Constitution: Book 1 of the Legacy Fleet Trilogy (17 page)

A moment later, the CAG went on. “I’m sorry, that’s all we have time for. We’ll have a proper celebration of their lives later. Right now, we’ve got a war to fight. The aliens are continuing on towards Earth. We should engage them again within the hour. All the
Qantas’
s pilots are now aboard, and we’ll be rotating them into our own squads. Team leaders, see me in fifteen. The rest of you newbies, get yourselves to the simulators with your trainers. I want you in those things nonstop until our next engagement.”

Pierce stepped to the door to leave, but glanced back one more time. “We’re going to beat these Cumrats. From what I saw today out of you boys, they don’t stand a chance.”

He left. Miller wrapped a towel around her to walk to the shower. Was he just pep-talking them to help them feel better, reassuring them before their impending deaths, or was it sincere? Did they really stand a chance?

Her mind strayed to the picture on her dashboard, and she resolved: they did stand a chance. They would survive.
 

Somehow.

Chapter Forty-Two

Near Earth

Bridge, ISS Constitution

“We’ve overshot Earth, sir,” came the reply from navigation, after the officer had conferred with his crew.

“How? I thought you’d made the calculations.” This was unacceptable, and Granger was steamed.

“The gravitational distortion from the singularity must have thrown off the numbers. It warped the space metric around us ever so slightly, enough for the quantum field to have decoupled from the vacuum wave function several hundred thousand kilometers farther than we planned.”

Granger breathed, ignoring the pain in his chest. They were safe. For now at least.

But Earth was not.

If their experience with the
Qantas
was any indication, the alien fleet would make short work of whatever defenses IDF had mustered in the hours since the invasion.

And the aliens would be there fast.

Granger tapped his comm. “Commander Scott, what’s our capacitor status? How soon can we do another q-jump?”

The comm speakers boomed with Rayna Scott’s voice. “They’re drained, Cap’n. It’ll take at least a few hours to get them charged back up enough for a jump.”

“Even a short-range one?”

“Right, Cap’n. It’ll take at least fifty petajoules, and our power plant took a beating during that scuffle.”

He turned to the navigation station. “Fine. Get us to Earth. Full thrust. Do a full burn for the first half, and a full negative burn for the second half.”

His comm indicator panel on his command console was going haywire with multiple department heads trying to get through to him. He punched through to Commander Pierce on the flight deck.

“What is it, Pierce?”

“Captain,” came the CAG’s voice, mixed with dozens of other pilots clamoring nearby, “you should know that I’ve called Hanrahan and the marines down here. A Swarm fighter crash landed on the flight deck.”

Granger jumped to his feet. “Is it contained? What’s its status?”

“We’re fine, Captain. The thing is shot up pretty good and half the ship is smashed from the landing. Not a chance anything survived. But Hanrahan is here all the same. Best to be safe.”

“Good thinking, Commander. I’ll be there shortly. No one goes in that thing until I get there. Granger out.” He tapped a button and continued, “Doctor Wyatt, Bridge.”

“Wyatt here.”

“Doctor, meet me on the flight deck in five minutes. We have a Swarm ship that crash landed. I want you to take a look.”

“Aye, sir.”

Granger tapped another indicator, and braced for bad news from engineering.

“Cap’n,” Scott’s voice sounded out through the speakers, “engine three is still giving us trouble. I only just got the thing running a few hours ago and it took a beating during the battle.”

Granger nodded his understanding, “How much power, Rayna?”
 

“Forty percent. Maybe fifty.”

“Fine. Get to work on restoring full power. I have a feeling we’ll be needed at Earth before too long.” It was an understatement, and he chided himself for tempting fate with a small joke in the midst of such grave circumstances and devastation. Even with the ten meters of solid tungsten shielding, the alien’s directed energy weapon had wreaked havoc on the ship. That last blast was especially devastating, cutting clear through the shielding and piercing straight through into the forward section, taking many lives.

Too many lives, Granger thought, as he glanced at the damage report scrolling past the screen on his command station.

Haws
.

His head snapped down to where his friend had lain.

He was gone.
 

“Where’s Commander Haws?” he asked the duty officer, who was busy dragging the body of a technician from under the fallen girder.

“We took him to sick bay, sir. He was still alive, but barely.”

He needed to see his friend. The only one who’d stayed with him all these years. The only officer truly loyal to him, following him to whatever dead end assignment Granger ended up in.

“Commander Proctor, you have the bridge.” He turned to leave. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. When I return I want a status update on the mag-rail reloading. I want the rest of my fighters prepped for duty. And I want my engines at full power, dammit.” He looked back at her with a stern, but good-natured nod. “You got all that?”

“Fifteen? We’ll do it in ten, sir,” she replied, with the barest hint of a grin.

He could still hear her barking orders as he passed down the corridor from the bridge, saluting the two marines standing at attention.

Damn, she’s good. Glad I didn’t toss her out the airlock.

Chapter Forty-Three

Near Earth

Fighter Bay, ISS Constitution

Granger burst through the door of the fighter bay, which had been cleared of most personnel. A dozen armored marines stood in a half circle around the wrecked alien craft near the warped, hazy force field holding in the atmosphere from the vacuum outside. Part of the fighter hung outside the field, preventing the giant bay doors from closing.

“Sir, no indication anything is alive in there,” said Colonel Hanrahan, a gruff, mustached man who looked like he belonged in one of the old Swarm War holo-vids. His battle armor was sleek, pristine, and shiny, and the assault rifle he gripped looked as if it had been modded by him personally.

“We need to get it out of the path of the doors. Chief?” He turned to the chief technician of the fighter bay who had just come in from the briefing room with Commander Pierce. “I want this moved.”

“Aye, sir. I’ll get the hydraulics crew working on it.” The chief retreated to the rear of the bay where a handful of technicians were prepping fighters.

Commander Pierce folded his arms. “Captain, I don’t want that thing in the fighter bay. How do we really know it’s dead? Can’t we just shove it out and forget about it?”

Granger shook his head. “No. We need all the information we can get. If we make it through the next engagement and repel the fleet heading towards Earth, IDF intel will want an intact specimen, and this is about as intact as they come.”

“But what if the bugger pops out of there in the middle of the next fighter deployment and starts a ground war here in the fighter bay?”

Colonel Hanrahan grunted and stroked his rifle. “We’ll be ready for it, Commander.”

Granger nodded. “No, you’re right. We need to be sure.” He inclined his head upward, indicating to the monitoring computer to open a comm channel. “Doctor Wyatt, you here yet?”

He was loathe to bring the doctor there since the man was probably hard at work on Haws, but there was nothing for it—they had to be sure whatever was in the Swarm fighter was in fact dead.

“Be there in a minute, Captain.”

Moments later, Wyatt entered the bay through the rear lift. “What’s this about, Tim? I’ve got patients waiting for me.”

Granger indicated the Swarm fighter. “We’re going to open that up, and you’re going to tell me if it’s dead.”

Wyatt’s face paled: he gulped, but then nodded. Granger motioned to the marines to open up the small hatch on the side of the fighter. It was circular, and barely big enough for a human to pass through, which made Granger wonder just how large an individual Swarm was.

The hatch opened and a grayish-green substance immediately started draining out of the opening, causing the marine who’d opened the hatch to spring out of the way. It was viscous—far thicker than oil—and oozed down the side of the craft towards the floor.

“Doctor?” Granger took a step forward and bent down to look at the goo.

Wyatt approached the fighter and held a scanner up to the hatch opening, waving it back and forth. He shook his head, and then held the scanner down to the oozing fluid running down the side of the hatch. “I’m getting no life readings. No heat generation. No electrical impulses. No chemical reactions other than oxidation with our atmosphere. Whatever was in there is dead.”

Wyatt crouched down and examined the goo. “I bet they have an automatic system that destroys the body in the event of a catastrophic event. Liquifies it. Maybe as a way to ensure none of them will ever be taken prisoner. Who knows?” He crouched further, bending forward to run a finger through the fluid.

He wobbled and fell backward to a sitting position, shaking his head.

Granger stepped forward. “Doctor? You alright?”

Wyatt nodded. “Yes. I’ve been on my feet all day. Crouching down like that must have restricted blood flow to my head—I nearly blacked out for a moment, but I’m fine.” He shook his head a few more times, and then pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the viscous goo in between his fingers, studying it intently. “Whatever this is, sir, it poses no threat. There’s no life in this craft to speak of.” He wiped the goo on the surface of the fighter and glanced back up at Granger with a decidedly annoyed look on his face. “Now, can I get back to sickbay and save some more patients?”

Granger nodded. “I’ll come with you.” He turned to Commander Pierce and the chief as he walked out the door with Wyatt. “Get that thing tucked away somewhere. Don’t touch anything—treat it like a biohazard until we know more. Colonel Hanrahan? Keep two men posted by it at all times—see that no one disturbs it. Understood?”

The three men remaining behind replied with a unanimous, “Yes, sir,” and Granger strode, with Wyatt in close step, to sickbay.

Time to check on his XO.
 

Haws, you old bastard, don’t leave me now.

Chapter Forty-Four

Low Earth Orbit

Bridge, ISS Winchester

Captain Day settled back into his chair, exhaling a sigh of relief. To tell the truth, he’d much rather be back in the thick of things. In the battle. Fighting with his comrades. It was why he’d joined IDF in the first place—to stand among those who defended humanity.

Yet here he was, escorting a bunch of sniveling bureaucrats, diplomats, politicians, and pencil pushers. And the worst of the lot was
him
. Isaacson. The reason they weren’t back with the
Qantas
and the
Constitution
, doing their part.

“Mr. Vice President,” he began, struggling mightily to keep his voice neutral and respectful, “we’re en route to
Valhalla Station
where I presume
Air Force
Two
can shuttle you down to the surface?”

Isaacson, who was deep in quiet conversation with the Russian ambassador at the rear of the bridge, didn’t so much as look up.

“Mr. Vice President?” said Captain Day, substantially louder this time. Isaacson finally broke off his conversation and shot Day an icy look.

“Yes, yes, Captain, that will be fine,” he said, dismissively, then added, “no, wait.
Valhalla
will certainly be a target when they get here. We need to ensure the safety of the senators and cabinet secretaries on board.”

And yours
, thought Captain Day disdainfully.

“Take us directly to the surface. To Washington, D.C., or New York City.” He paused. “No, wait ... those would likely be targets too....” The Vice President trailed off.

“To Miami, then. IDF headquarters. It’s heavily defended, and our passengers can get connecting shuttles to wherever they need to go—” Captain Day broke off as he saw the Russian ambassador lean over and whisper furiously in Isaacson’s ear. How strange.

“No. Not Miami,” said Isaacson, with a lingering gaze at the ambassador. “Somewhere else. Omaha, maybe. The spaceport there can handle the
Winchester
, and there’s plenty of transport out of the region should the need arise.” Isaacson kept looking at Volodin questioningly, and the other man nodded his approval. Very strange indeed.

Captain Day sighed. “To Omaha, Ensign. Full thrust. Deploy reentry aerilons and activate braking thrusters.”

Earth rose up to meet them on the viewscreen—the vast green and tan landscape of the North American interior sprawling out in all directions. Off in the distance, hundreds of kilometers below and ahead of them, Day could just make out the distant gray-ish spots of the dozens of ships that dotted the landscape outside the Omaha spaceport—some retired, some in various phases of construction. Day knew that in the weeks and months ahead, ship construction would double. Triple. Perhaps even quadruple, to counter the resurgent Swarm threat.

If they survived the next few days, that is.

The Russian ambassador whispered in the Vice President’s ear again. Isaacson nodded, and together they exited through the rear doors, followed closely by the two secret service officers. Day sighed another breath of relief.

“Lieutenant Frum,” he said, glancing at the communications station, “send a message to CENTCOM Miami updating them on our status and heading. If they give you any guff, just tell them our orders came directly from our
illustrious
guest.”

The Lieutenant snorted derisively. Day smiled—it was good to know he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“What is it, Yuri?” hissed Isaacson, trying to keep his voice at a level that would only be heard by the ambassador trailing behind him. He aimed for the captain’s quarters—the sooner they could get behind closed doors, the better. Volodin seemed far too free with words out in the open.