CROSSFIRE - Atlantis DSV - New Cape Quest

Roberts looked over her shoulder as Schrader‟s fighter pulled back from her tail and
went wide. A few seconds after that, a torpedo slipped in to the water and rocketed away in
to the dark. It went wide at first, following the fleeing Broadsword, and it took several long
seconds to it to find its mark. Being tracked by the SEWACS orbiting high above, there was
little the Broadsword could do as its decoys failed to make even the hint of an impression on
the ASF-7 Foxhound missile, and the pilot had already bailed out by the time the weapon
slammed in to his fighter and reduced it to a pyre of flaming metal.
“Good kill,” Schrader announced simply. “This area is clear, lead. Orders?”
“Rapier flight one, this is Roulette. Command has incoming hostiles on bearing three
four zero. Local jamming has no IFF. Requesting close-range ID.”
Roberts gritted her teeth as she pulled the fighter around again to cross back under
the Commonwealth‟s killzone. “This is flight one. Understood. Rapiers one and two, form up
and stick close. Let‟s see what we‟ve got.”
Dustin Coyle picked up the sensor contact on the edge of his combat sensors just as
Roulette gave Roberts her marching orders. His squadron of nine black-hulled Raptors
surrounded the six-strong formation of SF/B-6 Stormhawk bombers that advanced
inexorably towards the field of battle. The squadron in question was not new to him, the VT-
106 Tigerclaws having previously served aboard the Atlantis. Now, they bore the proud
heraldry of the UEO Enterprise, a “Big E” encircled by the UEO laurels.
The contacts on Coyle‟s sensors were an enigma but were closing at an alarming
rate. The bombers raced through the darkness, moving as quickly as their massive, booming
engines would carry them, although the accompanying Raptors still had to pull back to stop
themselves from overshooting.
“Two minutes,” he said firmly and simply, watching as the sensor ghosts of
Commonwealth and her accompanying fleet drew nearer by the second. Exactly ten nautical
miles remained. Calmly switching his sonar back to auto-engagement, Coyle slowly pushed
his throttles forward in anticipation. “Stripes lead, this is Halo lead. We are ten miles.
Weapons are free, wait for targeting information from Commonwealth-actual and increase to
three-three-zero knots. We‟ll cover you.”
“This is Karnage, acknowledged. Take the lead.”
Coyle didn‟t wait to be invited further, slamming his throttles forward to be
immediately kicked back in his chair. The Raptor rapidly left the formation of bombers in its
wake as the remainder of the squadron raced to catch up, and the first of their opponents
made themselves known. The computer bleeped as the first flight of Broadswords on
Commonwealth‟s perimeter entered the squadron‟s engagement zone and were highlighted
on the HUD. Coyle checked the range. “Dark Angel One – Bandits two O‟clock high. Flight
one is engaging. Flight two, on my six. Flight three, cover the bombers.”
He didn‟t wait for a reply as he snapped the fighter up quickly to race towards the
shallows. Having detected his approach, the Broadswords rolled away, beginning a wide
circle that brought them straight down at the approaching Raptors. Coyle had none of it as
he followed suit and angled the nose out wide to course in towards the Macronesian fighter‟s
rear. As the two formations closed at a combined speed better than five hundred knots,
Coyle rolled the fighter on to its side and pulled back on the stick, beginning a hard turn on to
the Broadsword‟s tails. The three enemy fighters saw the manoeuvre, and rolled back hard
in the opposite direction to try and throw the UEO fighter before it had completed his
intercept. Coyle was better, never having broken his eyes from the pursuit as he continued
to guide the Raptor through its paces. On one hand, he was navigationally blind as he
locked eyes with the fighters that were now above his canopy, but on the other... he never
lost sight of them.
Rolling the stick back, the Raptor inverted again and came back toward its own path,
steadily weaving through the Broadsword‟s evading scissors as it got ever-closer to their tail.
All the while, Coyle never even noticed the G-indicator climbing past “six” each time he
turned, having gotten so used to the manoeuvres over the years that the action had become
an indelible, motor response – his leg and stomach muscles clenching to control the flow of
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