Attack Butterfly (Rust Bucket Universe) Page 8

  Dave overheard the communications officer passing on a message. "Three enemy dreadnoughts converging on the America."

  ***

  "Three dreadnought class vessels coming our way!"

  Everette nodded and replied calmly, "Steer us a course into the middle of them. All gun stations, prepare for point blank firing. Activate all missiles and projectile weapons! Pilot, charge!"

  The America didn't feel like it was moving faster, but it was. Everette watched the screen that provided him with the view of space around his ship. It was divided into partitions that each presented different views. One was a forward view. He could easily see the three huge vessels making their way towards his with the intention of finishing what they tried to do before. Instead of running or turning, Everette charged them to offset their timing. If he was lucky, he might have just a nanosecond edge on them when the firing got to be its most intense.

  ***

  Susan was back inside the fighter. She checked over her control panel. Some of the functions were now back to normal, but not all. She could see that she still had work to do. She went back outside and poked around in the engine compartment to find the problem with what little she had to fix it with. She eventually had to stop and return to the cabin, take the air tank from another space suit, and connect it to her suit in place of the one she almost expended. Then she went back outside the fighter, edging her way along the sleek sides of the tiny craft to the engine panels.

  Without analyzing equipment, she was operating more on self-confidence and self-knowledge of what made the engines work and what the symptoms were when something didn't work right. She traced several leads and found one that was nearly severed. Only the tiny hole in the hull betrayed its presence. She worked with wire torn from the nose to repair that lead. Again, she returned to the cabin to check the controls.

  That time, another control was back in operation. Susan smiled. For once, she wasn't covered in soot and grease on her hands, arms, and face. Almost none of it had been able to adhere to her suit. She wondered why she hadn't thought before to perform some of her work in such a suit. There were still two more critical controls she needed fixed before she could reverse course and return to the carrier. Susan returned outside the fighter cabin to find the problems with those last two controls.

  ***

  The three enemy dreadnoughts came rushing into view, crowding themselves out of the view on Everette's panel. All over the ship, his gunners were pouring everything they had into the oncoming behemoths with the ferocity of mad dogs. There were more vibrations throughout the ship as the enemy gunners found the range and velocity of their target and returned fire back at the America. The screen flared as missiles slugged their way past them to reach out and slap at the offending titans. Round after round of shots leaped out among the four ships as they exchanged fire, creating a mosaic of patterns that made the four ships appear to be connected to each other when seen by a far off observer.

  Then the three enemy dreadnoughts went past the America. All three enemy ships were silent and floating off without control into deep space to rest for eternity.

  The America emerged on the other side with only one gun still firing. Everywhere else, there were holes throughout the vessel. There was no control over it. Its engines were silent and without steering. Without a suitable target to shoot at anymore, the one gun stilled its own voice and waited for whatever was to happen to come about. The one gun moved its turret about in search of the enemy, but there were no more enemies within its reach.

  ***

  "The America isn't answering any calls again," the communications officer stated.

  Dave asked, "What about the three dreadnoughts they were facing?"

  "All three are silent and headed out into deep space. They appear to be destroyed," she replied after talking with a ship much closer to the action than she was.

  Dave nodded and wondered if Captain Dixon's young career was over so soon. He knew that the battle only had a few more minutes to go at best. The Mad Dogs were winning at a cost they could ill afford. Already it appeared as if they were short six more ships. Could nineteen of them hold off another eighty-one enemy ships? Somehow, Dave doubted they could in their current condition. He was considering having them fall back as soon as the current threat was dispatched. They were already in the mop up phase of the battle where they were concentrating their firepower on the few remaining enemy ships. Reports continued to come in every second as ships reported their conditions. The carrier reported on how soon some of the damaged fighters would be repaired.

  Dave ordered, "Shirley, have one of your regular pilots take the station's fighter over to the carrier. Give it to a crew there. They need it more than we do. The pilot can remain there for the time being. Have another pilot go around in one of the shuttles to check on any of our dead ships to pick up survivors. If any survivors are found, give them a choice of joining the rest of their squadron on another ship or going to Beulah. They've got just enough time to accomplish that before the next wave is due to hit."

  Dave realized that he was scraping the bottom of the barrel by giving away their only fighter, but it was needed to bolster the defense and the carrier had better fighter crews on board.

  Shirley went about giving instructions without argument or questioning Dave's authority to give away her only attack craft. She knew as well as he that it could be put to better use by the carrier fighter crews.

  Within minutes, the single fighter from the space station leapt away. It raced towards the carrier Terra so that it could take part in the next expected defense with an experienced fighter crew. Behind it, one of the shuttles zoomed away toward the drifting hulks of Union Navy ships in hope of finding survivors.

  ***

  Susan found one of her two remaining problems and worked at fixing it. Each minute she was away from the battle was another minute of travel back. She was more concerned, however, about finding the problems before her oxygen tanks gave out. She was on the third already. If she didn't find the problems before the tanks gave out, she would have to ride it out inside the craft and hope that someone was sent after her or that she happened to cross in front of someone who could help.

  ***

  Captain George Clark wished that they could have interceded on Beulah's behalf and taken on some of the Malakin ships from long range. By now, he was sure the Malakins weren't going to observe diplomatic protocols or immunity. Doubtless, the diplomats would be either under house arrest or in a prison somewhere. Then again, they might also be undergoing interrogation. By now, the Malakins also knew that their surprise attack wasn't a surprise at all. George had seen three waves of warships and troop carriers going off in the direction of Beulah. Long range sensors had picked up just the edge of two other waves going somewhere else. As the Rust Bucket got closer to Malak, it became more and more evident that the Malakins were pushing for a quick victory. Evidently they hadn't enough information on Admiral Oden or the Union Navy to realize that he wouldn't be kept pent up in the Space Academy during a war. It was simply the best place for him to be during peace. There, he could continue to influence the new crops of officers and the entire Navy for its own good. Anywhere else in the Navy would have limited his usefulness to a small group that would perform exceptionally while the rest of the Navy performed almost as poorly as it did at the start of the Ape-oids War. It wasn't at all surprising to George that Dave quickly figured that out for himself and accepted the command when it was offered at the conclusion of the Ape-oids War. Dave only needed a friend to act as a sounding board for a few minutes to crystallize his own feelings and thoughts. From there, it had been full speed ahead as with everything that Dave did.

  George wondered just how much enemy activity the Rust Bucket would encounter near and around Malak. He wasn't particularly worried about what the Malakins might have. He was more concerned with recovering the people he was to pick up.

  ***

  Sylvia found herself being transfe
rred out as soon as she came off shift. Sergeant Rendall was rested up and ready to resume piloting. Within five minutes of being relieved, she was in another shuttle on her way to Echo. She barely had time to express her thanks for the assignment and to wish everyone luck in facing the third offensive wave.

  ***

  Dave went to the communications board and picked up one of the handsets. He made a private call and was smiling when he finished. He wasn't letting anyone in on his plans just yet, but his smile was enough to instill confidence in the personnel around him about the outcome of the next battle.

  Chapter 6

  Mike listened to the reports while his ship continued to pound away at the Ape-oids who just weren't giving up yet. Only one Ape-oid ship even attained space and was promptly hulled with almost every gun targeted on it. Now that one ship drifted in silent orbit around the planet while other Ape-oid ships continued to rise up and then crash to the surface.

  Captain Kyle Kruler spoke over the intercom, "Attention all hands. Navy mine layer is coming into our area and will commence operations shortly. Remember, she's on our side, so keep your attention on the Ape-oids. As soon as the mine field is in place, we will accompany her to our next mission. That is all."

  ***

  The shuttle sped back to the space station after having found only one man alive on the drifting ships it visited. The man stayed at his post on the America because he insisted his ship wasn't dead. He had stated to the shuttle crew that if anything came in range, his gun was still fully operable and he could sizzle them when they least expected it.

  ***

  On board the Terra, the Beulah Station's fighter was welcomed with open arms and deep gratitude from a crew whose fighter wasn't going to be ready in time. They hurriedly checked out the new, almost unused fighter and settled down into it. Minutes later, they were in space again and assembling with the other remaining fighters to hide at point Mary once again.

  The fighters were well hidden and waited patiently among the dead hulks of Malakin warships. They knew they were good and could win. They had already proven it twice and were eager to prove it again, even if there were only twelve of them divided into three wings of four fighters each.

  ***

  Susan grinned to herself as she found the last problem and fixed it. She made her way cautiously into the cabin and shut the hatch. Finally, she untethered herself and stowed away the tether so that it wouldn't foul up anything. Susan stepped into her command station and sat down. She tried the controls and was pleased with the response. She slapped one switch to activate the internal protective screens so that she could have fresh air to breathe again instead of the stale oxygen from the tank on her suit. As soon as she had an atmosphere to breathe again, she shut off the air tank while taking off the suit. She stowed it out of the way as well to give herself plenty of room.

  Susan was ready. She took a quick reading on the stars and then fired up the engines. They started without problem and responded to her touch. She steered a gentle curve back towards Beulah and her squadron. She set her course and put the fighter on autopilot before finally giving herself a rest. A quick glance at the instruments on the panel indicated that everything was functioning again. She hoped that it would continue to function until she got back. Susan glanced at the time and calculated when she would get back. Based on her calculations, she figured that she might even get back in time to rejoin the battle. There wasn't any doubt in her mind that her squadron was still fighting off the Malakins. Her squadron wouldn't run. Of that she was sure.

  She opened up some rations and ate to restore some of her used up energy. A quick drink helped her mouth function better as she picked up the handset to call back in and report. A quick look at the radar panel convinced her that it was a waste of effort to call on her craft's short range communications. She was too far away. They wouldn't be able to hear her call, not for another hour. She set down the handset and continued to eat.

  ***

  The Malakin fleet came in three segments this time. Evidently they expected the Navy to be wiped out and headed at top battle speed for Beulah. Hot on their heels, the fighters came out of their hiding places.

  One destroyer peeled off from the plate-like formation towards the space station. The Mad Dogs Squadron reacted appropriately as soon as they realized that this force was intent on dealing with Beulah, itself. Captain Parker, on the remaining dreadnought, led the force after the passing Malakins who he was sure had to have seen them.

  Sergeant Rendall jerked the controls and spun the space station into a Wobble Shift as the destroyer bore down on them. The defensive guns of the station were already in action, scoring hits on the approaching destroyer.

  Admiral Oden observed the behavior of the Malakins and the profiles of the various ships. This wave was different. It took him but a few seconds to make out that two-thirds of the wave of incoming Malakin ships were transports.

  "Patch me through to Captain Parker," Dave said to the communications officer. He then said to Captain Parker, "Parker, concentrate on the first third. The other two-thirds are transports. We'll go after them."

  "Okay, Admiral. Can do," Parker replied. A moment later, Captain Parker was instructing most of the squadron to concentrate on the warships.

  The troop ships spread out. Some headed for the back side of the planet. Others were going in directly below where most of the action was occurring. Sergeant Rendall did his best to both avoid the oncoming destroyer and pursue the transports.

  A fighter peeled off from the fighter command and sped over to take a T-shot on the offending destroyer, knocking out the destroyer's engines. As the gunners on the space station continued to shoot at the destroyer, now unable to maneuver, their shots were telling. They picked off the enemy destroyer's guns and left it fully helpless and adrift in space. Then they concentrated on the few transports that were within their weapons' reach.

  Dave quietly observed the battle shaping up into a general melee with ships moving about in every direction. This group of Malakin ships was superior to those in the first two waves. These had better gunners and more independence of action. That had to be why they were with the transports, Dave mused to himself. These were elite naval units of Malak. He watched as Captain Parker's ship managed to get and destroy two of the Malakin dreadnoughts only to be shot in the ass and disabled by a third Malakin dreadnought. The remaining cruisers were both having a time with the enemy cruisers. This battle was more in doubt than Dave had figured on.

  "Shirley, have your gunners help out with the warships. Those are elite naval units." He turned to the communications officer and held his hand out. He was handed a headset. He spoke into it and said simply, "Send them now."

  ***

  Four ships lifted up from the planet's surface in a display that showed that each and everyone of them had legs. Each of them was rust colored and sprouted guns once they reached space. They moved in a tight formation and rocketed into the melee without the slightest hesitation.

  Around the Mad Dogs Squadron, there was sudden revived hope as the Thurman, Theodore, Edmund, and William joined in the fray with their guns blazing at every Malakin vessel in sight and range. The sudden reinforcements threw off the Malakin assault for a moment as communications were jammed for a brief moment with cheers for the old Rust Buckets.

  With their guns blazing, they showed that their engines not only had kick, but they had bite as well. They concentrated their fire on enemy ships as a team and coolly dispatched one cruiser before moving on to tackle a destroyer. Guns that weren't facing the enemy warships took shots at targets of opportunity whenever a Malakin transport or warship came within range. The fighting spirit of the Mad Dogs Squadron was heightened to new limits as they renewed their energies in fighting off the Malakin invasion force.

  On one side of the main battle area, the carrier Terra was busy fighting as it chased after transports and used its heavy guns to rip through them. The space station was busy on the other
side of the battle area, firing mostly at the Malakin warships and occasionally at the transports when a warship wasn't in range or sight. Still, it was a pitched battle with neither side able to use or take advantage of any massive formation. Almost every ship on both sides was conducting battles on its own, seeking out its own targets to destroy.

  Beulah Station rocked suddenly. Sergeant Rendall pulled away from the battle as best he could pilot the damaged space station. "Sorry, admiral, but she won't hold together for anymore risky maneuvers and still fight. We're going to have to pull back and let the heavies handle it now."

  Dave nodded as Rendall nursed the wounded space station away from the battle even as its gunners continued to fire. There were no more efforts on Rendall's part to perform wild movements that might finish tearing up the station. Gradually, Beulah Station pulled away from the battle to a position out of immediate danger.

  ***

  Susan daydreamed as her fighter returned along the course she had been out of control on. The fighter was still operating normally and moving at near top speed. She daydreamed of a time in the woods at age sixteen when she gave herself for the first time to a boy she had known for over a year. He was the typical youth with the looks of several movie stars all rolled into one and a personality that said he could be trusted in everything. He was gentle and caring, she remembered. Somehow, they each sensed that the time was right and slowly unbuttoned each other's clothes. When they each finished taking off their own clothes, he had been chivalrous in placing some of his on the ground for her to lie upon.