Second Earth (30 page)

  
Shawn watched as a
large chunk of the Meltranian vessel floated away, sputtering and spurting raw
plasma in its wake. Through the entire ordeal, it never once ceased turret fire
on either of the Kafaran ships.

  
Raven’s voice came
over the communications channel as loud and clear as if she were sitting right
next to Shawn. “Seriously? Won’t that thing just die already?”

  
“It looks like it’s
going to take more than just raw firepower to knock that thing out,” Shawn
replied. “Almost every energy weapon we fire at them is being absorbed into the
ship. We’re going to have to beat it into submission with warheads.”

  
“And how do we do
that, exactly?”

  
Shawn smiled to
himself. “Philliums, that’s how. If we can set up a string of concussive
shockwaves near their hull, we could probably do some major damage.”

  
She cocked an
eyebrow. “You want to use the fighters as mine layers?”

  
“Yes, I do. Is
anyone out here equipped for it?”

  
She shook her head.
“No. It’s not a usual ordnance load for a fighter.”

  
“You know what that
means, right?”

  
“No,” Roslyn said
nervously. “What?”

  
“Bagpipes.”

  
Raven’s eyes went
wide. “You’ve got to be kidding!” she replied heatedly. “McAllister? She’s not
up for that.”

  
“She’s on board the
Rhea
now getting her fighter
repaired. Her craft was damaged earlier, but I’m sure it’s spaceworthy by now.
Contact the carrier and have them outfit her with a full load of Philliums and
tell them to get her back into space double-time.”

  
“Yes, sir,” she said
uneasily. “But, in my opinion, this is
not
a good idea.”

  
“Well, I’m all out
of good ideas here, so I think it’s time to delve into our bag of bad ones.”

  
Back in the hangar
deck of the
Rhea
, Ensign Clarissa
McAllister was just reentering the hangar after checking in with Captain Krif
in CIC. She’d only been back aboard the carrier for fifteen minutes—time enough
for the carrier’s technicians to replace the damaged engine core and install a
new auxiliary power unit into her fighter.

  
The most advantageous
thing about the new Maelstrom fighters were their ability to be repaired
quickly, with major component swap-outs taking only a few minutes, versus
considerably longer times for the older Seminole-class interceptors. This was
the first time that “rapid repairs”—a term coined by the technicians—had been
performed during actual combat, and it looked as though the thoughtfulness of
the design was going to pay off. In minutes, Clarissa knew she’d be back in
space with the rest of her squadron.

  
As she approached
the scratched, pitted fighter that only an hour before had been beautiful and
gleaming, she heard her name called from across the cavernous hold. Helmet
cradled under her arm, she turned her head toward the originator of the call,
her golden tresses fluttering with the sudden movement.

  
Her violet eyes
locked onto the handsome Sergeant Trent Maddox as he bounded across the hangar
from one of the many compartments that lined the compartment’s walls.

  
“Hey,” he wheezed,
stopping at her feet to catch his breath. “Where you going in such a hurry?”

  
She smiled as she
laid a gentle hand on his face. It seemed to instantly revive him. “I’ve got to
get back out there,” she said, jerking her head toward the launch tube.
“Weren’t you just piloting one of the droid fighters?”

  
“Yeah, and I just
died. Some Alpha got the best of me when I wasn’t looking.”

  
She smiled
playfully. “You look pretty sexy for a dead guy.”

  
Trent’s shoulders
slumped and he frowned pitifully. “And you look like you just got here.”

  
“And now I have to
go back, love,” she said as she patted his cheek sweetly. “Sorry.”

  
“Can’t we get a cup
of coffee or something before you go?”

  
“Not unless you
plan on sharing it with me in the cockpit.”

  
The pained
expression on his face told her that he wasn’t looking for a paltry date. The
sorrow in his eyes told her what she needed to know.

  
She leaned forward
and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

  
“I understand,” he
said with a slow nod. “It sucks, but I understand. You have your duty…and you
have to follow orders.”

  
“That’s right,” she
said with a smile. “But I’ve got a heart, too. It doesn’t follow anyone’s
orders but my own. Trust me when I say that I’ll be back soon.”

  
Trent smirked.
“Fine. Go…go kill some aliens.” He then admonished her with a wag of his
finger. “Just make sure you’re home in time for dinner.”

  
She cocked an
eyebrow and smiled mischievously. “Not just any aliens, dear. I get to destroy
a whole ship.”

  
Trent went
wide-eyed as her words sank in. “Oh, my God. That is
so
hot.”

  
She leaned forward
and kissed him on the lips gently. “Just you hold that thought until I get
back.”

  
“Oh, you can count
on that!”

  
No less than six
minutes later, Ensign Clarissa McAllister was flying on Shawn’s starboard wing,
a full load of eight Phillium missiles on her Maelstrom—and little else, save
for her short-range lasers.

  
“I’m not sure I can
do this, sir,” she told Shawn over the tac-net.

  
“We’ll be right
behind you, Clarissa. Just get as close to the Meltranians as you can and let
the missiles go.”

  
“It’s not the
getting close to them part that bothers me, sir. It’s the speed that I’ll need
to do so. I mean, can’t I just launch these things?”

  
“No. We need them
to explode near the hull, not on it. You’ll need to be going as slow as
possible; otherwise your inertia will carry the missiles beyond the hull and
out into space.”

  
She sighed heavily.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”

  
“As soon as you’ve
released the last missile, I want you to bug out to at least a mile before you
detonate them. We will try and cover you as best we can.”

  
“I’ll do my best,
sir.”

  
And cover her they
did. Shawn and Nova took down the first few fighters that tried to harass
Bagpipes on her way in. Those had been the easy ones. The closer she got to the
enemy ship, the thicker the density of opposition was becoming. When she was a
half mile from the target, a swarm of five Betas took aim at her single fighter.
Raven was there in an instant, and with Saltori and Drake, the trio quickly
cleared the remainder of the path to the Meltranian warship.

  
When she was within
three hundred yards, the turrets took their turn at knocking her from space.
The Sector Command pilots did their best to either draw the turret fire from
her, or to knock out as many of the gun emplacements as they could. One
persistent turret scored a hit on the small fighter, damaging the missile
launcher on the outside of her starboard wing, rendering that particular
Phillium useless.

  
She flew as close
to the Meltranian ship as she could, skimming its surface along the bulbous
bow. She didn’t like being this close to the enemy’s main weapon, and knew full
well that it would be ready to fire at any moment. On several occasions,
Meltranian craft had approached her position, but Shawn and Raven had managed
to keep her tail clear for the duration of her mine-laying operation.

  
Shawn watched as
Clarissa came to complete halt, dropped off her makeshift mine, and continued
on down the hull. Each time she did so she was a sitting duck. At any one
point, she had no less than seven Sector Command angels watching over her
shoulder, but Shawn still felt incredibly uneasy each time her craft slowed to
a stop.

  
When the last
missile was in place, the Sector Command fighters quickly moved away under full
speed. The trip only took about minute to reach a distance of five hundred
yards, but it wasn’t without incident. Both Drake and Saltori’s ships had been strafed
by turret fire during their escape, and both of Raven’s stabilizers were
sheared off by a kamikaze Alpha that had been previously hit by friendly
fire.
 

  
Once safely out of
range, Shawn turned his fighter to get a better look at the intended victim of
his plan. He could see Meltranians tangling with Kafaran and Sector Command
fighters alike, all three of the factions taking heavy casualties in the
process.

  
Shawn’s computer
began registering a buildup in the Meltranians’ forward section. This time,
however, it was not pointed at the Kafarans; it was aimed directly at the
Rhea
. The time to act had come.

  
Shawn reached into
his flight suit collar and withdrew the silver cross that hung there. He
gripped it tightly as he said a quick prayer.
Dear Lord, please let this work.
“Stand by for detonation,” he
called out, then flipped down the blast shield on his helmet. “All craft
withdraw immediately. Detonating in five…four…three…two…one. Now!”

  
Deep in the heart
of the
Rhea
, Krif and the others
watched as one by one, in a chain of chaos, the missiles exploded. They sent
out an array of overlapping bubbles of super-compressed gas that struck the
surface of the Meltranian vessel with a force near equal to that of the
Breckenridge
’s death knell. Each sphere
compounded upon the first, growing larger and more destructive with each
successive explosion. The hull plating of the Meltranian ship couldn’t
withstand the pounding. After the third detonation, the hull buckled and then
gave way, splintering and fragmenting in a thousand places at once. A
two-hundred-foot-wide section of hull plating pushed in on itself, caving in a
large section of the bow and forming a crater not unlike the one on the surface
of Second Earth. Soon the entire forward half of the Meltranian vessel,
including the barrel of the isotonic cannon, was in complete ruin.

  
O
n
the upper CIC deck on the
Rhea
, Krif
watched with deep satisfaction as the explosions rippled across the bow of the
Meltranian ship. The holographic representation of the ship, its formerly
lethal bow now in flames, began to slowly pivot away from the combined Sector
Command and Kafaran forces.
 

  
Oh, no. You’re not getting away that easily
.

  
“All batteries
commence immediate fire on the Meltranian warship.”

  
The
Rhea
, now straddling the Meltranian with
the Kafaran carrier on the starboard side, opened fire with everything she had.
Dozens of small emplacements began firing plasma salvoes, particle cannons were
tossing rounds, and missile after deadly missile streaked toward the now
point-blank target. Most of the barrage impacted the Meltranians’ stern, which
seemed to be the weakest portion of the vessel. Large bits of alloy and plating
flaked off as each successful strike hit home.

  
The Meltranian
carrier, far from defeated, continued to return fire from turrets of its own.
It seemed that half were directed at the
Rhea
on its starboard side, while the others were directed at the Kafaran
carrier on the port. And though the Kafaran shielding was holding, the Sector
Command ship had no such luxury. The stronger, more lethal rounds from the
Meltranian vessel were taking their toll on the
Rhea
’s hull. A series of explosions rippled across the
Rhea
’s port side, and when two of the
fighter launch tube doors exploded out into space, Krif decided that he’d had
enough.

  
“Caitlin,” he
called out. “Inform the
Breckenridge
to continue the assault on the Meltranian warship. We are taking the
Rhea
out of the fight for now.”

  
“Yes, sir.” There
was an almost triumphant edge to her words.

  
Krif stepped beside
the holotable and pressed a series of commands into the panel. “Auxiliary
control, this is the Captain.”

  
“This is Commander
Ashdoe, sir,” the
Rhea
’s stern
executive officer replied. “Go ahead, sir.”

  
“Commander, take us
out of here. All available speed.”

  
“Course and
heading, sir?”

  
Krif didn’t even
think about it before he spoke. “Take us back toward Second Earth.”

  
“Yes, sir.”

  
As the Sector
Command fleet carrier
Rhea
and the
Kafaran carrier slowly moved out of range of the Meltranians’ weapons, the lone
Kafaran destroyer and—more importantly—the USCS
Breckenridge
took over the firing line duty. Avenging not only the
loss of the
Agincourt
, but the fallen
cruiser
Icarus
as well, the
Breckenridge
poured everything it could
into the alien vessel’s stern.

  
The outcome of the
attack was only partially successful. The Sector Command destroyer had taken as
many, if not more, hits as the
Rhea
had. Her bow had taken the majority of the damage, with her weapon emplacement
numbers there being cut in half in the first few minutes of the battle. The
large cluster of communications and radar antenna had taken several direct
hits, and the
Rhea
had just gotten
word that the
Breckenridge’s
bridge—and half the officers on it—had just been wiped out. However, the
destroyer had managed to knock out one of the large trio of thrusters on the stern
of the Meltranian, as well as two smaller ones, cutting the Meltranians’ thrust
by over a third. Sputtering fumes, flames, and sparks, the Meltranian vessel
was now completely at the mercy of the Kafaran destroyer as the
Breckenridge
altered course and headed
for the
Rhea
’s position.

  
In the meantime,
Shawn Kestrel and the rest of the fighter wing were dealing with their own
problems. The Meltranians had impossibly launched a third wave of fighters, and
while these weren’t nearly as numerous as the first two waves, the enemy
fighters were still more than a handful for the Sector Command pilots.

  
I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but for
once I’m glad to have the Kafarans out here. At least it swings the odds in our
favor.
 

  
Shawn called out to
Raven and Jerry Santorum for them to form up on his wing.

  
“What’s shakin’,
Skipper?” Santorum responded, his Texas drawl adding extra syllables to his
words.

  
“I want you both to
stay tight with me. We’re running low on missiles out here, so it’ll be easier
to pick off the aliens if we keep a tight formation.”

  
“Running low?”
Roslyn chucked. “Try completely out. I just launched my last one.”

  
“Two of the launch
doors on the
Rhea
are jammed, as well
as three of the landing bay ones,” Shawn replied, giving his squadron an update
on the carrier. “That means it’s going to take some time before we can all
land, assuming we don’t have any of these Meltranians interfering in the
process. The carrier is stating that only severely damaged craft will be allowed
to enter the hangar at this time, so it looks like we’re going to be out here
until the bitter end.”

  
Nova laughed. “Like
I’d have it any other way.”

  
“Just remember what
I said, Jerry. Keep your head on your shoulders at all times. Don’t give these
bastards an inch, or they’ll litter space with your debris,” Shawn said, hoping
his words didn’t sound cold.

  
“Yeah, yeah,”
Santorum replied weakly. “I hear you, sir.”

  
“Good. There’s a
heavy swarm of enemy fighters three hundred yards off our six, starboard side.”

  
“I see them.”
Roslyn concurred.

  
“Arm your particle
accelerators and follow me in.”

  
“Right behind you,
sir,” Jerry replied confidently.

   
Together with the
help of the Kafaran fighters already present, the few remaining Sector Command
pilots made short work of the Meltranians’ dwindling fighter complement. It
seemed to all present that the combined might of the Sector Command forces along
with the Kafarans had managed to take all the fight out of their common foe.
Much to Shawn’s delight, he noticed that as the last few Meltranian fighters
were rounded up, the enemy carrier had yet to launch another wave of attackers,
and he hoped that it continued to stay that way.

  
In truth, even if
the Meltranians could have launched an additional surge, they probably didn’t
have the time. Not long after the Kafaran destroyer started picking apart the
Meltranian warship, the Kafaran carrier moved back in as well. The two combined
forces quickly pulverized the already-stricken vessel into oblivion. Many of
the long spires projecting from the Meltranian splintered and cracked off as
dozens of lights and turrets flicked off, their power cut off at the source.

  
Shawn watched as
lumps and bumps began to ripple across the surface of the enemy’s hull, the
tell-tale sign of massive internal explosions that were quickly overtaking the
Meltranian cruiser. Soon, pockets opened up in the hull, not unlike small volcanos
erupting from the surface. Gases, flames, and debris rained out into space from
a dozen gashes, and the experienced Lieutenant Commander knew the end would
soon arrive. He sent a signal out to the combined forces, ordering everyone to
evacuate the area immediately.

  
It was just in
time. The Kafaran destroyer, still pummeling the Meltranian, was lit up as
bright as a star when the Meltranian ship exploded in a ball of brilliant blue
and white sparks.

  
The shockwave from
the aliens’ death knell reverberated throughout the immediate area, and Shawn
had to tighten his grip on the flight yoke to maintain a steady course away
from the expanding fireball. When the explosion died down, there was nothing
left of the once-deadly vessel. The Kafaran destroyer, apparently none the
worse for wear, was still positioned to fire on an enemy that had long been
turned to dust.

  
Half-expecting to
see another Meltranian jump unexpectedly into the system, and after a further
ten minutes of tense patrol flying, Shawn decided it was time to start the
journey back to the
Rhea
.

  
Likewise, and
without any further communications from Admiral Graves, the Kafaran fighters
also began to return to their home carrier. They silently and without a hint of
malice passed the Sector Command interceptors in the soundless void as if the
USC pilots were little more than an annoyance around which to navigate.

  
Another answered prayer
, Shawn thought
as he watched the last of the Kafarans return to their point of origin.
But now what? Do they rearm themselves for a
new attack against the
Rhea
? And what
about William Graves? He’s still on that thing. How the hell are we going to
get him back with less than a third of our fighters still operating?

  
It was then that
Commander Caitlin Hayes signaled that it was time for Shawn and the remainder
of the fighters to begin their landing approach. His burning questions, no
matter how valid, and no matter how significant in their implications, would
have to wait.

  
Shawn waited until
the last of the Sector Command fighters had made it through the few remaining
landing bays before he finally brought his ship in—but not without several
hesitant looks over his shoulder to see what the Kafaran carrier was doing. It
was still out there, as still as the giant pair of moss-covered rocks it
resembled. Dangerous. Deadly. Waiting.

  
As soon as his
craft had touched down, before his canopy had fully retracted, Shawn could see
the beginnings of a shapely pair of legs being revealed as the canopy opened.
As the form slowly became more exposed, he noticed by body shape alone that it
was Melissa Graves. When at last the woman’s face was visible, he saw a wide
smile beaming back at him. Shawn undocked himself from the ship’s computer,
disconnecting the interface in his helmet, and stepped out onto the small
gantry that had been pushed into the side of his Maelstrom’s fuselage.

  
Removing his
helmet, he absently tossed it back into the fighter. “Well,” he said through a
cocky, self-satisfied smile. “As I live and breathe. If it isn’t Agent Melissa
Graves. Am I late for my official debriefing?”

  
She shook her head
slowly, then reached out and cupped his face, drawing him into a long kiss.
“Welcome home.”

  
Shawn reached his
free arm around her waist and pulled her closer. After a moment, they mutually
drew away from one another. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call this home, but
that’s definitely one heck of a homecoming if I ever saw one.”

  
His words were a
soft whisper across her flushed cheeks. “I thought you might approve,” she said
barely above a whisper.

  
As Melissa’s eyes
began to water, Shawn smiled, gripped her tightly once more, and placed a
passionate kiss on her inviting lips.

 
An exaggerated
cough, one fully capable of taking the wind out of any romantic sail, emanated
from somewhere behind and below Melissa. Shawn reluctantly pulled away, then
peered over her shoulder at the form below.

  
Trent was gazing up
to Shawn, and offered a sheepish wave of his hand. “Do I get a kiss, too?” he
asked with his usual smarminess.

  
“Not on your life,
pal,” Shawn growled.

  
“I wasn’t talking
to you, Skip,” Trent said.

  
When Melissa turned
she caught the sergeant’s eye, and he gave her an exaggerated wink in response.
She chuckled lightly, then rested her head against Shawn’s welcoming shoulder.
“Sorry, Trent. I don’t date enlisted men.”

  
“Uh-huh,” Trent
nodded.

  
“If anyone is going
to kiss you around here, Trent Maddox, it better darn well be me.” It was
Clarissa McAllister, her violet eyes beaming and her immaculately groomed
blonde hair flowing as she neared Shawn’s fighter.

  
“Oh!” Trent
exclaimed, and Shawn wasn’t sure if it was in mock surprise or if Trent was
really shocked to see Clarissa standing there. “Hello there, my darling.”

  
She strode up to
him confidently, dropping her helmet at his feet. “Don’t you ‘hello darling’
me, mister. I risked my backside out there, just like he did,” she said,
inclining her head in Shawn’s direction.