Captain Henry Gallant Read online

  The audience turned and focused on him. None of the faces looked pleased.

  “We must acknowledge that the Titans have taken the technology lead.”

  Several heads shook, and Gallant felt the tension in the room rise.

  “That’s debatable,” said one officer.

  “It’s incontrovertible. The Titans had superior sensory information. And they fired first and with a higher rate. The UP response was slow and poorly coordinated.”

  A few more voices rose in disagreement.

  “They had an accurate assessment of the strategic situation that our leadership lacked,” insisted Gallant.

  Admiral Graves, visibly upset, demanded, “What exactly do you mean by lack of leadership?”

  Gallant’s eyes darkened to match his tousled hair, but he remained quiet for a portentous moment. He clenched his teeth and felt a bead of sweat on his brow. His chin jutting toward Graves defiantly, he said, “With all due respect, sir, Admiral Butler did not expect a major strike force to hit him, demonstrating a deficiency of vigilance. Further, he divided his command and misplaced his patrols.”

  All the blood drained from Graves’ face, turning it a pasty white. “How dare you cast blame in Admiral Butler’s direction,” he barked. His brow darkened, and his voice rose as he struggled to maintain his composure. “He acted on the best information available.”

  Gallant took a deep breath. “Admiral Butler’s preparations were based on what he believed the enemy would do rather than what they could do. And what the enemy could do was to strike fast and hard.”

  “Unfounded speculation,” said one officer, rising with a scowl.

  “That’s slander,” another growled.

  “Disrespecting a senior officer!” said another.

  Gallant couldn’t stop himself. “Butler left the Marines without any support. A relief effort must be undertaken as soon as possible.”

  “That’s your opinion,” said Graves, his voice clipped and filled with resentment. “The Marines are in a strong position with adequate supplies. They can defend themselves against enemy action.”

  Gallant said, “Still, it would be wise to make provision for relief.” After a moment, he added, “Sir.”

  “I’ve received assurances from Admiral Butler that the Marines are sufficiently protected for now.”

  “Yes, sir, but the Titans could strike again to finish what they started.”

  “There is time to deal with that when needed,” said Graves with finality, and turned his back on Gallant.

  Gallant knew it was hopeless to argue with a man who was more concerned with his reputation than with military necessities. Graves had clearly made up his mind, and on the face of it had a reasonable argument.

  Graves’ frown deepened as he glared at Roberts. “What would you attribute the losses to?”

  Roberts hesitated only briefly. “Admiral Butler’s lack of information about the Titan deployment and intentions led him into mispositioning his fleet. The fact that his ships were old hybrid battlecruisers made them vulnerable to the newer, more powerful class of Titan ships. The combination of Titan stealth technology and human failures in identifying and communicating the attack were also major contributors.”

  “Anything else you wish to add?” asked McCall.

  “Yes.”

  “What more could you possibly have to say?” demanded Graves.

  “More but different, sir,” said Roberts, taking out a second disc. We found alien artifacts of another alien species. With evidence that indicates they could also be fighting the Titans.”

  “Go on.”

  “At the far outer reaches of the Ross system, we found alien satellite space stations and drones, all of which had been damaged or destroyed in battle. My techs were able to discern that the weapons that destroyed some of them were Titan. Yet, the satellite remains were of a technology we have never seen before. Also, we found remnants of Titan warships nearby, suggesting that a battle had occurred between the two species.”

  With a look at McCall, Roberts concluded, “I have a treasure trove of data and physical evidence that should keep SIA happy for a long time.”

  As the meeting broke up, McCall pulled Gallant aside. “You don’t have to make yourself a lightning rod every time? Do you?”

  She considered him for a moment before adding, “Wait here.”

  After twenty minutes, she returned and said, “You’ve been relieved of duty with the fleet headquarters’ strategic analysis office.”

  “I thought as much,” said Gallant with a scowl. He stood silently for a minute to get a grip on his emotions.

  “I have new orders for you.”

  “What if I’m not ready to take on a new assignment?”

  “This is not a request. You are a military officer.”

  “When and where?” asked Gallant sullenly.

  “Everything you need is in this file. You report tomorrow at 0800.”

  Gallant said nothing.

  “Disappointed?” she asked, just a hint of a smile on her lips.

  “I follow orders. As always.”

  “You don’t sound happy. You should take that up with the admiral.”

  Chapter 4

  Top Gun

  At over one hundred square km, the Melbourne spaceport was Earth’s largest space shipyard. From its geosynchronous orbit, the shipyard could launch and recover vehicles. The dome terminal and hangar facilities supported space tugs that assisted large spaceships. Several fighter squadrons operated out of the spaceport, including those in training at Top Gun Academy.

  “Attention on deck!” bellowed a student as Gallant entered the classroom at the academy.

  The young men and women rose as one and stood at attention.

  He relaxed as he surveyed the fresh faces.

  “At ease.”

  The class of junior officers took their seats. They eyeballed him as he strolled through the room. When he reached the instructor’s platform, he said, “You were chosen as Top Gun candidates because of your outstanding performance. Once you leave here, you will assume leadership positions in the new generation of spacecraft carriers.”

  Gallant took a moment to stare at the enthusiastic faces. As he remembered his experiences as a midshipman, he fought down a flood of regrets. He wondered if these pilots would benefit from his expertise or come to regret his mentoring.

  He said, “You’re all exceptional, but you’ll find my standards are exceptionally high. You’ll be challenged as never before. A handful of you will become Top Gun finalists. And only one will graduate with that title. I promise you; it’s a goal worth striving for.”

  Gallant could already guess who the top leaders would be and who wouldn’t make it. He recognized several faces. He focused his gaze on Ensign Ryan, whom he had mentored in several training exercises.

  BANG!

  The door slammed open, showing a stunning redhead silhouetted in the door frame. Every head turned her way.

  She said, “I apologize for being late, sir. I was detained by security.”

  “Detained?”

  She stammered, “There was a . . . hold . . . on my clearance. Traffic violation, sir. I have to report back after class.”

  “Take a seat, Ensign Steward,” said Gallant with a frown. “I will not tolerate the deliberate disregard of safety regulations. Taking a risk in combat is necessary, but carelessness due to a false sense of invulnerability can be extremely dangerous.”

  Gallant explored their faces before continuing, “The judgment to distinguish a calculated risk from a reckless gamble is what makes a great pilot. Show poor judgment, and I’ll dismiss you. Prove yourself a righteous risktaker, and you’ll advance.”

  He stole a glance at Ryan as Lorelei found a seat at the back of the room.

  Ryan slumped in his chair and cast his gaze to the floor to avoid eye contact with her, but a flash of guilty recognition crossed her face.

  For a few seconds, Gallant struggled with the mental calculus of how to handle these two, then he shoved the thought away and focused on the class in front of him.

  He said, “I’d like to get to know a little about each of you.”

  This surprised the students. They were used to impersonal teachers who delivered stern lectures.

  “My call sign is ‘Natural’,” said Gallant. “I wasn’t genetically engineered. I lost my parents at an early age and was raised by my grandmother until I went to the academy. My natural abilities have let me contribute to the struggle against the Titan.”

  The students exchanged glances. Many had already heard a great deal about their teacher’s unusual characteristics.

  Gallant asked each student to speak for a minute describing their background.

  Lorelei said, “My home is on this continent. When I was a child, I loved climbing trees. My brother would yell at me, ‘not too high, not too high.’ James is now a Marine on some distant planet. I pray for him every night.”

  She took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m still trying to climb high—only now it’s to the stars.”

  There was light laughter.

  Gallant smiled. “Your call sign is ‘Flame’.”

  Someone in the back hollered, “As in flameout?”

  “No,” said Gallant. “Not flameout, Mister Ryan, but your call sign will be ‘Lucky’. As in, you’ll be lucky if your number of landings equals your number of take-offs.”

  There was considerable laughter peppered with several hoots.

  When his turn came, Ryan revealed that his parents died in an accident while he was a teenager and he moved between foster families until he claimed the navy as home.

  He added, “I’m going to be Top Gun!”

  Gallant said, “We’ll see about that.”

  Then he turned to a huge huggable pilot, Ensign Joe Flannery, and said, “Your callsign will be ‘Bear.’”

  As he continued around the room. He named Samuel Rhodes, ‘Dusty,’ and Edward Decatur, ‘Hotshot.’

  Even if he hadn’t been wearing an AI earbud, Gallant could’ve guessed what his students were thinking.

  What’s next?

  ◆◆◆

  After several weeks of flight school, the ensigns were bored with lectures and endless simulations. They were ready for mock combat exercises and bending on some serious speed.

  Early in the morning, the class gathered in the flight hangar’s Ready Room at Melbourne’s spaceport for a final briefing.

  Gallant said, “You will be flying Viper fighters for this exercise. They’re equipped with the latest high-tech elements that you’ll find when you’re deployed.”

  Ryan smiled the moment he laid eyes on the F-789 Viper I. It was a sleek, elegant starfighter capable of accelerating to 0.3 C in less than six hours. It had missiles and a pulsed laser cannon capable of punching through titanium armor.

  Gallant said, “This fighter can operate in the stormy upper atmosphere of Jupiter as well as the vacuum of outer space. Its gimbal spin gyro generates enough torque to flip the ship end-over-end in a matter of seconds. But remember that while the engine is powerful enough to change speed and direction rapidly, it can’t work miracles.”

  The class had already covered how the physics of space combat differed from air combat. In space, an enemy could theoretically approach from any direction. But spaceships were limited by orbital dynamics—not just their own ship’s orbit around a planet, but that planet’s orbit around the sun.

  He said, “Your AI neural interface is an essential tool. It features deep-learning and comprehensive knowledge. Listen to its recommendations but remember that it isn’t an intelligent being, so don’t treat it as such. You are the creative intelligence in combat. The neural interface can only inform and enhance your decision making.”

  The mock combat was scheduled to take place above Venus’s stormy weather with a hard floor of one hundred kilometers.

  Gallant said, “Remember, that while there are no rules in combat, there are rules during training. You will observe the ‘hard deck’ and engine limitations during this exercise.”

  He said, “I will take three students at a time. Lucky, you’ll be Flame’s wingman flying the Viper I for Blue Flight. Blue Flight will fly Combat Space Patrol (CSP) for a satellite which we’ll designate as the mock spacecraft carrier, Orion.”

  “Bear, you’re with me. We’ll be Red Flight—bandits in the Viper II. We’ll target Orion.”

  The Viper II fighter-bomber was essentially a Viper I fighter with an externally mounted heavy missile rack that could be ejected during a dogfight.

  The pilots looked at him, eager to begin.

  “Man your ships,” said Gallant.

  “OK. Fights on,” said Ryan, sprinting to his ship. “I feel the need for speed.”

  He glanced at Lorelei who went through her preflight checks, hardly acknowledging him.

  The Viper fighters taxied to their starting positions and prepared to launch.

  The pilots put on their neural interface headsets.

  Wearing the neural interface headsets, the pilots felt an expanded awareness of the world as they visualized the ship controls and equipment. Dozens of silicon probes touched their skin at key points, reading and translating brain-wave patterns directly into flight commands. Pilots moved the ship merely by thinking about direction and speed. With the enhanced speed and accuracy of thought-control, the manual stick was functional but used primarily as a backup.

  Even after years of use, the interface remained a challenge for Gallant. As a Natural, he had to concentrate his mental effort.

  The Vipers scrambled, each one blasting a wave of exhaust across the runway. Once aloft, they managed to stay in formation until they moved beyond the standard Earth orbit.

  The Blue Flight accelerated to 0.1C and covered the hundred million kilometers to reach Venus in a few hours. When they reached the Orion, they took up their assigned patrol stations and waited for the Red Flight to appear.

  The Red Flight was not far behind with Flannery flying as Gallant’s wingman.

  Gallant’s first command was to accelerate to the far side of Venus. Then he flipped around on his gyros and decelerated, skimming the top of the soupy atmosphere to remain hidden until the hull glowed bright red. As the Viper pierced the stratosphere, the hull creaked and unveiled various external noises—a change from the silence of deep space. The ship developed a slight but noticeable vibration.

  The tiny Viper reminded Gallant of ships he had piloted before. Each had a painful memory attached, but he quickly dispelled his momentary sense of loss. Instead, he focused on the mission. He let Venus fill the viewscreen. The imagery stimulated his imagination as well as his awareness. He was beginning to enjoy the exercise.

  Bank to port.

  He performed a wingover as the ship shifted in orbit. The maneuver caused the planet to swirl around in his viewport, adding a visual spectacle to the audible noises.

  Accelerate.

  The thunderous nuclear engines thrust the craft forward. It emerged from the atmosphere with the sun shining off its polished hull as Gallant climbed to a higher altitude over Venus.

  The mock combat had begun.

  Ryan called over tac1, “Flame, bandits spotted ten light-seconds out 030 up10. High and fast, on a heading toward Orion.”

  Lorelei said, “They’re making a straight shot at the ‘carrier.’ We’ll intercept at .1C in thirty seconds.”

  Gallant gazed through the Viper’s canopy at Orion in the distance.

  His AI reported, “Viper emissions detected.”

  The location and flight characteristics flashed into Gallant’s mind.

  The Blue Flight was coming head-on placing him squarely in the danger zone. Over the intercom, Flannery reported, “Blue Flight is banking hard to starboard.”

  Gallant changed the Red Flight’s course and dove at the enemy combatants. He said, “Concentrate your fire on the lead Viper. I’ll target high. You take low.”

  He thought, Select missiles. The AI activated the mock missiles for launch. The ready button flashed on his dashboard.

  Flannery mimicked Gallant’s maneuvers. The two of them swung into position.

  “Six seconds to intercept,” said Gallant over tac2.

  “You got it.”

  “Bear, come further toward the target.”

  “Watch it, Natural. These guys are really moving!” Flannery warned.

  Gallant banked to a new heading.

  “The second has gone silent. I’ve lost trace.”

  Gallant said, “Never mind him. I’m lined up on the leader and ready to fire. Sync with me.”

  Flannery said, “On target. Missiles locked on.”

  “Fire missiles.”

  “Missiles are hot.”

  A moment later, Flannery reported, “No joy. Signals jammed.”

  Gallant willed Blue Flight to come back into range, but Flannery said, “Targets have changed course.”

  “Jettison external missile rack. Hard to starboard,” ordered Gallant.

  Without the burden of external racks, the Viper IIs were now able to fight their opponents on equal terms.

  Gallant observed the ship handling abilities of the pilots as they maneuvered. Flannery was a hair slower and a smidgen less accurate than Ryan.

  The display heading spun as Gallant swung his ship to an intercept course and began a new attack run.

  The two flights blew past each other and turned for another pass.

  “Hell! They’re coming around too fast. Abort! Abort!” shouted Gallant.

  He thought, hard to port! But the Blue Flight had already opened fire on Flannery and launched simulated missiles.

  The radar spiked with incoming missiles. Gallant ordered, “Release countermeasures. Start jamming.”

  “Aye aye.”

  Blue Flight scored simulated missile hits on Flannery. The AI designated his fighter disabled. He limped out of range.

  Ryan whooped over tac1, “Splash one!”

  With Flannery out of commission, Gallant headed for Orion alone. Coming around again, Blue Flight ganged up on him.