luis repeated.