Fermi's War Read online

  Behind her, two short flares indicated that the two missiles had found their targets. The two panels on her consoles reporting the status of the rest of the flight started to flash amber and red, damage reports spilling across the screen; both of them were in a pretty bad way. She tried to focus, to guess what might go wrong in the remaining microseconds, ready to take her shot.

  "Make it count, pilot!" Warren called.

  The computer, naturally, fired before she tapped the launch button, but this time it only beat her by half a second. Leaping across the short distance, the missile burned a trail that seemed to link the fighter and the freighter; in a last-second response, the Maru launched a missile of its own, trying to intercept the incoming target, but there wasn't time for the computer to do its work. Her eyes widened as she saw what the enemy had found time for; the Maru started to spin, rotating clockwise on its full thrusters. They'd only had a few seconds to prepare for the impact.

  With a flare, Orlova's missile hit home, tearing through the Maru's hull, sending a cloud of oxygen spilling into space, and she yelled in satisfaction, only for her brief smile to fade as her sensors fed her information on the point of impact. Crew quarters, auxiliary thruster control. Non-critical systems. The combat effectiveness of the target had not been reduced. Proving the point, two more missiles raced away from the Maru's launch tubes, racing towards her; at this point, that was really just spite, and she started to engage her evasion systems again, almost half-heartedly, as she raced away from the freighter, her window of opportunity spent.

  Letting her computer do its job – and being rewarded in her trust with a pair of flashes as one of the missiles detonated, taking out the other, she looked over the course projections again. Less than three percent of fuel remaining now, not enough to do anything. Esposito was ahead of her, inexorably pulling away from the Maru, and though Warren was behind her, he didn't have any missiles left.

  "Raven Leader to Ravens. Good try, both of you. You did good. Tell Marshall I said so."

  Realization flashed across Orlova's face, "Tell him yourself, Leader."

  "Don't think they have communications relays where I'm going. Good luck." A dull roar began to echo in the background of the line, and Orlova sat helplessly as she watched Warren make a final course change, using the last of his fuel to put himself on a corkscrew course down towards the rear of the Maru, directly for its fusion torch. Emotionless, the computer plotted the incoming trajectory, her readouts indicated that he'd left himself just enough fuel to bring his course home.

  The Maru twisted, attempting to pull away from the fighter; its after section started to glow as they desperately attempted to engage the fusion torch, trying to do in microseconds what should normally take minutes, and Orlova thought for a second that this might be his plan, that he was playing chicken to provoke them into a course change. A pair of missiles raced towards him, but he didn't even evade. It wasn't necessary; his fighter was going to make it to its target no matter what. The front of his ship was savaged, all indicators going red or black, communications and controls dead, and all that remained was a piece of wreckage that once held a man, and now just held his remains, inexorably flying towards its target.

  Trying to activate the fusion torch had made for an impressive effect. The fighter crashed into the long spindle of the fusion torch, almost slicing it in two, the remaining shrapnel tearing gouges across the remainder of the hull, some fragments drifting away, bouncing back into space. The Maru started to tilt one way, then another, fuel and atmosphere spilling out before automatic cut-offs could bring it back under control. Glancing at her screen, she looked at the course plot. The Maru was going to fly past Desdemona, tens of thousands of miles away from the Ma Kong, and end up in a stable orbit around Uranus. Green text printed across the screen, informing that the primary mission objective had been completed.

  "Raven Four to Raven Five."

  "I'm fine, Maggie," her friend replied quietly. "You?"

  "Fine."

  "You going to call in?"

  "Yeah. Wait one."

  Technically she was still in the firing window from the Maru, still another six seconds to go, and she idly wondered whether they would try another salvo of missiles, one last burst of futile revenge as they sped away, but the clock ticked down to zero, and all the warning lights flicked to green. The battle was over, and she switched over to a long-range frequency, not bothering to encrypt it.

  "Raven Four to Alamo. Mission accomplished. Maru disabled. Report follows."

  Chapter 27

  Marshall stood on the surface of Desdemona, a cluster of officers wearing Triplanetary, Republic and Belt suits spread around the landed shuttles, Captain Jian standing silently next to him. A small pit had been dug in front of the crashed remains of the Chinese lander; a trio of flagpoles had been raised that morning by a work crew, two tough nylon flags folded at the bottom of the poles, the third – the black and green of the Triplanetary flag – was placed carefully over a small cannister in front of them.

  A bell rang in his helmet, and he slowly walked to the head of the mass, personnel from Alamo, Shakespeare Station and the Ma Kong all taking their places. More than fifty people had requested to be present at Warren's funeral, to the point that they'd had to borrow a couple of shuttles from the Ma Kong to bring them all down to the surface. Clarke and his espatiers were forming an honor guard, as well as the survivors from what they were calling 'Esposito's Charge' from Shakespeare Station.

  Corporal Clarke called out, "Combined companies, attention for the Captain." The crowd stood to attention, at least as much as they could given the circumstances.

  Looking out at the crowd, Marshall began, "One of the hardest duties that any commanding officer can undertake is to preside over the funeral of a comrade. We are all gathered here today to remember the life of Senior Lieutenant Edward Warren, our honored shipmate and comrade. Lieutenant Warren had no family, and it was his final request that he be buried in space; Captain Jian has suggested, and I have agreed, that this is the appropriate place for his final remains to lie in rest."

  "I was privileged to know Teddy for ten years; we served together during the war, and again in peace, and he gave his life to protect that peace. I knew him – therefore I know, and can tell you all, that Teddy died during what he loved. He was happiest in the cockpit of a fighter, and if he had been granted the privilege of choosing his final fate, I suspect that it would not have been dissimilar to the end that he was granted." Marshall nodded to Jian, who stepped forward.

  "Under other circumstances," he began, "our crews would by now have faced each other in battle, launching a war that none of us would have wanted. The actions of Senior Lieutenant Warren – a man I was never privileged to meet, but whom I likely owe my life to – prevented that war. I give you my word that his sacrifice will be honored, and that we will never forget him."

  Captain Jian returned to his place in the crowd; Marshall glanced carefully up at the clock in his display. Three minutes before the final act; he quietly signaled Cunningham to come forward, and the wing commander emerged from the crowd, looking at the cannister for a long moment before turning to face the group.

  "Senior Lieutenant Warren – Teddy – served under me twice, once during the war at the start of his career, and again at the end. I can think of no greater tribute to him that to say that he was a good pilot, a fine officer, and a loyal comrade. He gave his life in the defense not of a nation, or a planet, but in the defense of life itself. His sacrifice saved thousands of lives, and it was a sacrifice he made willingly, gladly, knowing that there was no possible way for him to survive."

  He looked down for a moment, then continued, "Our comrade understood that sometimes, one life must be sacrificed that others might live, understood that down in his heart, and time and again placed himself in a position where he risked making that supreme sacrifice. Five days ago, he finally paid that price. We are all the poorer that he no longer serves among us; we
are all the richer that his memory can provide an inspiration for us, an example for us to live up to."

  Quietly, Cunningham turned away, not returning to the crowd but instead heading over to the casket. The final honor would be his. Marshall looked up, and saw an arrowhead of fighters, the surviving two interceptors and Alamo's patrol flight, coming into position overhead, Caine leading a group of volunteers. As he watched, one of the fighters, piloted by Esposito, peeled away, curving out on full thrusters, as the traditional missing man formation took shape. He was sure that he could hear crying coming from the crowd; it was an effort to chase the tears away himself.

  Under other circumstances, a military band would perform the next act; today a recording had to suffice. As the ancient strands of 'Taps' rang out on the general channel, Caine and Dietz walked up to the casket, carefully folded the flag, and Cunningham picked up Warren's last remains, stepping forward and placing them carefully, reverently, in the prepared pit, only a few meters away from where the four Chinese astronauts lay – Jian's men had interred the remaining crewman in a private ceremony earlier that morning.

  Dietz took the flag over to the empty flagpole, and at a signal, all three flags began to rise – the flags of the Republic of China, of the Lunar Republic, and the Triplanetary Confederation, rising to play silent tribute to the men who died there. After a moment had passed, Marshall quietly nodded to Clarke.

  "Combined companies," Clarke said, "dismissed."

  The crowd slowly began to make their way back to the shuttles, Jian pausing before returning to his craft to talk to Marshall, who was still looking out at the three flagpoles standing alone in front of the lander, a simple plaque at their base with five names, and two dates burned onto it.

  "Thank you for this, Captain," Marshall said.

  "It was an honor, Captain, a privilege to celebrate such a life." He smiled, looking out at the lander, "There are many on both sides who think that we are natural adversaries, that it is our destiny to one day face each other for the day of ultimate decision. I hope they learn the lesson of this day, of this place. Our diplomats will shortly be squabbling, but they can't take this away from us. He won't be forgotten, Captain."

  "Neither will they," Marshall replied, gesturing at the other four graves. Jian nodded, and made his way back to the shuttle. Cunningham was still standing near Warren's grave, looking down at the cannister; two of the espatiers were standing around, ready to cover it, as Marshall walked up to him.

  "Credit for your thoughts, Lieutenant."

  "I wish he knew that he'd succeeded. That his sacrifice was worth it."

  Looking up at him, Marshall placed his hand on the wing commander's sleeve, replying, "I think he did. I don't know what I'm basing that on; maybe I still think that there is some justice in the universe, but I know that Teddy knew, even as he died, that he had done what he had to do."

  Shaking his head, turning to face the shuttle, Cunningham looked around trying to change the subject, "Any idea what job you've got for me yet?"

  "Lieutenant Shirase's taking the Maru back to Ceres. Akimoto's boys think they should have a temporary propulsion unit installed by the end of the week, then he can take the prisoners back. Theoretically, it's a temporary assignment, but..."

  "But?"

  Marshall sighed, "They're going to have a hell of a clean-up job to do out there. From what I got from Remek, the Belt Council is self-destructing over this. I think Mr. Shirase is going to be occupied for a long time helping to deal with the mess. Maybe some good will come of it, long-term. I hope so. In any case, it means I have a vacancy for an Operations Officer. Think you can handle that and flight crew duties as well?"

  He nodded, "I'll manage."

  "First job will be to work out who we're leaving here. I've done a bit of poaching from Shakespeare to patch the holes..."

  A tap on the shoulder interrupted him; Orlova, who had requested to attend the funeral herself rather than participate in the flyby, hand managed to sneak up behind him. Marshall switched his receiver to open, and tried to put on one of his sterner frowns.

  "Can I help you, Sub-Lieutenant?"

  "Yes, sirs. I know this isn't really the time, well, it is in a sense, but..."

  "What?"

  "I'd like to return to my previous duties on Alamo."

  "That's a pity," Cunningham said. "I'd been thinking of naming you as a flight leader. Would look good when your tour of duty's up if you wanted to get a job in one of the merchant lines."

  She looked between the two of them, "Actually, I've put in a request for a long-service commission."

  "You want to go career?" Marshall asked. "That's a twenty-year commitment, Sub-Lieutenant. You are aware of that?"

  "I am, sir."

  "What's brought this on?"

  "Lieutenant Warren, sir. He was in the right place at the right time, when it really counted. Someday, there's going to be a time and a place where I need to be – and I want to make sure I'm there. I think I can do that wearing the uniform."

  Cunningham nodded, "I've heard worse reasons for being in the service." He looked over at Marshall, "I'll gladly sign off on this, Captain."

  "No need. If you're crazy enough to stay in, Sub-Lieutenant, I think we're about crazy enough to have you. I'll send a message to the Commodore when I get back to Alamo."

  "Thank you, sir." She managed a clumsy salute in her suit, and Marshall and Cunningham returned it, before heading away to the shuttle. Cunningham watched her walk away, shaking his head, then turned back to Marshall.

  "I had a word with her after I picked her for fighter training. Asked her to find out what she wanted to do with her life. I guess that mission gave her the answers she was looking for." He smiled, "One officer falls, another takes his place."

  "When she grows up, she's going to be one hell of an officer."

  "She's already a hell of an officer. Though I know what you mean." Pausing for a moment, he chuckled, then said, "I'll take a bet with you, Danny. Ten, twelve years from now, Lieutenant-Captain Orlova will be sitting center seat somewhere."

  "No bet." He looked around and saw the crowd beginning to disperse; Shuttle One had loaded up and looked as it if was about ready for takeoff, and the other was loading up. The two espatiers had finished their work around Warren's grave, and were discretely making their way back to the shuttles.

  "You coming, Captain?" asked Cunningham, gesturing towards the shuttle. "If we hurry, we can probably bounce the pilot and take it up ourselves."

  "I'll be along in a minute, but you feel free."

  "Will do." He paused for a second, then said, "Thank you, Captain."

  "Any time."

  Almost alone, Marshall stood over Warren's grave, just a patch of slightly disturbed ground, and pulled the dead pilot's identification tags out of his pocket, carefully placing them on the ground. Warped and distorted from the battle, his name and rank were still just about legible. A helmet – this one had to be drawn from stores – had been placed in the traditional place at his head, marking the spot for as long as it would last.

  "Thank you, Teddy. Save me a place at the bar up there.”

  Taking one last look at his friend's resting place, he made his way to the waiting shuttlecraft, stepping into the passenger airlock and taking a seat by one of the side viewports, stowing his helmet in the overhead locker. As he watched, the launch thrusters engaged, the blast briefly making the flags wave as if in a light breeze, and the surface began to slowly move away, fading from view as the shuttle curved over a low rise, receding quickly into memory. Ahead, Alamo waited for him, hanging next to the Ma Kong. He pulled a datapad out of a side pocket, and started to review his next mission.

  Thank you for reading 'Fermi's War'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

  The writer's blog is available at http://tinyur
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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  <<<<>>>>

  Table of Contents

  Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2Eleven Years Later

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Thank you for reading 'Fermi's War

  Table of ContentsChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4