He was an aristocrat now; technically, he’d been one from the moment he’d been knighted. But it was different, he suspected, for someone born into the Royal Family. They rarely had a chance to do anything, let alone prove themselves. It was odd; on one hand, the aristocracy headhunted men and women who had proved themselves, while it tended to be less sanguine about letting its children prove themselves. Or was it just the Royal Family?
“Admiral,” Lopez said, “the orbital stations are launching starfighters.”
Ted nodded, pushing his thoughts aside and switching the display back to examine Target One. It looked as though the aliens had screwed up, but he knew better than to take that for granted. There were no real figures available on just how much endurance their starfighters possessed, yet everyone agreed they had more than human starfighters. It was quite possible that the aliens thought they could engage the human fleet from the rear while their carriers reversed course and attacked from the front. And they might be right.
“The CSP is to remain in place,” he ordered, softly. “If the aliens are trying to pincer us, we’ll soon know about it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“We’ve got them on the run,” North snapped. “Now we just have to run them down.”
“Don’t get cocky,” the Wing Commander snapped back. “They’re not panicking, they’re withdrawing in good order.”
Henry couldn’t disagree with her. The alien carriers were retreating — slowly, but surely — and yet their starfighters were carefully positioning themselves to block the human advance. It suggested they didn’t want to pull back too quickly, just avoid contact as long as possible… but it wouldn’t be very long at all. No carrier could match a starfighter’s rate of acceleration.
“Prepare to engage,” the Wing Commander ordered. “Concentrate on scattering their formation rather than punching through to the carriers. Leave them to the bombers.”
“Understood,” Henry said. The other pilots chimed in seconds later. “We’re ready.”
He found himself wondering just what the alien commander was thinking. The slow retreat suggested either a trap or a simple bout of indecision. If the aliens held their ground, they would be destroyed; if the aliens retreated, their commander would be accused of lacking Moral Fibre. Did the aliens worry about reputations and suchlike too? He honestly didn’t know, but it seemed likely. The alien commander might want to put up a good show for his superiors without actually risking his ships. But it was already too late for that.
Carefully, he activated the automatic gunner as the alien starfighters lunged towards the human craft, then concentrated on evading incoming fire. As always, the alien starfighters filled space with countless bolts of deadly plasma, with two human pilots vanishing in tiny explosions because they’d accidentally dodged straight into a streak of light. He noted one of the alien craft vanishing as his starfighter scored a direct hit, then swooped around as one of the aliens targeted him personally. Moments later, North picked the alien off and let out a cheer. Henry grinned and made a mental note to buy North a beer during their next period of shore leave.
“The Japanese are breaking through,” the Wing Commander said. “Cover them.”
The aliens had made the same observation, Henry realised, as he broke off from his engagement and swooped after the Japanese bombers. Almost all of their fighters were racing for the bombers, ignoring the human starfighters snapping at their heels. Seven Japanese bombers were wiped out in quick succession, then the aliens scattered as the human starfighters blew right through them. Enough Japanese bombers survived to mount an attack run on the closest alien carrier, but only one missile managed to detonate. Damaged, bleeding plasma, the alien carrier continued to limp away from the battlefield.
“They’re tougher than they look,” an American voice observed.
Henry barely heard him as one of the alien pilots locked on him and opened fire, forcing Henry to throw his craft into a dizzying series of spirals and evasive tricks. The alien was good, he realised numbly, good enough to almost burn his craft out of space twice. By the time the alien broke off in search of easier prey, his uniform was completely soaked in sweat.
“Line up on me,” the Wing Commander ordered. “Another flight of bombers is coming through.”
Henry nodded, then fell into a protective position around the American bombers. The aliens, depleted slightly, seemed hesitant for a long moment, then swooped down on the bombers, forcing the human fighters to cover them. Henry picked off one of the alien fighters, then dodged another fighter as the American bombers started to launch their missiles. Moments later, an alien carrier had been blown into flaming debris.
“That’s two,” an American voice carolled. “We got the…”
His voice cut off with a sudden terrible finality. Henry didn’t need to glance at the overall display to realise that the American had been killed, picked off in a moment of carelessness or distraction. He gritted his teeth as the recall order came in, summoning them back to the carriers. Like some of the other pilots, he wanted to argue, but there was no time. Besides, the planet-side fighters were closing in on the human fleet from the rear. The CSP might well be overwhelmed…
“The alien starfighters are closing in,” Farley reported. “They’re going after the American carriers.”
James nodded, unsure if the aliens knew they were targeting Americans or if they were merely going after the biggest ships in the human fleet. Not, in the end, that it mattered, he knew. One good strafing run and there would be nothing left of the carrier, but an expanding ball of plasma. And the human fleet would be seriously dented.
“Order our guns to cover them,” he ordered.
He gritted his teeth as the storm broke over Franklin Roosevelt. The Americans fought back savagely, surprising the aliens with the plasma cannons attached to the carrier’s hull. They hadn’t expected anything of the sort, James realised, even though they should have been prepared for it. But it wasn’t enough to force the aliens to pull back. A hundred plasma bolts slammed into the carrier’s hull, burning through her thin armour and blazing through her innards. James didn’t want to imagine what sort of hell her interior had become, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the carrier died.
“Get to the lifepods,” he muttered, urgently. The Americans might be saved if they abandoned ship. “Get to the lifepods…”
The American carrier exploded. For a moment, the alien craft hung in space — a gesture of respect or contempt; James couldn’t decide which — and then went hunting for other targets. The remaining American fighters tore into them, followed rapidly by French and British fighters from the CSP. James let out a sigh of relief as the aliens scattered, then either fell back to the planet or died under vengeful human fire. But they’d already scored one big victory, he knew. Five thousand American spacers had just died.
“Franklin is gone, sir,” Farley said. “I’m picking up a handful of lifepods.”
“Detail a SAR team to pick them up,” James ordered. The aliens didn’t make a habit of going after SAR operations, as far as anyone knew, but most of the previous battles hadn’t lasted long enough for anyone to find out for sure. “And then bring them back to the ship.”
He sighed, watching grimly as the alien carriers made their escape. The two sides had each lost a carrier, with one of the alien carriers badly damaged. But the aliens were much closer to their reinforcements, everyone assumed, than the human ships. There was no way to be absolutely sure…