Waveoff: Murphy's Lawless, #6

By Chris Kennedy

Taken from their planet and their century, they are…the Lost Soldiers.

 

Some of the hijacked Twentieth Century troops known as the Lost Soldiers have made planetfall on R'Bak and are working to establish their base there, racing against time to find key weapons and equipment caches before the local satraps can activate them. But time is not on the side of the small isolated unit known as Murphy's Lawless: the local indigenous forces are building an inter-system transmitter that will let them call the nearby planet of Kulsis for high-tech reinforcements. The Lost Soldiers have to scrape together enough equipment and allies to stop the J'Stull satraps from contracting their off-world overlords.

 

Lieutenant Kevin Bowden was headed home from Somalia after a bombing flight that went wrong—destroying a church full of innocent women and children—when he was hijacked by the mysterious Ktor. A broken man, Bowden never wanted to fly again, much less run another bombing mission, but Major Rodger Murphy needs someone to oversee the transition of the SpinDogs interface craft into combat aircraft, and Bowden is the only one with the requisite skills and background to do it.

 

Can Bowden reach back to the time before that day and reengineer three interface spacecraft to be serviceable in-atmo bombers—and train their crews—in just a few weeks? He's going to have to, because the transmitter is nearing completion, and if the J'Stull are able to get a call off to Kulsis, all of Murphy's Lawless may go off the air…permanently.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beyond Terra Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781648550638

Chris Kennedy

A Webster Award winner and three-time Dragon Award finalist, Chris Kennedy is a Science Fiction/Fantasy author, speaker, and small-press publisher who has written over 55 books and published more than 500 others. Chris lives in Coinjock, North Carolina, with his wife, Sheellah.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Lieutenant Kevin Bowden, U.S. Navy, selected the station with his remaining heat-seeking missile, turned the master armament switch on, and focused on the blimp just off the nose.

The dirigible was a monster, its lifting bag more than a hundred meters from end to end. The craft was held together by a latticework of heavy ropes, like a coarse fishing net, which he could just make out as the craft turned toward him. Hanging beneath the lifting bag was the structure he was more concerned with—a long, enclosed gondola that had an exhaust stack projecting to its starboard. A thin haze trailed behind it, indicating its power plant was on and functioning. Perfect. Two propellers on the midships rail drove it forward, although Bowden doubted they were hot enough for the improvised missile to see.

He gently tapped the thruster that functioned like the rudder in his old F/A-18 Hornet, bringing the nose of the craft in line with the blimp, and pulled back slightly so the missile’s seeker head was pointed at the gondola. If the missile had been a Sidewinder, he would have received a growl in his headset when the seeker saw the heat generated by the power plant. Since he didn’t have that, he trusted to his visual aim and the technical abilities of the SpinDogs who had built it, and he pushed the launch button that had been wired to his left panel.

With a woosh! and less smoke than an actual Sidewinder would have produced, the missile leaped from his port wing and raced toward the blimp. The airship yawed to port as the steersman tried to give his gunners a shot at either him or the missile. Bowden chuckled. Like they could hit either.

Bowden put the craft into a right-hand 360. Regardless of whether the missile worked or not, he wasn’t going to play chicken with a craft that was as big as a football field. He was parallel to the craft when the missile hit the gondola, detonating its payload of magnesium flares.

It was impossible to tell if the motor inside the gondola was still working as most of the gondola suddenly caught fire, and several of the burning flares from the warhead punched upward into the gas bag. The center of the bag turned into a sun as the gas caught fire, and he flinched away from the brilliant flash. When he looked again, the center of the blimp had crumpled, and the gondola’s weight was pulling the front and back of the airship together as it fell from the sky.

Flames roared across the lifting bag and the gondola, and several figures fell from the structure. Bowden flinched but understood. Given the choice between dying from the impact at the bottom of the fall and being burned alive, Bowden knew he would have jumped, too. Hell, for all he knew, the jump might even be survivable.

He wrapped the turn up harder to get around faster. The antenna was easy to see on the other side of the town, and he rolled wings level, heading directly toward it. The blimp wouldn’t be a factor; its still-burning corpse would pass down his starboard side.

Bowden selected two of the rocket-propelled bomb stations, turned on the laser designator, and then swore when the Ready light didn’t illuminate on the panel. Worse, the TV screen that should have shown him a view of where the laser was pointing stayed black rather than bringing up an image. He cycled the switch again. Nothing.

Damn it! He leaned forward, then looked out the window below the port wing to where the laser package was mounted. He could just see the back of the device...and several detached wires flapping in the wind. Exactly the malfunction he’d warned the SpinDogs about.

He sighed. His worst fear was confirmed. He was screwed.

As screwed as screwed gets.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

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Mind if I sit here?

Kevin Bowden looked up from his lunch. His eyes took in the person in front of him, then all the empty tables in the refectory that served the section of the habitat in which the Lost Soldiers were billeted. He shrugged. Fine with me, sir, he finally said. The answer’s, ‘no,’ though.

Major Rodger Murphy raised an eyebrow as he sat. Not sure what you mean.

Right. Bowden pointed with his spoon toward Murphy’s empty hands. You’re not here for lunch. That means you’re here to recruit me for a mission, just like you did everyone else who was in the Mogadishu chopper wreck. The answer’s ‘no.’

Murphy’s tone cooled. How do you know what the answer is, when I haven’t even asked the question?

Because I’m done. I’ve done enough for my country. Bowden looked back down at his food and shoveled in another mouthful. Hell, more than enough.

I need you for this. You’re the only one who can do it.

"What? Bowden exclaimed, loud enough to cause everyone nearby to glance over at the pair of humans. You’ve got more kids for me to kill?"

Easy, Lieutenant, Murphy said, making a calming motion with his hands. This is not a combat op. You’re the only tactical aviation guy we’ve got from around our time frame, and that’s the skillset I need to look at a mission in the conops stage.

Bowden’s eyes narrowed. Just look at something?

For now, I just need you to look. There are no missions being planned.

"Being planned, ‘yet,’ you mean."

Murphy shrugged. Lieutenant, you and I know that, given our current situation, there’s no guaranteeing you won’t have to get back into a cockpit again. And I’m not going to insult your intelligence and make myself a liar by saying otherwise. But at this point, what I need is your knowledge and expert assessment. And only that.

Guess I could look at something for you. Bowden sighed as his shoulders slumped. It’s not like I have a whole lot else to do here. Don’t appear to be going home any time soon.

Murphy’s smile was small, brittle, and shadowed by more than a little regret. Thanks, he said. Meet me in an hour in Docking Bay 3A.

* * *

Bowden walked into the assigned docking bay, exactly an hour later, to find the major talking to two of the alien SpinDogs—if they really were aliens—standing next to one of their interface craft. Murphy nodded to the two humanoids, and they went back to working on something on its nose.

What do you think? Murphy asked as he walked up, nodding toward the craft.

Bowden took a moment to inspect it. Looks like a cheap version of the space shuttle with ducted-thrust nacelles, built by the lowest bidder. He looked again and saw where some of the pieces had been hammered to make them fit in place. In Russia. He took a few steps to one side to get a better look at the forward section of the craft. Looks like it’s seen a lot of use. Wouldn’t be surprised if they bounced the nose off an asteroid or two. I’m not talking little ones, either.

He shrugged and walked back. Looks like a work vehicle that’s been ridden hard and put away wet plenty of times. Why?

We’re going to turn that craft—and two others just like it—into fighter/bombers, just like your old Hornet.

Bowden laughed for at least 20 seconds, finally stopping when his stomach started hurting. Thanks, Major, he said when he caught his breath. I haven’t had a laugh like that since... His voice trailed off as his thoughts came up short against the event that split his life into two parts: everything that had come before, and everything since that day. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time, he finished after a few seconds. He smiled. Seriously, though, what’s it for?

Exactly what I said. We’re going to turn it into an attack craft for a mission we have coming up, while giving it enough air-to-air capability to get it there and back safely.

That thing is a beast, Bowden said, walking up to one of the wings and slapping it. The sound it made told him it wasn’t made of the same metal as his beloved Hornet. It’ll never be a fighter. Maybe a bomber. It’s ugly enough, just like the old A-6E Intruders that used to be in my air wing.

You may not know this, Murphy said, "but the SpinDogs have never thought about fighting in atmosphere before, and this is their craft with the best in-atmo performance. All they were ever worried about was getting in and out fast, so it’s got plenty of power, but no real