Authors: Mark G Brewer
[I have Mitch on line Regan.] Hilary announced.
[Shit!] Regan looked surprised. [I didn't actually think he'd talk to me, put him on Hilary.]
On screen they could see Mitch leaning back on his arty glass desk, casually dressed, sleeves rolled up and grinning. She knew he could see her so she simply eyeballed him and waited. The grin began to look forced and silly.
"You called me Regan." He finally spoke.
"I find myself speechless Mitch, how could you stoop so low?"
"I take it you mean the sharing of technology, something you preach but don't practice."
"They were going to nuke the planet Mitch; these are the friends you choose over us?"
"You've become arrogant Regan, you just don't see it. It shouldn't be up to you to play god, deciding who does or doesn't benefit from your good luck. You're the author of your own misfortune."
"How much did they pay you Mitch?"
He laughed, "You think I need money?"
She leant forward in sudden realization. "They financed you didn't they, to buy EZAS? You sold your soul to the devil."
He stood angrily, spitting out his response. "Fuck you; you're not as smart as you think. I gave everything for you, and you owed me big time. You haven't been a friend for a long time; I find friends where I can."
She'd had enough. "I tried Mitch, I really tried. Selling technology that doesn't even belong to you, that is the lowest of the low. If just one person loses a life today because of what you've done I'll hold you personally responsible."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The Russians are attacking in space as we speak fuckwit, and you're to blame."
He was shaken momentarily, and then recovered. "No . . . you're to blame Regan, by trying to keep everything to yourself, you won't pin anything on me."
She stood. "Look at me Mitch . . . oh yes I will . . . you can believe it."
As Hilary cut the feed she could see his confident facade wither
-
it didn't satisfy.
[I still can't believe it.] She looked back at her companions and shook her head with disappointment.
Hilary changed the screen, [Ham, do you see what I see?]
The data was clear; it wasn't Hillary Station they were heading for, it was the Step.
[Hilary, contact the Step and warn them, ask if they want our help.]
[There's no time Regan,] Hilary subbed, [I'm the Administrator on the Step and I'm asking!]
Ham turned to face them. [Rod is already on his way with five EFDFs, I've also dispatched half the ADFs we have here on station.]
[Who will get there first?]
[It's too soon to say, we'll know in fifteen minutes.]
On the Step claxons sounded, blaring through all sections, followed by Hilary's voice, calm but firm addressing the seven hundred lives on station.
"Excuse me, this is not a drill. I repeat this is
not
a drill. We have unknown but presumed hostile craft approaching. I repeat this is not a drill. Pilots and navigators of all operational craft suit up and launch immediately. Do not remain on station. I repeat, launch immediately. You will be advised on destination once off the deck. Deck crew, administration, researchers and management staff please go immediately to the secure rooms on level three. These will be sealed in thirty minutes. Anyone outside the rooms will be on their own. I repeat . . ."
Keeping the pressure on, Hilary ran through the announcement again as frantic action broke out on the flight decks. Simultaneously Hilary surrendered control of the American drone ADFs to Ham who had them off the deck within minutes and racing to Hillary Station. The American manned ADF and coalition shuttles took a little longer, nevertheless everyone responded professionally and managed to vacate without incident.
In station things were much more relaxed with many, especially researchers, seeing the whole thing as entertainment or interruption, nothing more. Nevertheless they moved in a mostly orderly fashion making their way to the secure rooms as requested.
Regan put through an immediate hot line call to the President to explain their actions. She hoped they would understand the need to preemptively take control. The remote pilots America had on station wouldn't have been much use in the secure rooms and at least by Ham intervening they'd saved the ADFs.
The Russian flight, now hurtling from upper atmosphere into space, continued accelerating, honing in on their target, the Hillary Step.
On cue, one RD Bomber curled away from the formation and headed for Hillary Station. Effectively a drone, the pilotless RDB directed from a simulator at Piesetsk Cosmodrome performed faultlessly and the operator smiled with wicked satisfaction. To be able to play his role with no risk to life and limb was an unexpected pleasure and unlike those in space he would get to sleep well within the hour. Time delays controlling the RDB would mean dog fighting was out of the question but that wasn't the plan for this bomber anyway.
Taking a path that would bring the drone RDB on a line between the STEP and Hillary Station he activated forward visuals and sensors, searching for the incoming fighters he knew would be there soon. As the minutes ticked by his tension turned quickly to excitement with the first pings of contact, a multiple flight registering ahead, closing speed near ninety thousand kilometers per hour. That would be far too quick a pass for him to make the final decisions. He switched weapons control to automatic, surrendering it to the computer programming. It would trigger at exactly the right time.
The EFDF flight rapidly gained on the ADFs as they raced ahead for the Step. What any of them would be able to do Rod had no idea; the ADF had no weaponry, nothing but bullying harassing presence. He quietly hoped Ham had a plan.
On screen he could see the thirty fighters dotted in perfect formation directly ahead and realized his flight would need to divert around them to pass.
"Follow my lead guys; we need to skirt the ADFs." He adjusted his path slightly, the others following in a perfect coordinated maneuver that would see them curl around the ADFs and bring them back on line.
"Rod," Ham's voice boomed in his helmet. "Two things; first, weaponry is all go, I repeat, you have all go on your weapons. Second, you have incoming, a large craft, possibly armed, closing speed around ninety five thousand KPH. It is not diverting, I am turning ten ADF to chase it and diverting the others to avoid collision. Do you want me to do the same for you?"
"We've got it Ham." He could see it on screen. "Follow my lead, guys."
He adjusted their heading slightly, watching the approaching craft closely on screen to ensure they did not intercept. The ADFs would pass first, his EFDFs not far behind. The seconds ticked by . . . until the sudden and massive nuclear blast.
Ham's response was instant, overriding manual pilot systems and hauling all the DFs away in a sickening maneuver that for a moment left Rod's team breathless. Hurtling away from the blast area it took Rod a full half minute to reorient and process the data on screen. For the moment he dismissed calls from his team for information, instead including them in communication with Ham.
"Ham . . . what happened there?"
"They blew up that craft Rod; it definitely wasn't an accident - that was a small nuke."
"So it was deliberate; a delaying action?"
"I would guess so, plus we've lost five ADFs. I was skimming by to get a look at the ship, a bit too close it seems. I suggest we continue on hot to the Step, there's nothing threatening Hillary Station now."
"Take us around then Ham. Then hand back over. You have enough to work on."
In a perfectly coordinated maneuver Ham hauled all thirty five craft back on line before releasing the EFDFs to resume their race ahead.
"Are we going to make it first Ham?"
"I'm afraid not, if their intentions are damage the battle may already be over but we'll still be able to chase them down."
For the first time Rod allowed himself to feel excited about the action ahead.
"I take it you mean shoot them down."
Ham didn't reply.
* * *
The Russian RDFs closed rapidly on Hillary Step, ignoring the American fighters scattering under Ham's command. Likewise they avoided the Shuttles and STEIN Sherpas that were rocketing away from the flight decks.
* * *
Nowhere near ready to defend itself against space assault Hillary Step relied on the need for goodwill in space, something that had been largely unquestioned to date. Of course there was also an assumption that Hillary Station would intervene if required. This lightning strike from an unexpected quarter and with unexpected technology was a surprise. The question occupying Hilary's mind . . .
will they fire on us or dock?
"Five minutes to air lock, five minutes to air lock." Hilary's warning boomed around the Step. "If you are not already making for the secure rooms on level three you will not make it. Immediately, I repeat immediately, access the emergency breather suit lockers and suit up. The Step could be in vacuum soon. Air will be voided immediately should any enemy craft make the flight decks. I repeat; if you are not already in the secure rooms, suit up."
Hilary's calm presence had filled every corridor as she guided, goaded, gently reminded and generally kept things moving. The secure rooms slowly filled up on level three and finally, to the best of her knowledge everyone was inside and secure; all that is except those who didn't need to be. The doors closed with a suitably satisfying clunk making them virtually impregnable. Hilary's foresight had seen them redesigned for exactly this type of situation and to the delight of all who gathered there they were also extremely comfortable. They were set up almost like an airline lounge and many settled in at the bars or gathered around wide screens to follow the action.
Colonel Lionel Parker, the most senior American officer on station, quickly organized the troops, all unarmed air force personnel, mostly American and Chinese. Calm was quickly restored in a good example of the cooperation established over recent weeks.
Hilary addressed the guests as she thought of them. "Could I have your attention please?"
Quiet settled in the two large rooms which were linked by short hallways with bathrooms and kitchens dividing the spaces.
"The doors are now locked and no one can leave until the situation has been resolved. For your information at this stage we cannot confirm the origin of the aggressors, however we believe they are likely to be Russian. You are perfectly safe here. Should the need arise it will be possible to evacuate everyone via the airlocks at the back of the room, that is the opposite end from where you entered. I suggest over the next hour you wander down that way and familiarize yourself with the procedure. However, it is extremely unlikely that we will need to use that route." Hilary's voice radiated confidence and calm. "We hope to have dealt with this interruption soon and normal service will be resumed. In the meantime, please relax and enjoy the facilities."
Colonel Parker called above the murmuring. "Hilary, did everyone get to the rooms?"
"Yes Colonel, I have my operative still out there and suited up but I can detect no others on station."
"What of the flight crews?"
"Every piloted ADF and drone has departed the station. They will return when the way is clear."
"What is your degree of confidence that the attack can be . . ." he searched for the right word, "shall we say, turned back."
"One hundred percent Colonel, it is just a matter of time."
"Well then," he turned to the group around him, "I guess we settle in and wait."
* * *
"General Lebedev, the diversion has been successful; we will definitely make the Step without interception. Do we fire on them as a warning sir, or proceed straight to deck?" The pilot somehow made it a leading question, his preference clearly to avoid conflict.
"Proceed straight to the decks Major, and secure them."
Lebedev's response was swift and reasonable. While not a politician he wouldn't ignore the political realities. Uproar would be intense regardless of their approach but it would be best to minimize any grounds for American counter attack.
Politicians can argue rights and wrongs of what we are doing, by then it will be too late, we will have the prize. You doves watch and learn how the falcon flies.
He followed the chattering commentary between pilots and added barked instructions as necessary his pilot and navigator, both good men. Voices bounced around in his helmet and to his satisfaction all sounded professional, calm and efficient.
Two waves of five RDF as planned, slowed and cautiously approached the decks, the blue field screens still present in their viewers. Field screens were an unknown quantity. Though discussed in training everyone knew these first RDF making their approach would be ground breakers. No one knew if they would be able to land safely or if they would be fired upon.
Trust the intelligence.
As the lead RDF slowed, nudging toward the deck, Lebedev found himself holding his breath. In space, with no resistance to forward momentum, even a gentle approach could be catastrophic if they got it wrong.
As a distraction the general checked his command screen noting the remaining forty fighters using the station as cover, circling the wagon so to speak. Switching to a visual from the first RDF he rode with them as they approached the deck. As it neared the shimmering screen, almost touching the blue, suddenly the field disappeared. An immediate hurricane outflow of equipment and air burst from the decks greeting the approaching RDF with an inescapable and deadly hail.
The shattered craft veered, smashing into a side wall before rolling off into space, carried by the blast. The next nearest RDF also took the hail of equipment, scars appearing all over the fuselage, however somehow the pilot retained control. It was impossible to know if any hull breach had occurred and Lebedev reflected on the wisdom of everyone being suited up. There had been some grumbling, the suits being cumbersome in a gravity environment,
but they'll be glad now,
he thought,
it just paid dividends for those two.
He continued to watch as the fighter nudged forward to the decks, now open but shrouded in darkness. It soon disappeared into the gloom.