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  Also by Shane Lochlann Black

  Strike Battleship Argent

  Strike Battleship Engineers

  Strike Battleship Marines

  Starships at War

  Fleet Commander Recon

  Dawnsong: The Last Skyblade

  Secret of the Witchwand

  Encounter at Demon Skull

  No Savage Under This Moon

  Battle Magic Collection

  Devils Demons and Dead Men: A LitRPG Thriller

  Trolls Traps and Treachery: A LitRPG Thriller

  The Incredible Untold Story of Sailor Moon

  Middle Grade Burnout

  Only a Smile Away

  Heartwhisper Cove

  Daybreak

  Picture Perfect

  Save Me

  Party Girl

  Crown of Love

  First Bloom

  Sweet Attraction

  Allure

  Game Plan

  Her Captain

  Copyright © 2018 Palace in the Sky Productions LLC

  Battle Force

  Table of Contents

  Chapter

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Even the air felt different.

  Captain Jason Hunter had toured his command on numerous occasions, and yet he still couldn’t get over the fact his ship still looked and felt new. Argent had only been in service for 19 Terran months, but she had seen her fair share of action. In addition to a slugging match with the heavy battleship Kingsblade she had gone toe-to-toe with hostile warships armed with deadly riflecutter beams. She had limped home, but she brought at least a partial victory with her.

  Hunter had to admit he was getting that old feeling again. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the many times his friend Lucas had made sport of his boasts over being able to catch the scent of new paint aboard his first command. Skywatch had gone out of their way to provide he and his crew of former fighter pilots with every possible technological advantage, and now that he had well and truly settled in to his new command, Captain Hunter was starting to get really good at some things and markedly better at others.

  Unbeknownst to his senior officers, Admiral Powers, the Commander in Chief (CINC) of Skywatch Southern Banner, had offered Captain Hunter a tour aboard the experimental X-cruiser Wisconsin. It was a prestigious assignment. Wisconsin was one of the newest and most advanced warships in the fleet. As tempting as it was to take advantage of all the notoriety he would have surely received, he had turned it down. Hunter’s bonds with the pilots in his former squadron were well-known and unique. He rarely parted ways with capable officers, and the four members of the legendary Bandit Jacks were clearly the best. They all had long and distinguished careers in Skywatch waiting for them, and Hunter was not going to make the mistake of missing it.

  There was trouble brewing in the Kraken Sector, and despite his thirst for adventure, deep in his soul, Captain Hunter was a firm believer in the principle of “dance with who brung you.” He was captain of the battleship Argent. He had no ambitions of leaving his first love.

  When he and newly promoted Fleet Command Master Chief Petty Officer Duncan Buckmaster finally returned from their hand-shaking responsibilities at Skywatch Command, Hunter had been greeted by more than one report of new and improved toys being delivered. His current destination was Argent Flight Deck Two, where a couple dozen of those new toys were parked.

  Two

  A giant of a man stepped through the automatic double-hatch into the Deck Four officer’s mess. He found a slender young signals officer hunched over a mess of folios, electronic readers and at least one scientific calculator. Her pink hair gave her away instantly.

  “I remember when you said all you wanted to be was a lieutenant!”

  Zony Tixia looked up from her rat’s nest of paperwork with a surprised expression. Her face brightened. “COB! When did you get back!?”

  Duncan Buckmaster made his way across the officer’s mess with a lumberjack’s grin to go with his full beard. He was still wearing his blue camouflage class ‘B’ uniform, but he had ditched the utility belt and sidearm the first chance he got. Master Chief Buckmaster’s golden Skywatch Fleet emblems reflected the bright lights in the main dining area. He strode across the room and held his arms out. Zony bounded around her table and practically leaped into his embrace. She hugged him tightly.

  “Oh I missed you,” Zony said cheerfully. “Everyone on the ship missed you!”

  “Well, after all the hubbub, I got tapped to make the rounds at Skywatch Command,” Buckmaster sighed. “Shake hands here, pose for a picture there, meet this captain and then that admiral. It was exhausting. I made sure to talk up the fleet’s newest battleship every chance I got, but now the skipper owes me a favor.”

  “Another one?” Zony said with a grin. “Well sit down and tell me what’s going on with all this hush-hush! I finally managed to kidnap Harcourt’s coffee expert, so now we have the best coffee in the fleet instead of Ajax.” Zony motioned to the steward for a refill and a second cup for Duncan.

  As the ranking non-commissioned member of Argent’s crew, one of the master chief’s official titles was “Chief of the Battleship” or COB for short. Aboard ships of the line, the ranking non-com was counted with the captain and executive officer as one of the “big three.” Some wondered on occasion why a crew member with a relatively low rank compared to a captain and a full commander would be so vital to the vessel’s leadership structure. The reason was rather simple. Non-officers often outnumbered officers aboard a ship like Argent by as many as four to one, and the master chief was, for almost all intents and purposes, the top of their chain of command. One of Colonel Moody’s sergeants put it best when training new minesweeper crews:

  “My name is Gunnery Sergeant Alan Hall. I am the ranking non-commissioned explosives specialist aboard this vessel. This is Fleet Command Master Chief Petty Officer Duncan Buckmaster. He is Chief of the Battleship. I answer to him. He answers to God. Do all of you understand that?”

  After it was explained that way, it was tough for Argent’s crew members to miss the point.

  “Looks like being a commander has it’s share of responsibilities,” COB chuckled as Zony pushed her papers out of the way.

  “You and Sabrina are responsible for all this! No making fun of me now that I have to turn in all the work too! Word has it you got kicked upstairs again!”

  Buckmaster turned to show off his new chevron. Instead of the golden star indicating command of a unit, the space beneath the gold-on-white rockers and above the similarly-colored chevrons was now occupied by a stylized multi-colored solar system emblem indicating a fleet command billet. It only made his six service stripes look even more formidable. The master chief had served Skywatch Fleet longer than Zony had been alive.

  “Now it’s official. They’re trying to get rid of me. I never got a chance to congratulate you after Powers made your promotion permanent. I hear you snagged another combat action cl
uster to go with those gold oak leaves. And a Subspace Warfare Badge too!”

  Zony rolled her eyes. “That was Jason’s idea after Rhode Island was transferred. I tried to keep that on the down low, but I guess it didn’t work now, did it?”

  COB smiled. “All these big ships making the crew nervous?” One steward set a steaming cup of premium coffee on the table while the other filled Zony’s cup. Buckmaster stirred some vanilla into his.

  “They’re making me nervous! I’d rather go back to the days of the strike fleet. After Powers reassigned us to Montgomery Station, I can’t keep track of all the new captains or their ship names! Have you seen our new escorts?” Zony indicated the nearest observation bay.

  Not far from Argent’s port leading edge the starship Black Prince floated menacingly. She was an Inferno-class command cruiser with armaments and defenses nearly the equal of her flagship. COB knew the battlecruiser Montpelier was in formation along the flagship’s starboard side.

  “Beautiful,” COB replied. “The captain always said he would prefer to punch in a higher weight class. Now that we’ve been selected for the Kraken sector mission, Skywatch seems to think we could do with some more tonnage.”

  “Did you get a chance to meet Doctor Stan?” Zony asked as she stirred her own coffee.

  “The science ship?”

  “I thought we could do amazing things with electronic warfare. Those guys are certifiable! They’ve got a whole ship dedicated to it! Princesa de la Hoja. One of the fastest ships in the fleet and a whole crew of electronics and science specialists aboard. They’ve been bugging me to take a tour.”

  “Princess of the Blade.” COB grinned. “Appropriate. You don’t see the knife, but you sure will feel it!”

  “I wish they were coming with us, but Hearts managed to get our new sickbay and labs outfitted with all the latest gadgets instead. They refitted Saratoga and Jayce gave us Constellation if we need her, so we could have long-range missile capacity. I sure wish I knew what we were gearing up for. Jason’s been pacing around here like an expectant father. I couldn’t even get Sabrina to tell me what was going on before she was transferred. Oh, and then just for fun, they threw in the Excalibur, so now we have a marine special forces company to go with our own mechanized infantry if we want.”

  “I hear the skipper outright stole Sixth Armor.”

  Zony swallowed a sip and made a “mmm!” sound. Then she slapped both hands on COB’s wrist. “Oh, I just have to tell you about Captain Tarcus and his after-dinner stories!” Zony chirped. “He is nothing but a big ol’ marine corps papa bear. I love him to pieces already.”

  “Let’s just hope whatever we’re casting off after doesn’t get out of hand,” COB said, absently staring out the bay at the Black Prince. “Having all this firepower in one place makes me nervous. I expect it isn’t doing much to calm our adversaries either. Admirals like Ben Powers don’t assemble task forces like this unless they mean business.”

  “Have you heard from Jayce?”

  “I know she went back to Core space for Captain Enright’s service. She took liberty to visit him in the hospital four times. I was sure he was going to pull through after all those months.”

  “I felt so bad for Delilah. Yili and I sent communiques.”

  “Yeah, it’s tough. He trained almost all of her captains. Pretty hard on her.”

  “I hope she’s okay. I’m going to write about a ten-page letter if she doesn’t get her wings soon,” Zony took another sip of her coffee. “They need to stop the foot-dragging and let her put her task force back together! I know it was dangerous, but it’s what she was born to do.”

  “Well, it’s safer for her than whatever she runs into. That’s for certain,” COB replied.

  Three

  “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.<
br />
  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.”