Trafalgar Shuttle

  Hostile Supply Depot

  Chase cut the thrusters as the shuttle hit orbit around the large grey planet.

  “How we doing?” Winter asked.

  Chase checked over the sensor readout. The hostile fighters did not appear to have detected them—yet.

  “So far, so good,” replied Chase, not taking his eyes off the display.

  He realised that one of the dots had broken away from the others.

  “I spoke too soon,” he muttered, running his hands over the thruster controls and bringing the engines to full.

  “If they’ve spotted us, we won’t be able to outrun them,” Winter said.

  “I know, but I’ve got a few tricks. We might still be able to lose them,” said Chase, as the cabin jolted violently under weapons fire.

  “You were saying?” said Winter, frustration growing in her voice.

  The rest of the enemy flight group broke formation, heading toward the planet.

  Chase swore under his breath and angled the shuttle into a sharp descent.

  “What are you doing?” Winter asked.

  “You think they’re rated for atmospheric flight?”

  “Yes,” said Winter. “Probably.”

  The comm system sounded.

  “This is Trafalgar Actual. We see your situation. We’re coming in,” said Harding.

  Chase acknowledged and tried to hold his nerve as the shuttle rocked. They passed through a thick layer of grey cloud. On the rear sensors, he realised that the fighters were still with him.

  “Dammit,” he said, accelerating to maximum, but they stayed with him.

  “They don’t appear to have any problems with atmospheric flight,” said Winter.

  “Well, we’ll see how they get on with high-speed manoeuvring,” Chase said.

  A proximity alert sounded as the shuttle dropped below two-hundred metres. Winter held onto the armrests of the co-pilot’s seat.

  “Chase, what are you doing?” she said.

  The planet was very sparse. They had not picked up any signs of population, and directly below them an expanse of jagged rock canyons in the grey stone.

  Chase pushed the shuttle into the canyon and slammed the control board with his right fist, bringing up an analysis of the canyon’s layout. The readout flashed for only a moment, giving him just enough to calculate the sharp turns ahead. The inertial dampers were holding well enough that no one was being thrown out of their seats.

  The first fighter had stuck with them and was so far matching them turn for turn. Chase saw a fork in the canyon coming up and stayed close to the left-hand wall, only to sharply bank right at the last minute. For an instant, he thought he’d overcompensated, but a quick adjustment sent them through the turn with barely a meter to spare.

  The hostile, in a desperate attempt to match the manoeuvre, smashed into the vast rock wall, exploding in a great fireball. Chase watched the external feed as the fighter’s metallic hull rained down on the canyon below.

  “That’s one,” Winter said.

  There had been at least four fighters in orbit. The shuttle rocked again as they took damage on the topside.

  “This one’s smarter,” Winter observed, craning her neck to peer through the cockpit canopy.

  “He’s keeping above us.”

  Chase pulled up, bringing them out of the canyon and trying to stay behind the fighter. He banked into a corkscrew turn, rising back up towards orbit. For a moment, the fighter was unable to close in on them.

  “I take it back,” said Winter. “You’re doing great. Don’t fail me now.”

  The grey cloud parted to reveal a turquoise sky that, a moment later, was replaced by the blackness of space. Chase stayed in orbit, trying to put as much distance between them and their pursuer as possible, but after a moment, they were taking damage again.

  “We can’t take much more,” Chase said. “Shields at 40%.”

  He killed the main thrusters and fired the port manoeuvring jets, throwing the shuttle into a 180° spin so they were now facing the fighter head-on.

  “What are you doing?” asked Winter.

  Chase pushed down on the thruster control and shot right past the fighter.

  “That won’t hold them for long,” she said.

  “It doesn’t have to,” said Chase, who had been keeping an eye on the sensor readouts for all ship positions.

  Two more fighters were approaching dead ahead. The bright flashes of their compressed energy weapons shot over the cockpit canopy before impacting against the shuttle’s armoured hull. The shaking continued as Chase looked down at the sensors and saw their original pursuer had caught up with them. Fire rained down from all directions.

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  “I thought you had a plan!” said Winter.

  “This is it,” said Chase, as the two fighters ahead exploded in quick succession. The blast filled their entire view as the shuttle rushed through the explosion debris, bouncing off the hull. The shield readout dropped to 28%, flashing on the display.

  Chase came about, and the final fighter was quickly eliminated. Banking up, Chase saw the reason why.

  The battleship Trafalgar awaited them.

  Chase’s boots hit the shuttle bay’s deck moments after the shuttle touched down as he made his way to the Trafalgar’s bridge. As he walked through the large double doors out of the bay, the ship rumbled from enemy weapons fire.

  Chase braced himself against the bulkhead as the shaking continued, then stepped into the express elevator, holding his arm out across the automatic door to give Winter time to catch up.

  "Bridge," he said firmly.

  A moment later, they stepped out into the command centre.

  "Welcome back, Commander," Harding said from the centre seat. "Good work by you and your team."

  "Thank you, Captain," Chase replied, holding the handrail as two enemy fighters zipped over the Trafalgar and across the main viewport.

  "As you can see, we’re taking heavy fire."

  Winter relieved the ensign, who was currently at the weapons station, and began manually targeting as many fighters as she could.

  "One problem, Mr Chase," said Harding. "We have lost telemetry from your device."

  "Damn," he thought. It seemed likely when the countdown paused during his return to the shuttle, but he had hoped it wasn’t definitive.

  "How long can we hold off these fighters?" said Chase.

  "Another ten minutes tops," said Harding.

  "Let’s make our way out of the system. Best possible speed."

  "Willcom," barked Harding at the helm.

  The planet, still visible ahead, receded as the ship moved over it. On the ship's tactical hologram, various fighter craft continued to stay with them, swarming around like insects—mosquitoes. The ship’s short-range point defence cannons had a much easier time than their long-range weapons, making short work of the fighters, but they were still severely outgunned.

  "Should we deploy the fighter wing, Captain?" Chase suggested.

  Harding considered this for a moment.

  "We should be able to hold out until the station blows, at which point I want us to make the fastest exit we can."

  "Thank you, Mr Chase," replied the Captain.

  An alarm sounded. Chase looked at the screen to see one fighter had spun around and was heading straight for them.

  "They’re going to ram us," he said.

  "On it," replied Winter, working her board.

  The fighter grew larger and larger as it closed in on them, then was sent flying starboard as the Trafalgar's weapons knocked it off its flight path. Chase watched as it fell down to the planet below, skimming off the atmosphere like a stone across a pond before the atmospheric friction lit it up like a bonfire.

  "Top work, Lieutenant," Harding said to Winter.

  They continued accelerating away from the planet.

  "What’s the situation with the jump drive?" Chase asked.

  "It’s still recharging," said Dryden. "This last jump was the only one I was prepared to guarantee. We’re on conventional drive until we make it back to port."

  "Understood," said Chase.

  "Not detecting any reading from within the station," said Winter.

  "The device?" Harding asked.

  Chase stepped over to an empty console.

  "We’ve got no signal," he said.

  He had hoped the momentary glitch on his way back to the shuttle had been just that, but now it seemed the device had deactivated.

  "Well? And what can be done?" asked Winter.

  "We can’t make a second attempt," said Harding definitively.

  "There’s still a chance the bomb is still activated. We can’t risk it."

  "A torpedo?" suggested Dryden.

  "Do it," said Harding.

  Willcom brought the ship around. They were still taking fire from the hostile fighters.

  "Work on getting as close as you can. Winter, ready weapons," Harding said coolly.

  The station came back into view on the port side and became larger as they closed in.

  "Torpedo," Harding ordered.