HOLDING THE LINE CHAPTER 204: CHECK AND MATE, PART ONE
Written by Joe Guida and Rajan Ragupathy
====================================================
Nifelheim System, Downing Quadrant, Vega Sector
Aboard TCS Yorktown (CV-54)
Bridge
February 19th, 2681/2681.050
0108 hrs.
=====================================================
William Kennedy looked wearily out at the stars,
wondering what would come next.
He’d been up for twenty-three hours straight,
making decisions for the task force, worrying, waiting for word of the strike
that they’d launched at the Tiamat-class dreadnought, sweating it out when the
backlash from the bugs came in the form of Barracuda-class corvettes and an
Orca-class destroyer, along with fighters.
He’d mourned at word of their losses, and bled
with the rest of them as he counted those that would never come home, having
made the ultimate sacrifice. He’d listened as word of the damage inflicted upon
his task force had come in, and silently celebrated that they were still
combat-capable, despite the fighter losses and the damage to the Yorktown and
the Agincourt.
Now, even after all of that, it seemed that
there was still another hurdle for Carrier Battlegroup Rapier to clear: A pair
of Nephilim heavy carriers that were heading towards the civilians still in the
Nifelheim System, despite everything the Combined Fleet had done. All that
stood between them and the civilians were the newly trained reservists…and
everything that the men and women of the Yorktown and her escorting ships could
throw at them. The problem was that the Nephilim were rapidly drawing ahead,
due to the fact that Yorktown’s speed was limited because of battle damage.
But they could still get a couple of strikes off
before the Nephilim managed to pull too far ahead. The problem was time. A
number of combat craft, one of them a member of the precious torpedo bomber
squadron assigned to Yorktown, were still down for repairs, and the longer he
waited to launch a strike, the more fighters he could throw at the Nephilim.
But the longer he waited, the greater the chances that the Nephilim would be
out of strike range by the time he could attack.
If only his only flight deck wasn’t forced to
slow by battle damage. If only the fighters had more range…
Kennedy stopped cold. He walked to the tactical
display, and looked at the symbols representing the last known coordinates of
all friendly forces in the area, and their estimated positions.
“Captain!” Kennedy called, trying to keep his
voice down in the quiet of the bridge.
Ramirez walked over, still wearing his helmet
and protective gear. “Sir?”
Kennedy turned to Ramirez. “Captain, am I
correct in thinking that in five to eight hours, we’ll be out of range of the
Nephilim, based upon their estimated positions?”
Ramirez nodded. “On target so far, sir. We can’t
maintain enough speed to keep up with them.”
“So what we need is to do is extend the range of
the airwing, correct?” Kennedy asked, the idea coming to him like an epiphany.
“Yessir. But even our tankers will only extend
the range of our fighters so far, and they’ll need to be escorted because of
Nephilim fighter activity.” Ramirez said.
“Then what if, John…what if we used another
carrier battlegroup to refuel our fighters or as a staging point for the wing?”
Kennedy asked.
The other man paused for a moment, quietly
thinking. “The idea certainly has potential, sir. It may as much as double our
striking range. The only tough point is time in transit for the fighters. At
some point, it just doesn’t pay to stage them from here, and at that point, you
either transfer the airwing or cease flight operations outside our area.”
Ramirez replied.
“That’s true, but at this point, we can get the
extra range we need when the Nephilim go out of Yorktown’s. For now, we can
launch our own strikes, but…prep a pair of drones for transit to the Valeria,
as couriers to Admiral Hanton. I’m going to record a message. Have them ready
to launch in thirty minutes.” Kennedy said.
“Yessir.” Ramirez responded. He tossed off a quick
salute, then turned and began speaking to the port talker.
=====================================
Retaliator 001 (Reaper Lead)
On approach to TCS Yorktown
Nifelheim System
0422 Hours, 19 Feb 2681 (2681.050)
=====================================
“Maybe now we’ll find out just what’s going on.”
Lieutenant James Chang called out over the fighter’s intercom. The gunner’s
casual tone belied his intense curiosity about the unexpected detour the two
Retaliators had taken, flying halfway across the system to land on a carrier
that was definitely not their own.
“I’m sure we will. Right now, I’m more concerned
about whether we’ll get breakfast before we fly back or not.” Raptor replied,
keeping his own voice light. He had a few ideas about the terse message he had
received from Admiral Hanton, but he was keeping them to himself for now.
The Reaper Squadron had been part of a strike
force that had finally taken out Nephilim Group Epsilon shortly after midnight.
The Border Worlders had been harrying and wearing down the enemy carrier
battlegroup for most of the previous day, and had fought three major
engagements in the battle. The pilots and gunners had all been looking forward
to a hot breakfast and then hitting their bunks for a few hours peace before
their next mission. On the way back to Battlegroup Valkyrie though, Raptor had
been ordered to hand the strike group over to his second in command, and head
for the Yorktown along with his wingman.
The two Border Worlds fighters maintained their
course and speed as they closed in on the Yorktown, making it very clear that
they had no problems with being seen. The Yorktown’s SWACS craft were almost
certain to have detected them by now, and they were sure to be challenged on
the way in. The Combined Fleet had been in a war situation for the past
fortnight, even if no one had actually gotten around to declaring a war, which
meant that Battlegroup Rapier’s anti-fighter defences would be on full alert.
Sure enough, the first challenge came when the two fighters were about ten
minutes flight time away from their destination.
“Incoming fighters, this is the TCS Yorktown.
Identify yourselves and authenticate code November Oscar Romeo Foxtrot Oscar
Lima Kilo, over.”
”Yorktown, this is Reaper Lead. Authentication
code Sierra Uncle Foxtrot Foxtrot Oscar Lima Kilo, over.”
”Yorktown confirms authentication code, Reaper
Lead. A wing of our fighters will be alongside within two minutes to escort you
in. Yorktown out.”
”Reaper Lead copies all, Yorktown. Over and
out.”
As promised, two of the Yorktown’s Piranha scout
fighters raced in on full afterburner shortly afterwards, detouring wide of the
two Border Worlds fighters to avoid a high speed merge, and instead angling in
from their starboard beam. The Retaliators were cruising at 400 KPS, and the
lighter fighters had no problems closing the distance.
Raptor watched the smaller craft with a Wing
Commander’s professional eyes, and nodded approvingly when he saw them closing
in for a visual inspection. Sensors could be fooled, and identification codes
could be intercepted. The Yorktown’s pilots weren’t taking any chances. That
was hardly a surprise given all they had been through, but it was reassuring
all the same. If his suspicions about Admiral Hanton’s message were right, he
and his pilots would be working very closely with the Yorktown’s flight wing in
the very near future.
The lead Piranha pulled up alongside him, the
pilot giving the unit and personal markings on his fighter the once over. He
returned the favour, noting the Squadron Leader’s markings on the tail
assembly, and an impressive number of Nephilim kill markings on the nose. The
Piranha was light on both defences and firepower, and being able to run up a
string of victories in it said a lot about the pilot’s skill and courage. He
noted too that the second Confed pilot had dropped back slightly, putting
himself in good position to cover his wingleader from any attack. Of course,
Frost had done the exact same thing to cover her wingleader. None of their
actions indicated any mistrust of their allies, just the caution of hardened
fighter pilots who wouldn’t fully relax until they knew that this battle was
over. Until then, they would keep doing all the little things right, because
that was what would keep them alive to see the end.
The Piranha Squadron Leader finished the
inspection, and the Confed fighters silently pulled into the lead, taking their
allies back to the Waltzing Matilda.
=====================================
Aboard Piranha 133 (Sindri Lead)
Same Time
=====================================
“And you’ll hand them over to Eyrie once they
reach ten thousand klicks, over.” Came the call from the SWACS patrol craft.
Selena Martinez nodded to herself, and keyed her
radio. “Sindri Lead copies all.” She said, then looked back over her shoulder
again.
The sleek, deadly looking fighter directly
behind her was a sight to behold…especially when it was directly behind a
pilot. Not that Martinez doubted her abilities, but the Retaliator had proven
time and again that it was a killer against the Nephilim, and even against
other incredibly powerful human fighters such as the Dragon. She’d seen the
reports, but this was the first time she’d actually seen a Retaliator up close.
“Lead, Two. Gotta say those things look fun to
fly…although I wouldn’t want to be on their bad side.” Called Martinez’
wingman.
“You can say that again, Two. Did you see the
markings on them? They’ve chalked up a lot of bugs, and if their squadron mates
are as good as they are…well, I’m glad they’re on our side.” Martinez replied,
looking once more over her shoulder.
Quadruple autotracking tachyon cannons, twin
stormfire guns, twin reaper tail guns, up to eighteen missiles (or so
intelligence said), and if the look she’d gotten at the engine nozzles was any
indication, auto sliding capability. The fighter had wing commander’s markings
on it, leaving Martinez to believe that her reconnaissance mission that had
turned up the enemy carrier group was being taken very seriously.
It was a shame they were operating under radio
silence. Martinez would’ve liked the chance to converse with her fellow pilots,
and see how things were aboard the Valeria. Just seeing those fighters,
reminding Martinez and her wingman that they weren’t alone in their struggle
with the Nephilim, was bound to be good for morale, but just looking, not being
able to talk with another pilot while they were that close…
Martinez continued watching the sleek, deadly
fighter over her shoulder as they closed on the Yorktown, wondering about the
pilots who flew them.
The time passed rather quickly, and before
Martinez realized it, they were approaching the ten thousand kilometer ‘bubble’
around the Yorktown where her onboard controllers and the LSO would assume
control of the aircraft around the ship.
“Eyrie, this is Sindri Lead. We’re handing off
Reaper Lead and wingman to you.” Martinez called.
“That’s affirmative, Sindri Lead. You are
released back to patrol duties. Good hunting.” Came the controller’s reply.
Martinez couldn’t say anything to the Retaliator
pilot, so she resorted to an old pilot’s trick. Easing her fighter to port, she
let off the engine power until she was alongside the lead Retaliator. She was
pleased to see that Two had done the same thing. Looking over, she caught a
glimpse of the helmeted figure turning his eyes towards her. She tossed off a
quick salute, then waggled her fighter’s wings.
She grinned as the Retaliator pilot returned the
salute, and the gesture. She and her wingman then peeled away from the two
Border Worlds fighters, to return to the void.
======================================
Retaliator 001 (Reaper Lead)
On Landing Approach To TCS Yorktown
0445 Hours, 19 Feb 2681 (2681.050)
======================================
Raptor couldn’t shake a strong sense of déjà vu
as he turned into his final approach. Concordia class fleet carriers like the
Yorktown had been a staple of the Confederation’s carrier force during the
Kilrathi War. Raptor had trained on, worked alongside and flown off ships of
this class in his time with Confed, and his entire tour of duty after the War
had been on one of these ships. He had flown literally hundreds of landing
approaches on such ships. Even though he hadn’t been a Confederation pilot for almost
a decade, the approach was so familiar that he could almost do it from memory.
That was just as well, since it turned out that
Confederation and Border Worlds ALS systems weren’t one hundred percent
compatible. It was nothing that half an hours work by the techs couldn’t fix,
but for now it was safer all around for the Retaliator pilots to land manually.
Frost too was an ex-Confed pilot, and she was just as familiar with the
Concordia class as Raptor was. Not only that, the Border Worlders had “borrowed”
shamelessly from the design of these ships when building their own Arcadia
class carriers, including the characteristic fly through flight deck. Even so,
the two Retaliator pilots would have to be meticulous with their approach.
Pilots were judged almost as much on their carrier landings as their combat
records, and there were certain to be interested parties watching to see how
their allies performed.
“Yorktown Control, this is Retaliator
Zero-Zero-One, on final approach.”
“Retaliator Zero-Zero-One, call the ball.”
”Retaliator Zero-Zero-One, roger ball.
Retaliator, twenty-five metric tons. Live armament, five guided missiles, two
hundred stormfire rounds.”
“Retaliator Zero-Zero-One, call your needles.”
“Retaliator Zero-Zero-One, down and centre.”
“Affirmative. Fly your needles.”
Raptor kept a light hand on the stick and
throttles as he guided the big fighter down the glide slope. The Retaliator was
very responsive to the controls for such a heavy craft, and it was important to
avoid over controlling the fighter. On the upside, those same handling
characteristics made it a superb dogfighter, able to turn and burn with
virtually any enemy craft.
One hundred KPS…ninety…eighty…seventy…
“A little too fast…easy does it.” The LSO called
out. Raptor feathered the throttle back a notch.
Forty KPS…thirty…twenty…ten…
Raptor felt the Retaliator judder slightly as
the landing bay tractor beams took hold, guiding the fighter towards the
carrier’s deck. As usual, he flared the fighter’s nose up a touch just before
contact, going for the safety of letting the short and sturdy main
undercarriage take the initial impact over the style of a three point landing.
The Retaliator wasn’t as tolerant of rough landings as most other Border Worlds
fighters due to its sophisticated avionics.
The Yorktown’s deck hands attached a tow tractor
to the heavy fighter’s front undercarriage almost as soon as it was on the
deck, towing it towards a dispersal slot. Raptor winced slightly as he saw just
how many of those slots were empty. From the looks of it, Battlegroup Rapier
had suffered its fair share of casualties in the battle. As he shut the engines
down, he could see Frost coming in for her own landing. As usual, she showed
her wing leader up, bringing the big fighter down in almost the minimum length
possible, and displaying the ice cold precision flying that had earned her
callsign.
He waited until the deck hands had towed the
other Retaliator into the slot alongside his before popping the canopy,
allowing the four Border Worlds pilots and gunners to climb out as one group.
He had instructed everyone earlier to remove their helmets and gloves, and to
leave them in the cockpits before climbing out, ensuring that they wouldn’t be
trying to remove their flight gear while meeting any reception committee. He
remembered all too well how much importance Confed put on ceremony and
protocol.
This would be just like old times…
=================================
Aboard TCS Yorktown (CV-54)
‘Vulture’s Row’
Same Time
==================================
Kennedy watched, along with Commander Wallace, as the two
Border Worlds fighters made their approach. Fast and smooth, he thought with
approval. The lead Retaliator was a touch fast, but in a fighter like that,
nobody could blame the pilot. All in all, considering that it had been some
time since this pilot had landed on a Confed carrier, if ever, it was a
remarkable approach.
The fighter touched down with the usual sound of
rubber meeting non-skid material, and was quickly cleared off the recovery
area. Not thirty seconds after, the second Retaliator came in.
Kennedy turned to Wallace. “That’s your cue,
Commander.”
Wallace saluted. “Aye sir.” He turned and jogged
off, heading for the flight deck.
Looking at the sleek Border Worlds fighters,
Kennedy couldn’t help but be impressed. Both had a large number of hash marks
representing kills stencilled underneath the canopies, the one with wing
commander’s markings having the greater amount. Both fighters bespoke speed and
killing power, even sitting on deck with their engines down and their pilots
debarking. They’d already removed their helmets, gloves, and other flight gear
that could impede communication, even.
Kennedy knew things were going to be a bit on
the formal side, but he thought that it might be a good way to ease any
tensions between the Border Worlds pilots and the crew before they started.
Rosencrantz couldn’t help but study the pilot
before him as the welcoming party headed for the Border Worlders. They were, in
essence, the same person, except for rank and position. Both of them flew the
best fighters that their respective governments and militaries could field,
both of them were squadron commanders, though this man, with the word ‘Raptor’
stencilled on his suit, was also a wing commander and higher in rank.
Raptor…
That word jogged something in his memory. Even
as he thought about it, he remembered. The Academy, and the dogfight between
the restored Raptor and a Hellcat V after some boasting. It had been the stuff
of legend, a meeting of old and new, the older pilot in the Hellcat V winning
against the young upstart. That was where this man had gotten his callsign.
Judging by the number of kills painted on this
man’s fighter, the fight he’d lost in the Raptor had been the exception, rather
than the norm. Rosencrantz wondered what it had been that had caused this man
to become a Border Worlds pilot rather than continue in Confederation service,
then set that thought aside. It wasn’t important.
He saw Wallace draw himself erect. “Company!
Aten…SHUN!”
He snapped to attention and looked at the man
from across the formalities
===================================
Flight Deck, TCS Yorktown
0500 Hours, 19 Feb 2681 (2681.50)
===================================
As Raptor had expected, there was a reception
committee waiting to greet them as they stepped away from their fighters. A
Navy officer with Commander’s rank tabs on his shoulders headed the group,
accompanied by a Space Force Major and several junior officers from both
services, along with a cadre of Marine guards. Raptor wondered idly if the
guards were intended to be ceremonial or functional. That question was answered
when a Marine bugler piped the visitors aboard. He found the whole thing to be
just a tad over formal, but different services did things different ways.
When in Rome…
“Company! Aten…SHUN!” The Confed reception
committee all snapped to attention. The Navy Commander stepped forward and
saluted smartly.
“Commander Wallace, First Officer of the TCS
Yorktown. Welcome aboard, Sir.”
The “sir” was a courtesy that Commander Wallace
did not, strictly speaking, need to extend. The mutual defence treaty signed
last year between the Terran Confederation and Union of Border Worlds had
designated the Border Worlds military as part of Confed’s reserves, with all
Border Worlds officers holding Confederation ranks. Raptor’s Confederation rank
was Lieutenant Colonel, making him an O5 just like Commander Wallace was. The
operation to hold the line however had been designated as a joint operation
between the Confederation and Border Worlds militaries rather than the
Confederation military and its reserves. That had partly been due to the
political sensitivities of the situation, but also due to the stark military
realities facing the massively outnumbered and outgunned human forces. They had
needed to have their most experienced and capable officers in command, regardless
of which uniform they wore. It seemed that the Yorktown’s officers were
determined to follow that protocol to the letter.
“Thank you, Commander.” Raptor returned the
salute, and the other Confederation and Border Worlds officers exchanged
salutes. The four Border Worlders then turned and saluted the Confederation
colours, just as they had discussed earlier. That too wasn’t strictly
necessary, since it wasn’t their flag, but it was common courtesy to show
respect for a flag that one’s allies fought and died under. It was true that
Border Worlders had a well-earned reputation for being both blunt and brash,
but they weren’t quite as uncouth as they were sometimes made out to be.
Thankfully, the meeting was a lot less formal
after that, with the salutes being replaced by handshakes, and introductions
being made. The Space Force officer introduced himself as Major Rosencrantz, CO
of the Yorktown’s Vampire squadron. He explained that he was to escort Raptor
to a meeting with Colonel Alvarez. In the meantime, the other Border Worlders
would be shown to the mess for an early breakfast with their Confed
counterparts, and then to guest quarters where they could get some rest.
“I must say, Colonel, that it’s a pleasure to
finally meet the legend.” Major Rosencrantz said with a grin as the two pilots
took the turbolift up from the flight deck.
“Legend?” Raptor asked with a raised eyebrow,
not sure if the Confed pilot was pulling his leg or not. His record with Confed
during the Kilrathi War had been good, but not exceptional. A double handful of
kills, three of his own fighters written off, a few medals and a couple of
commendations. It had been good enough to keep him in the military during the
Reduction In Forces after the war, but the same was true was thousands of other
pilots. If he had gained any fame, it would have been for his defection back to
the Border Worlds during the Black Lance Conflict, but even there he was hardly
unique. A lot of Border Worlders had been flying for Confed at the time, and
many had decided they would rather fight for their kin than against them. His
record with the Border Worlds was much the same as during the War. He had led
first a squadron and then a wing through some important campaigns, and had done
well, but not extraordinarily so.
“I was a few classes behind you at the Academy.
The Raptor dogfight was part of cadet folklore by the time I graduated.”
“Ah, that. I was young and stupid.” Raptor said
with a smile. He had gotten his callsign thanks to an old and badly damaged
Raptor class fighter he had helped restore to flying condition while studying
at the Academy. All those who had worked on the project had been very proud of
“their” beautiful fighter, but Raptor was the one who had made the mistake of
shooting his mouth off about it. After he’d had a few drinks one evening, he
had claimed the old fighter could beat a frontline Hellcat if flown right. As
usually happened, another pilot accepted the challenge. It was a hell of a
dogfight, but in the end he had been soundly beaten in front of most of the
Academy’s staff and cadets. By the end of the week, he had been widely known as
“that Raptor freak.” It was an inglorious way of gaining one’s callsign, but as
Chrys delighted in pointing out, it could have been a lot worse. After all, he
could have been flying a Ferret.
“I saw the hull damage on my way in. Torpedo
hit?” He asked, bringing the conversation back to the present. Truth to tell,
he was enjoying his visit to the Yorktown, but the tactical situation in
Nifelheim was never far from his mind. The Combined Fleet was at long last
gaining the upper hand, but the battle hadn’t been won just yet.
“I’m afraid so, Colonel. The casualties were
minimal, thank God, but the damage cut Waltzing Matilda’s speed by a third. The
Agincourt was hit as well, but her damage isn’t as severe.”
“And the flight wing?”
”In fairly good shape, all things considered.
We’re at about seventy five to eighty percent strength counting the survivors
from the Endeavour. At lot of our craft are carrying damage, but not enough to
stop them flying.”
”That’s good to hear.” Raptor said, inwardly
breathing a sigh of relief. Battlegroup Valkyrie’s flight wing had taken a lot
of punishment in the strike against Group Epsilon, though he had been called
away before the final assessment of their operation strength could be made.
Valkyrie and Rapier were the heaviest hitters the fleet had left, and using
them well was their best chance of finishing this battle with the minimum of
losses.
Of course, that might all depend on what Colonel
Alvarez had to say….
FINIS