Guardian (War Angel Book 1) by David Hallquist (best contemporary novels .TXT) 📕

after another, Tarantulas go dead. They try all the tricks: countermeasure dust, laser sensor dazzlers, and maneuvering dangerously into line with the very ships we’re protecting. Nothing works. By the time we’re done with them, the defensive net of fire from the task force easily takes care of the few that get past us.

Only ten of us are left in my squadron. Other squadrons have been hit about as hard. We’re out of missiles, SPGs, countermeasures, and eventually we’ll run out of luck. Most of our armor is gone, our sensors and point-defense fire are all heavily degraded. We need to rearm and repair desperately.

Worse, we’re running out of fuel. My own frame is dangerously low, and part of my flight system is damaged now, so Chimera tends to tumble rather than soar. Much more maneuvering, and I’ll either be a sitting duck in space, or fall into the Martian atmosphere below.

If we’re going to go back in, this is our best chance. The fleets have separated a bit, and Venusian ships are harassing the Saturnine fleet. Far above me, Deimos Base is a glowing ruin, lighting up the surface of the small moon. For this brief moment, we can return to the carrier. That moment probably won’t last.

We get permission to dock aboard the Weston. We’re not alone; other exo-frames are joining us from other fleets who’ve lost their carriers in the savage fighting. The other squadrons will patrol space behind us and make sure nothing comes through and hits us at our most vulnerable.

We fly in closer to our only home out here.

The host carrier has clearly seen better days. Massive scars cross the ship’s battered and pockmarked flanks. A few of the engines are missing, and new sensory antennae have already been put up. The gaping hole through her is the worst damage, but the big carrier can still move, fight, and most importantly, repair and service Angels.

It’s my turn.

I pull up to the carrier, constantly maneuvering to keep up with its slow, graceful evasive maneuvers. My flying is certainly not graceful. With half my flight pack gone and several smaller maneuvering clusters missing, it’s all I can do to keep up. Normally I could hand over control to the Weston, but with pieces missing from my frame, and the systems that are left functioning intermittently, there’s no way the carrier can direct my flight. If it were peacetime, I’d just power down and take a tow in. At least the ship isn’t rotating.

The docking bay yawns ahead of me, light shining out into space, and an emergency capture net at the back. As I make the approach, one of my maneuvering thrusters begins to fail. I pour more power into the other engines to keep up with the carrier’s acceleration. Then the carrier changes course to dodge something, and my failing thrusters come back to full power, throwing me at the carrier.

It’s too late to stop.

The jarring impact from hitting the top of the bay knocks me around in my frame, and then my frame rebounds, throwing me into the deck below. Chimera skids along, sending a spray of sparks out in a fan, until I finally hit the arresting net at the back of the bay. Smart cables wrap around my frame and finally hold us securely.

Another beautiful landing.

* * *

Repair crews in space suits and drones rush around everyone’s frames. Once we’re locked and braced, they strip off all the remaining, damaged armor and gear first. Then it’s a race to get us ready for action again before something slips through and kills us all. Armor packages are replaced, fuel tanks are filled, and our munitions are replaced. The crews work with a speed and coordination unknown anywhere else. Even the pit crews of a stratospheric racer have never worked with such skill and speed. They have to; there’s no telling what will happen while we’re stuck in here.

My new load-out is going to be more useful, at least. Without the need for stealth, my new armor package gets an anti-laser coating, a weirdly iridescent mirror that distorts light in ever-shifting patterns. I won’t be using the adaptive camouflage up here, anyway, so we may as well go for maximum defense. Since I’m not hitting a moon base now, anti-aerospace missiles with multiple warheads make up my missile compliment. SPGs are still set for defense, functioning as decoy drones, jamming systems, and countermeasure dust dispensers. Finally, all my sensors, thrusters, and lasers are replaced. A diagnostic check shows that little of the Saturn virus got through to my frame, and what did was quickly neutralized by the new upgrades.

I try to focus on the repairs and what’s needed for the upcoming mission. I can’t afford to think about everything that’s gone wrong so far and everyone who isn’t here anymore. That way lies paralysis. There’ll be time for that later.

Repairs done, the bracing releases my frame, and I move freely in the bay. Others of my squadron are already out, but some frames with more serious damage are still being worked on. More frames are coming in. We need to get out of the way and get back out there.

Sure, the Venusians have our backs right now, but anything could change…

A series of sharp impacts makes the great ship shudder. One of the walls of the bay glows red hot, then white, and begins to bulge inward.

“Take cover!” I bellow, then try to duck behind a bulkhead.

The wall blows inward, sending shrapnel sleeting through the work bay. The bay is already depressurized, but that only makes the fragments more deadly, as there’s nothing to slow them down. The fragments bounce harmlessly off my armor, scratching the anti-laser coating. The work crews aren’t so lucky. Screams and cries for help come over the radio as the fragments tear into the crew. The crew’s work