Call to Arms (Black Fleet Trilogy, Book 2) by Joshua Dalzelle Page B

display, her ravaged atmosphere swirling with angry stripes of brown and red, but Jackson was only paying attention to the overlaid tracks of all the ships on the two dimensional representation of the star system. Next to each ship was a number that denoted the ships “altitude” in relation to the ecliptic so that, with practice, one could almost visualize the scene in three dimensions.
    The data for Alpha-One was flashing red, telling him that it was old and unverified. The fact both ships he’d sent around the planet had yet to either report back or update their status weighed heavily on his mind, but not as much as the fact the enemy ship hadn’t come back around Xi’an. Even at a leisurely orbital velocity, it should have reappeared before the Ares had opened fire on its twin.
    “Link connection re-established with the Icarus ,” Davis said. “ Atlas is still unresponsive. Data coming up now.”
    Jackson leaned forward. The position for Alpha-One changed very little. It had drifted up to a higher altitude, but it was still hanging over Xi’an and looked for all the universe like it was waiting on them.
    “Can the Icarus verify the target’s orientation for us?” Jackson asked, not directing his comment at anyone in particular.
    “ Icarus is still not answering coms, Captain,” Lieutenant Keller said.
    “Link connection just dropped again,” Davis said. “I can’t get it back, but from the last radar image, I’m able to determine the target’s orientation in relation to the planet. Putting it on the main now.”
    Jackson studied the rough representation of the target, his fears confirmed. “Helm! Roll ninety-six degrees to starboard and pitch down thirty-two degrees,” he ordered. “Standby for throttle up.”
    “Sir—”
    “I’m overriding the safety locks,” Jackson said. “Carry out the order.”
    “Aye aye, sir,” the helmsman said, hesitation still evident in his voice. “Rolling over and diving toward the planet.”
    Jackson continued to look over the calculations he’d been working out on his own terminal, ignoring the concerned looks around him.
    “OPS, retract forward optics and antennas, and secure outer hatches,” he ordered. “Helm, continue your dive, and level out at twenty-five thousand, three hundred meters above the surface of Xi’an.”
    “Captain, that will—”
    “In a moment, Commander.” Jackson cut off his XO. “Nav, verify my numbers.” He bracketed his calculations with his two hands on the display and sent them over to the nav station where the chief on duty plugged them into his system.
    “Course verified, Captain,” the chief said. “We are currently flying too slow for it to work.”
    “Thank you, Chief.” Jackson’s eyes were glued to the outside view on the main display until it disappeared once the optical sensors had been retracted. “Helm, ahead full. We need at least twelve thousand, five hundred and seventeen meters per second forward velocity.”
    “Ahead full, aye,” the helmsman said, sounding confident with the more specific command.
    The Ares rolled and descended rapidly toward the opaque atmosphere, her two main engines spewing white hot plasma at full power. Once the ship began to rub up against the thermosphere-mesosphere transition, it began to shudder as the hull temperature rose.
    “OPS, keep an eye on our hull temp,” Jackson said. “Helm, when I give the order, I want you to pull us up into a climb, fifteen degrees nose-up. Lieutenant Davis, as soon as the hull temps begin to drop again, redeploy the sensors and get me a fix on Alpha-One. Tactical, be ready to snap fire three Shrikes. You’ll have to be ready to acquire the target and fire very quickly.”
    There was a chorus of affirmations as the Ares really began to rock and buck deeper she flew into Xi’an’s atmosphere.
    “Sir?”
    “I have a hunch, Commander,” Jackson said to Celesta. “It looks like the pair are talking to each other, as we’d suspect,