Angles of Attack (Frontlines #3)(34)

“Contact is squawking Commonwealth IFF codes. CG-760, NACS Aegis. One of the Hammerhead cruisers.”

“Check our wake again,” Colonel Campbell orders.

“Clear. No contacts since we got away from the Mars blockade.”

“Let’s go active, then. Announce that we’re coming before they get a whiff on their active gear and start shooting at shadows. Turn on the radar, broadcast our own transponder codes. Let’s become visible again.”

“Aye, sir. Going active on the sensors and IFF.”

With our active gear radiating megawatts out into space and our IFF transponder marking our presence, it doesn’t take long for the distant Commonwealth ship to pick up our trace. A little while later, the comms officer announces an incoming transmission.

“They’re hailing us on ship-to-ship fleet channel, sir.”

“On speaker,” Colonel Campbell says. “And open the line for me.”

“Aye, sir. You are on.”

“This is NACS Aegis, to the approaching vessel broadcasting Commonwealth ID. Please identify yourself.”

“Aegis, this is NACS Indianapolis, Indy Actual,” Colonel Campbell replies. “Good to hear someone else out there. We were starting to think we’re the only ship left between Mars and Earth.”

Due to the distance between us, we have to wait for Aegis’s reply for a few moments.

“Indianapolis, Aegis. You pretty much are. We are in the outer picket line. What is your status and mission?”

“Aegis, we just had one hell of a run past Mars. We are part of a task force that sought refuge in the Fomalhaut system. We reentered the solar system about a hundred hours ago via the Alliance transition node. The space between the belt and Mars is crawling with Lankies. My ship has taken damage, and we are almost out of fuel. En route to Earth for refueling and emergency repairs. If it’s still there.”

The reply from Aegis takes quite a bit longer than what is warranted due to the distance between us.

“Indianapolis, affirmative. Earth is still there. You are to decelerate and rendezvous with the picket task force, to proceed to Earth under escort. Do not attempt to cross the picket line without clearance, or we will employ defensive measures. Acknowledge.”

Colonel Campbell and Major Renner exchange glances. I get that unwelcome feeling in the pit of my stomach again that sets in every time I see us heading for trouble. This is not the warm welcome I had expected, and judging from the expressions all around me, Indy’s CIC crew is just as taken aback as I am.

“Aegis, acknowledge receipt of order. Be advised that Indy has significant battle damage and is running low on reactor fuel. If I burn to decelerate now, we won’t have the juice to get back to Earth, and someone will have to tow us.”

The next reply takes even longer to get back to Indy. Whoever is in charge in Aegis’s CIC apparently has to phone home for orders.

“Indianapolis, acknowledged. Go for turnaround and deceleration burn as instructed. We have a supply ship on standby that will rendezvous with us as soon as feasible and refuel your ship. Keep comms traffic to a minimum and do not deviate from your current trajectory. Acknowledge.”

“What the hell?” Major Renner says. “We squeeze past the blockade and make it to friendly space, and they’re talking to us like we have half a dozen Lankies in the cargo hold.”

“We have the acceleration advantage,” the tactical officer says. “We can go a few degrees either way, and they’ll never catch up to us. They can’t burn that hard, not even a Hammerhead.”

“We don’t know how deep that picket layer is,” Colonel Campbell says. “No point in giving them a reason to shoot at us.”

He looks at me and smirks.

“Maybe that useless one-star desk pilot and the Midway group made it back to Earth, and word of our deeds on New Svalbard has preceded us, Mr. Grayson.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Can’t say I give much of a crap right now.”

“Neither do I. We always knew we’d eventually have to face the music on that one.” Colonel Campbell signals the comms officer.“Open the channel.”

“You’re on, sir.”

“Aegis, Indy Actual. Copy your orders. We will go for turnaround burn and rendezvous for escort and refuel as instructed. Just make sure you have the fuel truck waiting, ’cause our tanks are dry.”

“Acknowledged,” comes the terse reply from Aegis.

Colonel Campbell studies the plot, our little blue icon slowly moving toward the one marked “CG-760 AEGIS.” He exhales slowly and rubs his temples with his fingertips.

“Well, you heard the order. Prepare to flip the ship and go for turnaround burn. Get me a burn calculation and stand by on main engines.”



Aegis is true to her word. When we coast into rendezvous position a few hours later, there are three ships waiting for us. One is Aegis herself, one of the fleet’s advanced Hammerhead cruisers. The other two are the destroyer Michael P. Murphy and the fleet supply ship Portland.

“Looks like you had a rough day at the office,” Portland’s boom operator sends when we are alongside to take on reactor fuel. “Those are some holes you have there.”

“You have no idea,” our comms officer replies. “Nothing but category-five shitstorms all month.”