Raiders

By Simon Haynes

What happens when you're worth more dead than alive?

A decorated fighter pilot is lost in combat, and his death is used to inspire waves of fresh recruits. Recruits desperately needed to fight in the long-running war.

Sam Willet is one such recruit, but she's different.

Different because the missing hero is her brother, and Sam has questions.

Questions nobody wants asked.

Questions that will probably get her killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Haynes
• Release date: May 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463282076

Simon Haynes

Simon Haynes lives in Western Australia, where he divides his time between herding deadly spiders, dodging drop bears, and making up wildly inaccurate sentences like this one.By day he's an author. By night he's also an author.He loves wry, dry humour, and his hobbies include daringly inserting the letter U into words where -- in some parts of the world at least -- this simply isn't the done thing.As for his genre-spanning novels, they include epic fantasy (with robots), scifi comedy (also with robots), middle grade humour (featuring robots AND the wanton use of the letter U), as well as a series of historical mystery novels set in 1870's London. (No, of course there aren't robots in those. He's not completely out of his mind.)When he's not writing Simon is usually renovating his house, sim-racing online, using twitter (@spacejock), gardening, tweaking his book covers, pondering the meaning of the universe and reading, and if you think it's easy doing all that at the same time you should see what he can do with a mug of coffee, a banana and a large bag of salt.When he's not making outlandish claims he likes to count how many novels he's written, and how many genres he's written them in. (Lots and too many.)Finally, if you want to hear Simon reading one of his award-winning stories, you'll find an enticement to join his newsletter here: spacejock.com.au/ML.html

Book preview

Sam Willet is on the way to her brother's memorial service when her deep-space transport is attacked.

Desperately short of pilots, the captain asks Sam to step up.

Now, at last, she has the chance to prove herself.

Now, at last, she can become the fighter pilot she was always meant to be.

But will that chance end in death… or glory?

This is a stand-alone novel. No cliffhanger at the end.

Prologue

The year is 3020 AD, and humanity has spread out across the galaxy, populating thousands of worlds to create a vast empire.

In a remote corner of this huge civilisation, the inhabitants of two star systems have been at war with each other for decades.

For many, the war has been raging since before they were born.

For most, it will continue long after they die.

Squadron Leader Lim Willet was strapped into the tiny cockpit of a deep-space fighter, surrounded by glowing displays and status lights. Even though it was cramped, the closeness was almost a comfort against the unimaginable vastness of space surrounding him.

He moved his head, scanning nearby space, and felt the tug of the data cable plugged into the back of his helmet. The lower half of his tinted visor shone with reflected lights from the ship's instrument panel, while the upper half reflected thousands of hard points of light, distorted by the curve of the perspex canopy which enclosed the cockpit. The threat display was empty.

Lim was on solo patrol. He was supposed to be commanding a flight of three, but one of his wingmen had been shot up earlier that day, and the other fighter was undergoing emergency servicing. When war broke out against the Mayestrans, years earlier, sending a pilot out alone would have been unthinkable. Now, as desperation crept in, it was becoming commonplace.

Lim preferred it that way. Most of the time he was forced to protect raw recruits from instant death, putting his own life on the line in the process. If he got into a dogfight now, he could focus all his attention on the enemy. As a big fat plus, he was so far from base that he didn't have TacOps in his ear, ordering him to and fro like a sheepdog.

A raucous buzzing sounded in his ear, and Lim tore his gaze from deep space to study the threat indicator on the heads-up display. Behind the darkened visor, his eyes widened as he stared at the cluster of red circles on the screen. These indicated unidentified capital vessels, such as battleships, carriers and heavy cruisers. As he watched, three green triangles appeared amongst the circles, and lines of text flashed up next to each icon, identifying the type of ship and giving an estimate of their firepower. These were fighters, launched to intercept him. Nothing unusual about that.

The red circles, though. They were new. Lim waited for the computer to identify them, but nothing happened. He frowned at that, because his job was to scout enemy threats, and reporting a bunch of red circles would get him laughed out of the mess hall. Now he had to avoid the fighters long enough to get a read on the capital ships, and that wasn't going to be easy.

The fighters came towards him, moving incredibly fast. Targeting markers appeared on the HUD inside Lim's visor, pinpointing the enemy. The weapons console flipped out and extended towards his right hand, and he gripped the joystick as the urgent pinging of an attack alarm hammered his ears.

Then the targeting markers began to dance on the visor, before fizzling out completely.

It was the same for both sides. Early in the war, automatic targeting made space combat easy. You just painted your targets and pulled the trigger, watching the enemy explode in little puffs of light. Unfortunately, the enemy would be doing the same thing, and dogfights turned into a simple equation: the side with the most ships won.

Ever since, there had been a battle of technological one-upmanship, and in the current phase of the war automatic targeting was about as useful as a chocolate spaceship. Pilots relied on manual dogfighting, aiming with a gunsight and firing on instinct.

That handed the advantage to veteran pilots, and it meant rookies had a life expectancy of an hour or less.

Lim boosted his own engines to max, and he hit the side thrusters at the same time. He was approaching the enemy with a crabwise movement, and he added top and bottom thrusters in bursts, forcing his ship to weave vertically as well. Scientists had tried to automate this flight pattern once, but unfortunately anything run by a computer could never be truly random. The enemy had worked out the pattern, and losses had been huge until the boffins took their automated system back to the drawing board.

The enemy fighters continued to advance, and Lim noticed the pilot at the rear wasn't weaving as much as the two in front. That marked out a rookie, and Lim tagged the ship as his first victim.

Of course, if he despatched the three fighters, more would be launched. The enemy obviously felt three on one was good enough, and any more would just get in each other's way. But shoot down one or two of them, and the Mayestrans would send a whole wing of fighters to get him.

A beam of light flickered towards him from a point in space. It left an after-image in his vision, a streak of red that hovered in front of his eyes. One of the fighters had opened fire, probing at long-range. The others, more experienced, held off.

Laser beams zipped around Lim's ship, gradually getting closer as the rookie pilot homed in on him. The enemy was closing fast, and all hell was about to break loose.

With practiced ease, Lim flipped his ship end-over-end, maintaining his course. Now the tail was facing the enemy, and he applied full upper thrust, driving his ship down. He tapped the side thruster too, weaving slightly.

There was a blur as the three enemy ships whipped past, exhaust cones glowing. He saw puffs from the thrusters of two of them, as they started their evasive manoeuvres, but he wasn't interested in those. No, he was watching the third ship, the rookie, and as he expected it continued in level flight. The pilot was probably searching the stars for his enemy, wondering where Lim had gone.

Lim was still hurtling backwards, and he brought his nose up, bracketed the enemy fighter with his targeting reticule. He squeezed the trigger on his flight stick and energy bursts lanced from his guns, illuminating the inside of his cockpit with red and green flashes. He saw the shots strike home, tearing into the enemy's exhaust cones, the engines, the fuselage.

Flash!

A brief detonation, incredibly bright, and the fighter was gone. Only glowing fragments remained, slowly spreading out in the vacuum of space. Then they too faded.

Lim flipped the ship over once more, and made straight for the capital ships. The other two fighters would be turning to pursue, but their speed had been so high they'd never catch him in time.

As he saw the size of the capital ships, with their batteries of heavy guns, Lim swallowed and ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips. He wasn't looking at a couple of Mayestran raiders. This was a full scale battle fleet.

He was tempted to turn and run, but he could imagine the debrief with his wing commander and the intelligence bods.

How many ships?

Lots.

What kind were they?

I ran away before I could check, sir.

Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

Everything he could see was being recorded for the boffins at base to study later, and he knew the closer he got, the more information they'd have. So, Lim put the other two fighters out of his mind and raced towards the capital ships. As he got closer, gun turrets opened up from all sides. Red and green energy bursts flickered past, some uncomfortably close, and he weaved like crazy to put the gunners' aim off.

One by one, the circles on Lim's HUD turned green as they were updated with information on the enemy ships, including estimates of size and firepower. There was still one red circle though, and it stubbornly refused to change. In fact, it didn't reveal any information about the target ship at all.

Lim scanned the enemy fleet, and he spied a smaller vessel amongst the capital ships. It was a squat, ugly-looking thing with a bulbous nose, and there was a big gun turret mounted amidships. He'd never seen anything like the ship, and he wondered at its purpose.

Then the firing stopped, and a swarm of enemy fighters appeared on the HUD. The deadly little ships were spewing from the largest vessels, spreading out and forming a protective sphere around the bigger ships. Lim knew there was no way through the fighters, but he wasn't planning on a suicide run. His job was to gather intel.

Seconds later, he decided he'd seen enough. Things were about to get uncomfortably hot, and the intel he'd already collected would be useless if he didn't get it home. He knew there was an almost-indestructible container hidden somewhere inside his fighter, and it held secure, highly-encrypted memory. If his ship was destroyed, his life lost, that container could still pass on the information he'd gathered.

Assuming the Mayestran's didn't find it first.

No, delivering the data in person was the only sure way to pass on the intel, and that meant it was time to run.

Lim noticed the sphere of fighters surrounding the capital ships weren't moving. They weren't going to be tempted away from their charges. No, they were just daring him to get closer. Lim squeezed the fire button on his flight stick, ignoring the out-of-range warnings, and the nose of his fighter spurted laser beams at the distant targets. He watched the beams fade away, useless at this extreme range, and he smiled to himself. As a tactic, it was as effective as putting his tongue out and blowing a raspberry.

Then he turned sharply, powering away at an oblique angle. Once he was moving at top speed he cut the thrust and flipped his fighter, checking for the two enemy ships that had been pursuing him. They'd disappeared from his HUD after their countermeasures kicked in, and try as he might he couldn't see them with the naked eye.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Stunned, Lim glanced down at the instruments. It was impossible, unthinkable, but someone had a lock on him! The indicator flashed a baleful red, and he knew the enemy had him trapped like a fly in a jam jar. He turned the fighter, bringing the enemy fleet into view, and he noticed one section of the protective sphere of fighters had moved apart, leaving a circular hole in the defences.

Through that hole, Lim could see the odd-looking ship with its bulbous nose and lone gun turret. And, as he watched, the turret tracked him until he was looking straight down the twin gun barrels.

A feeling of unreality came over him. He was a squadron leader, a veteran in the war. He wasn't supposed to get killed.

His thoughts were chopped off as a burst of laser fire sliced into the nose of the ship, blowing the instrument panel apart and driving shards of plastic and metal through his visor. The force slammed Lim's head back against the padded seat, smashing the data connector into the back of his helmet. He screamed, his fingers scrabbling on the shattered visor as he tried to reach his eyes. He barely noticed the detonation as the canopy shattered and the pressurised air in the cockpit leaked away.

There was an intense, white flash as the main drive blew up. Lim still had his hands over his eyes as the little fighter fell apart around him, throwing him into the hard vacuum of space.

His last conscious thought was that he'd been way too cocky.

Chapter 1

The Golden Lyre's training room was crowded, with a student at every terminal. Each trainee's head was encased in a bulbous white helmet, and the rows of helmets bobbed and turned as the wearers reacted to audio and visual input from the battle simulation.

They were training for TacOps, and each student was assigned a handful of ships with which to fight the enemy. How they fought, and whether they won or lost, was up to them.

A short, tough-looking man in a dark blue uniform limped along the row of terminals, his deep-set eyes thoughtful as he glanced from one terminal to the next. His name was Pretin, and as Monitor it was his job to discover which students were worth keeping… and which to get rid of.

He stopped to read the lines of text on one particular screen, then tapped the student on the shoulder and waited for her to remove her helmet. You just led them straight into an ambush, he said, in a deep voice. If this were a live mission, you'd have cost six men and women their lives. Six trained pilots and their ships, each costing more to replace than you can possibly imagine.

I'm sorry, Monitor.

Your aggression level is that of a combat pilot. Need I remind you that tactical operations requires thought, not adrenaline? Pretin frowned at her. Are you sleeping eight hours a night?

Pardon?

I asked you a question.

The girl swallowed. Yes I am, sir.

Well, cut back to six and use the extra hours for practice. Now, proceed with the exercise.

The girl bit her lip and replaced the mask. Pretin shook his head slowly as he looked along the row of students. Many hopefuls, but how many of them were really any good? His gaze fell on a student further along the row, and he limped slowly along the carpeted floor, his eyes fixed on the flickering display. He stopped behind the trainee and watched the screen for a moment, a grim smile on his face. The battle was going well, despite the odds, and the student's forces had the enemy on the ropes. So, he tapped the student on the shoulder.

I had them on the run! said the girl fiercely as she tore the helmet off. Her long, blonde hair slashed through the air as she twisted her head round. Why the hell did you…? Suddenly she realised who she was shouting at, and her gaze fell. Sorry, Monitor.

It's just a simulation, Rena.

But the student tables record every result!

Do you really need another win?

The girl's mouth set in a firm line as she fingered the hard plastic edge of the training helmet.

Intensity is a good trait. So is patience. Pretin paused. You are excused from tactical exercises for forty-eight hours.

Rena looked up, startled. But—

Pretin frowned. Report to weapons training. Now.

The girl pushed her chair back and stood up, towering over him, and Pretin had to crane his neck to see the grim look on her face. It's not a punishment, Rena. There's no value in endless practice.

But my standing on the ladder…

Pretin's eyes narrowed. While you train, our young men and women are giving their lives in the struggle against the Mayestrans. Never forget that.

Rena stared down at him for a moment or two, then saluted sharply and marched out of the room. As the door closed behind her, a low buzz made Pretin turn. A trainee at the far end of the room had taken her helmet off. She had short, dark hair and high cheekbones, and she was staring at her screen with a puzzled look on her face.

Who told you stop the exercise, Trainee Willet?

I didn't. It crashed, sir.

Pretin felt for the thinscreen clipped to his belt. The Lyre's computer programmers hadn't 'improved' the simulation for some weeks now, so a system failure was unexpected. As he limped towards the student, he used the controller to page through the system log, squinting at the lines of text filling the screen. What were you trying to do?

The student gestured at the terminal. I diverted an incoming Mayestran wormhole into a nearby planet. There was a huge explosion when their ships arrived, and then I got a blank screen.

Pretin stared at the young woman. You did what?

I used the tractor beam on my capital ship. I reversed it, and applied the force to their incoming hyperdrive wormhole.

Pretin's eyes hardened. You think this is some computer game? Is that it?

But sir, I —

Students. You're are all the same, the lot of you. Play with the simulators, play with the weapons, play with yourselves… and then you graduate and die. Well, let me tell you, Willet, you're training for live combat, with real men and women under your command. Do you really think you're going to beat a real Mayestran battle group with some half-arsed trick like that?

Slowly, the student shook her head.

I'm going to reset the exercise and you can try again. From the very beginning.

Willet glanced at the time displayed on her screen. But sir, we have mess in—

I told you to try again. Pretin leaned closer. And don't worry, this battle won't take long.

Willet lifted the white helmet and put it on, sitting bolt upright in her chair as Pretin selected a menu option with his controller. The screen cleared and rows of figures appeared. Using his controller, the Monitor adjusted several figures upwards. Then he increased them even further.

Willet stiffened as she saw the impossible odds, and Pretin smiled as the blank white mask turned to face him. Let's see you get out of that, smart-arse, he muttered under his breath.

Then he started the simulation.

— ♦ —

Darkness. A faint humming noise. A sense of foreboding.

Sam Willet squinted as a blaze of light flared inside her helmet. As it faded, she saw a three-dimensional star map sprinkled with points of coloured light. Her force consisted of half a dozen fighters, represented with blue dots, while the enemy had twice as many red ships. Willet sucked in her breath as the number of red dots doubled, then doubled again. That bastard Pretin was setting her up for certain failure!

She imagined the map rotating, and it did so, revealing the white circle of a planet close to her ships. She considered a few of her favourite tactics, but she'd never been outnumbered by this many enemy fighters before, and she was certain none of her tricks would work.

She was still taking stock of the battlefield when the simulation went live, catching her by surprise. Sam hurriedly divided her fighters into three groups of two ships, sending each group towards a different part of the map. The enemy ships also separated into three groups, each of them with far greater numbers. They didn't need tactics, thought Sam. With their numbers, brute force would be enough.

A string of white dots appeared behind Sam's ships as they deployed proximity mines. Then her three flights streaked towards each other, re-forming behind the scant protection of the mines. Red traces flickered from the Mayestran ships and Sam's defensive mines vanished in a split second, blasted into nothingness by the withering enemy fire. Sam ordered her ships to loose off missiles, even though the enemy was out of range. Then she retreated behind the planet.

The Mayestran battle group advanced, still firing away, and half of Sam's ships were blasted off the screen. She ordered one away from the rest, keeping the white circle of the planet between it and the approaching cloud of red dots. But the Mayestran fleet encircled the planet from both sides, trapping her ships and destroying them with a hail of merciless fire. Then, the huge enemy force mopped up her one remaining fighter with ease.

As the battle stats came up, Sam ripped her helmet off with shaking fingers. Her jaw muscles bunched as she stared into space, stunned by the speed with which her forces had been destroyed. In a real battle, with real pilots, she'd have lost them all.

Hey, nice going! said a student seated at the next terminal.

His tone was sarcastic, and Sam realised why when she glanced at the points table displayed on the screen. Her name was now at the bottom, and she felt a stab of anger. She'd need hours of extra simulator time to improve her ratings, and all because of that bastard Pretin. She scanned the room and saw the Monitor talking to another student. Even though he was busy, he must have felt Sam's gaze on him like a burst of gunfire from a Mayestran fighter, because he glanced at her, mid-sentence. Then, when he was finished with the student, he limped along the line of terminals towards Sam.

Do you understand what a good tactical operator does? he asked