“Now would you look at that.”
It wasn’t often senior officers stood motionless in awe aboard their own spacecraft, but for the marine officer and engineer aboard Argent, this morning was decidedly different.
The bay lights across the dorsal bulkhead of the battleship’s central flight deck reflected from silvery alloy and highlighted the sleek strike fighter’s designator and squadron identification. What stopped even experienced deck crew members in their tracks was the sheer size of this new ceramic and alloy raptor perched in its new lair, as if it were daring others to challenge it.
Senior Chief Petty Officer Rollins stood nearby, trying and failing to get a splash of gray sealant paste off his hands with a well worn rag. “Makes you wonder what they’ve invented that we haven’t seen yet, doesn’t it, sir?”
“That it does, Senior Chief,” Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Moody replied. “I’ve heard rumors, but we’ve all been caught up by the hype machine before. Tough to doubt the stories when they’re sitting right in front of you.”
“Lady and gentleman, welcome to the future. Presenting the third generation Yellowjacket strike fighter. The F-90. Affectionately known as the Superjack.”
Rollins began to walk around the fighter’s forward landing struts. Yili and Moo followed, eyeing the enormous weapon with expert attention to detail. “She’s forty percent heavier than the equivalent 2G frame, built to accommodate a pilot and an electronic warfare officer. The propeller heads at Oil Can City figured this was the best compromise for a fighter with four hard points.”
“Four? Where do you put a fourth–” Yili interrupted herself when she saw the sharp missile clamps on the trailing edge of the spacecraft’s main hull. “Ah, aft weapons on a fighter? Can it–?”
“Yes,” Rollins replied in advance. “It can mount energy weapons, and you’ll be happy to know the electronics are already compatible with our jackrabbit module. This thing is 21% better at shooting down incoming birds than our first effort, and we didn’t have to change a single component.”
Yili’s eyes sparkled. It was like a metallic dream. Moo glanced at her with a worried expression. He had heard stories about how engineers sometimes got a little too caught up in the technical details. Curtiss was no different. She just had a spookier way of expressing it.
“These look like universals on the wing here,” Moo said, reaching up to touch the smooth, cool surface of the brand new BBV-740 designator on the fighter’s hull.
“They are. She can carry six different missile types, including Hemlocks.”
“Twin Hemlocks on a fighter?” Yili repeated. Moo understood why their chief engineer was so intrigued. The Yellowjacket fighter was invented to be a suitable platform for the first-generation shipkiller missile, and the very next generation of shipkiller missiles was invented to mount on the fighter that eventually came to be known as the “Jack.” It was the innovation that brought the strike fighter into deep-space warfare and made it possible for starships to engage their enemies at extreme range.
The Superjack was different in many ways, and weapons capacity was at the top of the list. A Hemlock anti-matter missile was the most advanced autonomous weapons system Skywatch had deployed to date. It could operate independently of its launch platform, shadow and pursue vessels on its own and attack from positions far removed from the ship that deployed it. A fighter that could launch and control two such weapons could theoretically cripple or destroy multiple ships thousands of times heavier than itself. A squadron of such fighters could engage multiple warships independently, very much like a gunship formation.
“Not only that, but those forward mounts are dual SPECTREs, Rollins replied. “Twelve rounds a second, up to 2000 miles range. Target acquisition is integrated with the sight sound synthesis heads-up display in your helmet. It can notify you when a target breaks range, provide a visual cue, and allows you to not only lock your weapons on the target but perform maneuvers to get a stronger bearings match. It even shows you a simulated image of your target at full mag. If there’s a Nemesis on station, you’ll get a real-time picture of whatever was unlucky enough to tangle with you.”
“They didn’t build these hard points just for Hemlocks,” Yili said.
By now Rollins was on the other side of the fighter’s platform. “Good eye, ma’am,” he replied. “She can carry kinetics, HAWK anti-radiation birds or AF packs on the wings. Or, if you’re in a more hostile mood, you can load two more SPECTREs and turn a Jack into a simulated Cat.”
“Six forward-arc SPECTRE energy mounts on a fighter...” Moo muttered. “Wow.”
“We’re just getting started, sir,” Rollins said with a chuckle. “She’s got fourth generation electronic warfare systems and frigate-class battle screens. The bad guys used to be able to shoot down our fighters with a single hit. With this thing, they could score a center-of-mass impact and barely scratch the paint. She’s the first point-defense-resistant fighter ever constructed.”
“Almost a gunship,” Moo replied.
“Aye. Not quite a T-Hawk, but most definitely a deadly weapon, sir.”
Yili gazed up at the Superjack’s main hull. The squadron medallion emblazoned on its side depicted a blood-red rose with a fangs-bared black snake coiled around it. “Ancilla Mortis?”
“Our new squadron. The 118th, out of Core Six.” said Captain Jason Hunter as he joined the group. “The Death Maidens. Thirty-six new pilots and EWOs. Lieutenant Commander Erin McGrath is their flight leader. Morning, Senior Chief!”
“Morning sir!” Rollins was at the top of the pilot’s ladder and half-saluted from the other side of the fighter’s canopy. Yili had climbed the other ladder and was busy examining the fighter’s cockpit.
“Let me guess,” Moo said. “Her callsign is ‘Poisoned Tea Party.’”
“Nope,” Hunter replied with a grin. “Lilith.”
“Figures.” Moo rolled his eyes. “So what’s the op, sir?”
“Hurry up and wait,” Hunter sighed. “Since we’re headed for Kraken space, I’m going to recruit a Proximan sgian to give us some backup. In the meantime, we’re on station at Missouri waiting for word from the advance teams on Mycenae Ceti. My only orders are to avoid divulging my status.”
“So you’re still officially missing in action?”
“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. What are you going to say?”
“Jason Hunter? Never heard of him.”