Tags:
Star Wars,
Star Trek,
Space Opera,
Military science fiction,
John Scalzi,
B.V. Larsen,
Christopher Nuttall,
Galactic Empire Republic,
David Weber,
Space Marine,
Ryk Brown
continued, “We expect they will shift from Vega orbit within the hour, and when they enter Sol orbit, only minutes are required to charge the gravitic energy banks to make the shift to Earth orbit. We have …” he took a deep breath, “countermeasures planned. But they will not save us without the skill, the concentration, the grit, and the resolve of each and every one of you and those who serve under you.”
“I am needed elsewhere, but Admiral Gutierrez will brief you on the battle plan.” He stepped aside from the podium, his shoulders vaguely hunched—the man has seen more battle as a commander in the imperial fleet than the rest of us combined, Jake thought—and slowly, straightening his curved back, raised an arm to his forehead in a solemn salute.
Every soldier in the assembly hall rose to their feet, and returned the salute, in a silence that seemed to Jake both heroic and ominous. Admiral Pritchard turned and left the auditorium, and Admiral Gutierrez approached the podium.
The briefing went on for over twenty minutes, and Jake grew restless. As battle plans went, it was a simple one. Defend Earth. Go to any length possible. Now that the majority of the Earth’s governments had officially sided with the Resistance, new resources lay open to them including, happily, four capital ships that the North American and European Joint Space Fleet had been holding back, a few dozen extra frigates and light cruisers, and hundreds of extra fighter squadrons.
So the odds were not hopelessly against them. But the chances that most of them would not live to see the next day were high, and they all knew it. Jake grit his teeth.
Gutierrez continued his briefing. “Second division fighter squads, you’re assigned suborbital patrol and defense duty for northern latitudes, third division squads have southern latitudes. Every other fighter division is in orbit. First and fourth, you will escort the Fury , as usual, and fifth through eighth will escort the USS Odierno . All other divisions are on the frigate and light cruiser battle groups. Lower orbital teams, you are responsible for missiles that make it through the perimeter defenses, in support of the ground-based ion beam cannons and surface-to-air missile interceptors. Upper orbital teams….” The Admiral spoke quickly and efficiently, flipping through some maps and orbital charts on the viewscreens before pausing and glancing up at them all.
“I suppose I don’t have to impress upon you all the importance of your performance today,” he started slowly, in a more somber tone of voice. “Earth’s very freedom hangs in—”
An explosion rocked the building and the power momentarily went out before auxiliary lights kicked in. Jake heard Crash swear.
Another blast, this time a little farther away, but followed by a third that appeared to hit the auditorium building, as large chunks of the ceiling caved in, crushing half a dozen people in the center of the room.
“To your stations!” yelled Admiral Gutierrez, and he ran from the podium with his security escort through the double doors behind the raised dais, narrowly dodging more falling debris. The room erupted into organized chaos as nearly two hundred officers bolted for the double doors on either side of the room. Another blast rocked the building, and Jake wasn’t sure if he was glad or not that he was in the command complex. On the one hand it had reinforced blast-proof walls and ceilings, and could nearly survive a full-on nuclear or antimatter strike. On the other hand, it was a target, and whoever was bombing it right now was persistent.
“Who the hell is it?” he yelled at Kit as they scrambled for the door. If they could only get to the fighter bay, they could have a chance against whatever threat lie above.
“Probably some imperial sleeper cells. Or, now that I think about it, the Asian Republic. They never announced their support for the Resistance, and now that the imperials are on their
Salomé Mitiarjuk Nappaaluk