Wings of Honor by Craig Andrews (black authors fiction .TXT) 📗

“I just thought…”

“No, Coda. We don’t have time for this. You and Lieutenant Krylov were left off the flight roster intentionally, and unless some act of God convinces me to change my mind and break all military regulation, it will stay that way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a battle to plan.”

Commander Coleman strode away, rounding another corner and leaving Coda behind. Coda waited there, lost and, for the first time in a long time, unsure of what to do. He’d had his chance, and he had ruined it. He was a failure. A disgrace. He was just like his father.

41

CIC, SAS Jamestown

Alpha Centauri System, Proxima B, High Orbit

The CIC buzzed with activity as Commander Coleman strode in. Laid out in a rough circular shape, the CIC was made up of two levels: an outer ring and the pit, which was taken up almost entirely by a three-dimensional hologram that displayed a frozen image of battle. Coleman didn’t immediately recognize the image, but he assumed it had been taken from Toavis.

Captain Baez stood in the pit, studying the image. His XO, Commander Zhang, was at his side, receiving a steady flow of information that would help them prepare the ship for the upcoming battle.

“Docking into Jumpgate Centauri-3, sir,” a voice said as Commander Coleman made for the pit. “Jump sequence initiating. Jump in two minutes.”

“Understood,” Captain Baez said, glancing from the image to one of the officers on the upper ring. The gesture brought his eyes to Coleman. He nodded. “Commander.”

“Sir,” Coleman said. “The squadron has their orders. They’re ready when you are.”

“Good,” Captain Baez said. “We’re going to need them.” His attention returned to the battle image. “Another drone jumped in while you briefed them. The battle isn’t going well.”

Coleman grimaced then studied the image closer. Toavis was a green planet, so rich in color that it almost looked like a gas giant, but underneath a thick atmosphere was a rocky surface rich in nickel, lithium, and other precious metals vital to the Terran manufacturing operations. Stretched out in front of it, however, were six Baranyk carriers.

Like all Baranyk ships, they had an organic appearance, as if they had been born instead of built. The Sol Fleet had recovered more than one ship during the war and had found that the appearance wasn’t too far from reality. While not alive as some of the conspiracy theorists on Earth and Mars believed, the ships weren’t manufactured in the same way the human ships were either. There were no separate panels fastened together, no rivets, bolts, or rebar. But the results were just as lethal.

The orange, red, and yellowed claw-shaped Baranyk ships were actively engaged with the human vessels, and even outnumbering the Baranyk fleet by two ships, the humans were clearly overmatched. Humanity, it seemed, had come to rely too heavily on the drone attack and had truly forgotten about how deadly the early days of the Baranyk War had been.

“How old is this?” Coleman asked.

“We received the message less than ten minutes ago,” Captain Baez said. “But the image itself is over an hour old.”

Coleman cursed. An hour old? There was no telling how much damage had been done since the image was taken.

“Recent intel suggests,” Captain Baez said, as if reading his mind, “that one of the Baranyk ships has broken away from the larger force and has begun assaulting the planet. The Virginia has been called in as well, which should sway the odds back into our favor.”

The Virginia. Admiral Orlovsky’s personal ship was one of the most advanced ships in the entire fleet. If it had been called in, the situation was even direr than Coleman had first thought.

“Docking procedure complete, sir,” the same voice from before said. “Initiating jump sequence on your command.”

Captain Baez cast Commanders Coleman and Zhang a weary look. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” Then to the officer above, he said, “Jump.”

“Yes, sir. Initiating jump sequence in five, four, three…”

Coleman studied the map, wondering what they were about to step into, as the odd feeling that always accompanied a jump overcame him. The world seemed to stretch in front of him, his own sense of self and consciousness stretching with it. Gripping the padded rail around the pit, Commander Coleman steadied his breathing, waiting for the sensation to end. When it did, the CIC came alive with fresh activity.

“Arrived at Toavis, sir. Data streaming in now.”

The holographic image at the center of the pit had gone dark but was slowly updating as the information, moving at the speed of light from the battle, streamed in. It wasn’t a smooth process, however. The images of the ships that had been clear and easily recognizable before had become grainy, as if they had been taken with a low-resolution camera then blown up to a larger size. It was more than enough, though, to see that even the arrival of the famed Virginia hadn’t been enough to turn the tide of the battle.

All six of the Baranyk carriers still remained, but of the original human ships, only six still offered resistance. The other two were ruined wrecks, slowly descending into Toavis’s gravity well. Joining them were hundreds of the inoperable human drones. They were still, lifeless, almost like a school of dead fish floating listlessly on the surface of the ocean. As Captain Baez had indicated, one of the Baranyk ships had begun assaulting the planet’s surface without opposition.

“Get to your fighter,” Captain Baez said, “and have your pilots provide support to the remaining battle cruisers. Without their combined firepower, we don’t stand a chance.”

42

Cockpit, Nighthawk

Arradin System, Toavis

Commander Coleman closed the hatch and settled into the cockpit of his Nighthawk. Going through his preflight routine, he buckled and unbuckled his harness three times then yanked on the straps another three times after it had clicked into place. Satisfied he was strapped in properly, he flipped on the switch to the Shaw Drive thrusters.

To some outside the pilot brotherhood, the