The Heart of Matter: Odyssey One (46 page)

It almost looked like a movie.

A silent buzz tingled through his arm as the computer located and locked on the target, calculating its course along the ten-light-second distance between them, then announced that the firing solution had been plotted.

“Archangel Lead. Fox Three,” Stephanos announced as he flipped up the cover over the thumb button and slammed down on the stud.

The smooth underside of the Archangel popped open at his command, and the rail system built into the sleek fighter ejected one missile out the port-side tube. It fell away from the fighter, launched by a low-powered electromagnetic launcher, until it briefly jerked free of the fighter’s CM field. Then its own CM field kicked, powered from onboard capacitors to “supersurge” the field, just as the solid rocket fuel booster ignited.

The missile cleaved through space like a laser beam, accelerating to almost 0.8c in just a few seconds. After those seconds were done, its CM generator burned out, though the rocket booster kept burning, and the quarter-ton sledgehammer continued on course at 80 percent the speed of light.

One by one, the other wing leaders called out “Fox Three,” launching their own missiles into space as the Archangels continued screaming silently toward their target.

NACS ODYSSEY

▸LIEUTENANT WINGER STIFFENED in surprise. “Archangels have engaged, Captain.”

Eric looked over. “How long ago?”

“Just now, sir,” she told him. “The
Vulk
has pinged the Drasin fighters again.”

Eric nodded, understanding. The Priminae ships had power to burn, from what he could tell, and the speed with which the
Vulk
was using active tachyon-location systems was only one more proof.

At least it gave him real-time data on his fighters, and maybe something else.

“Updated course on the cruisers?”

“They’re pulling away approximately as predicted,” Winger told him instantly.

“All right. Commander Michaels can handle the fighters. Let’s nail those cruisers,” Eric Weston said coolly.

ARCHANGEL SQUADRON

▸“CONFIRMED HIT!”

Stephanos bared his teeth slightly as the huge plumes of energy showed on his sensors as at least two of the four missiles tore through their targets, ripping them apart. The other two were unconfirmed, but he was pretty sure that at least one had missed completely.

“Secondary Fire Teams, choose your targets.”

The secondary teams in each diamond accelerated slightly, edging ahead of their flight leaders, and locked up the second array of targets.

“Enemy is maneuvering. I’m having trouble getting a lock,” Cardsharp said a moment later. “No joy. No joy.”

The HVM system, while fast and packing massive power delivered on target, was lacking in at least one area—maneuvering. The missiles were basically very, very heavy-beam weapons in their own peculiar way. Once fired, they went straight into the target with very little ability to maneuver.

“Roger that, Twelve,” Stephanos returned. “Anyone having better luck?”

The other two fighters responded quickly in the negative.

“Distance is now five. I say again, five light-seconds. Hold positions. Fire when you have a positive lock.”

The team called back, confirming receipt of the order. On board the fighters, the pilots watched their sensors with practically religious attention, watching not only for the moment their weapons systems rewarded their patience with a lock, but also for any sign that the enemy was firing back.

Seconds passed as they continued to barrel in, the lock percentages slowly climbing as the distance dropped and the computers started to develop predictive algorithms for the evasion patterns. What they didn’t see was what they both feared and expected.

Cardsharp was the first to voice it.

“Damn it, why aren’t they shooting back?”

“Can it, Twelve,” Stephanos called.

He wanted to know the answer to that question himself, but Commander Michaels knew how easily people, even well-trained people who knew better, could let the unknown get to them. Letting speculation start to run back and forth would only hurt their chances and dull their edge.

Again, it was Archangel Twelve, Jennifer “Cardsharp” Samuels, who made the first call. “I have tone.”

“Take the shot.”

“Archangel Twelve…Fox Three.”

Mere instants later, the other members of the secondary fire team received tone and opened fire as well.

Three more havok HVM missiles blazed across the alien sky and ripped into their targets only seconds later.

“Hit! Hit! Hit!” Stephanos called. “Three confirmed. Good shooting!”

Three more targets lit up, three more put down. Which left one question burning in the minds of each of the pilots.

Why weren’t they returning fire?

“Ten seconds to knife range!” Steph called. “Switch to combat maneuvering and hook up the interface!”

The fighters shifted to their combat-maneuvering systems and brought their CM fields up to full combat levels. The fields would quickly drain their energy reserves, but while they lasted, the Archangels would be able to pull high-g maneuvers like the laws of physics were looking the other way.

“Archangel Lead. Guns, gun, guns!”

Calls of Fox Three and guns ranged through the tactical network as the team went weapons free and opened up on any available target.

First one, then three, then a dozen blooms of heat and light lit up the sky as the Drasin fighters died in the blaze of fire from the Archangels.

Yet, through it all, there was no return fire.

Stephanos had only a few seconds to worry about it; then the enemy was upon them.

“Tighten up! Stay with your wingmen! Here they come!” he called out as the enemy fighters appeared from the dark of the black sky, appearing like a wave from the night and rushing right into the throats of the Archangels.

And then passing right by without skipping a beat.

Stephanos twisted and jerked around in his fighter, looking over his shoulder at the computer-enhanced HUD that was projected all around him. “What the…?”

Archangels Four and Eight cursed, rolling as the Drasin fighters nearly collided with them, the pilots yelling into the ether.

“Where the hell are they going?”

Stephanos’s eyes widened, something clicking in his mind, and he slammed his fighter over. The Archangel flipped nose
for end as his abrupt change of vector caused his wingman to jerk around in a slower move. Then Stephanos fired his reactors and slammed the throttle full up.

The fighter screamed around him as it began to shake against the sudden change in vector, and even with the CM field at combat levels, he felt the pressure slam him back into the seat—hard.

“Steph! Damn it, Steph!” Lt. Franklin “Burner” Amherst yelled over the tac-net, already throwing his own fighter around in an impossible slide that culminated in a full-power burn from his twin reactors.

Stephanos ignored his wingman’s demands, trusting the younger man to catch up as he could, not wanting to lose any time on the Drasin.

“All Angels,” he called out tersely over the tactical network, “watch for kamikaze attacks on the Prim warship.”

That was all it took.

The Archangels erupted in a series of curses, their flight profiles curving tighter and harder than they had before, and within moments, the entire wing of twelve fighters was pointed in the same direction as they poured on the power.

Ahead of them, the mammoth size of the Priminae warship was nothing but a tiny blip on their forward-scanning sensors, but its distance was “only” a few light-seconds away, and they, like the Drasin, were going very, very fast.

“Spread wide, Angels!” Stephanos called, his left hand coming off the throttle control as he tapped in a series of commands, sliding his finger along the touch screen between his knees, to clarify his order.

Within a little over a minute, the twelve-man group had let themselves drift out and away from the direct “six” of the Drasin group, taking up positions all along the periphery of
that exalted place in a fighter jock’s heart, their engines still throwing them through space after the alien craft.

“That should keep us from getting fried in friendly fire,” Stephanos muttered, trying not to put too much emphasis on the word
should
. “In case you hadn’t figured it out, weapons are free, ladies and gentlemen. Vent those bastards.”

PRIMINAE VESSEL VULK