Echoes of War Box Set, page 13
part #1 of Echoes of War Series
“The same?” the barkeeper asked.
Hanson nodded.
As the barkeeper prepared his next drink, he kept asking questions. “So why so glum? They turn you down for a promotion?”
Hanson looked up. “Lost my ship.”
“Ah, well... at least you survived, right?” the barkeeper said.
Hanson had nothing to say, simply responding to the barkeeper with a blank stare and sad eyes, which prompted him to walk off after setting the new drink in front of Hanson.
Hanson looked down as a tone came from his personal communicator, seeing David’s name when he brought up the screen. Shaking his head, knowing he was slightly buzzed and hoping he didn’t regret it, Hanson sat down his drink and brought the phone up to his ear. “Hanson here, sir.”
“We got another ship.”
Hanson blinked for a moment. “Really? Cool.” Hope and excitement filled his voice.
“How about another posting as my chief engineer?” David asked.
Hanson’s eyes widened. He had thought they’d all be busted back to Second Lieutenant over the Rabin. “That’d be awesome, sir.”
“Great, I’ll get you cleared for the program. We’ll talk soon.”
“Yes, sir, let me know.”
Hanson hung up the communicator and returned to his drink, but now, a small smile crept across his lips.
13
Onboard the CSV Pat Tillman, Major Hassan Amir glanced at yet another systems report in the cockpit of his space superiority fighter. His HUD showed there was another nineteen minutes to noon prayers. Amusing that I’m so bored I’m counting down the minutes to pray. He was the Carrier Air Wing Commander, also known as the Carrier Air Group (CAG) hundreds of years ago in the wet navies of the United States and Great Britain. The title was an example of something that, despite many years, hadn’t changed in the military along with such things as doing paperwork in triplicate or hazing of the newbies. Amir’s squadron, the 85th Space Fighter Squadron of CDF Space Combat Command, was known as the “The Grim Reapers,” or the Reapers for short.
Currently, the entire air wing of the Tillman was at Ready Five status; they were strapped into their fighters and ready to launch as soon as the Tillman entered the engagement area. Amir had been strapped in for the better part of two hours, and the sheer boredom killed him. “Reaper One to Tiger One,” he said into his comm unit.
The clipped British accent of his deputy air wing commander, Captain Rebecca Tulleny, answered him. “Tiger One here.”
Amir keyed his mic again. “I’m bored to tears, and in need of a bio break,” he said with a snort of derision.
“We’re in fully enclosed suits for a reason, Major. Just let it out,” Tulleny said back with a played up cheery air.
In the middle of their exchange, the commanding officer of the Tillman, Colonel Patrick Forrester, cut in. “Attention Air Wing, we have arrived within the battle zone and have confirmed over one hundred bandits. I say again, over one hundred bandits. All fighters launch! Launch! Launch!”
Amir keyed his mic and turned the channel to the “Air Boss,” the officer responsible for overall flight operations once the commanding officer gave the order to launch. “Boss, request permission to launch!”
After a brief pause, he heard her response broadcast to all channels. “This is the boss. Fighters, launch by squadron. Reapers first.”
As he was the first in line to launch, Amir turned up his throttle and punched maximum thrust. He felt the G-forces through his harness, even though his entire flight suit and cockpit was designed to minimize all G-force discomfort. The thrusters on CDF fighters could push 15-Gs or fifteen times the force of one earth gravity, which without the specialized flight suit and harness, would kill a normal human almost instantly. The fighter raced out of the side of the carrier, followed by dozens of others—six squadrons in all, consisting of space superiority fighters, a squadron of bombers, as well as interceptors designed specifically to engage enemy fighters and bombers.
Amir waited for his squadron to get into space and ticked down the seconds as the flight of CDF fighters they piloted, known as the SF-106 Phantoms, ran through all safety checks for vacuum operation. As soon as his onboard computer system showed green for his squadron, he keyed his mic. “This is the CAG, Reapers, form up in echelon formation. We’re going to perform close escort for our heavies. Fighter squadrons, engage the bandits.”
Amir’s communications system lit up with green acknowledged messages from all fighters in the air group. Inside of the specialized HUD of the fighter he piloted, he could mentally call up information on any squadron and its status from the CDF tactical network.
Colonel Forrester’s voice cut into Amir’s communications net. “Major, I’m tasking your bomber squadron to engage Master Seven, the League carrier on station. Most of its fighter resources are committed, and our capital ships have degraded its escorts. We won’t get a better chance to end this siege.”
Amir keyed his mic. “Roger Wilco, Colonel.” He switched channels back to the tactical net. “Alright, Reapers, you heard the man. Intercept vector Master Seven. We’ll form a sphere around our bombers and guide them in. Weapons status is free.” The weapons-free order allowed all the fighters in his squadron to engage any hostile bandit without requesting permission to fire as opposed to a weapons-tight ROE, or rules of engagement status.
It took several minutes for the fleet of CDF fighters to reach the engagement zone. Amir analyzed his sensor readings, compiled from all of the CDF ships and small craft in the area. He quickly realized that at least two squadrons of League interceptors had been sent toward his squadron and the bombers. He also took note that no less than eight squadrons rushed toward the rest of his fighters. Amir focused on the squadrons heading toward him; the rest was in the hands of his pilots, whom he trusted to perform at the most exacting of standards.
“This is Reaper One, tally ho, ten degrees port, fifteen degrees elevation, two squadrons enemy fighters!” Amir announced into the communications net. “Stand by for maximum range and obtain a strong lock.”
Standard CDF fighter doctrine was to engage with active tracked LIDAR missiles from the forward arc and to use heat-seeking missiles when on an enemy’s rear, or “six.”
The missile tone sound filled Amir’s fighter as he made a positive weapon lock on one of the interceptors racing toward his flight. “Reaper One, Fox Three,” he said calmly into the mic as he pulled the missile launch trigger on his flight stick.
Similar announcements from other fighters in his squadron filled the communications channel. Missiles raced from both sides and electronic countermeasure systems, or ECM, jammed many of them before they could hit their intended targets, causing small explosions all over the battle space. Several from the CDF side hit, and Amir saw three League interceptor icons blink out, indicating hard kills, at the same time one of his own fighter icons blinked out. Amir silently prayed that his pilot had been able to eject in time.
“Reapers engaged, Tillman!” he said over the communications channel. “Reapers, break right and maintain covering fire for our bombers.” Amir angled his fighter downward relative to his location, aiming for another League interceptor. As he started the process of locking a missile on the inceptor in his sights, warning tones sounded in his cockpit. His fighter was now the target.
“Reaper One, you’ve got one on your tail!” one of his wingmen said through the commlink. “I’m moving to cover you!”
Amir angled his fighter in a high-speed turn, trying to outmaneuver the enemy craft.
“Reaper Six, guns, guns, guns!” his wingman called, indicating that he was engaging the League craft with the small neutron cannons mounted in his fuselage. Their firepower didn’t compare to the larger versions fielded by CDF capital ships, but they packed more than enough punch to deal with fighter-sized targets. After a couple of misses, a barrage of neutron cannon fire destroyed the League interceptor.
“Thank you, Six,” Amir said into the mic.
He quickly looked at his threat display and locked on to the nearest fighter to him. Matching the League craft turn for turn, he gained optimum vector for a heat-seeker launch and announced, “Reaper One, Fox Two!” as he pulled the missile trigger. During the time Amir’s fighter squadron was engaging the League interceptor squadrons, the bombers had closed in on their target to where they could fire anti-ship missiles at the League carrier.
He heard the lead bomber’s pilot call on his communications channel. “Keep these bandits off us for just a few moments longer, Reapers!”
The bomber squadrons let loose multiple waves of anti-ship missiles. As soon as the last missile was away, they turned back toward the Tillman and executed a maximum thrust burn. Between the remaining League interceptors and point defense systems on the League’s carrier, most of the missiles were destroyed before impact. The three made their way through to their targets caused additional explosions to blossom over several areas of the League carrier, telltale signs of secondary damage to fuel bunkerages and munitions. Despite the damage, Amir knew that the damaged carrier was still very much in the fight.
Then, something strange happened—the League fighters still in the battle space streamed back to the hangars of the carrier they came from, and the League ships throughout the area jumped out, disengaging from the fight. As the carrier faded from view, chatter filled the communications network. “League ships are breaking off combat. They are retreating!” said an overjoyed voice Amir didn’t recognize.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Amir deadpanned.
“I’ve never seen the League run away from a fight like this before,” Tulleny said.
“The will of Allah can be mysterious.” Keying his mic to the channel for all squadrons attached to the Tillman, Amir announced, “All squadrons, return to home plate.”
14
MacIntosh and David stepped through the hatch into a large training room onboard the Lion of Judah; there was electronic sign on the door that said “Anti-Matter Reactor Briefing in Progress, led by Dr. Benjamin Hayworth, Advanced Reactor Consultant—Victory Project.”
David took up a standing position in the back of the very full room, taking in the view of dozens of CDF officers, contractors, and academics observing the briefing along with MacIntosh, drawing a glare from Hayworth as they arrived late.
Hayworth paused for a moment, seemingly to ensure everyone knew that they’d walked in before the briefing started before continuing his presentation. “As you see, the process of anti-matter or matter annihilation provides a much higher level of energy than any fusion reactor system. Although the quantities of anti-matter fuel available are low, the potential for this technology to revolutionize power generation in starships is extremely promising. Our latest advancements—some of which are sadly classified, I must remind you—would also increase the safety of this volatile fuel source in all stages, generation, storage, transport, and use, making this technology highly economical for the power it generates.”
A major wearing the insignia of an engineering duty officer spoke up. “Doctor, what about Dr. Gossel’s advancements regarding the mining of the hydrogen reserves of gas giants? Don’t they provide an excellent fuel source for starships as well?”
Hayworth turned to look at the man, leveling a withering stare on the offending questioner. “Dr. Gossel underestimates the difficulty in extracting such resources with our current generation of starships. Nor does his concept promise to relieve the need for massive, uneconomical numbers of fusion reactors in large-scale starships, unlike anti-matter reactors.”
A young woman in civilian attire spoke next. “How safe are negmatter reactors?” she asked in a bright voice, very much engaged in Hayworth’s presentation.
As soon as the word “negmatter” left her mouth, Hayworth’s face turned to a scowl. He directed a fierce gaze at her. “‘Negmatter?’ Young lady, if I hear you utter that term again, I’m going to speak to a supply officer about procuring a dunce hat for your use! ‘Negmatter’ is a horribly unscientific, ridiculous term, and I shan’t have it bandied about within earshot! It doesn’t even deserve the dignity of being considered a layman’s term for anti-matter.” Grumbling, Hayworth nevertheless collected himself. “As for your question, as safe as any technology using altered matter that annihilates its exact opposite can get. But it’s no more dangerous in practical terms than any standard fusion reactor or, more accurately, an old-style fossil-burning sea ship.”
David whispered toward MacIntosh, “Quite a piece of work. And he’s my chief engineer?”
MacIntosh glanced at David and smirked. “Chief engineering consultant. Hayworth’s the only man in the Coalition with hands-on experience with this technology. Unfortunately, that means you’ll have to put up with that infamous ego of his.”
“Doctor Hayworth,” an older man midway to the back said, standing and waving. “I’ve followed your accomplishments in this field with great interest. To finally see this technology…”
“Get on with it,” Hayworth said, cutting him off.
“Ah, well, uh, Doctor… what about the destructive potential of anti-matter? Can you see it being adapted to create better warheads for our missiles?”
“I don’t create weapons. Next!”
Another man stood. “Doctor, given the cost of creating anti-matter in meaningful quantities, how can we ever expect to get this technology out to the entire fleet? Wouldn’t it be better to focus our energy on more refined fusion reactors?”
“Six hundred years ago, you’d be arguing for better breeding of horses to ensure they were more muscular and could keep up with the car. Fusion technology is just that—old and outdated. The future is anti-matter and in time, we’ll have more of it than we could possibly need.”
David wondered if they were gluttons for punishment.
After another fifteen minutes of back and forth, which Hayworth clearly enjoyed, he glanced at the clock. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve hit our time limit for today. I look to see you again in the future and hope you will have studied the material more thoroughly.” Everyone filed out except for Hayworth, MacIntosh, and David. MacIntosh raised his hand to catch Hayworth’s attention and motioned the doctor over. Gesturing to David, he said, “Doctor, this is Colonel Cohen. He’s going to be commanding the Lion of Judah.”
Hayworth took a moment to look David over. “Awfully young for this job, aren’t you?”
MacIntosh shifted his weight and stared at Hayworth. “Colonel Cohen is a veteran of—”
“Oh yes, veteran of this campaign and that. I’m well aware of how young our veteran officers are getting, General.” Hayworth appraised David closely. “So, Colonel, are you aware of the significance of your vessel’s power source and advanced technology?”
David stared at Hayworth, making a mental determination that showing any personal weakness to this man could prove fatal in dealing with him down the road. “I’ve read the engineering briefing and explanation of the benefits and risks of this technology, Doctor. While I make no claim to be a scientist, there seem to be some significant risks in carrying around anti-matter on a warship.”
“No more dangerous than the munitions you already carry,” Hayworth said snappishly. “An anti-matter system will make up for any slight increase in internal volatility by significantly enhancing the power output of your vessel, enough to use a number of the latest, most efficient, and powerful deflector screen generators in our possession, which will, I remind you, enhance ship survivability.”
David bristled in spite of himself. Mentally determining he didn’t like the man, he responded in a more direct tone. “I’ve found that no matter how much engineers and designers tout a ship’s survivability, it usually comes down to how good the crew is.”
“Well, of course it does,” Hayworth retorted, giving off an air of having fielded such remarks before. “A machine’s effectiveness is determined by the skill of the user. But that doesn’t mean the machine itself isn’t an optimized device.”
Hayworth paused for a moment, staring at the patches on David’s uniform left sleeve. Like all CDF members, David had a patch at the top of the left sleeve that was the flag of the Terran Coalition; directly under it was another patch that denoted the nation-state he was from, which in David’s case was the Republic of Israel, whose flag was a Star of David on a white background. Some members chose to substitute that patch with one for their chosen religion; it was also permitted under CDF regulations to wear a third patch with a religious symbol if so desired.
“Colonel, do you consider yourself a Reform, Conservative, or Orthodox Jew? I’m assuming that you’re not an Ultra-Orthodox since you serve in the military,” Hayworth inquired with a smirk on his face, looking David straight in the eye.
David’s face contorted into a grimace as Hayworth’s words registered. I’m not in the mood to have someone who doesn’t even know me, insult my beliefs, especially when I put my life on the line to protect his rights. “I’m an Orthodox Jew, Doctor. As for my Ultra-Orthodox brethren, they serve in other ways.”
“By studying some book of fiction from four thousand years ago endlessly?”
MacIntosh looked between the two men, not saying anything. David had the sudden impression he was watching to see who would come out on top.
“Doctor, I would remind you that its considered scientific consensus that our universe is finely tuned for the life within it…so can you really say it’s a work of fiction?” David said, a cocky smile on his face.
“Every piece of evidence that supposedly points toward that conclusion can easily be used to support the validity of the multiverse theory, Colonel.”
“As I understand it, there is no proof of a multiverse existing. There is, on the other hand, clear, concise proof in our physical constants, that if N, for instance, was significantly smaller, our universe would not exist.” Explain that, Doctor.
