Excelsior by Jasper T. Scott
Authors: Jasper T. Scott
Tags: Science-Fiction, Military, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic engineering, Teen & Young Adult, Hard Science Fiction, Exploration, Space Exploration, Space Fleet, Colonization
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by…”
Mission Control had pre-calculated a hundred different hypothetical engagement zones, each of them 5,000 klicks deep and as wide as the enemy formation. Drones were leading the fighter group by 30,000 klicks.
“We’re clear. Moving on to—strike that! Contact confirmed! Incoming missiles at 24,000 klicks. Five hundred plus detected.”
Admiral Gaulle replied, “That’s behind the drones, how did missiles get past them?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Never mind, open fire!”
“Engaging…”
Alexander glanced at the tactical map between him and Korbin in time to see the enemy missiles react to detection. Hundreds of red dots suddenly split into ten times as many smaller ones, all of them now going evasive and accelerating toward the Rapiers at full burn.
“Increase magnification on the MHD,” Alexander said as he looked up from the tactical map. Their visual of the Rapiers swelled, and Alexander watched the bright red glows of the fighters’ engines winking out of sight as they turned tail and accelerated away from the incoming ordnance. Their survival depended on staying out of ELR with the laser-armed fragments for as long as possible.
The Rapiers opened fire and so did the drones. Golden lines of hypervelocity rounds stuttered out, tracking the enemy missiles from both sides. After just a few seconds, a pinprick of light flashed—one of the enemy warheads detonating as the Rapiers’ fire found it. The explosion shouldn’t have been visible, nor the weapons fire, but the Lincoln’s combat computer did a good job of simulating visual and aural feedback. More pinpricks of fire appeared, dozens with every passing second.
Alexander checked the tactical map, comparing the vectors of the enemy missiles and the fighter group. ETA to laser range was a matter of seconds. Almost all of the enemy missiles would still be intact by then. Thirteen squadrons of twelve Rapier fighters was just over a hundred and fifty, and there were thousands of laser-armed missiles incoming.
The Rapiers didn’t stand a chance. Unless…
“Lieutenant Stone! Get me the Wing Commander on the comms.”
“Yes, sir.”
Korbin turned to him. “We’re not authorized to give orders to the fighter group.”
“I’m not going to give them orders. I’m going to give them a suggestion, and there’s no time to get Admiral Gaulle’s input.”
The comms crackled. “Lincoln, Wing Commander Archer here.”
“Commander, listen up. Flip back around and dead-drop your own missiles. Target the enemy’s ordnance with yours and have your missiles go live just before they reach ELR.”
“Our missiles are not armed with lasers, Lincoln. Going live at the enemy’s ELR will just get them shot down.”
“Exactly. Every laser they fire at one of your missiles is a laser they won’t be firing at you. The more missiles you can put out there the better.”
“Shit—roger that, Lincoln.”
A moment later they heard Commander Archer relay Alexander’s suggestion to the other squadrons like it was his own.
Korbin frowned. “Why didn’t Commander Archer think of that?”
“It’s hard to think straight while you’re pulling six Gs to get away from certain death. The better question is why Admiral Gaulle didn’t think of it.”
“Maybe he was promoted for technical expertise rather than tactical,” Korbin suggested.
“Maybe…” Alexander replied while zooming out the tactical map to look for the missiles the Lincoln had dead-dropped a day ago. They were millions of klicks past Lewis Station. Too late to fire them up now. Alexander had requested clearance to bring the ordnance online several times over the past day, but Admiral Gaulle had repeatedly denied his request—presumably to avoid provoking the Confederacy, although that concern was now moot.
Alexander watched the range between the enemy warheads and the
Mission Control had pre-calculated a hundred different hypothetical engagement zones, each of them 5,000 klicks deep and as wide as the enemy formation. Drones were leading the fighter group by 30,000 klicks.
“We’re clear. Moving on to—strike that! Contact confirmed! Incoming missiles at 24,000 klicks. Five hundred plus detected.”
Admiral Gaulle replied, “That’s behind the drones, how did missiles get past them?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Never mind, open fire!”
“Engaging…”
Alexander glanced at the tactical map between him and Korbin in time to see the enemy missiles react to detection. Hundreds of red dots suddenly split into ten times as many smaller ones, all of them now going evasive and accelerating toward the Rapiers at full burn.
“Increase magnification on the MHD,” Alexander said as he looked up from the tactical map. Their visual of the Rapiers swelled, and Alexander watched the bright red glows of the fighters’ engines winking out of sight as they turned tail and accelerated away from the incoming ordnance. Their survival depended on staying out of ELR with the laser-armed fragments for as long as possible.
The Rapiers opened fire and so did the drones. Golden lines of hypervelocity rounds stuttered out, tracking the enemy missiles from both sides. After just a few seconds, a pinprick of light flashed—one of the enemy warheads detonating as the Rapiers’ fire found it. The explosion shouldn’t have been visible, nor the weapons fire, but the Lincoln’s combat computer did a good job of simulating visual and aural feedback. More pinpricks of fire appeared, dozens with every passing second.
Alexander checked the tactical map, comparing the vectors of the enemy missiles and the fighter group. ETA to laser range was a matter of seconds. Almost all of the enemy missiles would still be intact by then. Thirteen squadrons of twelve Rapier fighters was just over a hundred and fifty, and there were thousands of laser-armed missiles incoming.
The Rapiers didn’t stand a chance. Unless…
“Lieutenant Stone! Get me the Wing Commander on the comms.”
“Yes, sir.”
Korbin turned to him. “We’re not authorized to give orders to the fighter group.”
“I’m not going to give them orders. I’m going to give them a suggestion, and there’s no time to get Admiral Gaulle’s input.”
The comms crackled. “Lincoln, Wing Commander Archer here.”
“Commander, listen up. Flip back around and dead-drop your own missiles. Target the enemy’s ordnance with yours and have your missiles go live just before they reach ELR.”
“Our missiles are not armed with lasers, Lincoln. Going live at the enemy’s ELR will just get them shot down.”
“Exactly. Every laser they fire at one of your missiles is a laser they won’t be firing at you. The more missiles you can put out there the better.”
“Shit—roger that, Lincoln.”
A moment later they heard Commander Archer relay Alexander’s suggestion to the other squadrons like it was his own.
Korbin frowned. “Why didn’t Commander Archer think of that?”
“It’s hard to think straight while you’re pulling six Gs to get away from certain death. The better question is why Admiral Gaulle didn’t think of it.”
“Maybe he was promoted for technical expertise rather than tactical,” Korbin suggested.
“Maybe…” Alexander replied while zooming out the tactical map to look for the missiles the Lincoln had dead-dropped a day ago. They were millions of klicks past Lewis Station. Too late to fire them up now. Alexander had requested clearance to bring the ordnance online several times over the past day, but Admiral Gaulle had repeatedly denied his request—presumably to avoid provoking the Confederacy, although that concern was now moot.
Alexander watched the range between the enemy warheads and the
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