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The long stretch of connected pods stank of stale air and rust. SP had been relegated to the older section of post, in the units left over from some of the first attempts at a lunar colony.
Cameron normally enjoyed a leisurely stroll through ancient history, but now they raced past it all until they arrived at the shuttle to the hangars on the opposite end of the base. When the door opened, they boarded the automated craft and waited for it to launch.
“What the hell is this, Cam?”
The taller pilot looked out the window, admiring a series of sparkling dots clustered in the distance. It was impossible to make out shapes this far away, but the patterns of their movement were mesmerizing. “Looks like an invasion.” He and George stared in awe at the spectacle. “Are those rebels?”
“Mars ships are always red,” George said. “It’s like they have to color coordinate with the dirt. Lonz used to say it was a branding thing. You remember Lonz?” The shuttle bobbed and weaved past different hangars. They watched a wing of Sparrows—small fighters with thin, fixed wings—launch from magnetic rails and race to join the SP battle group growing in the sky. “It’s all hands on deck. They’re even deploying Junos Squadron.”
Cameron followed George’s finger to where six Griffin bombers were lifting up from their pads. The long-necked craft handled like barges, but their heavy-duty ordnance could turn the tide of a battle. Their wings were in the VTOL position, bent midway so the rockets could fire straight down; they were much too heavy for MagRails. Even in the lower gravity, it took a minute for the immense craft to push off the dirt. Clouds of moon dust billowed and swirled around, coating every surface.
“Approaching hangar W, stand by for landing.” The automated voice was followed by a chime, and Cameron and George braced for the usual rough stop. Another relic, the shuttle was older than either of its occupants. It hit the landing surface with a screech, lurching to a sudden halt. The doors hissed as they pressurized to the airlock before opening.
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Inside the hangar was a frenzy of activity as ground crews raced to launch their fighters. Wolfpack comprised only FS 115 Phoenix II superiority fighters, a single-winged craft that dominated the sky—at least until the Phoenix III had launched 15 years back and rendered “the Deuce” obsolete. Now the craft was a hand-me-down from big brother Fleet. The cool gray metal glistened in the harsh lighting, and the fighters on the rails shimmered as they grew near the purple barrier that separated the building from the elements outside. Cameron and George quickly spotted Captain Newman, the SP commander for Yorktown Air. Standing a head taller than anyone around him, Newman barked orders into radios and urged crews to work faster. An aide stood nearby, shouting into a phone. Even with the roaring engines of launching fighters, it was the loudest corner of the room.
“Captain,” the aide said. “Normandy has two squadrons aboard, but Stalingrad went up without an escort. They were shadowing while the new commander got his sea legs. They have plenty of anti-air, but they’re not adding much to the fight.”
“Where does Gilroy want us?”
The aide searched around a nearby table until he found his dusty tablet. He tapped the screen, bringing up a holographic map of lunar space. “Sector is in a scouting position here and here, near the Alpha contacts. I’m still being told to wait for our flight order.”
Newman nodded, taking the information cooly. Fleet problems were now his problems, and his peaceful drill weekend was long gone. Newman noticed George and Cameron standing a few paces away and waved them over. He returned their confused salutes and put them at ease. Rubbing his bloodshot eyes, Newman silently prayed for a cup of coffee. Like everyone else, he’d been asleep an hour before.
“Lieutenant, you two are the last in the hole. Wolfpack is at half strength today, so you’re taking over the Squadron as Wolf One.”
“Sir?” Cameron asked. “What happened to Lieutenant Rico?”
“Down with a bad bug. And another six are in the drunk tank with the MPs. I can’t fly them, even with this shitstorm. You’ll do.”
“Roger, sir.”
George looked around, taking in the reality of the situation. On the table, a trio of screens showed zoom-ins of the two unknown armadas. George studied the ships’ strange designs, trying to place their origin, but he’d never seen anything like them. His palms felt suddenly cold. “Captain, have they said what we’re up against?”
The field officer shook his head. “It’s not Mars, or at least that’s what they’re saying. Could be that splinter group out of Colorum. Be prepared for a fight. People don’t show up unannounced just to shoot the breeze. Once you’re out there, rendezvous with the rest of SP and stand by.”
Cameron took in the information, his mind flipping through scenarios. Even with the colonists of the red planet pacified, the Federate had no shortage of enemies in the outer sectors. “Those don’t look like converted mining vessels, sir. Have they been converting old derelicts or something?”
Newman sighed, clenching his jaw and counting to ten. “Lieutenant, I know about as much as you right now. What I do know is that these ships are in violation of the Vienna Pact and Sector is part of the mission. So shut up, get in your ship, and get up there.”
George interrupted, placing his palm on Cameron’s chest. “What’s the rally point?”
“Savanna,” Newman said.
George immediately took off and ran over to his fighter. The hangar crew already had the ladder out for him, and they handed his flight bag up after he sat down in the cockpit. Cameron realized he hadn’t moved yet and followed suit, climbing into his ship. The newer Phoenix had cushioned interiors and poly-crystallic screens with a refined holographic overlay. Cam’s fighter was pieced together from eight different versions of the Deuce, and looked it. One computer flickered green while another beamed images in sickening orange. It had taken him months to be able to process the kaleidoscope.
In the cockpit, Cameron flipped on the master power and waited two seconds for the computer self-test to complete. He reached behind his head and pulled out his helmet from the stowage rack. The water line was still connected, and he bit down to test if it was full. A sweet mixture of water and electrolytes filled his mouth. He squeezed the baggy and shook, hearing the slosh of a half-empty bladder. Won’t be out more than an hour. It’ll be fine. Cameron pulled his helmet on and plugged into the communication box. Immediately he heard traffic from Wolfpack. It was the usual buzz: what people thought of the mission; if anyone knew something new; did so-and-so get lucky last night.
Switching to a local line, Cameron spoke. “George, you read me?”
“Lima Charlie, Cam. This shit is crazy.” George leaned back as a flight crew chief—an attractive woman with bright green eyes—tugged his harness tight and checked for frays in the straps. As she pulled away, George held up a hand. “No kiss for good luck?” The chief smacked his helmet hard enough to make him wince, but she still blushed. George laughed and pulled his canopy shut, waiting for the magnets to connect and seal. He listened until the locks clicked twice before giving the crew a nod. The Heads-Up Display, or HUD, read green, meaning the cockpit was now pressurized and ready for launch.
Cameron felt, rather than saw, the crane grab his fighter and begin moving it toward the rails. It wasn’t as efficient as launching from the airfield, as only two fighters could take off at once, but the magnetic launcher allowed crews to immediately enter the battlefield rather than waiting to taxi out into the vacuum. Cameron connected his flight suit to the hoses inside the craft. Zero-G combat was a fairly different animal than planetary dogfighting, but the human body was the same. The flight suit would help keep him conscious during even the most intense fights. Air and water flowed in hoses around his legs and torso, contracting and relaxing as the system came online. When needed, this would keep blood in the right places.
“This is Wolf Two—shit, Wolf One—show