Sonya Berg

Location: CWS Agincourt, Alpha Centauri, United Commonwealth of Colonies

Terror; absolute, primal terror coursed through her as she sat on the flag bridge of the battleship and had no hand in her own fate. she wondered as Aggie rumbled beneath her.

“Magazine’s depleted, sir,” the weapons OIC relayed to Ward.

The ADM didn’t reply. His eyes were on the solid block of missile icons flying across space toward the enemy fleet. The operations order called for the entire fleet to empty their magazines at the enemy starting at their maximum effective range. Battleships carried a lot of missiles, and dozens of broadsides burst out of Aggie and her sisters. They raced toward their targets, their silicon brains doing everything in their power to seek and destroy the enemy. The problem was, the enemy’s EW was significant, their ships massive, and their point defense impressive to say the least. The enemy had no missiles, they concentrated their entire offensive and defensive weapons compliment on energy weapons. The more Sonya thought about it, the more it looked like that was going to be the future.

The missiles were more of a distraction than offensive weapons. They hurtled across millions of kilometers and died by the thousands. Still, when you were talking about tens of thousands of rounds going downrange, that meant plenty got through.

Over a dozen enemy ships died as focused antimatter blasts smashed into them. The kill ratio was abysmal, and the amount of money concentrated in the attack, which would decimate entire pre-hegemony navies, even crack open worlds with its destructive power, was staggering. Better not to think about the billions of credits wasted to kill a measly dozen ships, and focus on what came next.

Thousands of Commonwealth, Blockie, and Euro warships descended on less than two hundred enemies. Aggie was in the middle of the formation, on a flank, to ensure if the enemy killed the High Admiral at the formation’s center, Ward would be able to take over operational command. As the battle was joined in earnest by both sides, the chance of that happening became greater and greater.

That’s when the terror set in. Despite a detailed battle plan, contingencies, and contingencies for the contingencies, everything still degraded into utter madness. Sonya sat there and watched as thousands of spacers were killed every second . . . thousands! Life was blotted out like a speech writer hitting the delete key on a disappointing draft.

The enemy oriented their front toward the approaching human fleet and concentrated all their shields forward. Then they charged. It was the unforgivable naval error of crossing the T; although the aliens seemed to be doing it willingly, and Sonya soon learned why. When in the past, it meant a ship facing the full broadside of the enemy with only their bow cannons to return fire, which left them vulnerable and ceded fire superiority to the enemy. The aliens did not share those disadvantages. With all their power directed forward, their mighty bow cannons delivered untold destruction on the human ships. Even with the upgraded shields, a battleship could only sustain two hits from the massive guns; a third holed the workhorses of humanity’s navies from stem to stern. The enemy quickly figured this out, and meticulously bored a hole into the center of the formation. Whether they knew where Gilmore’s flagship was, or just guessed, Sonya would never know; but it was soon evident they would decapitate the Commonwealth leadership inside a half hour if this continued.

While the enemy’s tactics were formidable, and their weapons deadly, they had their flaws. “We’re ordered to their flanks to divert their power from those monster guns and shields,” Ward didn’t sound upset about the tasking. He might be an old war dog, a fighter to the end, but there was a difference between that and suicide. “Go to a hundred and ten percent on the reactors,” he ordered as he laid in the course, and Sonya watched as several strike groups detached along with Aggie’s escorts.

The enemy watched them at first, content to rip into the guts of the human formation like wild, starving hyenas having their first meal in a week. Through it all, the human fleet was scoring some wins. Thirty-two enemy ships had already died from weight of fire brought to the table by the Commonwealth. Those frontal shields might be the strongest ever recorded by human sensors, but there were only so much you could do as the distance between the fleets closed, and when thousands of guns targeted a handful of ships.

Sonya watched as another enemy ship stuttered and died under the force of human energy weapons. It didn’t explode, but it began to list lazily out of formation. Without any acceleration, it quickly fell behind the rest of the enemy force, and began an awkward spin on its axis. She watched in momentary fascination at the enemy warship’s demise until a status change caught her attention.

“We’ve got company,” the operations OIC announced. “They’re detaching a dozen ships on an intercept course.”

“Well, they were going to do it sooner or later,” Ward huffed.

Sonya was surprised they’d waited this long. With their forward shields taking all the power their flanks were completely exposed. The only thing between them and death was very thick armor; much thicker than a battleship judging by the debris recovered from previous engagements. Still, anything made of matter could be destroyed if enough force was applied. Those alien’s massive war machines would have been putty in Ward’s destructive hands no matter how big they were.

A dozen ships didn’t seem like a large flank guard, but knowing their capabilities, the Commonwealth strike groups were in for a handful. They numbered just over fifty battleships spread through five different strike groups. All the groups had lost ships in the initial skirmishes. Their light escorts units would be useless in a fight against the aliens, and were using their speed and acceleration advantages to put more space between both the enemy and strike groups. Their new orders were to get into earth orbit and see if they could link with the Commonwealth ground forces and provide fire support. If they could soften up things for the planned landing efforts, that would be optimal, she reminded herself. Nothing was decided yet, and getting too far ahead of herself could prove deadly.

“Let’s keep it loose people,” Ward ordered. “Space it out, don’t let them get a bead on too many of us.” In their narrow battlespace, all the ships would be able to bring all their weapons to bear. It actually worked to their advantage as the enemy would need to shield their entire ships from angles of fire from every direction. If Ward could keep his ships from getting hit, then they had a fighting chance. As it stood, their numerical advantage wasn’t enough.

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Probing shots began at a half a million kilometers. With weapons only moving at the speed of light, and no way to maneuver like missiles, it was easy to dodge. A second of maneuvering could put a ship tens, or even hundreds, of kilometers from where it had been. It was an exercise in skill for the gunnery teams, and some hits were scored. None were fatal on either side, but that changed as the distance fell. Soon beams of kinetic force and unbearable heat would be striking ships nearly the instant they were fired. That was true for both sides, and Sonya held her breath until the range fell to that range and the real battle began.

she thought as a blinding light enveloped her and everything around her.

***

Mark “Coop” Cooper

Location: North American Eastern Seaboard, Smokey Mountains, United Commonwealth of Colonies

Coop hugged the mountain like a burglar in the night trying to avoid detection. He was about as successful as a six-meter war machine could be, as he retreated toward the entrance. He’d called for reinforcements as the battalions charged with holding the line were chipped away into nothing. Thousands lay dead at his feet from beamer, blaster, and artillery fire . . . and more fire still came his way. He launched the last of his missiles into the scared landscape and got the satisfaction of taking down a pair of BAMFs whose shields were still down from the latest artillery exchange.

Those reinforcements were denied. The brass decided to fight it out in the close quarters of the bunker complex then continue to exchange fire in the open where the enemy were more vulnerable. Coop was sure they had all sorts of nasty surprises waiting for the alien fuckers down in those cramped tunnels; he just needed to get there.

The entrance was still three hundred meters off and he was having trouble getting there. The great mountain behind him was scarred and whittled away by the intense fighting. In some places the bunkers external structure was poking through. That was how heavy the fighting had been. He skulked, trying to use the debris and smoke for cover, but that didn’t work well with modern sensors. Beamer fire sliced through the smoke and missed him by centimeters. He fired a burst from his gav-cannon and broke into a sprint. After three seconds, he dove behind a pile of rubble; going prone. A trio of beamers smashed into the wall in front of his position. He got to his feet and sprayed the area with his swatters. They wouldn’t do more than keep the enemy’s head down as he scurried forward.

A fourth beam struck out, damaging his leg actuator. Red icons blinked in his vision and his MOUNT stumbled and collapsed in the open. Pain seized his mind, but he still had enough muscle memory to lay down some cover fire to protect himself. His swatters ran dry and all he half left was his cannon. He fired shot after shot, trying to get back to his feet, and stumbling forward. He had to drag his useless leg, which ironically, was the same leg that currently sported a peg-leg with. He was still a hundred meters out when beams slammed into his back. His shields held, but he wasn’t going to make it another fifty meters under their weight of fire. They’d tear him open like a can opener. He threw himself back to the ground so the beamers blasted over him and blew chunks out of the mountain.

They stopped after a second and fired a few probes in his general direction. None hit him as he lay on the ground, but the aliens weren’t stupid enough to expose themselves to come check on him. They knew what a MOUNT could do, and respected the threat. Coop hated them for it, but couldn’t blame them. he just hope they gave him enough time for some of his shield to recharge.

He thought for a moment about how he’d gotten to this point in his life. It wasn’t all bad. He was a hard-charging, ass-kicking, lean, mean killing machine. He’d seen several campaigns. Fought all types of foes; both human and alien, and so far, come out on top. He’d also come out on top in life. He’d found the woman of his dreams, had a baby on the way, and, until a few weeks ago, a full life to live and enjoy. As he lay on the ground, he knew he couldn’t have it all, but he could damn well make sure some of the things he loved made it.

He came up with a plan; crazy, stupid, and probably with a one percent chance of working; but hell, something was better than nothing.

“Eve, I’m going to try something stupid,” he sent over the comms channel that had been dark for nearly an hour. He didn’t even remember how long he’d been fighting. “I’ll see you soon. One way or another. Ballboy, out.”

“This course of action is . . .” the AI was momentarily speechless. Something, he didn’t think was possible. “I will do my part.”

“Thanks,” he gave the MOUNT a pat inside his armored womb. “This is the end, old buddy.”

He took a few seconds to gather the balls to do what he was about to do. A few deep breaths, maybe his final ones, and he lurched to his feet. The enemy knew exactly where he was, so they were waiting with their beamers. It felt like a dozen of the damn things targeted him as he ran and fired blindly behind him. It was poor tactics, but he wasn’t going to waste precious seconds turning to look where he was firing.

“Shields at twenty . . . twelve . . . three percent. Breach!” the AI announced calmly as beamers pierced the protective energy layers and smashed into metal.

The metal held long enough for him to cover another twenty meters, and then he felt a jolt at the beamer’s continuous output smashed into the second layer of shielding around his womb. he hit the preprogrammed overrides and made sure he was oriented properly. he didn’t have time to pray to ancient deities in the sky before explosive bolts built into the armor ignited.

Behind him, the six-meter hulk of humanity’s greatest fighting machine froze like a statue. Coop was anything but frozen. He was violently propelled forward inside the womb as it ejected from the MOUNT. The metal, shielded ball flew into the mountainside with a crunch; only a handful of meters from the angled entrance to the bunker.

he grunted as he hit the quick release and the womb opened to dump him on the ground like some newborn.

Fresh pain flared through him. Ejection was not designed to be pleasant. It was designed to keep you alive. Coop was alive, but his IOR told him he’d broken two reinforced ribs, dislocated his shoulder, and would be black and blue over a quarter of his body in a few hours.

he told himself as he continued the mental countdown. < Six . . . five . . .,> he didn’t have long.

MOUNTs were not designed to be taken by the enemy; human or otherwise. The tech in them was top secret, code-word protected, and the Commonwealth and Gold Technologies didn’t want that falling into anyone’s hands. They’d been told early in training once you ejected you had ten seconds to get the fuck away, or else.

Beamer fire intensified, burning holes through the motionless MOUNT, but Coop didn’t care. That’s what he wanted to happen. He wanted the big bucket of bolts to draw fire from his injury-prone, squishy body. The longer the aliens fired at a useless hunk of metal alloy, the safer he was.

He tried to get to his feet, but his legs didn’t want to work; which was made that much more difficult with only one foot. Quickly abandoning the attempt, he kicked and crawled as fast as he could to reach the safety of the tall alcove, and more importantly, open bunker door.

A pair of grunts, who looked like they were on the verge of shitting their pants, were waving frantically at Coop to hurry the fuck up. He was doing the best he could, and had just reached the protective ledge of the alcove when time ran out. The MOUNT went up like the Fourth of July on steroids. Coop felt the concussive blast pick him up, as light and heat washed over him. He didn’t even have time to scream before darkness reached out and claimed him.

***

Eve Berg

Location: North American Eastern Seaboard, Smokey Mountains, United Commonwealth of Colonies

“No!” Eve’s scream came from her very soul as Coop’s indicator flashed black in her vision.

Not that she had time to let the shock take hold or give it much thought. She’d be joining him soon if she didn’t get her shit together.