Authors: Stephen A. Fender
Nova had started their tour with the bottommost level of the
ship, showing Shawn the various storage spaces and maintenance bays for the
Rhea
’s
assigned construction team, the 301
st
Unified Space Mechanized
Construction Battalion. Using the advanced equipment on the
Rhea,
this
team of specialized personnel could construct nearly anything the crew desired.
However, their skills shone most when they were tasked with building planetside
installations, which included anything from fully functioning spaceports to
beachside harbors. Over half the lowermost deck of the carrier was dedicated to
their vehicles, equipment, and supplies—with the remainder of the deck slotted
for damage control and shipboard emergency training. There was even a fully
functioning launch tube down there, outfitted with a type of fighter that Shawn
himself had flown during the first war, itself retired and relegated to
training flight deck operations crews. The ship’s dry goods and food
refrigeration holds were there as well, complete with its own elevator up to
the crew galley.
From there, the two officers moved up to the motor pool deck. This was
where all the utility vehicles and special operations equipment was stored. In
the center of the deck was a pair of large, L-shaped bays that were connected
by a long corridor about the width of a standard fighter craft. The first
compartment held various types of trucks and transportation equipment, as well
as three large dump trucks and three enormous rollers that were too large to
stow with the rest of the construction equipment on the lower level.
As Jerry and Shawn moved down the connecting corridor, Shawn saw five
heavy cargo transports lining the starboard wall. They were enormous, each
capable of hauling five hover tanks and their entire crews from the
Rhea
to the surface of a planet within minutes. Above the centermost craft, which
Nova said were designated as L-1 Scythes, hung a large banner with the
squadron’s logo emblazoned on it, identifying them as the 5
th
Unified Space Logistics Squadron: the Deliverers.
Opposite the Scythes were four fusion-powered mini-submarines. Jerry
explained that these were used mostly by the ship’s attached special warfare
team, but he’d heard stories that they were sometimes allowed to be checked out
by ordinary crewmen—if they had a favor to cash in. The remaining third of the
deck was off-limits, used by the
Rhea
’s special warfare teams for
advanced combat training. Jerry explained that the vast majority of that space housed
a three-dimension simulation chamber, outfitted with gravity controls which
could be used to reproduce any environment the warfare team might encounter.
From there, the duo climbed a steep stairwell that brought them up to
the next deck: the lower hangar level. As Shawn followed Jerry into the large
space, he wasn’t surprised to see that this compartment was segregated from the
rest of the ship. Still incorporating design cues stretching all the way back
to the first floating aircraft carriers of Old Earth, the hangar bays were
subdivided into smaller sections to allow for better damage control during
emergency operations, as well as more efficient organization for all the
equipment that could fit inside such massive vessels. Entering the space, Shawn
was immediately greeted with the nose of a craft slightly smaller than the
experimental fighter he was learning to fly in the simulator. Jerry explained
that these were the atmospheric fighters relegated to the ship’s attached
Marines, the 92
nd
Unified Space Marine Expeditionary Unit. Each
fighter was capable of vertical takeoff and landing operations, as well as
limited ultra-high altitude flight, but they were incapable of space warfare.
“After all, space fighting,” explained Jerry with extreme self-confidence, “is
best left to the professionals such as ourselves.”
Across from the four VTOL fighters were six of the
Rhea
’s nine
ELINT craft, or Electronic Intelligence gatherers. These six Z-6 Tricksters,
operated by the 204
th
and the 215
th
ELINT squadrons, were
capable of gathering massive amounts of tactical and combat information,
relaying it back to the carrier, and coordinating all manner of battle
scenarios. The snub-nosed craft, carrying a crew of five, had a large
wedge-shaped advanced early-warning space and air radar attached to its spine,
capable of tracking over two thousand contacts and scanning and identifying
anything larger than a stapler within a seven-hundred-mile radius.
Across from the ELINTs, next to the four VTOL fighters, was a squadron
of jammers. Shawn recognized their command logo as one he’d seen aboard his own
carrier back in the war. Each of the craft’s vertical tails was painted a gloss
black, with a banded, yellow spectrum of color encircling their midsections.
This was the 43
rd
Unified Space Jamming Squadron: the Streakers.
These nimble little craft served as electronic and communications jammers,
capable of sending the onboard computer and communications systems of nearly
any vessel into complete chaos, while simultaneously allowing their own
comrades to wreak havoc on their now-helpless prey. Next to the Z-6s, filling
out the remainder of the space, were the four logistic-gathering Pharaohs of
the 8
th
Unified Logistic Squadron, otherwise known as the Senders.
Jerry took Shawn through the pilots’ briefing room, past the locker
and shower rooms, and through a thirty-foot corridor before the space opened up
again in front of them. On either side of them, clustered in groups of four
along the port and starboard walls, were the light Vertical Takeoff and Landing
transports used by the Marines to transport small equipment and personnel.
Forward of these were eight medium VTOL craft, each capable of landing two
hover tanks or a whole battalion of personnel. There was a large flattened area
between the medium craft and the next compartment in the hangar, and Shawn
recognized it as three identical lifts used to carry parts, equipment,
supplies, and—most importantly—fighter craft to or from the deck above.
Forward of those lifts, on the port side of the deck, were three sleek
bombers. From the looks of them, they appeared to be both atmospheric- and
space-capable, and Shawn found himself wondering if they lumbered along like
the bombers he’d known from his past, or if they were as sleek as the newest
fighters. Forward of the bombers was another squadron of four VTOL fighters.
Opposite these two squadrons, on the starboard side of the bay, was another
squadron of logistics vessels.
As the duo transited into the final large space at the forward end of
the lower hangar deck, Shawn noticed the lack of any type of fighter or
logistics craft. The space held some thirty light-utility jeeps, as well as the
vast majority of the hover tanks on board. Noting these to be similar to the
ones he’d seen when he first came on board, Shawn was glad not to be on the
receiving end of one of their laser-infused projectiles. Jerry led Shawn past
the forty or so tanks until they came to a small three-man lift that took them
up to the main hangar level.
Once they arrived, Jerry’s knowledge seemed to increase tenfold. This
didn’t come as a surprise to Shawn, considering that this is where all the
fighter squadrons were massed. Before they entered the main flight hangar,
Shawn and Jerry had to walk past
Sylvia’s Delight
, parked silent and alone
in the forwardmost portion of the bay.
“So how does she handle, sir?”
Shawn was lost in thought as they walked toward
D
. He ran a
gentle hand under the nose of the vessel, as one might scratch a loving pet.
“What was that?”
“I’ve been talking your ear off for nearly two hours now, and this is
the first time I’ve asked you a question…and you were at a loss for words.”
Shawn chuckled, patting the side of the ship gently as they continued
on with their tour. “Sorry. Old habits, I guess.”
“You’ve sure got a thing for her, don’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when you look at her, it’s like you’re looking at a beautiful
woman with
more curves than a barrel of snakes,” the Texan
drawled.
“Well, with good reason. She’s my first ship. All mine. I could take
her anywhere I wanted, any time I wanted.”
Jerry smiled as they continued to walk toward a pair of large, closed
doors that led to the next chamber. “I wish I knew what that was like. I’ve
been flying for Sector Command since I got out of high school. I went right
into the academy, got my wings, and the rest is history.”
“It’s like nothing else, Jerry,” Shawn replied wistfully, thinking
back to sitting at the controls of the Mark-IV. “It just feels…different.
Liberating.”
“I can see that. But, you’ve got to admit, being in a high-performance
fighter
does
have its appeal.”
“No argument there, Lieutenant,” Shawn agreed with a grin. “But
sometimes it’s nice to slow it all down, take your time, and not have to worry
about arming weapons at the drop of a hat.”
Jerry laughed. “Whatever you say, sir.” The lieutenant approached a
lighted keypad near the side of the door, withdrew his identity card and then
swiped it. Immediately the large doors began to part as if they were gigantic
curtains being pulled aside.
“Shouldn’t these doors be closed while the carrier is underway?” Shawn
asked, knowing full well that the large metal doors were designed to seal off
one area of the hangar from another in case of emergencies. As a safety
precaution, they were also supposed to be closed while the carrier was
operating at high speeds.
“Normally, yes. Right now, no. I wanted to make a grand entrance.”
Jerry smiled broadly, then raised his hands high over his head as he strode
confidently into the main fighter hangar. “Welcome to your new second home,
Commander.”
Along the port side of the large bay were three squadrons of attack
fighters. The first group was the 538
th
Unified Space Interceptor
Squadron, the Rippers: Shawn’s squadron. The five sleek Maelstrom fighters,
arranged in a triangle formation with Shawn’s number-one craft in the lead,
pointed toward the starboard side of the deck. High above the fighters, held by
wires in the transverse beams overhead, was the squadron’s logo: a stylized
golden chevron, with a red diamond shape protruding below it, and both symbols
emblazoned over a light-blue- and white-checkered background. Next to Shawn’s
group of fighters was the 435
th
USIS, the Red Skulls. They were the
only other squadron on board equipped with the experimental fighters, and Shawn
silently wondered if a small rivalry existed between their two squadrons.
Before he could dwell on it further, Jerry explained that such a
rivalry did, in fact, exist. The Skulls were purported to have recently broken
the space speed record set by a fighter, but those numbers had yet to be
verified. Jerry explained that Commander Saltori, the Red Skulls’ commanding
officer, was “so brave, he’d
shoot craps with the devil himself.”
Further aft of the Skulls was the 331
st
USIS, the Hunters.
They were flying the standard fighter of the time, the VSF-12 Seminole. Shawn
had seen prototypes of the 12s while he was still in the service. A great many
of his friends had voiced that they’d love to have gotten their hands on one.
For Shawn, it was never meant to be. He’d exited the service before the
Seminoles had become operational. He laughed at the irony, considering he was
going to fly the fighter that would someday replace them.
Aft of the Hunters were two more squadrons of jammers, the Sparks of
the 47
th
USJS and the Shockers of the 58
th
. Opposite of
the interceptors and the jammers were another squadron of VTOL fighters and the
120
th
ELINT squadron of the Star Kings.
A large connecting corridor, nearly three hundred feet long, used to
transport fighters from the aft compartment to the forward hangar, was Jerry’s
preferred method of getting access to the aft end of the deck. The two officers
jumped in a two-man polarized tram that quickly whisked them past the pilots’
main briefing rooms and back to the rear hold in seconds. Inside the aft bay
were three more squadrons of Seminole fighters, plus one bomber squadron. Shawn
was amazed how well twenty-one craft fit into this space, not to mention all
their required maintenance equipment.
When Nova got the end of the hold, he turned and placed his hands on
his hips. “Well, sir, that about does it,” he said with finality. “Unless you’d
like to take a walk outside?” Jerry pointed a finger to the overhead, which
also served as the outer hull of the ship.
Shawn shuddered involuntarily at the thought. “No, thank you. I’ve
done enough zero-g operations to last a lifetime…and then some.”
Jerry folded his arms and stepped closer to Shawn. He unnecessarily
lowered his voice, considering they were both alone in the vast hold.
“You…uh…ever…you know?” Then he held his left hand out, palm up. With his other
hand balled into a fist, he placed it into his flattened palm and then lifted
it abruptly.
“Ejected?”
“Yeah.”
Shawn nodded gently. “Sure. A few times.”
“A few?”
“Well, we were in combat. It happens.”
“Oh, right. Tell me, what was it like?”
Reluctant to recount the experience, Shawn nonetheless thought Nova
deserved some kind of response. “It’s the most terrifying thing there is.”
Jerry gave him a questioning look. “Worse than the Kafarans? Hard to
believe.”
Shawn leveled his eyes at the younger lieutenant. “Believe it. When
you’re in your fighter, you’re in control. You tell it what to do and it does
it. When you eject…out there…it’s a great big nothing. There’s no ground below
you, and there’s no sky above. You lose all sense of direction and all sense of
time. You just wait, you breathe, and you hope someone knows you’re out there.
All you can do is float out there…in the void.”